The Homemade Heart

our unexpected guest

My usual weekday morning kitchen routine runs along pleasantly familiar lines........

radio on (Chris Evans, since you ask)

say hello to Meg (our yellow lab)

fire on (October to March)

kettle on (first of many)

wake the boys for school (nicely)

empty the dishwasher (that machine works hard for its money)

make coffee (Derek)

make tea (me, several cups)

make bacon sandwiches (Jacob's breakfast)

warm Pain au Chocolat (Isaac's breakfast)

make packed lunch (Isaac)

make lunchtime rolls (Derek)

fill the washing machine (a load in before the boys go to school makes me feel like Superwoman)

locate gym kit (Jacob)

remind to brush teeth (Jacob)

and hair (Isaac)

locate car keys (me)

find mobile phone (Derek)

kiss goodbye (Derek)

match up boys to correct blazers, bags, kit bags and lunches (every day)

see to door, kiss, kiss, (Jacob) (Isaac)

watch boys crossing the park together (start missing them already).......

You get the general picture, perhaps your house is very similar in the morning? 

This morning, in the midst of our usual organised chaeos I was suddenly, and unexpectedly, dive bombed from above by a small, beautiful and thoroughly disorientated..... robin redbreast. He must have flown in through the back door, which I had earlier opened for Meg to allow for morning ablutions and sniffings.

I yelled in surprise and nearly dropped Jacob's breakfast, Meg started barking wildly as she caught sight of the bird, Isaac came running through in half a school uniform and bare feet, and Derek (used to a certain amount of noise in the mornings) appeared, nonplussed, at the kitchen door, to ask what the fuss was about. He quickly became a little more animated as our unexpected guest circled twice round his head before taking refuge atop a shelf of recipe books.

Before deciding how best to deal with him, I fleetingly regretted that A) he hadn't landed right on top of my christmas recipe book collection- surely a missed Christmas card design opportunity, and B) that I don't have a better zoom on my camera.

Amid much hilarity, combined with a little mild hysteria at having such an unpredictable house guest in our midst, we tried to decide what to do for the best. Suggestions ranged from adoption (Isaac) to capturing him under a hat (Jacob), laying a trail of breadcrumbs from the shelf to the back door to tempt him outside (Isaac)- actually I really liked that suggestion, and took a bag of breadcrumbs out of the freezer in preperation for a sort of reverse-Hansel-and-Gretel exercise when the children left for school.

Just as I had decided the best thing to do was just leave him well alone on top of the recipe books until the house was quieter, he suddenly decided that another tour of the kitchen skyline was in order, and flew to the top of a cupboard, as we all ducked, and shrieked (and Meg barked) as though we were being targeted by a Lancaster Bomber.

Then Jacob, always cool headed in a crisis, climbed onto a chair with a tea towel in his hand, and with infinate care, and a gentleness that belies his 6' 2" frame, size 12 feet, and huge hands, calmly and carefully caught the little fellow and cradled him carefully as he stepped down.

He walked to the back door and opened the tea towel. Our Mr Redbreast, undaunted by his awfully big adventure, flew up into the branches of our Acer tree. After looking back at us all with what we were sure was an expression of gratitude for our hospitality, he flew off. 

I have always wondered what magazine journalists, writing about Christmas, mean when they tell us to be prepared for 'unexpected guests', but I guess I know now.

in the words of Esther Phillips...........

................'What a diff'rence a day makes'

 

'..............24 little hours' *

 

 

Our Acer tree took a pounding in the heavy rain and howling winds earlier this week. Usually we are able to enjoy the glorious red foliage for several weeks, but not this year; all the leaves fell overnight. Wednesday morning, 9a.m.,an abundance of beautiful red leaves. Thursday morning, 9a.m., virtually leafless, just a few tenacious survivors clinging to the branches.

*here is the fabulous Esther Phillips 'belting it out' as Glaswegians are wont to say. 

York: misc

When I was nursing, I was extremely organised, I rarely forgot to do things. I worked hard all day and if I didn't achieve a particular goal, I passed it onto a colleague, so that nothing was missed. I was efficient.

Now that I am a stay at home mum, I am, in some ways, less organised, and though that can be rather freeing, it can be rather dismaying also, when I realise I have forgotten to do something, or taken longer to do something than I previously would. 

However, this morning I have been productive, and organised; even mildly efficient. I have made some overdue calls, and attended to a few tasks I had been neglecting.I suspect this is because I have been asked to make a cake for a friend and I know I will need to spend some time today and tomorrow concentrating on it, so need to make the best use of the hours when the boys are at school.

Therefore in the spirit of efficiency, and rounding up, and completing tasks neatly, I am posting my last images from my weekend in York: things that caught my eye, that don't fall into a particular category, 'York: misc' you might say. 

 

 

Thank you so much for sharing York with me. 

Back home now, to old clothes and porridge, as my Nana would say, but with lots of very happy memories to carry in my heart.

I would mostly choose to go in autumn.

