March madness

We have GALLOPPED through March. The days have grown increasingly lighter, the weather - despite Storm Gareth, so windy that I barely made it home in one piece on the bicycle - increasingly warmer. Several days spent sitting outside sipping coffee, if not taking an after-Sunday-lunch nap on the patio.

Daffodils are giving way to celandines; wild garlic is beginning to compete with the odd bluebell spiking out of the hedgerows; violets and daisies stud the lawn, primroses covering the banks along the lanes.

Stunning sunrises and sunsets, too.

The sun has been a fiery ball, shooting up above the hedge, blazing straight in to the bedroom window.

I'm grateful to be able to cycle, despite my arthritic knee: the specialist referred to the X-ray as 'horrifying' in that the cartilage has degenerated hugely and the knee is beginning to become somewhat deformed. Nevertheless, he also says I am managing it 'tremendously well' with exercise etc, so I shall continue to do so.

Converting my cycle to electric power is, however, greatly welcome.

Exercise and nature aside, March is full of cooing over photos and videos of Cara; parents' evenings - nearly four hours one night, over three hours the second (but at least we are not writing reports this term); and quite a few meals with friends and neighbours, always great fun. Meeting some fascinating people, too - my neighbour Nicky has some intriguing and interesting friends.

Friends: John Melhuish, a Catholic priest I have kept in touch with for over thirty years, and who has - had - friends on Guernsey who he met up with when he visited a few years ago, died suddenly. Wendy, a friend in church lost her ninety-five year old mother - not unexpected, of course, but still very sad. A good friend is undergoing chemotherapy... life is not without its sadnesses and difficulties.

Halfway through the month, though: our first Nightstop guest. We signed up to Nightstop - involving numerous training days, much form-filling and more than a little trepidation - which offers a safe place to sleep for a vulnerable young person. In Guernsey, homelessness looks like sofa-surfing, where a young person might leave the family to stay on a friend's sofa. We were lucky enough to be the scheme's first hosts on the island, as Nightstop was introduced to Guernsey only a few months ago. Pickle was in heaven, lapping up the attention and tickles which our guest kindly providd for her. And the best bit: a few days after the guest stayed, a more permanent solution was found for them as Action For Children worked hard to find accommodation.

And so the month rolled by....Easter approaches.

Lenten twigs: Swedish paskriset

It's Friday... but Sunday's a-coming! #lent #Easter #GoodFriday

March mindfulness. Mind full.

Home is where the heart is.

I’ve been pondering much on home, and all what that means, recently. I say recently: it feels as if I have been mulling over ‘home’ in my heart for huge parts of my life, inbetween just getting on with living in whatever home I am in at the time.

Home. Where the heart is. But what do you do when you have left your heart, or little bits of it at least, in various places and you can’t (easily, for anything is possible) go back to visit them? You can’t become reacquainted with those pieces of your heart you left behind, fitting them back into the You who you have become since then. You can only try to recognise in yourself those other parts of the world, the other parts of your life.

And what do you do when someone leaves you, taking tiny – or not so tiny – parts of your heart with them? You can’t say, ‘Oh, give me back that little sliver, that huge chunk, I can’t live without it,’ because it’s not possible. Once gone, it’s gone. Gone for the good of you, keeping you in relationship with the person who dared to leave you. And I’m talking children here, people, children who grew up too quickly and dashed off to have all manner of adventures. On their own. Without you. Just as it should be.

You carry on living, that’s what you do. You don’t die of a partial heart, but you don’t live whole-heartedly either. Part of your heart simply isn’t there. So it doesn’t matter how exciting your life might be right now, or how many adventures of your own you are having, or how settled and happy you are in your Nice Little Life, all safe and cosy: no, deep down you know you only live partially.

And that’s what we do. We live, knowing that we would like to be in two places at once. More, if we are honest with ourselves. Our hearts are at rest where we are and yet longing for Other: Other Places, Other People. We live with dichotomy, with paradox.

But look at it another way. Look at how rich your life is, how widespread your heart across countries, across continents, on the other side of town. You are filled with more experiences than you can count, simply by having been somewhere else. Your heart grows: with love for places, for people, through amazing experiences, encounters with others: new relationships.

Truly, it is a gift. To be able to share one’s life, give one’s heart away to others. A gift.

