When our beautiful Austrian pine had put on yet another growth spurt, it left some of its lower branches depleted. Once they were dry and clearly dead, it was time to do some pruning. This is a task for my husband, since it requires strength and skill with shears.
Austrian pine – haven for birds and wildlife Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Branching out
Initially, we planned on using the wood to fuel our chimenea, but then my husband had a better idea. The branches were a couple of inches thick with attractive rings and just the perfect size for tree ornaments. So he went to work, sawing disks of equal size, drilling holes for ribbon and varnishing them for protection.
Man at work Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Crafting together
My husband loves a family activity and so do I – so we gathered our materials and dragged poor Mariia into the event. It was a rather dreary afternoon, so what better way to lift our spirits than in creating Christmas ornaments?
Acrylic pens seemed like the best options, so I gathered up our supplies from the craft room plus some paper to practise designs.
Everything needed to complete the task Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Having multiple people decorating meant we had varied motifs. In an hour or so, we were finished and had a rather lovely array of ornaments. They are not perfect, clearly, but good enough to send to family in the States and to give out to our Ukrainian guests at Thanksgiving: a little memento made with love.
Something for everyone Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat
Most of our ornaments were generic Christmas themes, but one or two, we made with a specific individual in mind. For Mariia, I made a peace in Ukraine one, which seemed fitting to the season.
In hopes of peace Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Tree preservation
Shorn of its dead branches and given a little more light and room to breathe, I hope that our beautiful pine will continue to flourish. And the branches we removed will live again on the Christmas tree and travel full circle – nothing wasted and everything gained.
On Monday, my very ancient phone began behaving as one possessed: randomly phoning people, bringing up screens and threatening to delete data until I was able to switch it off. It had been a trusty friend for many years, but it was time for a replacement.
The screen cracked from side to side Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
My phone was second hand when I acquired it and since I have an alarming propensity for dropping and forgetting where I left it; an old, battered phone suited me fine. My husband, however, very generously suggested that I got a new one with an industrial case for protection. I confess I was tempted and succumbed – the chance of a first rate camera clinched the deal. I love my new toy, but though I value the convenience and amazing features of a smartphone, they also give me pause.
Time suckers
With the typical Brit spending an average of 4.25 hours per day (and with the majority of that scrolling), mobiles are stealing half our non-working hours. (Selfcatering.co.uk) For many more, the time is greater than that and has all the hallmarks of addiction. There is even a name for it: nomophobia. Young people denied access to phones (even in the classroom) become stressed and lack the ability to control their time spent on-online. (https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-50593971 ) Much has been written about the corollary impacts on mental health, so I won’t repeat them here. But unchecked, mobile use is seriously worrisome.
Doom scrolling Image: Timi David on Unsplash
A phone’s primary purpose is to connect with others. However, I’m not sure this is always the case.
Only Connect?
For me, my mobile is a science fiction dream come true. I can video call friends and relations thousands of miles away; check data from a library that would make the one at Alexandria look provincial, and keep in touch with friends daily. It also allows me to take professional quality pictures, which only great care could be produced on a regular camera. (Remember F-stops and distance calculations?)
All good.
Walking with eyes on the phonenot the pavement Image: Daria Nepriakhina on Unsplash
But too often, I see mobiles used not to increase our connectivity but to reduce it. Mothers with buggies are glued to screens while their infants stare out to space. In restaurants, often a couple or members of an entire family are so enthralled by the images in front of them that they only look up to take a mouthful of food. And even at the celebrated Van Gogh exhibition in London, my friend told me, no one seemed to actually look at the paintings, but only used them as a backdrop for a selfie or a photograph.
Crowd looking at Mona Lisa Image: Victor Grigas on Wikki commons
I am as guilty as the next person of taking pictures of art I love, but what is so sad above the image above is that no-one is actually enjoying the masterpiece or any of those on the surrounding walls. Da Vinci’s iconic portrait has become a shorthand for culture – part of a travel check list for Paris to be posted and ‘liked’. Leonardo would be mortified by such philistines, though I suspect that the technology of smart phones would delight him.
Smart phones and the disabled
Here, as elsewhere, the device has proven to be a double-edged sword. Whilst these phones enable those with disabilities to communicate more easily, it may also be the very thing that prevents them from engaging with others.
Smart phones have all sorts of features that are a boon on so many levels: the visually impaired can magnify images and texts and listen to podcasts and stories; the hard of hearing can use the speakers at a higher volume or on speaker phone; those with physical restrictions on their hands can speak commands and texts. They allow those confined to their homes to engage with news from around the world.
