The good days - and the bad

It’s always difficult coming back to work after a holiday, but life has been somewhat of a rollercoaster since then. To start with, the weather was so wonderful last Wednesday that a friend and I decided to go down to Rosudgeon car boot sale. So we set off on a perfect morning with the sun beating down on us like a blessing, got to Rosudgeon to find that the car boot doesn’t start until after Easter. Still, it was so lovely we headed off to Marazion and spent an hour on the beach with Mollie - as you can see above, she had a great time.

From there we went to Penzance for food, then Rinsey Cove for a sunbathe and paddle – sunbathing – in March! A quick trip to the Blue Anchor in Helston, then back home as I was going to meet a dear friend who’s just come back from New Zealand. A perfect day…..

Then, checking my phone, I found a message from one of my brothers to say Mum had had a fall so he and his wife were going down on Wednesday instead of Thursday to see her. The next day he rang to say Mum had fallen in the night and smacked her head on a dresser, had to be taken to hospital. There they found she was severely dehydrated and her sodium and potassium levels had gone haywire leaving her very confused.

To cut a long story short, she’s still there. Luckily she has agreed to go to a nursing home for recuperation, but the phone has been hot between me and my brothers and a poor confused and paranoid Mum.

On Monday, as my brother had returned home we had a phone call to say she’d just dislocated her hip, which would postpone her discharge. I felt I should belt up and see her, and a dear friend offered to come with me. She took one look at me as I arrived at her place. “I’ll drive,” she said. And dear of her, she did. So I was able to spend a couple of hours with Mum and we drove back that evening, feeling decidedly shaken and jetlagged, but glad that I’d seen her.

Life was beginning to feel like the nightmare it had been when Pip was so very ill. Panic fluttered inside me like a trapped bird, and I felt as if someone was trampling on my guts with heavy black boots, dragging me down this long dark familiar tunnel.

Thankfully it seems Mum is recovering well and I’ve just had a call to say she’s being discharged to the nursing home this afternoon. As my Dad died when I was in my twenties, I never had to deal with him getting old. I have a feeling this road with Mum could be a long, difficult and painful one for all of us.

Holidays and sunshine

This is Godrevy, taken on a Cornwall Today walk I did on Sunday with Sally.

My week away was a lovely break – I hadn’t realised how tired I was until the day before I left, but that evening a group of us went to a fabulous evening of folk music at Devoran Village Hall having had a bite to eat in the pub beforehand. It was a lovely evening of music and laughter and set me up for the week to come.

The week itself was great – lots of walks, talks, food and drink. The cottage was south facing and we had lots of sun, there’s a great pub 3 minute walk away and also the best fish and chip shop on the other side of the road.

Various friends came and stayed, contributed to the cost and brought food and wine so I will definitely book it again. The day before I left, Howard rang (who’s painting my flat) - as there’s no storage he’d had to pile everything onto my bed and he said mournfully that it looked like a bomb had hit it. In addition, he’d had to get a mate to help him as there was so much to do, and he’d got flu and was being harassed by his neighbour and had to go to the police.

I really didn’t want to come home, but arrived back with a sinking heart, prepared for the worst. But Howard’s painted half the flat which looks fabulous. It took a while to get things sorted but a friend helped move furniture and it was reasonably in order by the time I got to bed that night. Howard’s still stricken with flu but will resume painting the rest of it when he’s better poor love.

Meanwhile the sun is shining, two dear friends are back from their travels and I’m off to Rosudgeon car boot with one and seeing the other one later. Got to make hay while the sun shines, as they say. Plenty of rain to come I’m sure.

Sunshine Award, New Meetings and Holiday

Recently, an editor introduced me to WAYN (Where Are You Now), a website which is for making friends with like minded people around the world. As the introduction came from a reputable source, I thought I’d join and have since been inundated with requests from men for friendship/meeting. Well……......

The other day I read a blog which suggested that “It’s not what you get in life that makes you happy, but how you respond.” And I thought, how true.

On that note, I have been awarded the Sunshine Award from Debs. In order to reply, I have to list 5 things that make me happy, so here are some of them.