Fun in February

Well, not really. February is one of those months where the only thing that seems to be going for it is lighter mornings and longer evenings. #rollonspring  It has fled by.  Should rename the post Fleeting February, actually. Half term arrived before we knew it, along with dazzling sunshine and warm days. Sitting outside the front door in the sun sipping a cappuchino - now, that is what I call a real half term.

The welcome mid-term break wasn't all just sitting and reading. A little gardening was done - mainly preparing for some serious vege planting, cutting back a few shrubs and pulling out some ivy. We hosted friends and neighbours for a meal, feasting on the leftovers for days - always good to over-cater. The weekends had been busy with catching up with friends over meals - one particular 24 hours was non-stop entertaining - so it was good to catch our breath and enjoy the Guernsey weather.

A dear friend's death brought memories of decades - at 98, he had lived a long life and was still an intelligent conversationalist, still walking, still intensely interested in the world around him. Friends lost parents, friends passed on... a time of funerals and of reflection on life...

In the meantime, Cara Grace continues to grow and delight. Her eagerness to communicate in smiles, giggles, gurgles and various other unidentifiable noises in response to conversation and questions is completely charming: she already has her passport for her Guernsey visit in April...can't wait to meet her properly, although Skype is truly wonderful.

And February is a time to delight in small things. Daffodils, shouting yellowness in ever-increasing measure; occasional bumblebees venturing around the heather; buzzards calling overhead, competing for air space with the seagulls. Glorious sunsets. A morning of quiet fog, wrapping Torteval in stillness despite the competing roar of surf...And unseasonably warm weather... it could be the Easter holidays. #herebeforeyouknowit

Hibiscus

Daisies...in February, though, not December

Camellia

View from the Corbiere

The Prevote from the Corbiere

Prevote MP tower

Pleinmont sunset

Caterpillar nests

Journeying through January

January is always a dark, gloomy month, yet this year it has been so much easier.

Spending the first week in tropical sunshine has made all the difference. Well topped-up with vitamin D, we came back bouncing with energy (in spite of a 25 hour return journey) and recovering quickly from the time difference and beginning a new term.

(Leaving Africa was not easy. Those emotions now seem distant...a part of my heart packed away with the suitcases. I get them down from the attic to peep in now and then, feelings longing to clamber out into the fresh light of day, but there is no future for the longing-to-be-there and the -missing-our-kids feelings, save for a thankfulness for the time and opportunity. Thankfulness is a large and comforting weight to keep us all in order, a kind schoolmistress maintaining calm in the chaos of immaturity.)

Arriving in Guernsey less than 20 hours before the first school day, I hit the ground running. Straight in to a full teaching week, so was quite exhausted by the Friday and had even organised a ladies' breakfast for that first Saturday morning. There were six of us, in the end, and it was, as always, refreshing and revitalizing. Nothing I like better than spiritual conversations over coffee and baked goods of some sort. Cheese scones and cardamom twists. #favourites.

Meanwhile, Cat, Andy and Cara continuee to persevere. Feeding is sorted, but Cara slept relatively little which didn't give her exhaused parents much of a break. Prayed she would settle in to a routine soon, which, by halfway through the month, she had begun to do, sleeping longer and awake for shorter periods in the night. Phew.

Sleeping better, smiling lots. We've loved frequent Skype 'Cara dates', enjoying getting to know her while we grin like lunatics. She grins, slightly lopsided at times (a Pollard trait) whil showing off a cute little dimple on the other cheek ( an Andy trait). 'Chats' and tries to join in with singing. Cute/sweetheart/gorgeous are the adjectives of choice, used over and over again...

Back to a constant diet of Brexit anxiety - in the media, that is. I haven't taken much notice, although the antics in the House of Commons - particularly the Speaker - have been quite entertaining. Who knows what will happen? The speculation and misinformation flying around has been spectacular. Historic times, as the Government sustained its biggest defeat ever on a vote, as Politics is evident in every public conversation between MPs, as the country is so divided.

Closer to home, there are more pressing worries. Dear Lisa's father, Denny, is very ill with melanoma; Pickle's friend Howie has been diagnosed with brain cancer, with only a few months left of life: items being ticked off on his 'bucket list'; and Jonny and Adele, again, have visa issues and their sojourn in Tanzania is once again uncertain, with friends leaving/planning to leave. Including Byron and Lisa, very sadly, as they make a decision to return to California to help Denny and Carolyn; and then, at the end of the month, our dear friend Heather is diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer.

