December Will Be...Magic Again

It was -2 this morning, so goodness knows what the temperature was in the middle of the night. By the time John brings my tea up, the duvet has worked its way half way down the bed, and only comes up to my waist. Then Tessa jumps on the bed, and firmly secures the duvet in place, and I am freezing. So this morning, imagine my delight (albeit sleepily) when I realised John had not only made me a cup of tea, but brought me a hot water bottle as well! Fabulous, but a problem, as I then want to stay there and cuddle it and not get up.

There was ice everywhere this morning. I kept warning the horses to go steady on the way to the field, and from there they picked their way gingerly across the grass. I had to follow them up and break the ice on the trough.

I kept Max in with the intention of riding, and tacked him up and rode out about 10am, but only went round the corner and up the road. The next road was totally white and I know I can't ride Max on it. He finds slippery ground quite terrifying. Disappointed, I turned round and made my way home. I looked up the next road as well, and that was totally white up the middle, so I may try again tomorrow and see if I can make my way to the livery yard and use the school instead. The ice had melted by lunch time, but I can't keep Max in all day waiting for it to happen.

We have discussed the possibility of me having a riding lesson at the riding school up the road, but if I can only have one lesson a month, it's not really worth it, as Max won't be fit enough to benefit from it. I am having fun teaching myself at the moment, so we'll see. I am also debating whether to bother clipping him again, and to almost rough him off instead, but I've realised in this last couple of weeks that he likes to work and be active and doing something, he doesn't want to spend the whole winter standing in a field bored to tears. So we'll see. I am dithering again. It's a very bad habit, but it's difficult to make plans as it's depressing when you can't do anything. It's ok saying we'll hire Park Gate Arena, but if there's snow on the ground, we won't be able to drive the lorry there.

A couple of years ago (before we got here) A took the boys to school in the car, lost control and slid down the hill, finally crashing (not too fast) into the wall at the bottom. And that's in a Landrover. He managed to get the boys to a friend of his, and sort out towing the car home, then took the boys to school, only to find it was closed for the day and he needn't have bothered going! So there's no way we're risking a journey in icy conditions with our two precious horses in the lorry.

I had Six and Nine after school today. I am in charge of homework. At the beginning of each new term, they are given a sheet with homework tasks, all worth either 5, 10 or 15 points. They have to do enough tasks to get 30 points as a minimum before the end of term. Before I took this over, they weren't doing any homework at all. Last term they got 30 points and this term they will have about 45 by the time they've finished. Nine is doing a project on Ancient Egypt, which brings back fond memories of home education, where my children bandaged each other up in true mummy style. Six is doing The Stuarts, so we've been doing a lot about the Great Fire of London. I'd be stuck without the internet.

I am also reading Charlotte's Web to them. I had forgotten how beautiful it is. There was a passage yesterday that reminded me so much of Max:

'...(Wilbur the pig) had other plans too. His plans for the day went something like this:

Breakfast at six-thirty. Skim milk, crusts, middlings, bits of doughnuts, wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup sticking to them, potato skins, left-over custard pudding with raisins, and bits of Shredded Wheat.

Breakfast would be finished at seven.

From seven to eight Wilbur planned to have a talk with Templeton, the rat that lived under his trough. Talking with Templeton was not the most interesting occupation in the world but it was better than nothing.

From eight to nine Wilbur planned to take a nap outdoors in the sun.

From nine to eleven he planned to dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find something good to eat buried in the dirt.

From eleven to twelve, he planned to stand still and watch flies on the boards, watch bees in the clover, and watch swallows in the air.

Twelve o'clock - lunch time. Middlings, warm water, apple parings, meat gravy, carrot scrapings, meat scraps, stale hominy, and the wrapper off a package of cheese. Lunch would be over at one.

From one to two, Wilbur planned to sleep.

From two to three, he planned to scratch itchy places by rubbing against the fence.

