Learning to Fall

"When will it be Oscar's birthday Mummy?"

"When all the leaves are back on the trees Alannah".

"But I've been waiting ages" (mega sulky face)

This time last year I was as impatient as the blonde bombshell. Every twinge, every kick....is that it? Is that the baby coming?? So I can't fault the three year old for being impatient for his first birthday to come around, especially not at the prospect of cake with sprinkles and icing and jellies and smarties...and and and...and all the things important about birthdays for the single figures people. And then it came around and happened, and now we wait for something else to happen...with more sprinkles :) 

Daily Stumbling Ground

I guess I felt like I had been waiting ages too. Almost a year since the little man (not so little anymore, weighing the same as the threenager) came into the light of day, just over a year since I stepped off the threadmill of the day job and a full year since I surrendered to the world of full time mother/householder/domestic goddess (note to husband and children: all three role titles loosely applied and open to debate/reward negotiation). 

There's something magic that happens when you give birth to your baby, something magic that changes your heart and your mind and stays with you through the constant attention and devotion that a newborn requires and the challenging (some might say debilitatiing and soul crushing) broken sleeps and nighttime waking. Not forgetting the buckets of nappies and snot. The magic of course is nature's wonderful way of sustaining the mother through all of this, and endorphins are wonderful. Over time however, the magic gradually starts to fade and mother must learn to sustain herself through a sense of humour (preferably a good one) and quiet acceptance of the work at hand. Add a threenager that's going on sixty four, into the mix and that's when things really start to stretch and that seemingly benign word - challenging - takes on a new meaning entirely.

It's been an interesting year. And so many times I thought of my own mother and how I am in complete awe of her. And I tell her, even though she left us five weeks before Oscar was born. She would have fallen head over heels with him though, I know this.

What did I learn? Many things. Many things that I could never have imagined were there for the learning. Like, how much conversation a three year old can fit into the waking hours of any given day. Like, you can't reason with them either. Like, you can't expect to win an argument with them. Like, you are very likely to regress to their level of reasoning with lack of sleep and continued erosion of your inner calm (think: no inner calm). Like, you need to maintain perspective and get outside on your own every day. Like, be open to no planning other than manoeuvering between dawn and dusk with all bodies intact. Like, being grateful for each of those mornings and evenings that we are all together (even though we may/nay - probably -  spent the day squabbling over b***s**t - and that we are growing and changing together as part of our own unique, quirky and  family unit). Like, how getting an afternoon nap even just once a week can be the one thing that saves your soul. Like, how much I absolutely relish the precious, natural rhythm of it all.

I often thought that it was the right thing to try to 'find the balance' - the elusive, exclusive, evasive balance in life. Some seemed to have it. Shouldn't I be going for it? Find it and hold on to it smugly like it was the life bouy to my existence. Find it, grasp it and never, ever let it go, and then tell everyone else how to find it too.  

What fool was I? I wisely gave up on that. Now I stick with what works to stop me from falling over, as much as I possibly can.  I still fall over - for sure - daily. I lose my temper with the threenager, I wallow in self pity after I've had an epic night from hell with a teething baby. I lose heart.  I crumble. I feel lonely and isolated as I'm building lego houses with the threenager and the bouncing boy at 5.30am in the morning (an every-morning ritual - somehow strangely meditative in those silent times). I didn't get my annual performance rating, I got puked on instead. I fall down.

And then I find my way back up....crawling, hobbling, flying, powering forward, on good days maybe even straight into a headstand and a mind-bending scorpion pose. And then I fall, again. 

And then I just breathe. And then I am balanced. A walk in the woods, a hug from the man, a smile from the boyscar, a tummy rub from the blonde bombshell, time wangling with an overgrowing garden, a text from a friend - somehow it gets delivered. I don't find it or grasp it or cling to it, or stick my nails into it, it finds me. If I let it. 

So the last year has been interesting, to say the least. And I am grateful for all that the journey has given to me. Instead of finding balance I am learning how to fall, with grace. And how to pick myself back up again, and again, with humble gratitude and hopefully some more grace. Instead of that elusive 'finding of the balance', I am loving the realness of falling and I embrace it. 

Of course, if I need any reminding, I just watch the boy stepping his way from chair to fridge, and table to floor with the cutest and plumpest of un-shoed feet...and I bow to the immense beauty and fragility, and yet strength and steady force of it - his learning to walk, by learning to fall.

P.S. The Holly Cottage garden is amazing right now - as is the magnificent/awesome Irish countryside - some updates on the way, soon.

We follow the sun

It seems like 'transitioning' is the buzz word in our house these days. Everybody is doing it...Alannah is transitioning to her new room in play school - very grown up with a proper big slide and what's this? No more nappies? Phew, sighed The Earth as it is relieved of even one of its contributors to the heaving stockpile of soiled nappies toddlers can create. Mind you, Oscar is making up for it...

It seems like only yesterday that I was sitting here in the Holly Cottage, in blissful ignorance I might add, for the arrival of our own little princess and my own transitioning to mother. And now she is climbing the stairs without assistance to a new classroom, running on ahead into the 'dark woods' as I struggle to follow with a thriving babe in arms. 

Oscar is transitioning too - he is aware now of his surroundings and he knows the benefits of making his voice heard. When the princess isn't here he is quiet, sleepy...and chats away to himself no end. But when the storm returns, he observes keenly...watching her every move, waiting his turn and drinking in all the fun that being a mobile unit will bring him in the future. 