In all of this, we know that God is sovereign, that He loves us, our family and friends far more than we can imagine and that, as we trust and put all things under His care, He orders our days. Yet alongside this are the fears and worries that threaten to overwhelm. It is not in our nature to willingly accept sickness and death: we are made in God's image, for eternity and perfection, and so, as this is the only earth we know, we long for eternal life in the now....

Meanwhile, we drink Tanzanian coffee. Adele and Jonny gave us a set of 'taster' bags for Christmas.

We tested one type every day for five days, before a final tasting where we compared them all together.

All set up for final tasting. After 5 days of one type of coffee a day, it was now time to taste test all together, one after the other. #justlikewine

Results:
R preferred no3, A preferred no5 which was Rs 2nd choice. No 3 was the most expensive at 52000tzs a kg, no5 was the 2nd most expensive at 34000tzs a kg, thus proving that we have discriminate tastes.

And now...all finished. #backtoWaitrose  #TZexperience #TZholidaywellandtrulyover #sadbutthankful

During December...

I started this midway through the month, the day after my mother's birthday. She would have been 95... but am only posting now, in January, when we got back from Tanzania. (So much going on in my head and heart that, to be honest, I forgot about this post!)

Time passes.

We hurtled towards the end of term and our departure for Tanzania. I didn't add much to the post after that. Not that there wasn't time, but my heart was full of family and friends and Africa....

This month was good. Reports finished and signed off; Christmas letter finished and sent out. Decorations - only a few, as we had housesitters coming to stay while we were away - put up. Obligatory/traditional Christmas baking - always Swedish pepparkakor.

Cara Grace grows. We pray for her health, for energy and sleep for her exhausted parents. We are so thankful for her safe arrival.

We grapple with wind and rain, coughs and colds.  This is December.

Off to sunshine for Christmas...

Last days...

We spend our last days quietly, in talking, reading, discussing car repairs at great length and in admirable detail. My heart gladdens at these discussions: how thankful I am that Jonny has his dad’s expertise to draw on, along with Byron’s supportive presence just a short distance away. This is in Tanzanian terms: over one and a half hours’ drive on the other side of Arusha. At home in Guernsey, anything more than 15 or 20 minutes seems like a long safari – how quickly we adjust.

A nearby lodge – Rivertrees, the last convenient tourist stop before Kilimanjaro Airport – is a pleasant venue for an afternoon drink by the river. We marvel at the trees – huge figs sending their aerial roots down in search of water. I spot a ‘first’ – a black-backed shrike, its astonishingly bright red eye peeping out from the bushes next to us.

And, of course, there is the swimming pool. Bees perch busily on the lane dividers, some unwittingly taking dives into the water, swimming furiously to safety. Scarlet dragonflies swoop and dive across the surface, hitting it with a smack before zooming on. European rollers perch atop the tennis court fence, four of them, evenly spaced, waiting for the insects thrown up by the newly cut grass. Wahlberg’s eagles soar and call, settling in the fig near the entrance to the school. Mount Meru plays peek-a-bo behind clouds, thermals constantly forming and re-forming.

Half a dozen arrow-marked babblers invade the garden, chit-chattering, hopping around, venturing at times onto the verandah and into the living room. A couple of immature birds constantly ask for food, jumping on the others. Mouse-birds congregate on a young muringa tree, stripping the new young shoots. It’s a good thing that the muringa grows so quickly...

From the verandah early in the morning we watch a pair of white-browed coucals ponderously flapping on and off the hedge, catching insects and, in one lucky instance, a small toad which has unwarily ventured out on to the grass. Variable sunbirds, with their iridescent green caps and bright crimson breasts, flit around the acacia branches while a fiscal shrike constantly swaps between the lawn and the verandah roof. Never have I seen one for so long at such close quarters. To cap it all, we spot a tiny wren-like bird in the bougainvillea hedge: an African penduline tit. A first.

The birds have been fantastic – so many, such variety all in one place, up-country and dry country birds all in one environment. This, we think, is what Paradise will be like...

We prepare to go home with full hearts, countless happy memories, relationships renewed... and an inordinate number of tsetse fly and midge bites, with the odd small mosquito bite to add in to the mix.

Africa.

And then, it was time to leave. It had been the most incredibly relaxing time, our days filled with reading, swimming and enjoying the bird life.

Yesterday it had rained. Good African rain, first a drizzle then, under a black sky, a heavy downpour. The thunderous noise of raindrops hitting the tin roof brought back memories...

The air was fresh, the soil damp, the atmosphere calm.