From three to four, he planned to stand perfectly still and think of what it was like to be alive, and to wait for Fern.

At four would come supper. Skim milk, provender left-over sandwich from Lurvy's lunchbox, prune skins, a morsel of this, a bit of that, fried potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little more of this, a little more of that, a piece of baked apple, a scrap of upside-down cake.

Wilbur had gone to sleep thinking about these plans...'

Apart from the much more varied diet, E.B. White could have been describing Max's day perfectly. I had to laugh. Mind you, I did give him the icing off my cake on Sunday and he sucked on it for ages, swinging his head up and down. I imagine he had some sort of sugar rush an hour later, but it's hard to tell.

Anyway, I digress. One of Nine's tasks was to follow a recipe and take the result to school. They are very crafty like this. Last term his project was chocolate. I can imagine the conversation in the staff room. "What can we get the little blighters to learn about this term?" Large teacher with PMS: "I know! What about chocolate?" "Brilliant! We can get them to do cooking and bring it in from home so we can all scoff it!" "Yes, and we can have a school trip to Cadbury World!" "Good idea, oink oink!"

I fell for it and Nine made a chocolate sponge that disappeared into the bowels of the school, never to be seen again.

So as I've had a bit of a project on cakes and biscuits over the summer, I've decided to move on to pastry. I trawled the internet, looking for jam tarts, then realised I didn't have any jam. I decided cheese straws were the next best thing, so we made them this evening. They were so simple, quick and downright delicious, it's a wonder we didn't eat them all there and then. I managed to prize some of them away from the boys (okay, me and the boys... ok, mostly me) and put them in the tin for tomorrow. If they make it into school, and aren't scoffed on the bus in the morning, I'll be very surprised.

In the middle of this, I went to put the chickens to bed. You can either chase them in at 3.30pm or you can wait until 4.30 and find they've put themselves to bed, and all you have to do is whizz in (watch the chicken on your left, who's beak is in line with your face) grab the eggs and close the door. I take a torch with me just to make sure. Tonight I shone it round and counted five startled chickens, who had actually settled down for the night, ready for the next episode of Corrie. Wait a moment! I check again. Still only five. Oh dear.

I went back to the stables and shone a torch round each horse and his bed, until finally, right in the left hand back corner of Barnaby's stable... was Henny Penny, clearly comfortable and in for the night, except that that corner is exactly where Barnaby is going to lay his head in two hour's time. I slipped in, put my hand on her back and picked her up. She murmered something sleepily, and I carried her carefully back to the coop. She recognised where she was after a while and warbled appreciatively to me. Very sweet. A life saved, I think.

I have cooked the venison tonight, a first for me. All the recipes I found said to marinade it first, so I did, in a lot of red wine and other things. Then I guessed the cooking time, and slow cooked it, and I have to say, it was delicious. I cooked it in the marinade, then used it to make a rich gravy. Lovely.

So of course, it's December 1st, and we have opened our Advent Calendars. This is the wooden one I bought from Chatsworth on Sunday. Each number is painted on a little drawer. I sent John a text before he finished work asking him to buy some tiny sweets to go in them on his way home, so he brought M&M's and jelly babies. We couldn't fit a jelly baby into the drawer without biting its head off first, which didn't seem very in keeping with the spirit of Christmas, and most of the M&M's were too big, so we had to fish out the little ones and eat the big ones, which seems very festive indeed. All I need now is some holly and mistletoe and we're ready.

I couldn't resist these, either. They are a little Santa in a sleigh, but they rock when you push them. So sweet.