The garden is transitioning also - winter green manure cover is well established across the most of it, courgettes have possibly passed their peak and tomatoes are blushing nicely. Ambitions were low this year in the Holly Cottage garden, and to be truthful I'm glad we got to where we did, not knowing how the new arrival would impact on moving about the place and all that comes with that. Spuds are all out to avoid the attentions of the greedy slugs and vibrant beetroot awaits daily encounters with goat's cheese. And that's it, pretty much. A few apples to fall and of course the odd delight squirrelled away in the freezer for the darker days. But we are pretty much on the wind down (to you know what).

It's one of the main drivers in the lives of us living this far north - we follow the sun. She comes and she goes and she wondrously lights up the night in summer while keeping her glare low all through the winter. We respond accordingly and this year flip-flops graciously won out over summer wellies, hurray! And sure, it's not over yet...but we are transitioning. 

It's the sunflower that beckons the change. And I must change too, as newborn becomes bouncing babe that wants more entertainment and princess wants to stay in play-school forever. A quick check in the mirror and I delude myself that I am the same as I was at the start of the summer. But that's certainly impossible. Daily clashes with the threenager and four months of broken sleep have taken their toll. But yoga prevails and has the power to restore. And on this day when I learned of the passing of a truly inspirational woman and dear friend - not much ahead of me in her years but miles ahead in her wisdom - I am grateful for every diminishing minute of this Irish summer, its highs and its lows. Because life is for those of us who are, living. 

So, welcome sunflowers, welcome the change that's coming, welcome transitioning. Farewell summer, farewell newborn stage, farewell toddler princess and bittersweet farewell darling, beautiful Judit. 

We followed the sun, in life, in work, in nature, together. 

For Judit. 

Because Life begins at...

Today life begins, again, at 41. Isn't it great?! The day started in the blurry regions of 5.30 am as the little princess snuggled in to say 'Can I rub your tummy Mumma?'. Poor thing thinks that there are more babies waiting in there to come out...mind you, it may appear a bit like that... And then the 10 week old wriggled on the other side and let a yelp out of him - cat like - not to be forgotten. A few doors away I could hear the rustle of Holly's tail, picking up on the waking sounds - ears pricked, waiting for the door of her sleeping quarters to open and her breakfast to arrive. 

Birthday bouquet

Morning is a strange time in our house, for me anyway. It kind of creeps in, steadily and stealthily from about four-ish when Oscar wakes for a feed. After that I don't really sleep...I generally just hold him in my arms or on my lap and lie back and enjoy the moment for it's immense peace and silence. He sleeps, in that blissful space that only a well fed newborn can sleep. Is he dreaming? And we sit or lie there for a couple of hours, until herself awakes around the six mark and then it's full steam ahead for the next fourteen hours, until she fades again back into the mess of quilt and pillows left over from the night before. 

Smile! And the whole world...

Today is my birthday. And what a lovely day it turned out to be. Instead of bemoaning the fact that I was another notch on the 40 decade, instead of freaking out about the three silver hairs that have invaded my fringe, instead of tainting the day with downbeat and defeatist thoughts I decided to go with the positive and run the risk of joy. Oh happy day! Cuddles and smiles abounded, only a few moments of angst with herself near bedtime and no sudden clothes changes where Oscar's nappies just couldn't take it. A precious shower early in the day, a sneaky coffee before 11am, a nap with cutsie newborn, baking with the princess, and candles blown out more than four times with small people, and dearest brother and father. And wildflowers on the window filling the room with heady scent Meadowsweet, every shade of green in the garden and a homegrown blackcurrant enlivened smoothie startling my tastebuds. Simple pleasures. But pleasures nonetheless. And a whole host of other birthday pleasures yet to be enjoyed with friends and family, not least of all when the man gets home. 


Life beings when you decide to live it. Usually only when you realise how easily it can be taken away. And that probably meant a painful experience and some serious soul searching. Well, the measure of pain only amplifies that of joy when it comes, and when joy comes in simple daily pleasures, well...then life surely has begun. 

"Just another little stretch baby brother..."

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning, brings the dawning

It's just a restless feeling by my side
(Reed, Cale) 

And here we are. It's a cold Sunday morning and we awake in the dark. Nothing new there - the dark still reigns supreme at 6.30am, only beginning to lighten when the hour of seven is well established. Alannah is an early riser and as a perk of being mother, I get to watch (with her) the sunlight coming back around every morning. Some days it is bright and golden, with the light reflecting off the amber coloured beech trees that line the Charleville estate walls, and some days it is dark and damp with light barely making an impression behind heavy grey clouds that block out life-giving-sun's light. How different from the summer when light was barely gone for more that a few hours, and when getting up at 5am seemed like the wisest thing to do to ensure we didn't miss an ounce of all those glorious June mornings and hot afternoons.

Woodland winter palette awesomeness

But best to stay in the moment, in the here and now. Best not to linger in the past summer months or waste precious winter wishing for the brighter days to come. Best to embrace the dark and welcome it for what it brings. For this is the dark time, the winter dreaming. Time to think, time to read and time to process thoughts and ideas and images of the year gone by. Time to rest the body but feed the mind. Time to kick up fallen leaves and enjoy the winter silence. 