Making life easier for those whose lives are difficult enough Image: Ben Kolde on UnsplashK
When allied with smart home devices, they allow users to ensure their homes are warm enough when they return to them, operate difficult to reach light switches and call for help in an emergency. All of these are brilliant.
Alas, despite their capacity to land a rocket on the moon, most phones are used for scrolling the Internet and messaging. And what’s the harm in that? you ask. Nothing in moderation, but being bombarded with images of beautiful people travelling, dancing and generally being very active is a little demoralising to those who cannot do those things. They are also set up to sell products, and as I have mentioned before, the disabled are almost invariably at a financial disadvantage. The phone can be the modern version of the torture of Tantalus – the flexible body and the tempting goods are so close on screen but impossible to grasp.
Disability brings its own mental health challenges. We hardly need to add to them.
Enjoying the show!
I became acutely aware of this issue on Wednesday when I was quite literally incapacitated by fatigue. My wonderful friend sent shots of her recent amateur dramatics’ event. She had spent long hours in rehearsals, danced and sung and generally had a brilliant time. At university, we had been nicknamed ‘the dynamic duo’ – now she is the dynamic uno! Whilst I rejoiced in her success, part of me was pained by my own limitations and frustrated by a body refusing to cooperate. I’m back to my normal now and out and about visiting friends. But not everyone is so lucky.
In addition, the fact that our phones can entertain us all day, every day, means that for those who find getting out the house difficult, it can become an excuse not to and life narrows accordingly.
Take a break
For 24 hours, I had no phone at all and found it surprisingly restful. There was no need to check it at regular intervals for messages. I had more time to write and create. I missed a little banter and a few hellos, but nothing vital.
Now I’m back online, I have to fight the desire to check out all my new options: garage band to make music is especially appealing and my camera looks awesome, but will have to wait.
The smartphone is an astonishing feat of technology, which can bring so much pleasure and connection. However, sometimes, we need to disconnect to get the human interaction we need most of all.
In the UK, after the pumpkins have been removed from the porch and the treats given away, we tidy up and thoughts turn to the next celebration – in our family’s case, Thanksgiving.
A trio of pumpkins. I think you can guess which one each of us carved . Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
But in much of the world, Halloween, or All Saints’ Eve, is a prelude to the main event. For this period, which commemorates the dead, can begin on 31st October and continue until 6 November with Remembrance Day observed on the 11th.
Samhain
I was surprised to discover that this predecessor to Halloween begins on the 31st October at sunset and continues until sunset the following day. In the Celtic calendar, it marked the end of harvest and the beginning of the lean months of winter. It also signals the new year. Old and useless items would be burned in great bonfires, in a ritual clearing of the old to make way for the new.
As a liminal time, when the veil between this world and the next was especially thin, the bonfires were also used to ward off evil spirits and the ghosts of one’s enemies. Knowing the general bad behaviour of my Scottish ancestors, I’m sure such a precaution was wise.
Yet, twined with this is the remembrance of those we love: welcoming them back with lights, and food and prayers. I chanced upon this blessing, whilst researching this post and thought it rather lovely.
Tonight is a night to call out those who came before.Tonight I honor my ancestors.Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you,and welcome you to join me for this night.
Celtic blessing, Irishcentral.com
All Saints’ Day
All Saints’ Day is a public holiday in much of Europe and an opportunity to pay a visit to a beloved who has died and to tidy graves and leave flowers. The ‘Saints’ in All Saints’ includes those in the religious calendar and those who have either died in faith or have brought others into the faith. It is wonderfully inclusive!
A Swedish graveyard lit by candles Image: Nikola Jonny Mirkovic on Unsplash
With the very short days of winter in Sweden, they have come up with the ingenious solution of lighting candles and leaving hardy flowers like heather at the grave site.
Dies des Muertos
In Mexico, elegant Scandi-chic is eschewed in favour of more vibrant and light-hearted celebrations. Each home creates a small shrine with flowers and food for the departed who is represented in a photograph.
Well remembered Image: By Eneas de Troya flickr.com
Not everyone will have such a lush display. My lovely daughter-in-law, who spent some time in Mexico, often makes a simple one with photos and candles to remember those they love and who have died.
Rather than a day of mourning, these days are seen as ones of celebration, with feasting, special foods, dancing and parades. Death is mocked rather than feared with crazy costumes and an abundance of colourfully painted skulls. The departed is remembered with joy. Amusing stories and events in which they were involved are recalled and retold. And I hope that after I have gone, people will remember be in the same way – in stories filled with laughter rather than in hushed, serious tones.
Dead glamorous Image: Geary Wikki
Because really, death is as much a part of life as birth is. We need not always refer to it in euphemism or avoid mentioning the deceased or shy away from honest discussions about how we would like our deaths to be managed.