Today, a cloudy morning gave way to sunshine. A last swim, while Jonny took his car to have new rear shock absorbers fitted - a somewhat stressful process, in that the wrong type had been ordered and so Jonny had to go back later. #nothingstraightforwardinAfrica

Packed up. Emma's house, where we had been staying, cleaned. A last lunch at Rivertrees Country Inn, on the way to the airport. So relaxed.

I thought I was ready to go home, back to 'normal' life. End of holidays.

But I wasn't. Oh, I had had a great holiday and felt ready for work, but I wasn't ready to leave Jonny and Adele.

Goodbyes could not be lingering. Quick hugs, then we were in the hot queue to get in to Kilimanjaro Airport and then through the long check-in and immigration process. Only an hour from start to finish.

The goodbyes were bad enough... but I was unprepared for what happened as I walked out of the terminal building to cross the tarmac towards the plane. I was overwhelmed by tears. Throwing myself down to claw at the ground, screaming to stay, suddenly seemed like an option.

I didn't, of course. I struggled to contain my tears, dutifully climbing on to the plane, quietly weeping unobtrusively as we took off past Kilimanjaro, the two peaks of Kibo and Mawenzi soaring above the clouds.

I don't understand why my heart is breaking again.

Back at Usa

Then, the next day, after a last swim in the pool: time to go back home. Only a scant three hour drive, mostly on tarmac, negotiating Arusha’s busy roads to emerge on the road to Dar-es-Salaam which goes straight through Usa River.

The grounds of Kennedy House International School are like an oasis. Turning off the main road onto a bumpy track, negotiating picky-piccy motorcycles, cars and trucks with inches to spare before driving out of the town. We return on 1^st January, Tuesday: so it is still market day. Women sit at the side of the road with piles of tomatoes carefully arranged on sacking mats; tins of beans wait to be bought; bananas, pineapples, potatoes, oranges... a plethora of vegetables.

Some of the shops are shut, including Supafast Internet. But otherwise, it could be any other day in Africa.

We leave the noise behind. The enormous gates slide open and we are once again inside a little oasis. Huge grounds, a full–length circular running track, a 25m swimming pool, silky oaks and fig trees gracing the compound.

Jonny and Adele’s house is a welcome haven: simply yet comfortably built, Adele manages their home with flair. We remember how filtering water was the norm; adjusting to power surges and low water pressure not uncommon.  We unpack from the safari, washing dust and smoke out of clothes and bedding, all the while thankful for safe travel and another exciting adventure.

The swimming pool has been a welcome ‘cooling off’ point. The birds – Wahlberg’s eagles soar over the playing field or perch in the tree by Jonny’s house; a  white-browed coucal and speckled mousebirds swoop across the lawn; black-faced Baglafecht’s weavers fly busily in and out of their nests hanging from the acacia tree; arrow-marked babblers chattering companionably together in the hedge. Fork-tailed drongos call long and loudly in the early morning as I sit on the verandah, feet tucked up on a huge African sofa made of roughly-hewn branches.

We watch the film of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society: jarring on many levels, not least that none of it was filmed on Guernsey and the scenery, to us, seems false. Yet it gives snippets of understanding the horror of life in Occupied Guernsey during World War 2 and is a delightful story of relationships developed and restored.

I find myself homesick.

It is wonderful to be here. The weather alone – the bright hot African sun, the heaviness of an approaching rainstorm, the violence of the rain itself flooding fiercely down -  this, in itself, if wonderfully reminiscent. I find myself remembering dark skies heralding the rain, a vivid picture of a life formerly lived, singly, in Western Kenya; sunshiny days filled with the delighted laughter of small children; the uniquely evocative, dust-settling smell of huge raindrops  on hot earth. This is worth travelling thousands of miles for.

More so, the time spent with Jonny and Adele, marvelling at how well-settled and adapted they are. Jonny’s ability to instantly establish rapport with the (many) policemen who stop us on the road: their response makes it look as if they are old friends, greetings so friendly that it seems almost abnormal. Where have you come from? Where are you going? Why? What will you do there? Happy New Year! I am again reminded of how important relationship is in Africa.

Adele’s creative gifting in establishing a wonderful little home, mastering the intricacies of shopping with ease and adapting to the challenges of unreliable internet, low – or no – water pressure, intermittent power cuts...

And, both of them, still highly dedicated, extremely hard-working teachers. I wonder if the children they teach and the colleagues they work with know how fortunate they are?