Here in the Holly Cottage, the pace of life has slowed down by a level or ten. We wake early and pull the blinds, waiting and watching as the light comes back to illuminate the now very quiet garden. The winter garden is now the stronghold of bold robin, brave wren and stoic blackbird, as we - less graceful humans - step back and leave  them to it, letting the soil breathe its heavy winter sighs and yield whatever sustenance it can to our hungry feathered friends. Green manure has been sowed on bare soil to hold and nourish it in the springtime; half the spuds are out of the ground and hardy brassicas and root vegetables are left to wait it out. The Setanta spuds are sadly, but surely, widely and badly damaged by burrowing slugs, who found a nice damp  home inside the nourishing starchy homes in an otherwise un-slug friendly summer. We think - we hope - the Sarpo axona variety fared better - they are much smaller in size but seem to have been less attractive to the cunning slime-mongerers. There are still some beetroots left in the ground, along with parsnips and turnips ripe for the stewing and roasting. But the most beautiful of all things green in the garden at this time are the bulging winter cabbages, sown early last spring and almost completely forgotten about under a wire net until a few weeks ago when we started looking round for what was left to eat. We won't go hungry ;) 

Most of the day is spent in the Holly Cottage kitchen now, escaping to the leaf littered woods when we can. Holly is making herself sick on acorns but I can only hope that someday she will learn. While  Holly forages, Alannah is beginning to take a peek at the world outside from the safety of the baby carrier. Sometimes I look down to check she is still with us and I see her bright blue eyes watching the scene as we walk past giant oak and tumbling pines. What must she think of it all? What impressions and what cascade of neural networks are becoming established as her brain is processing all this new information?

All this got me thinking, more. And so the last week I have been delving back into old philosophy books and trying to re-assemble thoughts and theories that get squeezed out of focus when the mind is in work drive. The work of Socrates, Buddha, Descartes, Spinoza, Schelling, Hegel, Hume, Kant and Nietzsche - not to mention Darwin - all these names and ideas are buzzing around my head as I distill and decant and try to see the world from their perspectives, making sense of my own. It's fascinating how thinking changes through the centuries, and yet I find that the fundamental truths and realities stay the same. Each one of us must make our own sense of it, and this is one of the most exciting and sometimes frightening aspects of being human - that we can make sense of it, or at least that we can try and wonder in awe at the whole thing as we do.  Like Lou Reed and John Cale's poetic reflection of a Sunday morning. 

Sunday morning girls

She is thriving of course - two months last Wednesday and grown out of her newborn wardrobe completely, filling the three month sleep suits more and more.  Pink is her favourite colour at the moment, mixed up with white and purples and lilacs. A marked contrast to the yellows and greens of the wood, she strikes a defiant pose as bright pink bundle as we stroll through that earthy palette of autumn-come-winter temperate woods. 

Time to get back out into it, this time with Lou Reed's voice echoing in her ears and in my heart. Thanks Lou (1942-2013) - how beautiful you are. Play it loud ;) 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnGoIF5N_-Y

Letter to Alannah

This article first published in Elephant Journal yesterday...

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/10/letter-to-alannah-catherine-wilkie/

Alannah…..a leanbh, from the Gaelic phrase for dear child

Dear Alannah

Today you are all of 6 weeks old, and this is a benchmark day for both of us. For you, it is the magic marker where all the experts say that you are settling into ‘yourself’ and ‘settling down’ – settling into what I wonder? I assume this means growing accustomed to life outside the womb - the power house of all human life; getting used to life beyond the selfless placenta and the clever umbilical cord that kept you nourished and sated for the 40 odd weeks that you were a passenger in my body. It’s only now that I can begin to appreciate the huge changes that you’ve experienced already in your very short life – from unborn to shell-shocked newborn and now to cradle-wise six week old, feeling your way in a brand new world. Sometimes I wish that I could ask you what you see and how you feel, but it’s enough that you trust us to guide and guard you through this time, this becoming.

Keeping a tight grip on the world 

When you were born, I watched you tumbling out of me and all I could say in response to those midwives frenetically commentating around me – to register my awareness for them and assure them that I was with it - was ‘oh my god’. The words were spoken softly and quietly, almost to myself – a dramatic contrast to the cries of the mother seconds before that had accompanied those last, desperate pushes. There was no more crying after that; all the tremendous pain was forgotten - straight onto the next chapter. I watched the scene as they presented you to me as if it was an out of body experience and I remained outside. There you were, part covered in sticky white vernix and the rest of you underneath all pink and wonderfully alive. I was stunned, shocked, silenced, the sound box muted.

What was next? After all that time getting through pregnancy, getting from one week to the next, psyching myself up for labour, getting through the shopping list of must-haves and basic needs to see you through those first few days, and most importantly - staying calm (daily pranayama and meditation without breath retention was a powerful aid).

And then you were there.

They – the heroic midwives - left us alone together, all bunched up on the delivery bed, our first meeting together – you, your father and I. We gazed into your bright blue eyes gaping wide as they took in the light for the first time. What was that like Alannah? Your first breath – your first gasp of air? The first sensation of cold versus warmth as they weighed you naked and checked to make sure you were perfect and then brought you shivering and crying to my chest. Nestling there under soft pink cotton shirt against my skin that was warm and tanned from sitting in the garden while waiting for you all summer long - you lay there and took it all in. You, newborn warrior - no fear, no worry, no concerns despite your complete and utter helplessness and dependence upon on us, the newborn parents.

Those first few days in the hospital you kept a firm grip on both us – your father held you in his arms for as long as he could and then in the night time when everyone was sent home, we got to know each other. We sat together, we lay down together, we walked around the room together and mostly we had cuddles together – both of us learning about a closeness and a nurturing that neither of us could fathom the depth of in that brief and magical first few days. We were both just following instinct, as we still are.