Horses and Birthdays

John decided to ride Zak first thing yesterday morning, so he tacked up and set off. After last week's episode I thought I'd let him go by himself, and boy am I glad, as on the way back he kept leaning towards the grass verge and once he got a foot on it, he bolted. They always tell you, if your horse bolts, to haul on one rein and turn the horse in a circle. That's all very well if you're in an open field, but if you're on a narrow track, what are you supposed to do? The bad thing is that Zak didn't stop at the top, but shot across the crossroads. Thank goodness there were no cars up there, as it's a 60mph road. John just hauled on the reins and finally got him to stop. Add that to our episode last week, and I am not impressed. Fortunately John was unhurt, just badly shaken. We think Barnaby and Max are fast, but Zak moves at a phenomenal speed, and you've got to have your wits about you. But on the other hand, you can't ride a horse once a week and expect them to be immaculately behaved, can you?
We went and bought two new batteries for the lorry, after John managed to wrench the old ones free after a great deal of struggling. I can't even tell you what the new ones cost, but it's not what we need just before Christmas really.
But then, the highlight of my day, spending the evening with my eldest daughter and son-in-law, and their three wonderful children, Christian, Jake and Caelan, as it's Jake's third birthday. It's a fair journey back to Worksop, so we can't go very often, and I haven't seen the boys since Caelan was born in September. I realised how much I missed them as soon as we walked in the door. It was a house full of energy and excitement, and it was wonderful to be amongst it. Lisa made us a wonderful meal as well. It was such a lovely atmosphere.


Jake liked his birthday present, which was a Thomas the Tank Engine train track with a shed and a tunnel. Christian seemed quite keen on it, too.
But the most wonderful thing was, Lisa has made me a cross stitch picture of a chicken.
Here it is. She is very talented at this, and entirely self taught. I wouldn't know where to start. I can do tapestry, which I thoroughly enjoy, but tapestry is difficult to frame, whereas this is just laid inside the frame. I am delighted with it. A chicken is the perfect thing to give me, isn't it? Really she ought to go into business doing it. I'm sure even our shop in the village would take them off her hands. I am looking for more of a hobby this winter, and cross stitch may be just the thing, although I'll have to start with the most simple ones.
My son-in-law is a butcher, and he has prepared a whole lamb for us, to go in the freezer. It weighed a tonne. We have enough meat to last us well into the new year now. L has also given us a chunk of venison, so I will have to find a good way to cook it. We never look a gifthorse in the mouth here!
When we got back, I let Tessa out for a run round, and she came in with snow on her back. I stared at her in astonishment. I had to open the door to check I wasn't imagining it, and sure enough, there was snow on the floor. Good grief, it's only November!


We were supposed to have gone on a pleasure ride today round Shipley Country Park, but I just didn't have the strength, I don't know why. It was pouring with rain, which didn't fill me with enthusiasm. L and A went and said it was really good. Of the 40 who entered, only 20 did it, so lots of others were obviously put off by the weather. This is the last ride of the year, and they had sherry and mince pies afterwards, lucky things.
BUT we went off to Chatsworth in the fog and rain to do some Christmas shopping, and I'm so glad we went. Last week we looked at Christmas decorations in the Co-Op, but they were very expensive, which put us off a bit. I gave all my tree decorations to the children when we moved here, as although I could just about squeeze one in, we don't really have room for a Christmas tree, without it being in the way. I'm on a mission to find nice decorations that won't break the bank, and don't take up much storage space, as they will have to spend the rest of the year in my keepsakes box which is pretty full already.
So I've bought some beautiful little things, sticking to a colour scheme of green, red and white, and will put pictures on here to show you. I've also bought my sister's Christmas present, which was the real purpose of the visit, but I can't tell you what it is, as I know she reads this! (You'll have to wait and see!)
I think last year we were still bowled over by being here, and getting used to doing things, to join in much with festivities and goings-on, but I am much more with-it this year and intend to make the most of the celebrations, although it has to be said, after much dithering, we are going to spend Christmas Day by ourselves.
We went down through the fog into the village to go to the pub. Jack Russell was there with his two dogs, but more importantly his three hawks sitting on the backs of chairs dotted round the pub, scruitinizing you with their beady eyes. Two let you stroke them, but one definitely doesn't. It was a good job we didn't take Tessa, who likes to join us and have a packet of pork scratchings, as it was like Crufts in there, two Jack Russells, three spaniels, a very fat pug and a miniture Schnauzer. You could hardly move for wagging tails and dog leads. This is the world of the Old Poets Corner, a true english pub that sells real ale. We sat warming ourselves by the open fire, and had a curry which made us even warmer, and sat relaxing, soaking up the atmosphere. Fully replete, we dashed back to the car in the freezing cold and rain, and made our way back up the hill in the fog again. If there were no house lights on we wouldn't have known where the house was. As I got out in the dark to open the gate, I got a tremendous sense of wellbeing, and thankfulness for what we have. I gulped in the night air and went and got ready for bed. An excellent day.

