Nine Years

                                                      Nine years ago this afternoon

                                                      You were putting the kettle on.

                                                      Making a cup of tea.

                                                      Answering e-mails.

                                                      The future still imagined.

                                                      If I knocked on your door

                                                      I would see you again,

                                                      Walking along the hall to open it.

                                                      So ordinary.

                                                      Still here.

                                                        The sea holds a part of you

                                                        So it’s where I come,

                                                        And write your name in the sand

                                                        With shells, and as I finish,

                                                        The top of ‘P’ has walked away!

                                                        I realise your name will be dispersed

                                                        By tiny legs even before the waves

                                                        Can take you, and it’s like the beach

                                                        Is coming alive, to make us laugh.

                                                        Everything is absurd.

                                                        Afternoon grows into evening

                                                        Small bodies wriggle between

                                                        the shells of their ancestors

                                                        Waiting for the tide

                                                        To take them home. 

                                                        And you would be there 

                                                        Swivelling in your chair

                                                        In front of the computer.

                                                        If I rang your phone now

                                                        There is still time

                                                        For you to answer.

    

Eight Years

Four years ago I made a little film to get through the difficult February days that still felt so raw. 

It totally absorbed me and helped a lot:

For My Brother

Now another four years have passed! Another February 19th and 20th shuddering across the rift in the fabric of our personal universe.

As always I walk along the beach, empty my thoughts into the waves, listen to them breaking on the stones. 

These words have been in my mind today, found recently on a card designed by artist Freya Ete.

Freya Ete

 

I tell myself a story, how there was a benevolent tide that night, soothing and comforting. 

Gathering you safely away from the clutches of the demons you fought with. 

Not so much bracing, as embracing. 

Not so much drowning you, as drowning your sorrows.

Gathering the beauty of you.

Gathering with kindness, 

gathering into the warm shining arms of family 

who had passed before, gathering you home. 

I tell myself a story, how you were in the company of the stars above you, guiding and reassuring.

Lighting your way with such a welcoming glow you could never be lost again.

Not so much alone in the dark, as igniting your own spark.

Not so much dying, as flying, high and free.

Knowing the beauty of you.

Knowing how much you were loved,

how love will always be gathered in the folds of the hearts 

you left behind on the shore, keeping you safe.

'All the most beautiful things are gathered by the tide'

 0

Not-Back-To-School again

The start of the new Not-Back-To-School year is always a time to take stock of where we've come to.

Having been home-educated his whole life, my 15yr old teen has never experienced the September thrill of standing at the front door for a photo in his new uniform. So with a pang of guilt this morning for what he's missed out on, I did consider sneaking into his room at about 11am to get a proud mummy moment pic of him wrapped up sleeping in his relatively recently laundered duvet. But then the moment seemed too sacred to disturb ;)

It's two years since I wrote a lengthy piece on not going back to school. I re-read it this morning and saw that this was written just one month before his father unexpectedly left and our entire personal and educational life changed and I can now confirm the truth of that old Philip Larkin quote 'They fuck you up, your mum and dad'. Which is a challenging truth to face in relation to yourself and all the expectations and intentions that you wanted and dreamed of providing for your child.

Home educating as a single parent has not been easy. But it is still my son's choice. And I am still committed to an educational philosophy and practice that is about consent; that honours individual choice and freedom; that trusts a person to learn what has meaning and value for them without coercion. A practice which trusts that even when things go wrong and at times when the ground appears frozen, infertile and broken, the most unexpected seedlings can emerge to surprise you, in places no one could have mapped out, and in ways no one else could have imagined, much less prescribed.

I don't believe in compulsory curriculums but if I had to create one, it would include a lot about RESILIENCE when the world, or somebody, or yourself and your own demons, tries to break you. It would be about trusting in those diehard seedlings that will spring up out of the asphalt to amaze and inspire you, make you smile and take you on a whole new adventure of growth and opportunity. Sometimes schools or elsewhere can teach this better than some children's home lives can (and it goes without saying that there are some awesome and inspiring, if tired and frustrated, teachers) but facilitating learning in a voluntary, cooperative and individually tailored way without a focus on grades and exams, requires a huge shift in the State approach to education.