In a world where anything goes, death alone remains taboo and as a consequence, the bereaved or the dying are left on the margins of society. Perhaps it is time to take advice from the vivacious Mexicans and to celebrate those we love even when they are taken from us and to greet life with exuberance, while we are privileged to enjoy it.
At last, I have found a word that expresses my particular obsession: with all things to do with paper and related products. In my case, these include pens, pencils, ink and art supplies – but paper is my first love.
In this digital age, such a passion seems at best quaint and at worst reactionary. Who needs a book when you can read a tablet? Who needs beautiful stationery when you can send an email? And as for entertaining yourself with paper, how could it compete with the endless variety of Instagram?
Who can resist cute stationery? Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Before casting me into the role of Luddite, I should let you know that I hugely value the convenience and sheer magnitude the cyber world. I’m writing this on my laptop, send endless emails, learn Italian on-line and like nothing better on a rainy afternoon than to indulge in endless YouTube videos showing you you how to make stuff. Because for me, the Internet is a valuable tool, but for beauty and inspiration, I like something more concrete.
Sending love
Despite the postal service doing its damnedest to put us off ever sending anything, (from which I preclude my darling postmen), most of us like nothing better than a letter or card sent in the mail. An actual letter will be read and read again and when I reply, I can remind myself to ask after developments in their news.
A card can be perched on the window sill and remind us that we are remembered and cared for, days or even weeks after the date of celebration. My mother’s mantelpiece and countertops are filled with greetings on her 90th birthday. One cannot feel lonely surrounded by such signs of affection.
A selection of cards Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Of course, I cannot resist the chance to make cards and where possible to match them to the recipient. And if anyone makes one for me, it will be cherished long after the wrapping paper has been recycled.
Paper meditations
Yes, you read that correctly! Papers can be used as a form of meditation. The attention required is likely to expel all other thoughts from your mind. Ideal for this is the Zen craft of origami. Since it requires no creative thinking, only a very intense attention to detail in following instructions, it is the very best way to filter out the chattering of the monkey brain.
An origami menagerie Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
There may be quite a lot of paper wasted, as you fold the wrong way or struggle with instructions. Just as in life, things don’t always go to plan, but in origami, we learn to keep on trying until we succeed. As an incentive, origami papers (especially the Japanese ones) are the most exquisite papers around with elegant designs in rich, opulent colours. Simply looking at them is a joy.
Paper play
I haven’t been very well these last few weeks and when not in bed have been on self-imposed house arrest to avoid spreading my germs. When awake enough, I have indulged in my latest paper fetish: junk journaling. I came across it on the Internet and suspect I have found my calling. Junk journaling (or scrappy crappy journaling as my husband refers to it) uses papers you have to hand, magazines and packaging to create exquisite journals with all sorts of interactive elements. It is no holds barred paper play and includes book binding and repurposing old books – in other words, heaven.
Extras for journals Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
My box contains some of the additional elements you can add to your journal pockets and spaces: a mini memory book, pretty envelopes, a wallet and posh pockets for ephemera. If you’d like to learn how to make these things, I’d recommend the expert from Treasure Books on YouTube. Tutorials are free and endlessly inspiring.
And when you get even more serious, you can start to make and bind your own books. Below are some of my early attempts: a cookery journal with staple binding; a travel journal with stitched binding and a triangle book I copied from one I had been given. This has a sort of concertina paper fold.
Practical papers
The best part of all of this is that you can make things to use or give as little gifts and favours and which cost nothing but time. It is completely bespoke, so my travel journal contains tickets and maps and sketches from our trip, as well, of course, as a written account of our travels.
I shan’t go into details, now, but perhaps I shall in future when I get a little more competent. I’ve also started getting seriously into repurposing books – watch this space.
Sensory fulfilment
Our senses are vital to our well-being. Jon Kabat-Zinn has just written a book about it, but what I know already is that if we deprive our full sensory self, we deprive our deepest self.
The digital world is primarily visual – but in a false, pixilated form. Convenient, but not conveying the rich intensity of a brush stroke. It can contain music and voice too – but again – no matter how good, it is disembodied. I doubt anyone who has gone to see a live performance would quibble that, in terms of satisfaction, the live show is far more satisfying than watching the video.
For me, creating with papers and colours fulfils the spectrum of my sensory needs. I love choosing hues that complement each other; papers textured with flowers or a thick grain; the smell of old books and new. Handling the paper, folding, cutting and shaping it, allows my hands to work in harmony with my material. The hush while I work is itself soothing.
Though paper is edible, I have not tried it!