My legs! I can't feel my legs!

All of a sudden yesterday it decided to stop being wet and windy and start being cold and windy instead. I sat with a hot water bottle on my lap as I couldn't seem to get warm. I wasn't expecting to drag the thermals out yet, but I might have to if this carries on.
I went straight out this morning with no breakfast, as I usually come back in about 10 o'clock, and grab something to eat then, but it was so nice today I decided I had to ride. I tacked Max up and set off for the school.
I'd better explain about this. Back in January I had a teensy accident where Max bolted with me and jumped a five-bar gate and threw me off. It turned out he'd jumped into a field full of horses. Although I was in some pain, as two women helped me up to the yard, I noticed a manege. In my one lucid moment, I said, "Oh, you have a manege! Do you ever rent it out?" and they said I'd have to ask the farmer, which I did once I was well enough to go back down there. I think the farmer must have felt sorry for me, as I injured myself on his land, and said I could use the school, as long as I didn't broadcast it.
This is such a godsend, I can't begin to tell you. We don't have a manege on site, so this is the only way I get to school any of the horses. On the same day I had the accident, I'd phoned the local riding school to see if I could hire their arena, but they said no, so I am thrilled to have access to this one.
It's great because I've never had to share it. I can obviously go during the day when everyone's at work, so I always have it to myself. Obviously the liveries have priority, so if anyone did want it I'd go for a hack instead, but it's never happened. It's not very big, but it's perfect for me, and it's meant I've been able to keep Max fit and supple. He has a little whinny when he gets there as he likes to let the other horses know he's arrived. He's much admired there, too, and so is Barnaby, which is always a thrill, isn't it? I've really got to know some of the girls up there, which means I stand there coffee-housing a bit, but Max doesn't seem to mind.
So off we went this morning. Max was unusually well behaved and co-operative, and it was a really good session. I would love to jump him up there, and I've noticed some new jump wings, so I'll have to ask if I'm allowed to use them.
I came back and turned him out, then mucked out my three stables. I went in for lunch, sat down, and saw L's dad turning in at the gate on his chubby little Massey Ferguson with a trailer load of straw on the back, so went out to see if I could help.
We had to get our John Deere out of the barn (good name for hubby, don't you think?) and our trailer. Our eyes lit up at the sight of a man in daylight with a tractor, as every day Missis has been bringing some of our showjumps up near the gate so we can bring them all in. So we persuaded her dad to hitch up our trailer and drive it over the road. We loaded up all the jump wings, all the fillers and most of the poles, and he drove the laden trailer back, which is fantastic. It saves us having to carry each piece across individually.
Then we had to hitch his tractor back up to the straw wagon, and reverse it into the barn, so the straw stays dry. It was quite difficult as our lorry was in the way. We did try to start it up, but the battery is flat. Luckily Missis's dad managed to manoeuvre the trailer in, after about six attempts and nearly taking his wing mirror off on the corner of the lorry. We need to get the lorry sorted as we are going out in it on Sunday, and IT HAD BETTER WORK!
By now it was nearly three o'clock (and I'd had no breakfast and no lunch) so we decided to risk it and tack Polo and Lindy up. We went over the road, down our two fields and turned right into the farmer's field. It was very deep mud, and has been sown, but Lindy hated it and was plunging about all over the place. I was lucky to stay on. I didn't dare look behind me, but it's going to be a bit obvious. I am so very sorry! We had quite a nice ride round after that. Lindy always goes away from home very slowly and speeds up as soon as he realises we are headed for home. Today was no different, except that as we rounded the corner, there was a group of alpacas in the field looking at us. Alpacas were not on Lindy's agenda for today at all, and he stood stock still, transfixed. In the end Missis had to come back, grab the reins and drag him past. He was totally astonished at the sight of these animals. I must admit, I was quite taken aback myself, although Max has passed them at Welbeck and was fine.
We decided just to keep it steady and not canter as Pongo is coming on the pleasure ride on Sunday and we need to know that Lindy will stay calm and not want to go steaming off with him. He was quite good actually, but hard work compared to Max. He yanked his neck forward at one point, which has jarred my neck. I desperately need some Deep Heat on it before I go to bed.
Anyway, we were home in time for tea and medals, so we got the other horses in and fed them.
I came back in and struggled to keep warm again. My legs were completely numb, so I made myself a hot water bottle and sat cuddling it for a while until Mr O came home from work. Really I should have a shower and get changed, as it's when you sweat up and the sweat dries that you can't get warm. I can see how people could be outside walking and get lost, then when they find shelter somewhere they die of hypothermia anyway.
It's on days like this that I miss my bath. We only have a shower here and I'd love a good soak. The only cure is a cup of hot chocolate and an early night I think.