Since that time you’ve never been more than 50 yards from me – just about the distance from the kitchen to the bottom of the garden or from one end of the shop to the other, safe in your loving father’s care on our brief excursions to the outside world. You have met the rest of your family, and some of your neighbours too, and you have enraptured them with your alertness and those eyes that hypnotise the beholder and slow time as you work your newborn magic.  From early morning, hunger takes precedence and that must be satisfied. But feeding is followed by quality ‘you time’ when you are enthroned in your chair to watch white and steel gray clouds move rapidly past and cover the great glowing fireball in the sky in this very wet and very Irish October. This is the time when you explore your own ability to make sounds and I imagine you are matching them to the abstract paintings that the sky has gifted for you.

Your newly developed smiles are enough reward for the fragmented sleep sessions and the constant care that you must receive these days. The constant demands don’t bother me. Time spent before is left in the past, and what will come will come, but this is my job – my only cause for attention - for now.

And other rewards? There is the utter peace and calm when you are latched on feeding with such naturalness and sheer infant grace that all I can do is gaze down into your eyes hypnotized, while allowing your fumbling fingers to wrap around my own giant sized thumb. When we are like this, I say to myself and to you that this is only the beginning, that in some shape or form I will hold your hand all the days that I can – for all the days that are left of my life. Because I am yours and you are mine – not in some crazy psychotic way – but in the only way that matters for a mother and a daughter. Because that is what we are now – I am mother, and you are daughter. I wonder sometimes did my own mother feel the same or did she have that luxury in her world where there were already three that came before? I doubt it.

And what of me? Today is the end of the six weeks and I ‘should’ be completely and totally ‘healed’ of the whole experience of pregnancy and childbirth. The obvious external wounds have healed, all thanks to the powers of the human body’s ability to self-heal. The internal changes I will assume to have been undone and all has reverted to the norm – all organs back in their place and squeezed intestines reverting to previous un-pinched strongholds. I still can’t believe that you were in there, living and growing inside me. Out of sight, yet presence made known by precious and intense phases of kicking and hiccupping – mostly at night, but enough assurance to send me to sleep smiling.

In these first six weeks it has been take it as it comes – the newness of it all. It is a case of focusing on the things that you need and what I must do to provide. Instinct has dictated so far, and I will continue to go with that. Sometimes it may be useful to call on the wisdom and experience of those who have gone before, but this is our journey and I have to trust that everything I need is in me, and everything that you need, you will tell me – in the only way that you can, and in the only the way that we will understand.

At some point in the future I will look back on this time and appreciate my own changes, my own becoming, my own journey as newborn mother. But for now, my gaze is held firmly in the present and my mind totally in this moment. As the days pass and turn to night and back again, as you feed and grow and become aware; as I listen, and learn and surrender, we are mindful together, mother and daughter. It leads me to wonder who is the student and who is the teacher?

Le míle grá a leanbh

Do Mhamaí

Pyjama Days (and a bit of food for thought)

These are days of rain and winds around the Holly Cottage. The tall beech trees that line the walls of Charleville are getting a beating up there in the sky kingdom of the tree crowns and the leaves are tumbling effortlessly down - spiralling down, down, down. Right now - to the south - the sky is smoky grey and there is a hint of a rainbow fading in. To the east the sky is bright and clear, the sun casting a golden hue on the rain and wind beaten trees to the south and west. 

We are cosied up inside, everyone still in pyjamas - for these are the pyjama days ;) Yesterday the rain kept us in until way past four so it was a popcorn-on-the-couch-with-movies day. Pyjamas were swapped in the late afternoon for a walk in the leaf strewn woods, only to be hit by a torrential shower that made it through the now, very patchy canopy to the three musketeers below - Holly sniffing out the trail and the acorns, Alannah sleeping in her chest pressed harness and me just getting soaked. All three happy out in the wind and rain and mud - lovely.   The emergency back up was called on though and we were rescued and brought back to the warmth of the Holly Cottage for tea and cakes. The cakes were left behind by a friend not seen in an age, and we had spent a good couple of hours catching up that morning while watching the wind battle with the trees and the rains fire on the roofs of houses beyond the Holly Cottage garden wall.

Big bear...

Today will probably be the same. We've been up a few times already of course. Alannah likes to feed through the night so I seem to be living in a sleep walking state - mental note: must try to get more sleep during the day, but then it always seems such a shame to miss the daylight hours, however rain soaked they are. We managed a few trips out the last week - shopping and browsing, going for lunch and outdoor coffees where possible. It's amazing how you start to see babies everywhere though - everywhere we go they seem to be 'taking over'. Apparently it's a symptom of having your own. It's hilarious as I step back and view the scene as I find myself comparing them all to Alannah or checking out the brand make of buggy or car seat. Such things were completely un-noticed in the past. Funny how things change. 

Not so big bear....?

As for herself - she's still growing, still feeding, still smiling. There are gurgles now and more little laughs - absolutely adorable. And most of the gurgling happens around the 3am/4am mark when really you are questioning your ability to function as you wrestle with (at other times) straight forward nappy changing. She's definitely more alert too - Alannah that is. I on the other hand seem to be slipping gradually into a permanent state of sleep deprived zombieness. Somebody somewhere called it a 'mombie' state and it's a good fit. We'll just take it as it comes. Holly's unfaltering loyalty, despite losing her place in the pack, has been a great relief and un-necessary cause for concern pre-arrival. And more importantly, the unconditional minding by Number 1 Dad is keeping us all safe and sane, fed and loved, laughing and miraculously good humoured, in the here in the now.