1. A wonderful walk yesterday, despite the fog and getting lost. Just to set the tone, at the start of the walk, Jon told me the following: “A bloke picks up a girl and takes her home, says, “You remind me of my little toe.” “Why?” she says. “Because I’m cute and cuddly?” “No he replied. “Because later on I’m going to bang you on the bed.” Sorry – this just really appeals to my sense of humour.
2. All my daffodils have come out, and their yellow smiling heads nod at me when I walk up my steps.
3. A friend often sends me texts that (inadvertently) make me laugh. I save them for when I need cheering up.
4. The feeling I get when a few more pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that will make up my next novel fall into place.
5. My friend Viv, who has a great capacity for one-liners. When talking about the fact that at our age most of us (men in particular) have a lot of baggage, Viv said, “Get a porter, I say.”

And on that note, I am off on holiday for a week. By the time I get back my flat will be redecorated – or most of it – so I will come home to a new me. Or rather, the next chapter begins…....

Talking of which, I am planning next novel. Ideas for female character's name please......

Running Scared

When I was in my early teens a combination of events ended in my losing confidence. I went from being a happy, galloping being, running free, to a captured one that slowed to a canter, a tired trot, then stumbled to a halt and fell. They break in horses, don’t they? I was broken all right.

I got up, of course, but kept on falling for many years. It was a very frightening, lonely time that involved hospitalisation, shrinks, anti-depressants, truth drugs – years that I prefer not to dwell on. I hit rock bottom more times than I care to remember, but finally, one day, in part due to a lovely fellow called Paul, I started coming up again. Yet it was a fragile ascent, for at my core was this terrified girl who was lost. Stumbling. Falling.

Fast forward 40 years and life – and several men in particular – have helped turn me into a stronger, wiser woman. Just as overly sensitive but I understand myself better, and having lived with Pip for 14 years, I have some knowledge of complex men. I trust myself and the fates that although tragic things happen, there are joyous things in life. Joyous people.

Just before he died Pip got a fabulous camera for his 70th birthday and the idea was that we’d share it – I would use it to take pictures for my walks for Cornwall Today. And while it has an idiot’s guide on it, I wanted to understand how the camera works so I could take good pictures. So I enrolled on a photography course.

A photographer friend had told me I had a good eye, and would soon pick it up and get my pictures published. So I went along that first day full of excitement and anticipation.

I left the first class nearly in tears. In the space of three hours, I entered a time capsule. I sped backwards, faster than the speed of light, and once more was that crying, lost little girl. “I don’t understand,” I kept saying. Not having a logical brain, I really struggle with the technical side of photography. But I couldn’t understand when the tutor explained.

This is the third course – the first was cancelled, the second was slightly better and I am keen to learn, and there are no other courses at the moment. This time I decided to go armed into battle. I tell myself that I’m not stupid. I expect to be made to feel an idiot and have to deal with it. And keep asking him to explain.

I have learnt a little. But the basic mechanics of photography elude me, like a fragile dream on waking. The other day the tutor said (in exasperation, I fear), “It’s just a matter of fractions,” and my brain had a seizure. I’ve never understood maths so numbers make my head spin. In fact, at the moment, photography makes my head spin.

A good friend has lent me some amazing books on photography. “Look at them and try not to get too bogged down in the technical side of things,” he suggested. “Go out with other photographers if you can.” Good advice – and one which I am following, though my photographer friends are very busy so it’s not a regular thing.

My pictures are published every month alongside my walks, but they aren’t as good as I’d like them to be, and I would like to understand more.

I very nearly didn’t go yesterday. I’ve been feeling exhausted, not able to sleep. But when I finally dragged myself out of bed, the sun was shining. We went to Swanpool and had an hour taking pictures focusing on composition. We had one-to-one tuition which was a great help and a few things started to come clear. I was quite pleased with the pictures I’d taken.

What I need, I think, is more one-to-one help. My dear friend Michael is going to give me a technical lesson on Friday (this could be the end of a lovely friendship) and I’m going to ask my photographer friends if they can be patient and go out with me and take pictures so I can learn on the hoof.