So we're still here, being pretty damn resilient in most cases, and looking back, we've done quite a big mix of stuff but a couple of things that have been a particularly big part of life over the past year (which I have slightly complicated feelings about) are:

* unrestricted 'screen time' (although I am not allowed to use the generic term of 'screen time' as he points out that it derogatively lumps together a hugely diverse range of activities, media, tutorials, films, game playing, game development, coding, communication with friends, digital art, music etc).

* virtual reality - possibly the most potent escape and distraction from your own life that there can be without chemicals, whilst you're still sitting in your own bedroom (though personally I prefer a good book!). So we've climbed Everest and been in space and under the earth in caves, but my favourite was sat in a jazz bar with Vincent Van Gogh looking out at a starry sky...

I'm guessing that the following year will be more of the same, the ups and downs, the planned and the unexpected, the moving on towards adulthood whatever that means (I'm still trying to figure out what that one's about).

And as for a new 'school' year pic - well my son doesn't want one, so here's a pic I took at a home ed camp last year of a cute beetle going about her day just doing her own thing, which is sometimes the most excellent achievement of all.

Calais Visit 3

Since I got back from Calais I’ve been noticing clothes a lot more. I realise that after just a few days my mind has become fairly acutely attuned to categorising things in terms of ‘suitable’ and ‘unsuitable’. That is, suitable or unsuitable for protection in a refugee camp, in Winter. The distinction between the two, representing much more than a piece of clothing. The ‘yes’ and ‘no’ piles representing a distinction between on the one side - entitlement; privilege; resources; choices... Whilst on the other side – survival. Mostly that – survival, and the retaining of human dignity.

Last night at work back in the UK (welcoming people coming to the Panto) I noticed the men wearing thin clean white jumpers (there were quite a few) and suddenly the ‘unsuitable’ label pops into my mind shining a light on the simple privilege I wouldn’t have considered before Calais. Thin white jumpers which assume heating and clothes-washing facilities and a frequent change of clothes. Jumpers which in Calais would have been thrown firmly on the ‘no’ pile.

I notice people wearing shoes – that is, any kind of footwear that is not a trainer (suitable for running to jump on lorries/trains) or wellies/hiking boots (suitable for walking on muddy, flooded, bumpy ground). ‘Unsuitable’ shoes which assume the privilege of having solid even floors and pavements to walk on. Footwear which does not require the judgement of being more or less likely to give you trench foot...

Fellow volunteers – when I close my eyes I’m still searching the waist sizes of jeans! And taping boxes...

And seeing so many faces – the faces of the people who stood in the long line to take the toiletry packs we handed them from the back of the van. I am remembering all their faces – the smiles, the laughing ‘hello’s’ and ‘thank you’s’, the faces with pain in them, the downcast eyes, the joking, the disappointed faces, the hopeful and the resigned. The bald man taking the shampoo and catching my questioning expression - ‘yes, yes, I need’ as he rubs his head laughing. Laughing together.

I see the faces of the two young men from Afghanistan and hear their voices telling us about arriving on the boat in Greece, how scary it was, and about how they felt so touched by the kindness of people welcoming them ashore with cups of tea and biscuits, how they would never forget it.

I see the woman and young boy carrying a crate of bananas between them. There must have been a fruit distribution. Suddenly there are lots of people holding apples and bananas. A man who sees me tying bin bags around the fence where a rubbish point is, offers his banana. The generosity of people is so incredibly humbling.

I see the faces of the boys walking alongside our car drawing hearts in the raindrops running down our windows.

I smile seeing the little girl who is laughing and laughing, and sticking her tongue out at these funny people who have turned up in her field and are doing such a silly dance ‘Oh the hokey cokey...’ and insisting on sharing her smarties with us.

I see the woman’s face as she steps out from between the tents and we smile at each other and she is nodding her head to me, and it feels like between both of us there is a big longing unspoken welcome. I have never realised until that moment, how deeply it feels a smile, merely a genuine smile, can connect hearts through untold boundaries and differences. I can still feel her smile in my heart.