Snippets

The weather is keeping to its theme of high winds and lots of rain. On Monday it rained so hard, and so continuously, that the barn was flooded. The water washed straight through, out onto the drive, and down onto the road. It was up to our backdoor step, and I had to keep sweeping it away, and put the sandbags across, which did make a barrier, thank goodness. It was so loud on the barn roof, I came in to clear my head. I rang John and shouted, "Listen to this!" and held the phone out. He said it sounded like I was on the edge of a rushing river. My only consolation is that it's worse in Cumbria, but this seems to be nationwide - everyone is complaining. The Ladies Who Lunch are definitely up in arms over it. They decided the barn was the only safe place to be. One of the Welsummers is obviously into real estate. She checked out every single stable before finally settling on Barnaby's as up-to-standard, and promptly laid her egg in there. Luckily I found it before I got Barnaby back in.

I kept Max in all day yesterday as the farrier was coming at 2pm. It seemed silly to turn him out to get covered in slop, only to bring him back in again a few hours later and expect the farrier to pick his feet up. Needless to say, Max was not amused, and kept throwing his haynet up in the air, (the equine equivalent of throwing the dummy out of the pram?) just to let me know. He kept letting out pathetic whinnys to let the others know where he was, but they were outside stuffing themselves on a new bale of haylage, so none of them took any notice, and nobody could be bothered to reply.
I turned Barnaby out first, as usual, followed by Zak, who went galloping up, legs akimbo, crying, "Barnaby! Barnaby!" in feminine tones. I swear if he carried a hankie he'd wave it! It's worth it just to see the look on Barnaby's face, 'Oh lor, it's the galloping gourmet.'
It was quite funny when I went to get them in, as Zak tried to block me off from Barnaby, "I won't let them take you, Sire, I won't!"
"Move over Zak, please."
"Okay, sorry mum."
You can see Barnaby quite clearly saying, "For goodness sake man, what kind of sycophant are you?" and Zak replying, "What kind of sycophant would you like me to be?" I need to get out more!
The builder came today to finish off the blockwork on top of each stable wall. I made him a cup of tea. He said that he'd been coming here for three years, and in all that time no one has ever offered to make him a cup. I thought back to our sermon the other week about offering hospitality. It's not rocket science, is it? And look what a difference it made.
Tessa has been round cleaning up after the farrier. She eats the cut off bits of hoof, and always has done. I was working on a livery yard when we first got her as a puppy and she used to come to work with me then. She's half collie, half springer spaniel. I thought, 'It's a farm, she's a farm dog, she'll know what to do.' How wrong can you be? She used to pick up people's brushes and sponges and run off into the field and sit there chewing them to pieces. I was like Will Smith in Men in Black, "I'm gonna pay for that!" One of the troughs was set under a fence, so horses from both fields could come up and drink out of it. Tessa used to lay in the field, watching me scrub the trough out, then when I picked the hose up to re-fill it, she knew it was time. She used to run at full speed across the grass, leap into the bath, slide along the bottom (muddy paws on my pristine whiteness), duck under the fence and jump out the other end of the bath, then run off and lay in the grass cackling to herself. I would wash the bath out again, muttering under my breath.
It was the dogs there that showed her that horse hoof is delicious. It made a change from horse poo, so she made sure she got her fair share. When I left there she didn't really go near horses again until we came here, seven years later. The first time the farrier came, she dived straight in for the trimmings. I'm amazed she remembered. She'd probably like the farrier to come more often. He seems quite keen on her, too.


