My Pocket

And so I travel...

I found a book on the British poet Edward Thomas in the library and these words spoke to me. He was depressed and found that really the only thing that uplifted him was taking walks in the countryside. He was a restless soul too and moved around a lot, but for some years he lived close to where we live now and went walking close to where I go on my wanderings. I too find myself most at peace when walking and somehow it's touching to know somebody similar to yourself walked where you walk and thought like you think, but a hundred years ago.

I don't know how I will ever be able to move away from here. These wooded lanes are home to me, I never grow tired of the view. It's like walking in a green tunnel, protected at all sides by leaves, branches and trunks. It's silent apart from the occasional acorn falling, a squirrel streaming from branch to branch, the buzzard and her children calling in the sky and mice scurrying off under the leaves. The rhythm of my feet, the play of sunshine on the lane and the breeze above take me into a place where life is just right.

on the porch

rituals

Hello there! This is my 99th post and I originally thought I would reorganise my blog for the 100th, but hey, I don't normally do the done thing so why start now... :b I'm fond of giving presents far away from birthdays and christmas, cooking special suppers without an occasion and telling people how much I like them on the most ordinary days. That's when you need it the most, I figure.

I do respect the value of traditions and rituals, but I would like to find out for myself when and why I want to have mine. When during my year do I need a ritual to mark the occasion when I leave one phase for the next?

I think - one when I hear the first blackbird sing in spring that makes my heart flutter, one for the first day I can walk barefoot and I feel the warmth that is to come, one for the day the first fresh autumn breeze comes and I think of knitted sweaters, one for the first blustery rain that makes the leaves fall and cover the ground and I go to find a good storybook, one for the first frost to whiten the grass in the morning and I pull on my mittens, one for the day I put up my December star light in the window and think with fondness of my mum and one for the first dry day when the streets go dusty and I find seedlings under the leaves. Hmm, I'll definitely need one or two in the winter for no reason whatsoever as January to March is looking rather empty... Lucky thing I've got my birthday in mid-February! I don't exclude common traditions you see, I just add to them. :)

Or rather, I haven't so much yet apart from in my head, I'd just like to try. As long as one doesn't get so attached to the traditions that they become institutions with compulsory shopping and over-eating I think they could make life richer and closer. What you consciously welcome, acknowledge, give thanks for, appreciate and let go can give meaning, structure and acceptance to life. I'm not saying this should bring pressures to do more, I just mean acknowledging where you are - in the muddle where time is slipping away fast, you're not sure what you're doing and so many things are left to do. Just a moment of thanks when you're hanging the laundry, looking out the window or walking home from the shop. That's what I intend to do anyway. Goodbye dry leaves and fresh breezes, hello rainy roads and warm jackets.

As for this pocket of mine - it will go through some more changes soon I think, but this will do for now. I have wanted to change that blog header for so long now. It was only ever meant to be a transitory one until I came up with something better. I would like to change some other things already now though - one being responding to the lovely comments you people give, which I don't always do, and the other being commenting on other people's blogs, which is something I balk at - too shy!

handmade for you

Ooh, I just signed up for something that is making me happy... Anne Marie at Life in Yonder invited three people to take part in a pay-it-forward exchange that she originally signed up for on Woollie Wanderings. This is what was said there and what I will do in turn for you:

"I will send a handmade gift to the first 3 people who leave a comment on my blog requesting to join this PIF exchange. I don’t know what that gift will be yet and you may not receive it tomorrow or next week… LOL… but you will receive it within 365 days, that is my promise! The only thing you have to do in return is pay it forward by making the same promise on your blog."

I would be delighted to make you something special and wrap it up, so if any of you are interested I will send something in the post for the first three to leave a comment. Signing up means you will do the same as me and have three people to send handmade things to.

What you need to do is paste the promise above into your blog and pay it forward. I like that idea :). I'm not sure what I will make yet and it will take me a little while but it makes me happy to think about!

coming home

It's so good to come home. Even if it's just from being away for two nights I always get childishly excited over it. I love going on the train every other week after college, absorbing all the travelling vibes of people and waiting for the station where Duncan will pick me up.

When I lived in Sweden and I'd come over to visit every couple of months for a week I would have that fluttery feeling inside for the whole journey and when the station was announced I'd be so excited my heart felt ready to burst. I still find myself delightfully happy on train stations, from all the memories of the times I've stepped off a train, searched the crowds on the platform for him and ran the last steps for that hug I'd been longing for. Anyway, what was I saying?