Our team – dropping donations; building shelters; repairing homes; working in the medic caravan; teaching English in the library; making up and distributing food parcels; sorting shoes; making up and distributing clothing and toiletry packs; joining a peaceful protest organised by refugees about the boy killed on the road and demanding to be treated as human beings; talking to people... Just four days of helping where we could, which is such a tiny drop in the ocean of support and change that is so desperately needed. It feels so inadequate, because it is. But if you are able to go, for whatever amount of time, please go. It will make a difference and sometimes the difference that it will make could be immeasurable. And there are amazing volunteers there who would really appreciate some help https://www.facebook.com/care4calais/

One time when we were working in the warehouse, the dance track that was playing had the words ‘to understand is to transform’. It stuck in my mind. By participating in the work here, by meeting the people, we gain an understanding that no amount of media can give, and it is transforming. How much this has the power to transform the appalling and shocking injustice and harm taking place at Calais and to refugees around the world, is yet to be seen. But the old adage is clear – we can’t wait for our ‘leaders’ to do the right thing, we need to be the change we wish to see. And keep on moving towards understanding.

Calais Visit 2

Our first stop was at the L’auberge des migrants warehouse where we spent a couple of hours stocking up vans for the convoy we were joining for the afternoon’s distribution. We combined our blankets, sleeping bags and tents with those of others so that each van only contained one type of item for a more efficient and quick distribution once at the jungle. Other items were put in their relevant categories in the warehouse where we joined other volunteers sorting through the mountain of clothes.

Donations at L'Auberge des Migrants

More donations were arriving all the time and lots more people are desperately needed to help with sorting through it all, so that it’s possible to get it where it’s needed in the camp. If anyone’s got any days to spare- the warehouse needs you! I filled my empty car with items not required, to bring them back home instead of adding to the growing disposal issue in the warehouse. An enormous truckload of pallets turned up which was brilliant as shelter-building is the big thing in Calais over the next couple of months. The pallets are making great floors for the new structures which are rapidly going up each day in the camp.

Once in the camp the vans were opened one at a time or far enough away from each other so as to keep things as calm as possible. People formed the familiar lines behind the vans and if not helping with the actual distribution procedure we took the opportunity to chat a bit with people who were waiting. I was struck by how much joking, laughter and smiles were shared with us, the ability of people to keep such a strong sense of humour under the harsh and awful conditions they are surviving in. Others talked of their journeys or their families elsewhere. It’s hard to hold back the tears. The man who wanted to show us his phone video of his children left behind in Syria, film of them laughing and in his arms, “I miss them so much”. Saying he hadn’t been able to speak to them for a week now and had heard there had been a bomb just a couple of houses away. He had felt the journey could be more dangerous for them so he left first to try and secure a safe home in the UK which he could bring them to. How hard to weigh up the least dangerous decision of only inherently dangerous options.

Another thing which was striking over our visit was the generosity of people. People wanting to share their small amount of food or make us tea, serve us a meal, offer a chair to sit on... So many greetings “Hello, how are you?”and shaking of hands. Constantly feeling humbled by the people we meet.

We dropped several boxes of tools, diy stuff, tarps etc to the builder’s corner which is a constant hive of activity, hammering and sawing, putting the frames together for the ‘houses’ which are replacing the inadequate tents for the growing numbers of families, women and children coming to the camp. I was told an estimate of about 200 more people are arriving each day. I met several people just arriving while I was there, looking a bit bewildered, tired or asking where they could find medical care. There is nowhere near enough medical care for all those who need it. The shelters are based on priority need, families with children, so for now, many are turned away when approaching for wood or ‘houses’. This is where I decided to plant a large amount of my donation cash as it feels like this is the most urgent need at the moment with colder weather, rain and Winter coming.

In this field, we also arrived while a great community atmosphere was being expressed through Kurdish music and dancing, which we clapped along or joined in with. The resilience of spirit again which is so evident here! 

http://rudaw.net/NewsDetails.aspx?pageid=162706

The amazing smile of the pregnant woman I talked with, pointing to her belly and saying “nine month”, about to give birth living in her tent here with the life-threatening level of hygiene issues within the camp – how could anyone find this situation acceptable and not entirely shameful of our governments?