The amount I need to learn lies before me, like scattered pieces of a vast and complex jigsaw puzzle. So far I’ve fitted together three bits – of sky, of sea and of sand. Only another 9,672 pieces to go….. In the meantime I try and hold fast. I can do it, I keep telling myself. I can. I will. I hope.

To end on a cheering note – This afternoon I will be talking to Philip Marsden (author of The Levelling Sea) for my new walks book about Cornish writers. We will be discussing St Mawes, one of my favourite places. And his.

Decorating - and who am I?

(This picture was taken at Hawker's Hut near Morwenstow - a fabulous walk in North Cornwall.)

I’ve decided to have my flat redecorated while I’m away for a week in March. This was quite a momentous decision as it means saying goodbye to the Flowerpot who was Pip’s wife. Well, that’s what it feels like.

On a practical level it makes sense. We painted it 13 years ago so it needs doing. Also, the colour scheme involved orange and dark red ceilings which make it dark, and really the flat needs lightening and warming up, so that’s my intention.

Emotionally it also makes sense. As my Irish friend Mari said, “It’ll be a good opportunity to have a good clear out, Sue. Mentally and physically.” Which I’ve started doing.

But taking down all those old photographs made me think. I’m not Flowerpot anymore, though a few people call me that. I shan’t repeat some of my other nicknames, but I am also sometimes Sue Jackson and sometimes Sue Kittow. One is a writer, one is a widow – how I hate that non-word.

What or who am I now? Adventurer, fab friend (according to one birthday card), mother, singer, writer, walker. I am all of these and more besides. But the me that was married to Pip is evolving into someone else.

I’m moving on, and I don’t know who I’ll end up as. Or where, when and for how long. And while that’s exciting in a way, it’s also pretty scary.

It occurred to me that many of us are defined – and therefore define ourselves - through other people. I was Pip's wife. I will, I trust, be someone else's partner. Lover. I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt and a mother. We are also defined by our jobs - I'm a writer, a landlady, a journalist.

I've been struggling with this identity crisis until it occurred to me that underneath all that labelling, I'm just me. Fortunate enough to know that I am much loved.

Gooseham Barton and birthdays

Last weekend Viv, Titch, Mollie and I went off to Gooseham Barton to do another review on dog friendly accommodation. Gooseham is a tiny hamlet 10 miles north of Bude, not far from Morwenstow, and Gooseham Barton is a farm with 3 cottages, a farmhouse, all available for holiday lets. It’s set in 50 acres of an area of outstanding natural beauty and Debbie, who runs it, couldn’t have been friendlier, despite having been without sleep due to lambing. She took us to the lambing barn where we cuddled lambs and she sank onto a haybale with relief. 40 ewes had lambed; only another 60 to go.

She also runs a riding centre there with about 16 horses and there are dogs, cats and more sheep, just in case she didn’t have enough to do (she doesn’t have a partner). But it’s a beautiful spot, very off the beaten track with no mobile phone coverage, and The Bush Inn nearby which was another really gorgeous pub. (Why is it that country pubs are so much nicer than town pubs?)

We did a couple of walks for Cornwall Today – at Morwenstow on Friday and Bude Canal on Sunday – both utterly different. Morwenstow is very wild and rugged, a place with razor sharp rocks that have eaten many a shipwrecked mariner, and home to the Rev Stephen Hawkins, an eccentric, beloved Cornishman known for amongst other things, penning the Cornish national anthem, Trelawney. And for his support of wreckers and his consumption of opium.

The Bude Canal was quiet, reflective, and flat. It was also full of dog walkers and people with young children, so not that sort of quiet, but very beautiful in a tranquil kind of way.

Having two days away was lovely, albeit tiring break as there was a lot of driving, but it was lovely to have good company but - you know what - it made me realise how much I miss having someone to care for. Viv doesn’t have an easy life at home so it was lovely to be able to take her cups of tea in bed, run her bath and cook together. Her partner, Paul, does all those things I’m sure but for me it was lovely, and she enjoyed it too.

