The difference a week makes

Just a few days away from the garden can make such a difference at this time of year: broad beans which were only beginning to be visible above the soil a week ago now have several leaves; the potatoes are suddenly up; and the new plants put in as part of our garden revamp in 2012 are now well established and covering more of the bare soil between them.  (If one ignores the glaring spaces where I pulled out the spiky plants which I hated on sight, and have yet to replace.)  That bare soil shows very clearly that despite the wet weather earlier in the year, there has been little or no rain since we went away a week ago - oh, the perils of gardening in Suffolk.

With all this burgeoning life in the veg patch, I would like to say that on returning home I produced a wonderfully healthy, home-grown meal within minutes of our arrival.  But no.  we stopped at the village chippy for fish and chips to bring home.  What's more, one of us lobbied to eat them in front of The Smurfs - and won.  And I don't feel the slightest bit guilty about that, or about the home-grown but not so healthy rhubarb crumble which is the first thing I've cooked from the garden this year.  Yum.

Signs of spring

Spring has well and truly sprung in our garden here in Suffolk, and the evidence is all around.  I'm not talking about the bright yellow daffodils, the peas poking their little heads through the soil, or even the everlasting calls of the woodpigeons. 

No, this morning our garden holds even more tangible proof that spring has arrived: washing on the line; a papier-mache snake (school project - though I ended up finishing it off) lying on the lawn to dry; the remains of my breakfast on the patio table and, most telling of all, a figure in pyjamas wandering around with a watering can and  big grin.

Yes, that would be me.  Spring is when I put on the husband's old shoes with my PJs and find myself up to my elbows in the soil immediately after breakfast.  (Summer is when I dispense with shoes altogether and find myself out there even before breakfast.)

There is rhubarb waiting to be made into crumble, self-sown coriander all over the veg patch waiting to be sprinkled over chilli, and there is dirt under my fingernails.  Spring is here.

When to stop

Working from home, the lines are always going to be blurry.  5pm (or rather 3pm, the start of the dash to pick up the boy from school) doesn't necessarily mark the end of the working day.  In fact, I suspect that's true of most employed people these days too.  There's always the evening, or the early morning, to squeeze in a bit more work.  There's always a smartphone within reach, and possible urgent email to check and respond to.

This is not news, I know that.  Digital diets and advice on how to unplug abound all over the internet.  I like to tell myself that I'm better at keeping control of it all than most people: I've never had a Facebook account and have never quite got into Twitter.  Oh virtuous me.

So why do I allow myself to bring work away with me on a family visit?  Time was, the laptop stayed at home and I was officially Off Work.  But this time things went a little haywire with a work project and I felt I needed to remain available to the client, to help them meet their self-imposed deadline.  The result?  Daily email checking and thinking about the project - despite the radio silence from them, which is probably because I told them I was going to be away!

I enjoy my work.  But I do think it's important to stop sometimes.  It's what I would freely (and loudly, and frequently) advise friends, family and colleagues to do.

Time to take my own advice and take a week off.  Will you reclaim your evening or your weekend, even if you can't join me for the week?

Expect the unexpected

I never expected to be part of a family that enjoys going running together.  In fact, I never expected to go running at all.  (Too difficult.)

I never expected to be self-employed, let alone set up a limited company.  (Just not on my radar.)

I never expected to write a blog.  (Too technical.)

But I'm not afraid of turning a 'never' into a 'maybe' or even a 'yes' when something seems right.

Embracing the unexpected can be life-changing.

Snow

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A proper fall of snow really shows how far some of us have come as adults from the wonder of childhood.  The playground echoes to cries of “Stop it, you’ll get soaked,” “Come and stand here or you’ll fall,” “Don’t do that,” and “Ugh, don’t eat it, that’s disgusting!”

I don’t want to talk about it from an adult’s point of view, in resigned tones and pseudo media-speak.  “Traffic chaos, misery for drivers, worst freeze for 20 years, will be worse tomorrow, more forecast overnight, a nightmare journey”…  I want to play in it.

Just stop and think about it.  Really think.

It’s water.  Falling from the sky in soft white lumps.  It changes the whole world, making familiar streets, gardens and fields somehow different.  Stop and look, just for a second.  It’s magic.

You can make footprints in it.  You can follow the footprints of others and find out where they were going – it tells a story.  A single line of tracks across an open field tells of the solitary fox who emerged at dawn from his shelter in the hedge and set off in search of a meal.  Footprints across the front lawn show that he postman took a short cut from next door again.