A mini notebook made from scrap paper and an old calendar. Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
So before you throw that card or paper away into the recycling box, consider how it might be reincarnated into something new. Start with a card or a tiny note book and soon, I think you’ll find, that you are as addicted to paper as I am.
These last few weeks, my husband and I have been enjoying the Netflix production Kaos. With a star studded cast, lush settings and a fantastical storyline, it is the perfect way to wind down before bedtime.
Its premise is that the prophecy relating to Zeus predicts his downfall and he is trying to do everything to avoid it. I’m curious to see how it ends. Greek prophecies are seldom proved wrong, though they may be proved right in unexpected ways.
All of which has made me think of our own attempts to predict or harness the future. Despite our rational age, folks still flock to read their horoscopes, have their cards interpreted and their futures foretold.
Crystal ball Image: Zaeo on Unsplash
At a recent craft club, someone asked, ‘What would you do if you knew the date of your death? Would you want to know?’ In answer to the first part: probably cry. In answer to the second: definitely not!
Do you really want to know?
Because knowing brings its own raft of problems. Do we then act upon them by fulfilling all our bucket list or do we despair? And can we ever be sure that the prediction is correct in the first place?
In a moment when I thought I ought to be prepared for my future, I looked up when I could reasonably expect to be wheelchair bound. The answer was hard to find, but I eventually unearthed an Oxford study that gave honest answers. It suggested that between 61 and 66 years of age, 95% of all those diagnosed with MS could expect to be wheelchair bound. I’m 60.
My chair affords me a way to travel Image: Sarah Leaper-Meier
My first reaction was that I would be in the remaining lucky 5% – but I know that is just wishful thinking. My OMS life-style has kept me steady for far longer that I expected, but I suspect there are limits.
The question now is should I act upon that knowledge? Should I move again or book the builders to convert our house? Living with a wheelchair is far more complicated that it seems.
Knowing what I can expect in the next decade in relation to my condition has complicated rather than simplified things. The world is not geared to accommodate the disabled – anyone who has taken a child shopping in a pushchair realises that – but at least I am blessed with living in one of the most disabled-friendly countries on earth.
Fear versus hope
On one level, I am terrified. How will I cope with being utterly dependent on others? How will I live an even remotely normal life? But then, I remember the people I know who are also constrained and some far more so than me. Yet, they have made their lives beacons of kindness and consideration: one in her charity work and another becoming chair of the British Paralympics Committee. They have focused on their abilities rather than their physical challenges.
And although I have a fair idea of my future in medical terms, I have no idea how I will fare under the new circumstances. I would hardly say that the last decade was what I had hoped for, yet it has been filled with all sorts of adventures and unexpected joys.
After all, a prophecy only suggests what will happen to us, not how we will react. And the latter is the key to it all. We can rage against the gods who treat us ‘as flies to wanton boys’, or take whatever life brings and spin it into gold. The only prophecy that no-one can question is that life is finite. With that being the case, I suggest that we squeeze every ounce of juice out of it while we can and let the future bring what it may.
Last Saturday, I had my flu jab and I have been running through its variety pack of side-effects every since. But most of all, I’ve been sleeping.
After all the stress and excitement of the last few months, my body had had enough. Having ignored all the hints, it took matters into its own hands and downed tools.
Though I’m feeling much better after yesterday’s gargantuan sleep fest, I realised that trying to wrestle a thousand word article today might be a bit too much. I hope you’ll understand.
Hermione enjoying a rest Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Because no-one likes to shirk their responsibilities (even if it is just a blog post) or let others down or say no.
Most of all, I hate being the one who says I don’t think I could manage that outing or event. No-one wants to be responsible for disappointed faces! As a result, I often say ‘yes’, knowing as I do so that I will pay with my health later.
But we live in a world of constant activity and the insistent message that we are missing out. Of course, we are. No-one can see or do everything: the nature of time sees to that. Yet, rather than seeing this as a failing in our lives, we should see it as a benefit. With hours limited, we should spend them only on those things which really matter and fully engage in them when we do.
I’m trying to be more like Hermione who is active to levels beyond my comprehension and then settles down for a nap or cuddle. Does she worry that she hasn’t seen The Great Wall of China or walks in the same park days in a row or misses a play due to rain? Of course not. She takes it as it comes and relishes each moment.
Because she understands far better than we do that to live well, we need time to rest and to dream; to gather up the woolly tangle of our lives into a neat ball so that we might knit a great adventure later.
So I wish you a good week full of joys and also times of rest. As for me, I’m off for a coffee and to resume reading my novel.
Our recent trip to Northern Italy has left my head positively fizzing with the beauty of its art and architecture.
