A floral tribute

I would send you all armfulls of scented roses if I could.

I took all the photos in the walled rose garden at Cockington Court not far from home. Ah I wish I could take you there. As you walk through the gate the scent of hundreds of roses and the bright colours assault your senses in the most delightful way.

Except this last sweetly scented rose
which has lived in our own garden since the day we buried our son.

Castle hopping in Wales

We left home at 8am feeling the call of adventure, drove 130 miles into Wales and hopped around four castles in various states of ruin before tea time. We got home at 8pm and the kitteh's weren't best pleased with having their day disrupted and proceeded to disrupt our evening.

Shadows and light.

Obligatory Poppets shadow shot.

Castles are often surprisingly surprised.

Hmmph.

Full of wonder

After leaving the Doctors office on monday evening we were presented with this wonderful sunset.

Amazing no?

And real colours too.

And Ray made this "sky heart" for me the other night with a "secret message" that I had to work out all by myself (and I did).

Outside myself

After the stress of the last few weeks we thought it was high time for a new adventure.

A search for some wonder.

I haven't walked far for quite a while but my feet were having a good day so we decided to go to Wistman's wood.

 A long but fairly flat path stretched out before us. Good, no climbing!

We could see our goal clinging to the right side of this beautiful valley.

Ancient dwarfed and twisted oak trees grow amongst the moss covered granite boulders.

Made safe from the nibbling teeth of moorland sheep, cows and ponies by the boulders, these woods have survived and regenerated the centuries of a cooling then warming climate, the human habitation that cut trees for fuel, farmed it and grazed animals on it and turned it into the beautiful moorland we see today.

 It's a peculiar, almost alien place.

A little spooky perhaps.

But goodness, you see the strangest things in an enchanted wood.

Back along the path basement cat watched us leave.

Spring comes late to Dartmoor. 

It is only just starting to unfurl.

Maybe a two mile walk wasn't such a good idea for my feet but it was worth it.

We just have to go back again when the trees are in leaf.

I found a little peace in that wild place. 

I'm hoping I brought a bit of it home with me too.

Day 443

George would have been bundled up in his cosy snowsuit and probably tottering between us, Mummy and Daddy with a hand each. We would have let him touch and taste the snow, lie down in it if he wanted. We would have made him a snowman to trample. He would have been rosy cheeked and happy. Definitely happy. It's my fantasy after all, we are always happy.

As it is we made a snowman for ourselves. You can see Ray to the right of this photo and the tracks are his rolling tracks.

He rolled his snowball around and around watched and emulated by several children. I rolled my snowball around a bit less and made the head. We laughed. We gave him a punk hairdo and a winking eye just to be "funky". And left him with the hope that we will see him again at the weekend when we take Ray's sister and niece to play.


After the snowman challenge we warmed ourselves in the car with hot tea and watched a young couple pull up in their car and unload their two young daughters, one just walking. They were all woefully under-dressed for snow. Mum had on her leggings and a "fashion" coat, and Dad's jeans barely covered his bum. I had on four top layers under my coat and two pairs of jeans and I was still chilly (yea I know, wimp). They spent less than 10 minutes in the snow before bundling their girls back into the car and driving off. I hadn't even begun my tea. We chuckled at their un-preparedness and tears quietly pricked my eyes. We could do better. Why not us? It's not bloody fair.

Reading blogs this morning I was struck by a few sentences in Leila's mommy's blog.

"sure, from their standpoint i am free now. i can do all the things that i would have had to give up had Leila not died."

There's no freedom in being parent to a dead baby. Whatever we do he is there, just out of sight, just out of reach. When we are adventuring I sometimes forget to stop myself before I mentally list the things we would need and the things we would do with our boy. Even now after 443 days without him. Maybe it's just the ex-nanny in me but it is exhausting at times and I would dearly like to. let. it. go. I'm trying.

I have spent this last year doing many things with the ghost of my son in my head and the back seat of our car.

I am frightened by the thought that we might not be able to have another child, that I am too old, and that I will only ever get to parent George's ghost. That can't be right.

I try to keep all of those thoughts at bay and live in the moment but I don't always succeed.

I am trying.

Always trying.

A breath of air

We went looking for the snow yesterday.

It's all over Britain but there isn't any near our town so we drove up on to the high moors.
Any excuse.
We love Dartmoor
in all it's moods.

Expecting peace and quiet away from the utter insanity of christmas consumerism
and grumpy traffic jams;
we found people everywhere enjoying what was left of the snow.

How nice to see families using the holiday time to do what holidays are for:
being with family.
Not for shopping, excess and extravagance.

Today it's raining in our town and snowing heavily up there but we can't get at it because the roads in between are icy.

Some roads we decided to leave alone.

We turned and found a rainbow in the road.

We are going to catch one of them one of these days.

Yesterday I felt quiet, I felt the need to lean on a strong shoulder.

Ray went in disguise.
Goodness, I do look pale and worn out.
Almost threadbare.
I look like someone else.
Maybe I am in disguise too.
Insomnia of the tossing and turning type really doesn't help.

Having love written in the snow for me helps.

Writing George's name helps.



The beauty of the landscape around us helps.

Walking to the top of a hill helps.

Breathing fresh air helps.

Breathing helps.

Travelog

On friday morning Ray decided not to work. We put a few things into a suitcase and drove 140 miles into the wide open spaces of Cornwall. It was good to get away.













We found some peace and space, filed down a few rough edges, looked out on big skies and long beaches, tried to photograph crashing waves and dramatic scenery and had fun.


Until our car started not wanting to work and flashing warning lights at us so we decided to come home saturday evening instead of sunday afternoon. We drove home our normal Dartmoor way and stopped in a country lane. In the pitch black. We looked up and gasped. The Milky Way, shining so brightly, stretched out across the sky. It was magical. And then I saw a shooting star. Oh yeah, and then we had a snog.*




*kiiiisssss