So now I’ve got my head down writing reviews, editing pictures and writing up the next walks for Cornwall Today. Next week is my birthday (I’m very nearly a leap year girl but not quite) so I’m going to a (Beautiful) South gig on Saturday which I’m very much looking forward to and a few other meetings. Can't get in the mood right now but maybe a bit of inspiration will hit.

The Unexpected - In Multiples

Firstly, many thanks to My House from Quercy for the Liebster Award. Unfortunately I haven't been able to copy the logo but I am most grateful!

Last week ended horribly. The sort of horribly that you try and prevent but can, at the time, do nothing about. The sort of horribly that feels as if everything is draining out of you.

I was due to go to a party on Saturday night and a friend asked, “Are you sure you want to go?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. When feeling dire, do something to make you feel better is my motto. So I put on my favourite skirt (car boot last summer), good luck scarf (Christmas present), and at 8.30 we set off.

I found my friend Deb wasn’t at the party, and knowing she had a curfew of 9pm as she was babysitting her grandchildren, I nipped up the road to get her. She wasn’t in her house, wasn’t in the main house round the corner, but her son-in-law answered the door. “She’s in hospital,” he said. “Chest pains again. I’ll let you know what happens.”

I went back to the party and despite worrying over Deb, ended up having a great time. I caught up with some good friends, met several people (yes, men), had a few bops, several glasses of wine, and got to bed rather later than I’d intended.

The following morning was thick with text messages about Deb who was being kept in hospital but as I was heading that way anyway I said I’d see her in the afternoon after doing a walk for Cornwall Today. I collected Viv and set off with the dogs to China Clay country, pausing to drop off some belongings en route.

I waved from the van as we drew up, and hadn’t even got to the fellow’s door when it opened and the gentleman opened the door with a huge smile. “How lovely to see you!” he cried. I handed over his belongings, told him we were going to do a walk nearby. “Come and have a cup of tea when you’ve finished,” he said.

We set off with Viv musing over whether we might be fed. “Do you think he might nip down to Costcutters and get some Battenburg?” she said hopefully. “Or perhaps something else, as not everyone likes marzipan?”

“Stop thinking about food,” I said, “and get on with this walk.”

Unfortunately what looked like a good circular walk on the OS map proved to grind to a halt in a car park 45 minutes later. We consulted the map, realised we’d been walking in the opposite direction, and then asked a young couple if we could do a circular walk.

“No,” said the husband, “but you can go this way,” and gave highly detailed directions of where we could go, ending with the fatal words, “you can’t get lost.”

“Oh yes, we can,” said Viv.

We had to retrace our steps, weren’t able to do a walk for the magazine, but got back to the van having had a good laugh, the dogs had a good run and we caught up on the news. Then we went in for a cuppa which was most welcome. “Can I offer you something to eat?” the lovely gentleman said. “Biscuits? Cake? Bacon and egg pie?”

Viv’s eyes lit up at the word pie but I kicked her under the table, fearing that this was his tea for the next few nights. “No, we’ve just had sandwiches,” I said, watching Viv’s face fall. “But a biscuit would be lovely.”

“In that case, let me show you my gadget,” he said. I blinked slightly at this but it turned out to be a tap that spews out boiling water at the press of a button without having to boil a kettle. (Called a Quooler, it has a lagged tank under the sink that takes 2 weeks to cool down if you turn it off. Very impressive.)

We spent over an hour there, listening to this gentleman’s life – he was a Marine commando in Malaya when he met his wife – their first night of courting, and how he is managing now she is dead. He grew up in Truro and was telling us what it was like in the 1950s; like me, he enjoys car boots and told us about the one he goes to at Par on Thursday and Saturday mornings. In the middle of this, Deb rang to say she was allowed home and was being picked up by her daughter.

It is cheering to find that even when life is upsetting, there are unexpected pleasures. As my mum said last night, “you’re the sort of person things happen to, darling.”

In which case, what will happen next?

PS Have just sent my novel off to Legend Press so fingers crossed