We had planned the break as an opportunity to meet up with very dear friends who live in Germany. We were twice blessed: with an amazing location and great companions to share it with.
Tempting though it is to make this a postcard account of a short but very full stay, I’d like to veer from the Tripadvisor mode and focus a little more on some of the less obvious aspects and the longer lasting impacts of such a adventure.
With our usual good luck, we were to arrive in Venice on the day of a nationwide transport strike, which meant we could get to Venice airport but not the city nor our planned destination of Padua. Hmm. We were not to be deterred and my husband sorted a hotel in Venice and a vaporetto to get us there. Costly, but worth it.
The floating world
We sped into Venice, James Bond style, the boat barely skimming the water as it jetted along. With the sun setting on the lagoon, the city looked especially ethereal, rising dimly out of the sea on fragile foundations.
It was indeed a floating world – both in the literal and metaphorical sense. Venice is held barely above the water and floods often. Even if one has never visited the city, it floats in our imaginations as a dreamscape of mystery and beauty.
Yet, it also matches the Japanese idea of ‘the floating world’. Originally, it was a Buddhist concept of life as difficult and transitory, yet the meaning was inverted during the Edo period to mean the passing pleasures of the hedonist: beautiful women and the entertainment wealth could purchase.
The city upon the sea Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
For those of us fortunate enough to be able to afford such travel, Venice is a pleasure ground of magnificent architecture and art; designer shopping and elegant concerts. For those working in Venice, it is perhaps a different story. Whilst the grandeur of its buildings boasts the success of the few, the narrow, dark and sometimes sinister back streets and the ripe smell of the canals come evening, suggests a different story. This dualism was encapsulated by a middle-aged man wheeling the excessive luggage of two Japanese tourists over a steep, stepped bridge. Loui Vuitton meets luggage trolley.
Because grand though it is, Venice is a city of stark contrasts and once you move away from the tourists in St Mark’s Square and into the back streets, the more obvious this becomes. However, these quieter parts were no less beautiful for their simplicity. Every so often, we would come across a barely populated piazza with a few trees and a central well. Washing hung on long lines from the balconies and perhaps a small dog would pass by on its walk.
Awe-inspiring though Venice is, it is still a city of commerce and glaringly demonstrated wealth. It was certainly worth a visit – but one will do.
Vicenza – architectural wonders
Our German friends, Sarah and Michael had driven to Padua to meet us, so we had the advantage of transport. Both my friends and I had been encouraged to visit the nearby town of Vicenza for its ancient architectural beauty and the famous Rotunda.
The town itself is an architect’s dream with wide streets and a large imposing piazza in the centre. It is also home to the first indoor theatre – Teatro Olimpico. Renaissance frescoes and vaulted covered walkways aside, it is a thriving, modern industrial centre. Tourists from abroad are few and I suspect that they like it that way. When we went for a coffee, the waiter spoke no English and my very limited Duolingo Italian finally felt worth the effort.
La Rotunda built in 1565 Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
The main draw of Vincenza is its buildings and it is the show case of the influential architect, Palladio. From his name is drawn Palladian – that symmetrical, open design which harks back to that of classical Rome and Greece. His style reached its height of popularity in the 18th century, two centuries after he designed the Rotunda, and is still relevant today.
Chioggia – The working man’s Venice
Taking advantage of the fine weather, our friends took us to Chioggia the following day. Like Venice, it is filled with canals and surrounded by the lagoon, but unlike Venice, it is quiet and unhurried. We arrived on a Monday, so many of the shops were closed and the cafes, bustling with locals from noon until two pm, suddenly emptied and closed. Dawdling as we were, we were fortunate to be given a table at 2.05! The kind waitress took pity on us and delayed the end of her shift until we were fed.
Chioggia is a port and fishing town with a small stretch of beach that attracts summer visitors. It is modest but pleasing with houses hugging the sides of canals and peaceful streets with flower-filled window boxes. My favourite place there was a tiny 14th century church. It was only one room and sparsely decorated, but it echoed with the prayers of centuries.
Padua – city of learning and pilgrimage
Our base was the magnificent city of Padua – home to the second oldest university in Italy and to innumerable awe inspiring churches including the Basilica di San Antonio.
It is a place of learning and is filled with young people who throng the streets going to lectures or perhaps taking an espresso and catching up with friends. When we were there, it was clearly graduation day and students, accompanied by proud parents and friends, wandered about wearing the laurel crown of the graduate.
The central piazza Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Padua is famous for its medical department and its scientific roots go back centuries. Copernicus was a student and Galileo a professor! It served as a catalyst for Renaissance thinking.