It hasn't been all just sleeping though. There's still harvesting in the garden - up on 10kg of red juicy tomatoes in the freezer now, bags of bright red chillis and crisp tasty apples in a bowl on the table for immediate consumption. Sweet peppers are nearly gone, they did best in the greenhouse while outdoor plants  are way behind and doubtful if the remaining hanging peppers will ripen - we shall see. Yesterday was also the day for slow cooking-down of the last of the green tomatoes into a delicious sweet chutney (http://hcottage.blogspot.ie/2012/10/shades-of-caribbean-roti-licious.html) while the man came close to a near-perfect hot pepper sauce. It's all about trial and error really, and every time you cook something it's different tasting. Maybe it's the mood you're in or maybe it's that extra shake of salt or pepper, or one too many scotch bonnets ;) It's all good whatever the outcome.

On another level, we've been watching a lot of youtube these days. In particular the work by the Zeitgeist Movement which is under the stewardship of social activist and musician Peter Joseph. Interesting yet slightly depressing stuff. Check it out for another perspective on global economics. I'm still digesting some of the material, but it it is certainly food for thought, particularly the stuff about the 'economic hitmen'. I always feel so naive and hoodwinked when I see or read about these things - and you question whether we are all puppets in a very corrupt system. It's a bank holiday so plenty of time to check it out, also check out John Perkins' book and website www.economichitman.com

And so, enjoy your pyjama days in the rain - sometimes it's good to just sit and watch the rain fall down. And as you sip on your tea and enjoy your cake shared with friends, take a different perspective and ask some questions about how you live and how you would like to live, and how you would like your society to be. Nothing heavy, just take it at your own pace. It's amazing what a change in perspective can do - you might even decide to change the world, but start big - start with yourself ;) That is if you feel you need it...

Life's Expectations

Summer's-end bouquet

This is a post that's being brewing for a while - I guess you could say almost nine months but in truth it goes back a little bit further than that. I think that for any woman, the moment that the switch goes in her brain and she accepts that she just might be ready to start thinking about being pregnant, having a baby, starting a family - all those commonly used expressions to describe an event so utterly life changing and gob-smacking - that everything changes. Life certainly doesn't appear the same anyway - of course that's despite nothing having changed around us, but the change in our minds. 

When I was a zoology and botany student back in the 1990s, most of my reading was Lovelock, Darwin, Dawkins, Huxley and the array of evolutionary thinkers that really crystallised our place in this world for me. The science is fascinating and still unfolding and revealing awesome detail as to the workings of our universe, the origins of life on our planet and the possibilities of life in other galaxies within our vast universe. And I accepted the thinking behind the selfish gene, the urge to leave our genes after us, the finding of the right partner etc etc. and that it wasn't necessary really to do that to have a fulfilled life. There is so much to learn and discover as it is. 

Of course all that science and rationale goes completely out the window when you fall truly madly deeply for a sexy man that basically sets you in a spin, and you give in to the human condition and suddenly you start wanting to have a house, home, ten babies (only exaggerating) and a small farm in an idyllic Waltons-esque manner on a hillside somewhere where everyone is blissfully happy together - no stress and no driving crazy hours to deal with awkward people (you know they're out there!). 

And so, given that the puppy that became Holly has survived three years with us and - despite her own issues in relation to never ever having enough food and always wanting to be in clear sight of us - she seems to be relatively happy and balanced, it was time to start thinking about getting real about having our own babies. Ten is a big number after all and even one would certainly take some time :)

And we did - start thinking about it that is and getting our heads around it - and then we just decided there is never a right time and we should just shut up and went for it. 

Holly and 'bump' - chilling

That's when you realise that it's all a little bit more complicated than just deciding yourself, and everything just happening as you would have it in your own mind. And why shouldn't it? Well, I guess sometimes we are too used to everything happening as it should - like water in the tap everyday, food on shelves in a supermarket and power at the switch of a button - it's all so easy and so controllable really, if even we don't particularly appreciate it for what it is. 

And so as we arrive at the near eve of labour and delivery of the tiny baby girl still growing and wriggling inside me, the past year seems like a dream. 

In June 2012, after a hectic month of traveling and conferences, we found out we were pregnant. I say we, because obviously it it a team effort ;) That was a very exciting time for us. We got as far as the stage when I could feel myself stretching and growing to accommodate this tiny person inside me, and nearly to the point of sharing our news with the rest of the world. But it wasn't to be. At 16 weeks, we lost our little baby 'in the making'. In medical speak they call it a miscarriage. 

I pause here because, no matter how strong you are, how able you are to accept and reason with the loss, the sadness and the memory of what followed is the most difficult I have ever had to bear in my life so far. Fortune and the timing found us surrounded by family in a beautiful place for a couple of weeks immediately after, and in truth it was the kindness of others - parents, brothers, sisters, faraway friends at the end of the phone and amazing nursing staff - that softened the sharp reality of the loss. That little baby turned out to be a girl, and she was delivered on September 13th - her tiny body is buried with my grandparents in a nearby village. We called her Anna, after my godmother and aunt whose memory is an inspiration to me, though she died when I was only aged four years old. And Baby Anna  won't be forgotten, for all the best reasons in the world - like realising how precious life is, how vulnerable we are and what a gift to be able to talk about it and experience every precious breath of it. 

Three months later we came to the shortest day of the year and while it was the shortest, it certainly brought it's own adventure. We were lucky, we had left it to fate and weren't expecting things to happen so fast, but they did. I put it down to all those yogic contortions in Austria, but himself might have other ideas ;) Anyway, to cut a long story short - the test was positive and it was a merry - though just a bit anxious - christmas!