When I went back to the car for some more tools, two small girls were playing, running hand in hand laughing through the grass amongst  the butterflies...The shining beauty of these young lives held captive and placed in danger here by our Government’s cruel border policies.

As we drove back to the tunnel we passed groups of men on the long walk to risk their lives again in the nightly attempt to cross to the UK, and wished so deeply that we could assist them safely to a new life in safety. 

Calais Visit 1

I just returned from visiting the refugee camp at Calais and have been asked by several people to tell how it all went and I feel strangely stuck - I think because of the enormity that it touches on, and the immensity of feeling that arises from directly looking into the eyes of someone asking you with such desperation for a blanket, or for shoes and knowing your country's politicians and media are doing their best to erase their humanity. And because the words - sorry I have no more shoes, sorry there are no more blankets left - make me feel ashamed and make my heart hurt.

The first person to approach me was an elderly man who was pointing through the car window, asking quietly for a blanket. And for trousers. I wanted him to wait so that I could get him a blanket and trousers. He was saying 'I came from Pakistan' and was starting to say more, but there were a lot of people gathering and I lost him before I opened the car, distracted by police threatening to pepper spray people. I don't know why the police turned up threatening to spray people. I wondered if it is partly to put people off from bringing aid. I have heard his voice and seen his face in my mind all day today. I really hope he gets a blanket from someone else soon.

Other faces and voices are still being processed in my mind.

Sister, why did you not give me a jacket?

Because you were not in the line, I'm sorry.

But I waited for an hour.

I'm sorry.

Look at my feet, I have no shoes. Please you have shoes?

Lots of people showed me their feet in their split shoes or their flip-flops.

Sorry - I will bring more shoes next time.

Please a blanket, I am cold. Very cold at night, I cannot sleep.

There are no blankets left, I am sorry.

Shoes, please. There are no shoes left.

I took no photo's. I would have liked to, but each time I thought to reach for my phone, it didn't feel appropriate. French TV crew turned up and continued to film despite being asked to stop. A person's dignity. A person's consent. Concepts for the media to reflect upon.

As we were about to leave, a young boy, maybe 8 or 9, came to the car. The car was empty now except for a bag of pots of party bubbles I had brought in case I met any children. I pass him the bag and when he looks inside his face turns into a big excited open-mouthed smile. That moment. I don't know anything about him or what difficulties he had journeyed through to end up living in the appalling conditions of this refugee camp but even if I had brought nothing else that day, it was worth it to see that boy's smile and to bring him some moments of bubble fun.

Despite my car not being a van I had managed to pack in what had been almost a whole roomful of stuff that had been collected in my house, leaving out only a couple of bagfuls. Compared to the need, it felt next to nothing, but when I started to feel deflated by how minimal our contribution, I was reminded that it was not nothing...  Thank you Hayley...Tonight some people will sleep in a tent or under duvets or in sleeping bags that they didn't have before. Some people will be wearing warmer clothes, wearing shoes on their feet, brushing their teeth, eating organic beans... Someone will be playing swingball and some kids will be blowing bubbles.

It's a tiny sticking plaster that leaves me feeling sickened, sad and angry at our politicians lack of humanity, but nourished by the goodness of people who are taking some responsibility into their own hands, however small, and refusing to buy into a narrative that is becoming more cruel, and more wrong each day.

Early Evening On Milton Common

Apple blossom and May flowers.
A fox sat still in the evening sun staring.

Buttercups and boats sailing.

Something about the clouds... and childhood.  Mine.

Laying in the summer grass near a round wood.

And my mum, knowing the names of everything.

Clouds, birds, flowers...

Enough blue sky to make sailors trousers forever.

Or so I thought.

Somewhere tonight my Dad is walking amongst bluebells

and I was too busy to go with him.

Everyone I pass is hand in hand

and the birds are flying together, home.

Mind insistently settles on everything that has gone wrong.

...When a little dog tears through my thoughts

Scattering them into a million fragments of now
each one exclaiming Look! We are alive! Catch me!
This here is all there is
And all there ever was...