With science and medicine having such a strong presence, it is no wonder that the study of the natural world and especially its healing properties was of utmost importance. To further the aim of educating students, they built an exquisite apothecary garden.
The botanical gardens are still flourishing today and are a source of scientific study. While the core of the garden houses medicinal plants, more exotic species have been added since. It provides a welcome retreat from a busy world.
The medical museum in Padua is a wonder also. I only wish that I could have been taught the sciences in such an entertaining and interesting way.
Much of our stay was spent mooching about the gorgeous streets and stopping for coffee. But we devoted a fair amount of time visiting the innumerable stunning churches in the city. All were impressive, but only a few attended by more than half a dozen congregants.
Even the most famous church, The Basilica di San Antonio, was only moderately busy – but unlike other ‘tourist destination’ churches, this was peopled by nuns, pilgrims and those who came to pray. It was exquisitely beautiful with high vaulted ceilings, domes, elegant frescoes, marble marquetry and stonework. It was designed to be awe-inspiring, and it was. I loved the domed ceilings in deep blue scattered with stars, the trompe l’oeil marble scene behind the tomb of Saint Antony, the courtyard gardens outside the main building.
When I gazed at the craftmanship, I though of the hours or even years required to achieve the effects. I thought of the craftsmen toiling day after day in service to something greater than themselves. I thought of the thousands of people who came here looking for solace or hope or acceptance and felt that I was part of a very long chain of humanity.
And I felt that time had come full circle. Pilgrimage was the first form of tourism. Holiday comes from holy day and our leisure and spiritual practice are strangely combined. Whilst fewer of us believe in any formal or traditional way now, it does not mean that we don’t gain from our journeys.
We can be uplifted by a mountain or an exquisite work of art; we can connect with those who came before us and left us such treasures; we can learn so much about ourselves and the world.
My Italian trip has cemented my desire to do more creatively – to do it seriously and with commitment. Travel can be transformative if we allow it to be.
Or it can just be light and fun. Seeing friends and breaking bread (or eating pizza together) is also great. However you find your dolce vita – enjoy.
Me, Lorenzo the waiter and Sarah at the best pizza place in town! Image: Michael Meier
Our journey home from Newcastle was trying to say the least. The six and a half hour drive stretched to ten as my poor husband negotiated road closure after road closure; jam after jam. By the time we reached home, it was 2.30 am and we were both exhausted.
That said, I am glad we went. My brother-in-law’s funeral was beautiful and the reception a wonderful opportunity to meet and console those we love. And the drive brought its own blessings.
Look to the skies
With little else to do, I spent most of the journey looking at the sky and it put on the most incredible display. Leaving Newcastle, it was Mediterranean blue with fluffy ivory clouds sculling across. It certainly provided a more pleasurable view than the car in front’s number plate.
Blue skies, nothing but blue skies Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Such skies have a hypnotic quality and I’ll happily watch clouds form and reform for hours in a sort of meditative trance. They certainly help pass the time.
Symbols of hope
As we moved further south, sudden showers burst forth. The once clear blue was now splotched with deep purple grey patches and I thought it was the perfect combination for rainbows.
And I was right. A huge rainbow appeared to our left and then was soon accompanied by another, less defined one, arching over the first in parallel. I nudged Jeff to look (we weren’t going too fast!) and we both enjoyed the spectacle. Then I realised that the second rainbow’s colours were a mirror image of the first. This being only the second double rainbow that I’ve seen, I was fascinated. How was this possible? Was this normal?
Once home, I looked it up without success and asked those I knew. My sister, a master at Google, found the answer. It is normal, but no less miraculous for that. Here’s the science. https://youtu.be/nzgNM-P_JCQ?si=zlyDhlgicUpF5EC9 Don’t worry, the clip is only one minute long and entirely comprehensible to the least scientific among us.
And here’s the rainbow we saw in Maine:
Double rainbow! Image: Genevieve Costello-Spears
If you look closely, you’ll see that the darker colours are on the interior of the bands and the lighter colours on the exterior.
One to tick off on the bucket list
You would think that a double rainbow would be enough excitement for one day, but nature had yet another unusual occurrence for us to enjoy. As it grew dark, we noticed an eerie green mist-like light hovering above the horizon. How strange we mused – there are no cities causing reflected light and that green is most peculiar. I chuckled to myself that it was what the Northern Lights look like to the naked eye and dismissed it as improbable. Only when I returned home and read Mariia’s message to say look out for the Northern Lights, did I appreciate what I’d seen.
Aurora Borealis By Frederic Edwin Church courtesy of Wikipedia
Our Aurora was not the dancing light show, but the more common green haze. I’m not fussy – it was still amazing and has saved me a trip to Iceland!