Last Sunday afternoon I was chugging down the river Ouse on a little sightseeing boat. We were the only passengers; apart from two young crewmen tucking into their lunch at a nearby table it was just us, sitting smiling at each other, and the water, and the view, and the steady commentary from the skipper.

 

It was peaceful, the views were beautiful; what a perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. If I lived in York, I might have to do it regularly. I think I would mostly choose to go in autumn, when it is quiet, and the trees along the river bank are slowly shedding their red and golden leaves into the water. 

Fun to pass under, rather than over, the bridges,

And fun to buy a paper bag full of fragrant, very hot, roasted chestnuts to nibble as we walked home.

Our little courtyard was so welcoming.

More photo's from York to share next time.

 

 

as real as real could be

Last week I spent a few days in York. We stayed in a small, quite perfect apartment, directions to which read 'first right behind York Minster'. These directions rivalled my (until last weekend) favourite ever directions, which were 'first left past Notre Dame, number 27', sent to me in advance of a visit to friends in Paris many years ago.

The view from our landing window looked out over the rooftops.

We decided to take a very early walk on Saturday morning. The streets were all but deserted, with only the occasional delivery van or road sweeper for company. It was the perfect time to be out, before the city centre filled up with tourists. We felt that York belonged to us; the historic centre ours to explore.

It was cold. At the end of our street, we could see York Minster gleaming through the mist, just a minute's walk away.

Turning the other way, we headed towards the Shambles, York's famous 14th C street, originally the butchers' quarter, now devoted to tourist shops and cafes.

The ghostly mist somehow added to the atmosphere of antiquity, and we marvelled at the buildings overhanging the narrow road, leaning drunkenly against each other, without a straight wall, window or door between them.

Some look like the work of an elfin carpenter,

 or as though made of gingerbread.

 

Despite their fairy tale appearance, they  as real as real could be, fully functioning and kept busy catering for the year-round tourist trade.

 

As the streets began to fill up towards 9am, our thoughts turned to breakfast, and we returned to 'Flax and Twine' which we had noted earlier in our walk. A fabulous vintage shop, with a delightful cafe upstairs, we sat beside the window, slowly warming up from the inside out, with big bowls of steaming, nubbly porridge, and several pots of strong tea.

Don't you love a cafe that sells home made toffee apples at breakfast time?

More about our weekend in York next time.........

Related articles

 

Year in books; October

Joining Laura again at her beautiful blog Circle of Pine Trees, and her Year In Books project. If you haven't yet looked at the book recommendations, and the many lovely blogs involved, I recommend you do.

My book choice last month was Sarah Waters' 'Paying Guests'.

 

Set in the 1920's, it concerns a genteel but impoverished mother and daughter. They live in a large suburban house, in a respectable suburb of London.

The mother is worn down and emotionally vulnerable, having been left badly provided for by her husband, and having lost two sons in the Great War. Frances, the daughter, is frustrated and deeply unhappy with her lot, but is committed to caring for her mother, and their large, ill-maintained house. The house itself is almost like another character, it is so vividly described, and its maintenance such a burden to Frances, who spends her days scrubbing floors, emptying pails and laying fires, as they can no longer afford any domestic help. Becoming desperate for money, they reluctantly decide to take in lodgers, the 'paying guests' of the title.

Len and Lil Barber are brash, noisy and slack. Len is overly familiar, Lil has garish taste and slatternly habits, yet they seem to enjoy life, and are sociable and friendly. However Frances and her mother find it a physical and psychological strain having the Barbers share their home.

As the weeks go by, however, Frances becomes intrigued as to the nature of Len and Lils' marriage, and is slowly drawn in to a friendship with Lil. From that point in the story, events begin to gather momentum and the tension mounts. Relationships are forged, a murder is committed, and the plot gathers pace towards a murder trial at the Old Bailey.

The book is dark, and in places very explicit, so if you are put off by that, this is not the book for you. However, it is hugely atmospheric, very pacey and a page turner. A very good autumn read.

My book choice for October is 'Written in My Own Heart's Blood' by Diana Gabaldon.

This is the eighth book in the 'Outlander' series by Diana Gabaldon. I really shouldn't like these books; I usually loathe historical bodice rippers, but here I must come clean and admit without shame that I have read and loved every single one in the series, and have been eagerly awaiting the release of this latest installment.

I was loaned the first five books when Isaac was a baby, and used to read them during his feeds. I devoured them in record time; the heady mixture of love, time travel, inexplicable phenomena, physical hardship and uncomfortable domestic arrangements made perfect sense to me as the sleep deprived, slightly crazed mother of two tiny children. By the time I'd finished the books, Isaac was weaned and I was a committed 'Outlander' fan.

Diana Gabaldon's website explains the books, and her writing methods, and the whole juggernaut that is the Outlander phenomenon, and is worth a look if you are curious. I am really looking forward to diving back in to the story, especially as each book in the series starts, satisfyingly, almost at the exact point the previous one left off, with no frustrating gaps or mysterious literary devices. They are just rollickingly good stories, perfect for chilly autumn evenings by the fire.

 

 

 

Related articles