I just thought I'd show you this. It's a little perpetual calendar and L brought it back for me from the San Francisco museum. It's very cute, it reminds me so much of Farm Town and Farmville. It stands on my desk, and I love it.

So all in all I think it's time to batten down the hatches, hunker down and ride out the rough weather. People who have an indoor manege should be counting their blessings!

And It Came to Pass

Last year, while I was still working, and the credit crunch was in full swing, I began to wonder what I would do for my next job. They closed our accounts office in Bootle, and then a factory, and we all sat there worrying every day, when our turn would come.
Due, I think, to having some beautiful grandchildren, I began to toy with the idea of being a nanny again. I used to be a nanny years ago, in London, and I loved it.
But then I thought about the fact that I don't drive. I thought, the least a prospective employer is going to need is someone who can take the children to nursery or swimming or toddler group or something, and I'd never find a job. But I could dream.
Then when this job came up, Missis mentioned that she had children. I said, "Well it may interest you to know that I used to be a nanny." She said that was very interesting because quite often when she is away they could do with someone to look after the children after school until Pongo gets in from work. Then she said, "They get dropped off from the school bus right outside the house!" How amazing is that? I think I knew then that this was what God was planning for us, the door that he was opening.
So, of course, here we are, and I have the boys two evenings a week after school, and have had them two days a week during the summer holidays. I am saying this because I may need to mention them from time to time. They haven't asked to be in here, so I shall refer to them simply as Six and Nine. That will do very well.

As a follow-on from yesterday, Mr O and I had a big prayer time last night, as I have realised that although I have certainly left the rat-race, he definitely hasn't. He said part of this rushing around thing he does at the weekend is because he wants to fit in as much as possible before he goes back to work on Monday morning. He just starts to slow down and enjoy life, and get the stress of work out of his system, when he is plunged straight back into it again. And the company he works for is a very stressful place to be. I should know, I stood it for three years, before deciding enough was enough. So I just prayed that all of that would come off him.
We are making changes here though. I lost interest in television a long time ago, way before we moved here. Mr O has developed the habit of flicking through the channels at night, trying to find something to watch, but it's all boring. This is why I'm on the internet, as I never get near the remote control anyway. We've never watched any of the soaps, we don't watch reality tv, so that only leaves sport and the odd quiz programme. I can't believe how many times the same programme is repeated during the week either. We watch old episodes of Friends, and Top Gear and that's about it. We read a lot.
So we are looking for other things to do in the evenings, apart from prayer times and Bible study, which we already do. I want positive things that will help Mr O to unwind, and be a complete contrast to all the negative garbage that tries to cling to him from work. Watch this space.