And there’s more …
Whilst the sky had entertained us throughout our tedious journey, it had more to offer when we got home. The Harvest Moon (a super moon) was due just days and I was determined to enjoy it in its full glory.
We set off to the beach to watch as it rose from the sea and were given a glorious sunset as an appetiser. While we stood transfixed, Hermione paid no attention – she just played with her ball.
It was a warm evening and listening to the waves and watching the moon appear from a faint glow to a great ball of white gold was spectacular.
Harvest moon Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat
The harvest moon is so called because it allowed farmers to work late into the night to bring in their crops. It was also favoured by smugglers and ‘moon rakers’ in Wiltshire! As its rising follows the sunset at the right angle, it is often golden or even red before it moves higher in the sky.
There was also a partial eclipse in the early hours of the morning, but I had had enough excitement and needed my sleep.
Slow TV
We usually look for entertainment in digital media or organised events, hoping for ever more extreme and original fare. Yet, to me, the best entertainment is free and accessible to all. The skies are constantly changing, never repeating. Aligning our sights to them allows us the benefit of enjoying masterpieces, which even the greatest artists could not surpass.
The skies also have the benefit of making us realise how small we are in the great scheme of things, which is not to say that we are diminished, but rather find our rightful place. When we watch the skies with awe and wonder, we are both humbled and grateful and our spirits are raised.
There is no post again next week, as we are going to enjoy the wonders of Italy. I hope to share some manmade marvels with you next time. Ciao!
From a very early age, I have been in love with the natural world. Perhaps my mother sparked this, placing me in my pram, swaddled in blankets, under a tree in the garden.
Whatever the impetus, the outside is where I’ve always wanted to be. By today’s standards, my childhood was somewhat wild and I roamed the parks and woods with friends much younger than most kids would now. But where some children have street smarts, I had nature smarts. I never came to any harm despite my wanderings and loved the freedom I had been granted.
Trees and water – the perfect combination Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Childhood wisdom
I knew from shared folk knowledge what I could eat and what I couldn’t; when a tree was too high to climb; water unsafe to swim in. The seasons, not the calendar, marked my days: the arrival of froglets in spring, berries in summer and beechnuts in fall. Winter cold never bothered me and it was irksome to wear a coat. It was even more irksome to have to sit inside on rainy days.
Because for a child, the natural world holds a cornucopia of treasures. Unlike the longed for toy discarded by New Year’s, it offered an ever changing selection.
That love and fascination has never left me. If anything, it has grown over the years, with an attempt to learn more about the environment and ecology. When all the human world fails me, it is to nature that I turn for solace. And it is nature that is helping me heal.
Nature’s healing
I spend a great deal of time outside, with Hermione – sometimes in the garden and sometimes in the shed. It is my outside office: perfect for journaling and dreaming.
With stress contributing to all illnesses, it is essential that we have a place where we can shed the coils of worry that ensnare us. For me, it is my garden or the sea where worries seem, quite literally, to be blown away.
With so much anxiety over loved ones who are suffering at the moment, it is easy to fall into despair. Life, after all, is undeniably cruel. On Tuesday, feeling low myself with infections brought on my stress, I took to my shed to write my morning pages.
This extract, somewhat polished, is what I wrote:
This is happiness
Out the window, above the Tibetan flags of washing, the Downs embrace the town. Higher still, clouds lined in grey silk amble across the skies. As they pass onwards, they pull the shadow from the hills, revealing the bright green, inch by inch, like a strip-tease.
It is neither warm nor cold. Summer and autumn are battling for dominance. Summer brings warm temperatures and autumn, a chill breeze.
The garden has lost her deep green hue and has the look of one exhausted by fecundity. Curling leaves are scattered across the lawn.
I am not well today, yet cannot feel sad or self-pitying. Look! The sun has turned the Japanese anemones the white of a Geisha’s painted face; a butterfly is zigzagging across the grass in search of nectar; Hermione’s warm body rests on my foot …
Observation studies
Observing intently and writing soon become a form of meditation and prayer. Faced with the complex marvels of nature, we are strengthened in our understanding of life’s circularity and that each moment is unique. It helps to anchor us in the now.
The butterfly – symbol of hope Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
We may choose to take our observations further – to create art, or initiate learning. These too uplift us.
Just before I began this, I read the latest Red Hand Files post by Nick Cave and he wrote:
Joy is not always a feeling that is freely bestowed upon us, often it is something we must actively seek. In a way, joy is a decision, an action, even a practised way of being.