I didn't feel any different for the first week or so, but once I passed week 6 - well, that was when the same nausea returned, as before. From week 6 to around week 15, there was no great pleasure in food. Or anything really - I was just tired and probably a lot anxious despite being positive and ready to accept whatever might happen. The visit to the GP at week 16 was the most worrying, but the heartbeat was there - not like before, and there were signs of  a new person growing inside of me and no reason to expect anything other than good things to come. 

After that, it was fairly uneventful - I didn't start to 'show' until at least 26-28 weeks and we could continue blissfully incognito with a pregnancy that seemed so smooth and carefree, that it seemed unfair to reveal it to the wider world. 

Flash forward to the middle of August and we're on the final countdown. The last few weeks have been challenging - no headstands or shoulder-stands since about week 36, but you really are glad for gentle twists and stretches, and breathing and meditation to calm the mind and body. And so, restricted movement - though a problem to the ego - is really not a problem at all. Heartburn and an assortment of gastric symphonies are my daily companions - ladies, need I say more? And a pressure that bears down on heretofore unappreciated pelvic muscles that can be totally debilitating at its worst. 

Pregnancy means that pretty much your body is teeming in a hormone called relaxin, which basically relaxes every muscle in your body in time for the main event - hence the food coming back up and unfortunate 'accidents' when one sneezes, coughs or laughs. It is certainly not a glamorous time for a woman. And I think it's something that is experienced differently for every woman. Again I've been incredibly lucky - no swelling, can still walk, can still sleep, no gestational diabetes or major emotional breakdowns. 

Despite all of these challenging side effects - the journey is truly is amazing nonetheless - despite the restricted movement, the intestinal challenges, the headaches, the tiredness and the waking up four times in the night to pee - it's absolutely amazing. Your body does it all on its own - you just have to feed it the right stuff and of course avoid the bad stuff. No training required, no diploma or certification necessary - simply an absolute wonder and brilliance of nature. And each one of us started out that way - an embryo dividing rapidly into placenta and person, then body parts, towards a self-sustaining system that once successfully delivered can live for over a hundred years. Wow. Something that is so everyday we might take it for granted. But after the experience of the last year, we certainly don't. 

And it will be a wonder of nature, especially once we break the pain barriers of labour and delivery for the first time in the next few weeks. To be honest - I can't really think beyond that phase - even though I know, and I've been told, and we've been warned on every turn that life will never be the same again. But, after over a year of ups and downs, happy and sad moments, and sudden endings and unexpected beginnings, I think we're ready for that. 

Just a few things to do in the garden before all that of course - peas podded and frozen, beetroot mashed into another amazing beetroot chocolate cake, early spuds almost gone and peppers, tomatoes and sweetcorn yet to be feasted on. Still plenty to look forward to....

Forever Begin

Every beginning is a promise

born in light and dying in dark

determination and exaltation of springtime

flowering the way to work.

Holly Cottage's entangled bank

It's a quiet Sunday morning in the Holly Cottage, just past 6am and a soft and cooling mist is lifting from the garden and resting on the trees that line the estate wall of Charleville. Another few minutes and it will have disappeared, witnessed only by the later night revellers and the early risers. The last few weeks of sunshine and heat have been a gift to the people of Ireland - who would have thought that the long, hard winter would give birth to the long, hot 30 degree + days and the quilt defying heat of the nights. All that heat coupled with seemingly un-darkening nights and eternal days. And even though at times stifling, no one dared to raise a voice to complain or to bemoan the heat, the dry earth or the sleep challenging nights. A touch of grumbling from the farmers perhaps, but you couldn't expect them ever to be completely happy!

Here in the Holly Cottage we duly surrendered to the lazy days of summer - shorts and flip flops took over from the combats and wellies of last year, and even the bikini got exposure to  the Irish sun and was dipped in an Irish midlands lake with the wearer for good measure (a note on swimming with your dog - it's a lot of splashing and pretend throwing of sticks and can cause quite a splash ;) so maybe best to do it far away from the company of other bathers!). 

Strawberry thirst quenching delight
- awesome

The garden has been delightfully, almost free of slug damage and the days of harvesting are well underway. We had to buy a new freezer just to store the abundance of broccoli, strawberries and rhubarb. Peas are packed in there too, but again never quite reaching the brilliance of 2011 when we really must have overdone it on the chicken manure! We left most of the raspberries to the blackbirds and the few lingering strawberries have been picked over by the stealthy work of Holly the dog. She also managed to sabotage a number of pea plants - can't blame her really for munching her way through several pods to get to the sweetness of the hidden delicacies. However, she won't be getting her pearly whites on the next batch and number one gardener spent a lot of yesterday securing dog proof netting about the next crop. We shall see - Holly has a way of getting what she wants though and she does love her peas...

Yesterday was the day to clear out the old pea plants, cut back the raspberry canes and trim back wandering rocket and seeding turnips. The early spuds have already been eaten halfway through and it can only be a week or so before the onions and beans are ready to come out of the ground. No tomatoes yet, although cucumbers are lengthening by the day and there are first signs of sweet peppers and chillis to come (they already had amazing melon and sweetcorn in beautiful Donegal - wow!). In lots of ways we have reached a new chapter for the garden and now we must plan for the late winter and spring harvest so that will require some thought, and also that summer is rapidly moving onto to autumn. Suggestions are curly kale and spring cabbage, and we will try to make the most of the greenhouse this winter, despite our failed yet best intentions of 2011 and 2012. 