It’s enough.

Beltane Blessings!

So, Beltane, a day of freely frolicking about in the woods with my love and an evening of wild dancing around the flames under the open sky...?

Actually today was passing just like most others over the last six months, in a mad rush of no time and lots of stress and seemingly endless pressure to stretch time and energy over many competing elements, and coping with the continued fallout of sadly very estranged relations with ex-love... when I decided to stop.

Just for five minutes. Stop. And count my blessings.

Five minutes to give thankful thoughts to the people who keep love alive in my life, and help me to sustain a passion for life, because that's what Beltane's about. So... my most passionate Beltane thank you to some very amazing people who I can't actually imagine my life without.

Here's four of them, when I managed to squeeze in a quick walk to some bluebell woods earlier this week inbetween the madness :

And this picture represents the richness and sweetness and lightly whipped melt in the mouth deliciousness of good friends and their ability to lift the spirit! I collected a parcel from the post office today (smelt the sweet hawthorn blossoms as I whizzed past on my bike!) which contained a beautiful box of these finely crafted homemade vegan meringues, and me and my son had the pleasure of a lovely unexpected mid-afternoon Beltane feast!

Thank you to amazing friends (and brilliant cousins) who have been there on the phone or through the post, or in their kitchens pouring tea (if I ever got time to call on them!), and being an astounding help with childcare or dog care, to help me through what is one of the most difficult times ever for me and my boy. My heart swells in a blossom-filled ocean of love to you - Beltane blessings! xxx

A New Year's Day Exposure

I guess I might wake up in the morning and decide this post is self-indulgent navel-gazing which should have been kept for a private journal, but all the same it's been fairly therapeutic to work through. And I would like to encourage the people who are struggling with life's challenges that they don't need to hide behind the 'Happy New Year'  or 'Happy Whatever It Is' obligations in silence, because actually not everyone's happy all the time and it's good to share some of the madness and get it out so that it's less likely to kill you.

I had a cosy New Year's Eve tucked up on the sofa with a blanket and my dog at my parent's house.  Mugs of tea followed by a little of the whiskey from the bottle my brother gave me many years ago which I only ever drink on New Year's Eve so that it can last forever. My final Christmas chocolates, a lit candle, and a creepy film with my mum and dad. Wonderfully comforting.

Checked Twitter for updates on what my son was doing - nothing directly from him but the group that he is with in Scotland were reassuring in their tweets about a 'rip-roaring ceilidh' and a 'magnificent feast'.

Then today.

New Year's Day and on the way home, alone with my dog, we went for a walk. And I suddenly saw a part of myself in the landscape I faced. 

The kind of empty, bleak and abandoned part.

A long way away from the motivated, grateful and nourished part.

And when I got home it rushed in, like a hungry sea. The grief I've been holding down so that I can be strong for my son, for my dog, for my parents, for myself.

The grief for the relationship I haven't been able to save - 19 years of memories and shattered expectations of how it was going to be, of how it should be able to be healed. And I can't heal it.

The grief for the secure and happy family I've failed to provide for my son.

Grief for the brother or sister he never had.

Grief for all his pain that I cannot protect him from.

Grief for the partnership that I have lost.

And so I fell right down a deep pit of bleak, empty, abandoned self-hating despair, coloured with all the other self-hating griefs of the years. Of not being a good enough sister to save my brother. Of not being a good enough friend. Of not being a good enough dog guardian. Of not being a good enough daughter. Of not being a good enough lover. Of not being a good enough mother. Hate, hate, hate. The pit of generally feeling pretty crap about everything. Hideous negativity which I'm actually not very used to dealing with, as I'm usually too busy, and I generally do pretty damn well at being 'fine'. The sort of sadness which feels like it's sucking all the air out.

Not a nice place.

Then something happened and I remembered I'm a witch. Really not a very good enough witch of course, but even so, just the word is alchemy. It means I can choose to work with the powers of nature and life to create change, to transform, to survive the fire.

And I began to stoke the fires within. To remember what ignites me, what feeds my passion.