Nice Cave, Red Hand Files 299
Everything he says is brilliant, but what struck me most forcefully is the line ‘joy is a decision, an action, even a practised way of being’. And he is right. We must choose joy despite knowing that life will not always provide it. We must live with the intention of finding joy and bringing it to others and that will require a certain amount of sustained action: ‘practised way of being.’
For me, the natural world and its meditative observation is my practice. The more I commit to my practice, the better I feel. And joy is an emotion that we wish to share, that makes us look beyond ourselves and saves us from the solipsism of depression.
In these difficult times, I hope you find your path to joy.
Please note that there will be no post next week, as I shall be attending my brother-in-law’s funeral.
When my husband inadvertently booked the Waverley Hotel instead of the Westerlea Hotel (easily done), it put an end to our plans for a Highland summer break. No matter. We already live in a holiday resort, so a week in Eastbourne seemed a very good alternative.
I’m so glad we stayed. The week before had its challenges and being home and able to organise things from here was a real bonus. My dear brother-in-law died after a prolonged and debilitating illness and Mariia got called for a stint as an army interpreter. It was also my husband’s birthday.
To celebrate Mariia’s success, we took her to an excellent Turkish restaurant and Saturday we tried to get her organised. Her kit list was extensive and with only a few days’ notice, tricky to complete. But we did it.
Stepping back in time
Sunday was Jeff’s birthday. He loves jousting and had booked tickets to a nearby Medieval Fair. I confess, I had not shown the greatest enthusiasm, but the event itself was enchanting.
A large private park had been transformed into a Medieval village complete with stalls, music and theatre. Just people watching would have kept me entertained, but plenty was put on to engage us: harp playing (delightful), hilarious theatre groups, music and, of course, the joust.
Though set on horseback, it more closely resembled a corny wrestling match with outlandish characters and bad acting. The horsemanship, however, was superb, and I’m pleased to say that the lady riders stole the show.
The weather was kind and my trusty scooter only had to be occasionally hefted from the mud left from earlier down-pours.
Farewells
Monday came all too quickly and we said farewell to Mariia – a little anxious and very proud. Her job would be challenging and in difficult conditions, but we had faith in her capabilities.
The week was ours and for the first few days, we were glad to decompress – process the sad news and start on arrangements.
A pootle around the town, coffee on the sidewalk and the garden was everything we needed. Well, almost. We couldn’t survive without the beach.
The day-trippers gone, it was our turn to enjoy the serenity of the evening views.
Cabbage whites and sea kale
The following morning was market day at a nearby village. I haven’t been for ages and wanted to say hi to our friendly greengrocer and pick up supplies. It was bustling with locals and visitors alike and closely resembled a set from Midsommer Murders – without the murders.
A mile further on is Birling Gap and for once, it was not besieged by tourists. Living by the sea, one becomes a little possessive of it and, though I love the bustle and liveliness of visitors, it can be a little overwhelming at times.
A quiet spot Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Tucked behind the cafe is a tranquil garden that few seem to have noticed. There are deckchairs, a mini labyrinth set in the pebbles and an abundance of wildlife. Sipping my coffee, I enjoyed the company of the cabbage white butterflies visiting the sea kale and watching the sky shift from dark denim at its centre to cornflower blue. The flower beds are stocked with wild flowers: teasels, cow parsley and brambles -perfect for avian and insect visitors. We did see the sea as well – far out across the treacherous spine of rockpools – and the iconic Seven Sisters luminous in the bright sunlight.
Later in the day, we couldn’t resist a sea swim and the joy of emerging from the chill waters to warm air.
Hammocks and Hermione
By Thursday, all the excitement had caught up with me and reading in the hammock, snoozing and throwing the ball to Hermione was about all I could do.
Hermione, of course, is in her element with not one, but two people in attendance. My right arm is definitely increasing in strength with all the ball throwing. Who needs a gym when you can have a Cocker Spaniel?
Not quite the end
This morning was officially the last day of the holiday and reluctant to miss a moment, we went early to the beach cafe for breakfast. At nine am, there were few tables left.
Jeff waiting for breakfast; Hermione searching for scraps! Image: Karen Costello-McFeat
Deliciously replete, we walked to the sea and went for a paddle. The day was so bright and clear that the sunlight sparkled and leapt from the water like a cascade of inverted falling stars.
Jeff had returned to paddle board whilst I wrote this. I suspect he is half man and half merman.
The sky has clouded over a little now, but it is still delightfully warm. My darling niece will visit later and the weekend stretches ahead without plans.
Enjoying such exceptional weather has definitely been a blessing for our vacation. That said, we would have had no difficulty filling our days even in the worst conditions. Distracted by the sea and sunshine, there is a great deal that we didn’t do. I think next year, our staycation will have to be longer.
