Never say never!

So. A few years back when Alan and I decided to purchase our cute, but little, very own pink palace, on the sea.  Well to be more accurate I should write, on the sand dune.  Or should that be up the rocks by the lifeguard's shack (now that IS on the sea!), along the path by The Bluff - pub that desperately needs to be bought by someone trendy - through the car park and a short couple of minutes walk past some other chalets/huts/toilet blocks (not everyone has our taste!) and then yes, finally, on the sand dune.  Phew.  Honestly it really does have a sea view. Anyway I've digressed.  When we bought our chalet (now it sounds like it's on some mountain in Switzerland!) one of the things we lurrrrrvvvvved about it,  (you can see we more than loved it can't you), was the fact that it had it's original windows.  Delightful windows with stained glass in the top, which seemed somewhat extravagant for the petite wooden hut that it really was, disguised as a chalet!!!!  Now don't go thinking beautiful wrought iron stained glass, or letting your thoughts turn to magnificent stained glass windows in cathedrals because that would be just ridiculous.  Remember, it's a tiny wooden beach hut, on a sand dune, down by the...... you know the deal.  But still, sweet little pink stained glass windows, how cool is that and of course we uttered the words.  We will never get rid of them.  So.  Back where we started.  Look at this.

 

Yes.  It is indeed our pink palace windows.  Only right now they're on the table in my garden in London and not in my bijoux seaside home (see what I did there).  They're not even in Cornwall.  Sad times.  What happened?

Wind, rain (too much of it during summers), cold and then some cold, which all led to damp, musty bleurgh, bleurgh.  The wood, the windows, all had to go.  I hate myself.  I feel like I've totally betrayed every true beach hut owner anywhere.  I've messed up any chance of getting into a period living, coastal article on the beauty of small wooden huts by the seaside.  But guys, we had to stay there.  We have to let other people stay there.  Painting my hut pink every year come April was killing me but I would have done it, if only I could bear the damp.  I couldn't.  I apologise profusely here and now to anyone who'll listen.  We've sold out.  We've gone to pretend wooden cladding and double glazing but it's toasty, toasty, very very toasty.  Well I hope so - it needs to be tested out, and this latest deluge, day after day, constant fall of rain might just have been the test we needed.  I'm off down there this weekend to paint, the inside this time, and I'm looking forward to the fact that for the very first time I left my bedding on the bed and it shouldn't be wet.  Yey!!!

So. Again.  What do I do with the original windows.  I will keep them and will endeavour to do something beautiful with them, so that if you ever happen to pop by and glance into the double glazed windows now there, your eyes will miss the ugly and move straight to the beautiful, somewhat dated, but absolutely glorious windows from years gone by.

Incidentally, if you stand at the bottom of the sand dune, with your eyes slightly closed, it really doesn't look too bad.  Pictures to follow.

To write or not to write.

Ever since I was a little girl I have loved stationary. 

The beginning of the school year always heralded the purchase of new equipment, when you suddenly had a reason not to hang on to the ink stained, full of pencil shavings, and now slightly out of style, pencil case.  What joy!  New pencils, new pens, new coloured pencils.  If you were extra lucky, or just rich, then these would be the rather expensive Caran D'ache type.  Quite the status symbol at school during the 1970's and also a slightly cheaper 'keeping up with the Jones's' than the latest Nike Blazers, Iphone or Blackberry.  For those of you who are older than teenagers you might need me to point out that the Blazers are nothing to do with the school uniform but rather the street uniform that is trainers. However as they're actually of vintage style you may well already know.

As much as I loved my new pencil case and it's contents - nothing, but nothing surpasses the emotions that were triggered by 'the new exercise book'.  If the former was joy then the latter was joy, joy.  So good they named it twice. The moment that you smelt the newness, followed then by tenderly putting it down in order to open it to the first page.  Carefully, so as to not bend the cover.  Your hand smoothing down the unused, unsullied, unspoilt sheet of lined paper, graph paper, blank paper, whatever the subject, and as you begin to write you would promise yourself to write neatly and never ever make a mistake.  It was a treasured time that would soon disappear with a splodgy ink pen, a dirty rubber, and an imperfect student.  And the exercise book was soon to be found bent and grubby amongst all the others in your rucksack, bag or satchel.

Ah the memories.

Notebooks, journals, are still a love today.  And what pretty versions they come in.  I will never tire of receiving a new notebook.  It was my birthday recently and I was given one.  It is so beautiful that I lovingly pick it up most days. It is so beautiful that I wanted to share it with you.  So here it is.

And here is one of the stunning pages that I will get to write on.

I just can't wait.

Through the kitchen window.

I love this time of year when the flowers start to come out in my garden.  Wisteria is one of my all time favourites.  I used to covet it around beautiful old cottages and then around just any old house and now, after much patience, because it takes a good few years to begin flowering, I don't have to covet it any more and it looks just as wonderful here as it did sprawling across my dream houses.  This makes me happy.

Some say you know that Spring is here when the Wisteria blooms.  I agree with Beth Hoffman when she writes:

"Wisteria is my favourite flowering vine.  Do you know why?'

I shook my head. 'No ma'am.'

'Because it's strong - just like me."

For everything there is a time. A time to move.

Thought I was just about ready to write about moving on, after 43 years at the same church.  Only as I started I realised I'm not ready.  It was out of the blue, it has God's stamp on it, but it's still a tough one.  Part of me wants to share about it but most of me knows that now's not the right time.  So I'll just let you know that Alan and I have now officially left our church.  We love it still.  We love the people.  We love the leadership.  But for us the pillar of fire, the cloud, moved and we needed to follow.

So what now?  We're attending a church in Hammersmith - why?  Because our Hollie had been going there and right now it fits, until............... 

My Kai is repeating daily, more than once because he's cute saying it, Hebrews (or in Kai's world He brings!!!) 12 v 1.  This is his version, with appropriate actions. "Let's run the race marked out for us, let's fix our eyes on Jesus".  I couldn't have said it better myself.  Let's.