Holly proof pea defence

It's been a busy time on the inside of the Holly Cottage as well, and while some might call it nesting, I think I prefer to call it catching up on all those jobs you never quite got round to and the prospect of a small baby in the house that will make this near impossible probably until it is feeding itself and writing its first paper on cosmic theory'. This work involves painting the last of the rooms left since moving in three years ago, chasing patches of mould in the bathroom, getting rid of un-wanted furniture and that most difficult of jobs - clearing out presses and shelves of the accumulated nonsense of stuff that lingers purely on the grounds of nostalgia and it might come in useful or be worn again. But you need to make space for the new to begin and this is the cycle that runs through our lives, from birth to death. Of course new beginnings are not without their own share of pain or uncertainty. That's what makes them so memorable and adrenaline fuelled - be it the joyous ones or the sorrowful ones - and discerns them from the hum drum of normality. 

Yesterday I had a painful morning reciting the history of every item of clothing hanging in my wardrobe to a very bored man and dog - I was struggling to justify their secure place in the wardrobe of the future when space will become even more limiting. Thing is, I could write a book on some of the shoes (oh remember!) and old jeans, tops worn once and dresses that almost sing the memories of themselves dancing in near and foreign halls and still carry the scent of perfume worn for a while and then passed over for another as tastes and preferences changed and developed (I'm reluctant to say matured!) over the past 20 years. Yes, even the catalogue of near empty perfume bottles and Body Shop body butters tells a story of growing up and changing and coming to increasing levels of balance (still not 100% there yet - but then, all that balance could be imbalance?). Of course, this level of nostalgia is often associated with the annual birthday reflections - and list making for the future of which myself and Michelle Quinn of Clara House were expert!

Sweet pea perfume

However, it's sweet pea scent coming from the flowers from Mornington House that the beautiful Katy O'Hara brought over last night that are filling up my senses as I write this morning, and their renewal brings me back to summer days working with my mother in the garden, collecting the flowers for the summer altar in the local church and helping her work her magic bringing a cold and dim lit church every July to blissful pagan outdoors beauty and nature's summer standard. Every scent and sound of summer brings with it a memory of a seemingly past life lived in my short time living on this most generous of planets. This year in particular - those sensory stimuli seem stronger and more urgent in their gaping absence from the four wet summers gone by. It's the smell of hay, the sounds of people laughing and joking while loading big bales on enormous trailers, the endless loads of turf being saved and carried home by bouncy tractors of all makes and eras, the hum of the bees in the lavender, the armies of butterflies along the paths in Boora, the taste of a 99 on a hot Monday afternoon and the sound of children playing long after their normal bedtime into the late hours of the longest days. 

And this - the collection of joyful and comforting memories of childhood summers and rose tinted reflections on the trials of growing up (this growing up lark by the way goes on until our deathbeds  - just so you know), and the setting down of new memories linked with new places, new experiences and new awakenings of ideas and feelings within, that gives us the strength and the want to begin again, and again, and again, and even again. To take up new challenges, to brush off the cobwebs of the wet summers and long winters, and long nights and begin each day with renewed vigour and expectation. For me, this generally comes in the morning time - and sometimes it is such a strong feeling that I actually have a knot of excitement in my inner being and a feeling that anything can happen. Now, truth be told, this rush of excitement generally fades after mid morning when my levels of creativity ebb and give way to a much more sedate and calmer woman, and as always tiredness and fatigue can dampen any level of excitement. The moral is - try to quench these deathblows of excitement before they quench you (yes, I am psyching myself up for sleepless nights). But overall and in general most times and most days, the excitement and anticipation of what may come in any new day is there - however small yet oh so powerful in all its guises, it is a faithful companion and it certainly adds a whole lot of spice to my living ;)

To pull all of this ramble together, the words of the Irish poet Brendan Kennelly are ringing in my ears again and again - I hope you find resonance with their clarity and resounding perception.  

Begin

by Brendan Kennelly

Begin again to the summoning birds

to the sight of light at the window,

begin to the roar of morning traffic 

all along Pembroke Road.

Every beginning is a promise

born in light and dying in dark

determination and exaltation of springtime

flowering the way to work.

Begin to the pageant of queuing girls

the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal

bridges linking the past and future

old friends passing though with us still.

Begin to the loneliness that cannot end

since it perhaps is what makes us begin,

begin to wonder at unknown faces

at crying birds in the sudden rain

at branches stark in willing sunlight

at seagulls foraging for bread

at couples sharing a sunny secret

alone together while making good.

Though we live in a world that dreams of ending

that always seems about to give in

something that will not acknowledge conclusion

insists that we forever begin. 

Lifting the Fog - some gentle reminders for the tail end of winter

This article also appears in Elephant Journal, published February 9th 2013
http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/02/lifting-the-fog-catherine-wilkie/

When the fog lifts...

The last week has had a bite to it. No complaints from my side of the house. I'd trade the grey and damp mundane for the drama of the Irish landscape cloaked in a thick freezing fog by morning, sun  peeking through by midday to warm the frozen fields any day. It's back to slow driving again, and frost covered windscreens in the morning. But it's magical. And bonus - the light has started to filter into the Holly Cottage kitchen by 7.30am, fading only at a generous 5.30pm evening time. I hardly know myself! Leaving the office in daylight, being able to view the Holly Cottage garden for at least 15mins when i land home every evening - it certainly lifts the spirits and makes one think that we made it through the worst of it all for this winter. 

Readers following www.hcottage.blogspot.ie will be aware that I wallowed in self pity last week as I bemoaned the horror of winter. Sorry for that. It was getting me down, or rather I was letting it get me down. It just seems to go on for so long, and no hint of sunshine for us lovers of the light. Urged on by the will to make it better I've been exploring buddhist philosophy to try to refresh and stir my own way of dealing with it. I was led to was is called in buddhism The Four Reminders. Apologies to those who are better versed in these matters, but I found some reminders for myself of the basic fundamentals of our human existence that really do get crowded out when we - please note I can only speak for my own dark moments - are buried in self pity and self interest.