You can roll in it.  This is even more fun when someone has just told you not to.  You can throw it at your friends, your enemies, your parents, the neighbour’s cat.  You can draw on brick walls with it.  You can make fantastic sculptures with it (even if most of us make do with a lopsided and decidedly lumpy snowman).  Sometimes, as today, it comes with dense white fog which adds a spooky touch to the white world and leaves glittery sparkles on your hair.  If it’s really cold, they will freeze and look like diamonds.  Isn’t that amazing?

When mum isn’t looking, you can eat it and feel it disappear in your mouth leaving a cold nothingness.  You can catch the falling flakes on your tongue.  You can lie on your back and make snow angels, or just lie still and get lost in the confusion of snowflakes as they whirl down towards your face.  You can go sledging, shrieking hysterically as someone pulls you along, screaming with delight as you slide down a hill, and giggling as you fall off and get a face full of cold which always, always finds its way down your neck.

And then, when you can’t feel your toes, your fingers are sore and your nose is red and dripping, you can stumble inside, strip off all your many layers and leave them in a melting heap on the floor and thaw yourself out with hot chocolate and biscuits.  So memories are made.

Even as an adult, nothing stops you doing any of those things except your own image of adulthood.  Even if you have to scrape the car, negotiate the traffic chaos and fog and go to work, if you’re lucky the snow will still be there when you come home.  In the dark, snow somehow manages to glow, and can be even more fun when you think nobody can see you.

My son (at the grand old age of seven and a quarter) says I will never grow up.  He means this as a true compliment.  I’m doing my best to prove him right.  Snowball fight, anyone?

PS. Do you need a guide to snow play?

1.     Be prepared.  Wear warm, waterproof clothes.  The only footwear which really does the job in snow is a pair of wellies.  Beg, borrow or buy them.  Make your children wear them too.  That way, they will be the ones making snow angels on the way home from school while you look on (or even better, join in.)  That way, you will not be the parent who, on seeing my boy lying down in the snow, looked horrified and hurried his daughters past*.  You will be the parent who, like me, knew the child was making memories as well as prints in the snow, and would be warm and dry in his waterproof trousers.

2.     Walk somewhere.  Not somewhere you have to get to quickly.  Not somewhere you don’t want to go to, like the dentist.  Take a gentle walk in the snow and see what you can see.  This morning, in amongst the footprints of dogs and their owners, I saw a single line of fox tracks disappearing across a field.

3.     Appreciate what you have.  Look at the beauty that lumps of frozen water falling from the sky has made all around you.  And be thankful for the warm house you have to go home to.

*  Hurried his children past, while saying to his daughters, “See, that’s what boys are like.”  I feel a whole other blog post coming on based on that remark!


PS. The blog has a new home to live and work in!

Please come and join me at http://liveandworkathome.wordpress.com/

Taking a break

The next few weeks are all about taking stock of what doesn't need to be done.  Work schedule is overloaded, Christmas is coming, and I'm trying to get Organised.

I will be back in the new year, but need to take a break from blogging now.  Sometimes something has to give!

Sometimes the pendulum swings overwhelmingly away from work and towards home.  A visit to family followed by a laundry mountain; a boy who shocks his parents with a sudden developmental stage needing all of both parents' best parenting efforts; a half-finished garden revamp stalled by days of heavy rain.  All of these, plus the onset of the dark days and long nights, conspire to make the work a mere distraction (and blogging an impossible non-essential which seems too much like work).

Oh, the work is still there.  The work is still (mostly) done, but where is the engagement with it, the mental stimulation, the enjoyment?  Overtaken by nagging low-level worry and More Important Matters.  (And often, by less important matters which refuse to be ignored.)

How to restore the balance?  Well, sometimes the balance simply needs to tip towards home for a while.  There is no 'restoring the balance' because that is the only way we can be.  But when we are ready to burrow into the mountain of Things to Do and truly engage with the work, there is only one way: focus on one thing at a time.

I know, it's been said before.  Many times.  But still we (or at least I) need reminding.  Today is a Client A day, and I will do Client A's work until it is done.  Tomorrow Client B's work will be waiting.  A conscious decision to finish what needs to be done in the hours available results in great things.  (And guilt-free time off afterwards!)