Oh yeah, coming home. I just thought about it last night when I was met by the smell of my own home opening the door. You know how you don't smell it when you're living there all the time and being away just for a little while you can sense it for a brief moment? I love smells. I go on small adventures with my nose every time I go to Reading (where my college is).

This weekend there was a stall on the Saturday open air market amongst all the vegetable, fruit and trinket stands where they were roasting something and the air filled with wafts of smoke. The leaves that have fallen give that dry, earthy scent and the fresh breeze somehow smells clean. People passing me in the street leave trails of perfume or eau de cologne, that clean laundry smell or this group of teenage boys who were eating jelly bears and smelled like raspberry flavour.

I passed a lady on my way back around 20.00 (I stay at a hotel on Friday and Saturday night), one of the many homeless folk in Reading. She was squatting on the sidewalk with her backpack and her blanket, cap drawn down over her face and looking down. I recognise most of them by now as I walk that way every other week and I like saying hello, in fact I find them far more refreshing than other people as they're more likely to look you in the eye and enjoy a chat. Besides, several of them have dogs to keep them company (and protect them, bless) and I can't pass by then, I love dogs. I know I shouldn't give money, but I do quite often anyway and I'll buy a copy of The Big Issue only to give it back to them to sell again.

This lady I hadn't seen before though, so after passing her by because I didn't have any change I turned back and offered her one of the peaches I had just bought. She said "I'd love to have one actually" and she had such a sweet face. Older than I had thought at first, worn and grey face, but that kind of bright, mischievous smile. I turned to go and was just about to turn the corner when I heard her shouting something, eventually realising it was meant for me.

"You know, it's just like in James and the Giant Peach! James and the Giant Peach. You know?" I said yeah, Roald Dahl, I loved that book! She was such a funny character ("I'm eccentric, but I'm harmless.") that it made my evening chatting just for a few minutes. I gave her another peach ("Now they can keep each other company in my bag! Are you ripe yet? No, are you?") and she described her favourite sandwich (a thin spread of marmite and a generous layer of peanut butter on thick wedges of bread) and that was about it.

I went to my hotel wondering where she calls home, but also thinking we were at home for a little while, meeting, laughing together and sharing. Both giving something. That's my definition of home I think. The most at home I ever feel is with D, wherever that is.

needling

I'm off to college again and thought I'd just tell you what I've been up to study-wise. (For any needle-squeamish people, it might be best to skim the next bit.) We've just begun needling our classmates and ourselves in the knee (in areas without proper points), just for practice. Until now we've only used a needle pod with a rubbery type of lid and now we're practicing the real thing. It's all becoming more real and I've been going through some major readjusting in my head to go to the next stage. I'm very much in my head I think and when it comes to the practical aspects and actually doing it, I balk a little. I'm very excited by the fact that I am actually going to become an acupuncturist, something that has been rather theoretical so far, but the step from dreaming about it and actually donning the shoes is a bit daunting. But we're becoming friends, me and the needles, and the things we'll be able to do...

mist and snow

Britain has been showing a very characteristic face of autumn these last couple of weeks with grey hazy skies and misty valleys. I love the muted colours and peaceful air that this weather brings and it's so green still.

I like winter in England so I suppose I am not your typical Swede. I love snow with its slow, magical floating down to earth on a dark afternoon, the excitement of suddenly seeing the first snowfall from the window, the soft silence that envelops everything and muffling even the sound of cars, the crisp, clean and bright white of a morning walk or making a snow lantern as the light fades and it's time to go in and thaw your mittens. I love all that and I go home every christmas to get that feeling as well as going skiing.

However, where I grew up this lasts far from forever as it's too mild by the sea for the whiteness to remain. A lot of the time you trudge through streets of grey mush, pass hard and dirty piles of snow and get your shoes soaked by the slush. That's why I prefer it here, where it's mild, drier and greener. The ivy on the trees even gives you a feeling of still having green foliage in the woods.

We do have a sprinkling every now and then however, and I'll be one of the first to catch snowflakes on my tongue. D is the one to run around rolling snowmen though, since after all, being Swedish I can't show myself to get that excited over something as ordinary as snow. :)

Most of the time it looks like this however.

And I like that just as much.