To remember that despite all my hated perceived failings, I am earth that supports, earth that has been walked on by the sacred feet of all I have loved, their footprints always in my heart. Earth that is powerfully strong and regenerates, however much it has been harmed. That I am fertile soil which any day now I can plant with the seeds which I wish to germinate within myself, and that Spring is coming soon to aid my growth.

To remember that I have tides always flowing within me, lifeblood in rivers of hope with every heartbeat. Oceans of emotions that means I feel and contain despair and joy and all the wild horses inbetween. I am waters which enable me to flow in and out of creativity, in and out of the story I am imagining, giving myself permission to be the ebbing as much as the flowing. I remember something my son said when he was four about having an ocean of joy inside him. I can find that ocean, and do my best to help him find it again.

To remember that I am air. My life is breath moving through my lungs that I guess has been circulating around this planet for billions of years. Air that is shared and connecting me with everyone. We are all this breeze, this change in the weather. I am winds which are blowing in from the East, purifying, bringing fresh beginnings and a clearer dawn light.

I breathe in. I breathe out. And at last there is some respite from this storm and I am grateful, I am nourished, I am motivated... enough.

Enough to meet my boy from the train tomorrow, to be the solid earth to support him always.

Enough to begin rebuilding my path, weeds and cracks and stones and all, my own way.

Enough to remember how it's all held together with love, all of it.

So I ended the day with kindness, with a climb out of that awful pit, and a doodle of some of the places I find comfort. Just to remind me.

I checked Twitter one last time before bed, for any news of my boy:

"Everyone is relaxing in the library and the fire is roaring".

New Year Blessings to all. xxx

Not Back To School!

My son's never been to school so this is his 9th year of not going back to school in September (supposing he would have started when he was 4).

I can't believe how quickly those years have gone by, and I still feel I'm transitioning from home educating a little kid to home educating a teen, with all the losses and gains which that encompasses.

I've been thinking about the whole non-school life we've led and yesterday, I came across some notes I scribbled down 9 yrs ago, when he would have been starting his first day of school in 2005. On that day, I'd organised a 'Not the first day of school' event at my house for all the other little kids we knew who were also not beginning school. We made a big brick wall in card in our living room and all the kids could graffiti on it and express how they were not just another brick...and it was generally a big day of play. I have very fond memories of that day and others like it which we've had over the years.

2005

2005

Here are the notes I wrote down on that day:

J laid in till 9am, I had a cup of tea, sat on his bed while he told me about his dream - playing with a load of kids at The Mother camp. We took lots of time - unhurried - precious space to talk about dreams and wake up gently...

Made juice. Made a flying fish for our 'school'. Made a brick wall poster. People arrived at 11am. Kids breastfed, played with toys, drew on wall, ate beans on toast, ran in the park, ate muffins and vanilla soya dessert, talked and laughed... 

Free play, free time celebrated, no timetable, no prescribed learning, no uniform... 

Remembering that day makes me smile and feel grateful for the choice we made to home educate and that we live in a country where we have a legal right to home educate (even though there are sporadic attempts to undermine or attack that right, which we need to be ever-vigilant about).

But remembering that day also makes me a little sad. Remembering how it was all ahead of us - a childhood, the ways we would be parents - all the idealism, possibilities, intentions...

It's quite easy to look back and see how we compromised sometimes, or let some unhelpful parental patterns slip in, or let outside pressures and judgements influence us so that we sometimes lost touch with those deep ideals. Or just let days slip past too fast without our full awareness within them.

Meaning sometimes we've shouted or criticised or not taken seriously or imposed.

Meaning sometimes we've had days of autonomy, sometimes we've had days which featured having to do maths...

Meaning our son has learnt that we're just another human variety of imperfect and that he'll undoubtedly be able to agree with the rest of the population that 'parents screw you up' but hopefully in his case, not too badly.

Sometimes I want to go back and start again and be better. Other times I'm more compassionate to ourselves and think actually we've cobbled through alright, under sometimes very difficult personal circumstances. It's easy to forget all the stuff you've done right, especially as having a hugely different attitude towards the education and treatment of children in this society than most of the population can quite often feel like swimming against the tide. Less so now, since so many more people are choosing to home educate and respond more assertively to their children's unhappiness in school (if it arises).