The Four Reminders as explained in This Precious Life by Khandro Rinpoche (Tibetan nun, living in the US) are (paraphrased heavily) life is precious, life is finite, there is invariably suffering (I know - doom and gloom anyone, but wait!) and the life we lead, the decisions and actions we take all has an impact on the overall well being of the world we live our lives in - aka karma. Not so sweetness and light eh ;) Roughly translated to street speak - You get one life. It's the most precious thing you'll ever own/experience. You're completely responsible for that body and the life you live - so you really owe it to yourself to quit dallying and get living (flashback to that line in The Shawshank Redemption). There will be challenges, don't let them become insurmountable obstacles - just do it, slow, steady and consistently. And be the best you can be, it makes a difference to you and the world. In more detail...

Reminder 1: Life is precious. Think about it. The odds of you and I being here at this time, in this place. The gift of the amazing body we have that is essentially at minimum a complex of atoms and energy that can move, breathe, eat and taste amazing foods, see wondrous things and experience the world around us. And what is the world around us? Sun and moon and stars and trees and bees and ocean and coral and pandas and other people and structures living and non-living - all supporting us and there for us to experience - or ignore - whatever we choose. We get a scare every now and then, and something happens when we realise it could be taken from us at any time....leading onto.....

Seize moments of wonder ;)

Reminder 2: This life an't forever. This is the reminder of the impermanence of life. This one has the power to gather momentum. This realisation creates the urgency to live, really live. Imagine choosing to ignore this and going through your life in a haze of habit and un-thinking - ignorance I guess you call it, or taking life for granted, and then at the moment it might all be taken away, realising that it wasn't at all what you wanted it to be. It was a mistake. This is one of my own greatest fears - I admit it freely - to not pursue the chances that come, to choose the comfort and the monotony of the familiar when the unknown which is often so scary (in our minds) but so exhilarating (in reality). I did a skydive over two years - literally jumped out of a moving plane entrusting my life to my skilled tandem skydive expert. It was frightening, seemed completely ludicrous at the time as we climbed to 10,000 feet and then regardless of innate fear and self protecting mechanisms inbuilt since the dawn of human,  we flung ourselves to the mercy of the sky. As soon as it was done, I wanted to get back up there and do it again. I have a moment locked in my brain when we drifted, glided, gracefully waltzed down an imaginary skyslide and the world below was a distant dream. Beautiful.

Reminder 3: Suffering. Now, there's a whole lot of hells described in This Precious Life - my least favorite being the extreme cold hells that seem to be a living reality on some January days. I can't really relate to these ideas as described, but I take the reminder of Suffering as a form of reminding us that no matter how bad things are they could be a whole lot worse. Or that we need to examine our own suffering and realise whether it is self-inflicted - born of habit and destructive tendencies - and do we play a role in its continued existence. If we recognise that we are at least part of the cause of our own suffering, it's really our responsibility to deal with it and give ourself the chance to escape a vicious circle of self hurt. Like any form of addiction. A tough one I know. Sometimes the suffering is created completely by our own minds, and the inability to deal with it and get rid of it, a result of us preferring to hold onto the comfort of suffering and clinging again to what we know. And that's pretty sad. 

Reminder 4: Karma. This is a complex one - and please refer to more learned texts and knowledgeable teachings. I interpret Karma as us taking responsibility for our own lives, for the cause and effect of us. Being aware of how we treat ourselves and others. Our thoughts and actions impact of so many aspects of life that we really do have the power to bring peace and love (man) or that whole suite of negativity that brings no joy but anger, aggression, jealousy and pain. I know that given the choice we would all choose the positive, but how difficult is that when old hurts rise when one encounters a less than pleasant memory from the past? Or how easy it is to envy others instead of being happy for their fortune and getting on with realizing our own. These last few days I've been wishing January away and wishing for another life in a warmer climate and a Mediterranean substitute for Holly Cottage. That is so not good for the soul!

What's a gal to do? Well, I am sticking with my yoga practice - even though it's half hearted some days - don't let self criticism knock you down. Integral to the various postures (asanas) are the breathing (pranayama) and my resolve to gift myself at least 20mins every day of meditation. Some days those 20mins are calm and concentrated, and others it feels like I have a spaghetti junctions of thoughts between my ears and looping around the back of my eyes. But I see the difference already. I trust in the teachings of those who have learned before me and shared their journeys openly and honestly. I trust in my own intuition to help dissolve the myths and habits and thoughts that fool and misguide us everyday. 

And so, everyday I will remind myself how great it is to be alive and that I'm the one holding the wheel and controlling the gears. The goal is self realisation and maybe even enlightenment, and why not? Baby steps.

There is so much to learn and figure out in terms of our own habitual tendencies and behaviours, and how we owe it to ourselves to realise the best experience of living this precious life as far and as completely as possible. And so, worth exploring these Four Reminders. Taking time to remind ourselves. I know for me that it will mean changing some old entrenched habits and maybe not realising the effect for some time. Then it may be immediate. One thing's for sure, once you take responsibility for your own happiness then there's no shifting blame, no avoidance of reality and no easy way out. Surely this is the greatest challenge of our lives but the one that can transform us from barely living to joyously and blissfully-aware-experiencing?

Like lifting the fog on a freezing winter land and suddenly seeing and feeling a sun that was giving, and loving, and shining there all the time.