True Colours

I touched on this a bit in my last post, about Mr O, and how different he is to me. I need to explain this a bit more.
I've spent the past six years working in an office, first with Mr O, and then for three years at Forticrete. That means I have spent six years being totally oppressed. When you work in an office here, in England, in 2009, it is incredibly difficult to mention your faith. A nurse was suspended a few months ago for offering to pray for a patient. When you hear things like that, it puts you off telling people about Jesus. That's why I talk about horses all the time, because that's acceptable.
In fact, in the office, conversation about anything is acceptable, except Jesus. I had to sit and listen to people talking about pornographic films, or violent films, that were so bad in the end I went to the kitchen to make coffee just to get out of the way. You can talk about who's sleeping with who, which fortune teller you're going to and which medium. But you are not, absolutely not, allowed to talk about Jesus. Isn't it strange?
So you go to church on a Sunday, praise God and come home filled with love and peace and joy, so that you're bubbling over, but you must not share that at work on Monday morning. You must keep silent. So silence it is then, because if the conversation is dominated by all those nasty things, which obviously you're not going to contribute to, because you think it's vile, you end up saying nothing at all, until in the end you're silent most of the time.
I was going to title this post, 'living outside the box' (which is a phrase I hate) because finally I am allowed to come out of my little box that people try to put me in, and be myself. But when I thought about it more this morning, I realised that actually where I want to be is inside the box. God has hand-picked, hand-painted and lovingly decorated a box for me, where everything I am is put in, my personality, my character, the way he made me to be. ('In my father's house there are many rooms - a room is just a big box, isn't it?) This box is where the real me can kick off my shoes and feel right at home. I was pondering this when 'True Colours' by Cyndi Lauper came on the radio.



You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realise
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small


But I see your true colours
Shining through
I see your true colours
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours
True colours
Are beautiful like a rainbow


Show me a smile then
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there


And I'll see your true colours
Shining through
I see your true colours
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours
True colours
Are beautiful like a rainbow.




And that is what the Lord wants me to do right now, every day, He wants me to discover my 'true colours' because I've been made to conform to the world for so long, even though I've loved the Lord all that time.
I did a quiz back in the summer, in my early days with Facebook. The question said, 'Describe yourself in one word,' and I instantly put, 'innocent' which is exactly what I am. I am innocent of all the muck and grime in the world because I am redeemed. I am cleaned up. And I don't want to get dirty again. And living here has enabled me to do that. I am free to be myself here, I don't care what anybody thinks. I am me, and I love it. The freedom is incredible.
To give you an example: at work they would say, "You're really posh, aren't you?" meant as an insult, because I speak good english. I felt like saying, "Certainly well brought up enough not to say, "You're really common, aren't you?" because I know that would be a nasty thing to say. If I said that, they'd all say I'm a snob, but it's okay for them to insult me. Does that make sense? So I lived with that insult (and a lot worse) for three years at work. It's just bullying really, isn't it? It's sad that adults are allowed to do that. It's bad enough coping with it at school.
This got so bad that when we came for the interview here and when I first started, and was obviously out to impress, I found the stress from work meant I could hardly string a sentence together. Just when I wanted Pongo and Missis to know I wasn't thick, that I was nice and capable and competent, I couldn't get the words out. It has taken all this time to go back to expressing myself the way I want to, because no one here is going to criticize me for it.
Facebook, and now blogging, have been instrumental in this, because I have made some wonderful new Christian friends on there, and regained some old ones that I've lost touch with. They've shown me that I am part of something huge, something true and something amazing. I am still a daughter of the King, and always will be. They've shown me that's it's okay to be innocent and funny and creative and articulate because that's the way God made me. I am unique, and I'm allowed to be, and I am revelling in it.
My only hope is that, should our circumstances change in the future, and I have to go back to work in an office again, that I have the courage to show my 'true colours', in fact, to nail my colours to the mast, and not put myself in their box ever again.