We've never had timetables (though we've made plans). Interestingly this September, I actually felt like I needed to make a weekly timetable! Purely for my benefit really, and one that is open to being changed as the day or the week progresses. And parts of it will be wildly different each week due to different events popping up and monthly groups etc. But I felt like I needed that skeleton of a structure to hang the passing of time on to, and make me feel more organised. And almost at the end of week one it's working! I do actually feel like I know a bit more where our time goes and what it's made of.

Here's a peek at our timetable this week (click to enlarge):

It's not really accurate for what we actually did because most of the 'animation' and 'comic' gave way to more game-making this week, with bits of guitar thrown in. And it fails to mention Minecraft and Skype and me going upstairs to make him stretch occasionally, or persuade him to come out on his skateboard round the park with me and the dog. Talking of the dog, it also makes it look like she had only one walk in the whole week! The 'Kitchen Chemistry' is an online course we signed on to months ago and have only just got around to doing. There wasn't much enthusiasm until the lesson turned out to be apparently learning different ways to set fire to your house using familiar household objects like toasters and tea-bags. Fortunately such a crisis was averted but we've definitely been reminded that hot air rises!

A timetable, though fulfilling some strange structural need I have at the moment, reminds me how much 'education' falls outside of any such timetable. It doesn't include the sudden phone interview for a local newspaper. Or unexpected late-night book reading. Or the maths involved in working out how much money you still need before you can buy the Occulus Rift. Or the impromptu local history lesson while eating our picnic in the harbour. Or the conversation about substance abuse and alcoholism because it's affecting our experience of walking through the park. Or...

No timetable can contain even a fraction of our learning, but sometimes it can just help provide a bit of focus if we need it sometimes.

So it's exciting! We move onwards into another autumn, another year completely outside the system of school rules and uniforms, delving deeper into what interests and motivates and inspires his passion, however far those things are from my own interests, passions and expectations. A year of further loosening my hold on such expectations, deepening my acceptance that everything changes, and of celebrating and supporting the educational paths of our son, wherever he leads us.

 

 

Tree Lines

Installed the Hipstamatic app on my phone and played around for an hour or so... Was fascinated by the intricate lace and lines of the leafless trees against the sky.

The waxing moon was risen high by mid afternoon but has been visible most of the day. Willow trees always look so graceful, a great body dancing.

 

I like the contrast of the black trees and white sky but as the sky was changing with the beautiful colours of sunset, I also shot this one in colour too.

 

As the sun sank the light began fading fast but the hedge of small blossom trees were filled with bright white petals.

 



 

This tree stands totally proud of itself, beautiful, self-contained, commanding the entire street from where I was looking!





 





 





 

 

 

For Paul xxx

 

                                              A walk along the beach, company of gulls and crows,
                                              waves crashing after winds, strong ebbs and flows.
                                              Sea sucking pebbles fast away from my hand
                                              as I collect bright stones to write your name on the sand.

                                            People told me you liked walking the shoreline here,
                                            I walk for an hour, imagining you, turn back at the pier.
                                            Wishing we could meet now and wipe the years clean,
                                            make the horror of you leaving, to never have been.

 

 

 

                                           A painted row of beach huts, such a pretty postcard view,
                                           yet they look out on the tide that carried in the mystery of you.
                                           This sacred beach is full of beauty, love fills every shell,
                                           each stone a heart which beats remembrance of you, be well.

 

I don't know how it's been five years! Your little seven year old nephew is now nearly a teenager. He can play your guitar, he can write html, hack into my accounts and I reckon he could almost better you in the computer geek stakes! In case you don't know, his favourite song at the moment is 'The World Spins Madly On' and he's been playing guitar and singing it all day. It's been spinning in my head as I've been thinking of you, so here it is in our favourite music video made of it - an awesome drawn animation of over 20,000 frames. It's very sad so it's fitting for tonight.



I think of you and where you've gone and the world spins madly on.

You left way too soon and we will never stop missing you.