A Busy Day

I woke up this morning to the sound of silence. No wind, no rain. I leapt out of bed, threw on some jods and flung open the back door. Wam, bam, pea souper. No riding for me, then. Head hung low, I turned the horses out.
Pongo and Missis have gone away for the weekend, so we are holding the fort. This involves me letting their dogs out and feeding them, too. The high risk moment comes when I open the door to their day room, to be greeted by Lexus, the black lab, hurling herself at me. It's a bit like fending off a tackle from Jonah Lomu. The worst bit comes when I let her back in and have to hold her in an armlock while I dry her paws. The trouble is, of course, I have to bend down to reach, which means she can lick me. Marvellous. I am exhausted by the time I leave.
I let the chickens out this morning, and went to do some hay nets, then went back to clean the chicken coop. I always feel I should tap on the door and shout "Room service!" before I go in. Sure enough, there was a chicken still in there, already in mid-lay. Laying an egg appears to be a private and intimate moment, and I was loath to interrupt it. The chicken gave me a hard stare as if to say, "Do you mind?" I quietly closed the door and tiptoed away.
Once they have laid, a chicken will squawk very loudly to 'announce' this achievement. Many visitors have commented on this. If you had an oviduct the size of a chicken's and had to pass their size of egg through it, believe me, you'd squawk, too!
When we first got the 'ladies who lunch', I gave them names like Valma Kelly, Roxy, Mama Morton and so on, but now I have got to know them better, I have re-christened them. Only Roxy has remained. The speckled Sussex is Henny Penny, the two Welsummers are Peggy and Betty, (who lay beautiful pale blue eggs) and the two marans are Marjory and Dorothy. They always go round in pairs, and examine things and discuss them as if they are looking at a particulary good entry in the cake competition at the village show.

I have noticed on previous occasions, and again today, that Mr O lives life at a completely different speed to me. Everything has to be rushed through as quickly as possible. He isn't one to stop and enjoy the view, which seems a pity to me when we live in such a beautiful place. The last time we did a pleasure ride he did ten miles in an hour and ten minutes. I did it in two hours and twenty minutes, and I wasn't slow. To go any faster would, to me, take the 'pleasure' out of 'pleasure ride'.
Today this meant he had mucked out all three stables in the time it took me to do two. I decided not to be flummoxed by this. He had to wait for me anyway, and I took my time so I could do a good job.
Afterwards we drove to a nearby park, with Tessa, so we could check it out and see if it would be safe and suitable to ride the horses round it. It certainly looks do-able, and at the very end there were clear hoof prints in the grass, so other people have obviously done it. Hopefully we'll be able to take the horses there tomorrow.
We whizzed back home and I got Max in to give him a chance to dry off, while Mr O rode Barnaby. It was pouring with rain by the time he got back, but I was committed. Max was in his witney blanket and hi-viz sheet, and I had my hi-viz jacket on. We were probably clearly visible in the next county.
Next Mr O rode Zak and we set off together to post a letter. For some reason it thrills me to do this on a horse, although I have never yet got Max close enough to let me post the letter while I'm still on him, gymkhana style, and today was no exception, so I had to get off, post the letter and hop back on again. By then we were on the road that we normally trot along, so we set off, but Zak kept cantering. Mr O managed to pull him up and we went back to walk. I am not averse to the occasional stride of canter on a road myself, but only in a controlled way. We got to the junction and turned right, to come up the steep hill and past the riding school on the way home. I have always wanted to ride past, looking rather impressive, as all the children come out from their riding lesson. Today, as we went past, Zak was having an absolute dicky fit, legs all over the place, trying to gallop off, and it was obvious Mr O was struggling to hold him. Max was desperate to keep up, and I was worried he was going to bolt after him, but actually he really listened to me. We must have been quite a sight, the skinny ex-racehorse dashing up the road, followed by the filthy cob with the flying mane. They probably thought we were rejects from Appleby Fair.