Winter's Wonderland

What a mixed start to the new decade we've had. January for us began, not as the expected bleak midwinter, but as a beautiful clear night in our friends' home overlooking the sea, watching fireworks from the beach and Chinese Lanterns filled with New Year's resolutions floating upwards into the ether.



The first few days of our New Year were crisp and bright. The kind of weather that beckons you from the sofa to pile on those extra woolly layers and venture out into the winter sunshine. Long walks to clear the head, unfurl from your Christmas hibernation and to take strides, great strides, into the fresh year ahead.



The winter's sunshine can be as dazzling as that of summer and, unlike the haze of summer which often bleaches the colour, these rays only seemed to intensify the gorgeous hues of our wintry backdrop.



Majestic trees loomed high against a bluebell coloured sky



The romantic greens of moss and ivy entwined along an old flint wall



A village church that has stood for years and years witnessing many a new decade and century, looking idyllic in its setting



Yet January has more than one side, I awoke this morning to a monotone landscape - all colour leached from it by the falling snow. A silence falling steadfastly across the greys.



As beautiful and as inspiring as its technicolour version just a few days ago. For me it is a chance to love the unpredicatable, a chance to breath out all that has gone before and embrace all that is to come.

Life's a beach ... stringing wishes

I never would have thought last Monday when we were busy chucking snowballs at each other, that just a few days later we would be choosing to enjoy the wintry sunshine on the beach. Saturday morning, we all felt the urge to be out. Away from home, away from the shops - we needed, in short a change of scene.



Just a short drive along the coast and we found what we needed. A deserted stretch of beach, calm, serene and as a different from a busy Saturday morning in town as you could imagine.



Whenever we go to the beach, we tend to stick together, at least initially. A little group of four huddled round our picnic surveying the scene. This time was different. After just a few minutes I noticed that we were as far apart as possible. The four of us together, but separate by our need for different things.



M had woken up that morning desperate for some air and new vistas. He needed some horizon he said. Well he certainly found it - miles of it, unspoilt, clear, blue, glistening in the chilly sunshine. He walked the beach scanning the horizon, taking his photos, breathing in the sea air and breathing out the worries and stresses of a week without horizon.



Little Sister lay basking on the rocks, face turned up to the sky. She said she needed space. Cuddled up in her coat, plugged in to her Ipod and her mind full of the thoughts and dreams of a 9 year old ...



I knew what Big Sister needed and so did she. She needed the sea. Sitting amongst the rocks on the shoreline with the waves lapping at her feet. she sat and stared. She has always loved the sea and I think that it worked its healing. comforting charm on her again. Even the worries and upsets of a teenager seem to fade slightly if you stare at the sea long enough ....



As for me, I needed to be alone with my thoughts. Not lonely, just alone. I walked across the pebbles. listened to the sea, felt the air on my face and looked over at my family. I always gain persepective when I'm on the beach, it is a place to be optimistic, to indulge in dreams and to find some calm.



I walked over to Big Sister and asked if she minded me joining her. We sat together ( she held on tight to me as I kept sliding down the rocks) and we stared out to sea. Sometimes you don't need to use words do you? We both understood at that moment, what mattered, what was important, what would last and what would pass...



I think we all found what we had gone looking for. Just a couple of hours spent on the beach together, looking for our own kind of treasure.

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

No school. No work. No pavements. Just SNOW!



Some mornings are special. Some mornings you wake up and feel like a child.



Some mornings you wake up and gaze out of the window and see a scene that you long for each Christmas.



Some mornings you turn on the radio listen, fingers crossed, for the list of school closures and realise that the weekend just got longer ...

Some mornings you bounce out of the house, Monday morning or not.



Some mornings the blanketing silence of snowfall is disturbed only by the sound of my shrieks as I am dragged down the hill on a sledge by Mr Roses and the laughter of my daughters as they follow behind on theirs.



Some mornings you get a glimpse of an everyday world that is somehow transformed.



Some mornings the world is seen through fresh eyes -



pawmarks in the mud become treasures in the snow.



Some mornings you make new friends.


Some mornings you want to share with others ...

Baby it's cold outside!

We emerged from our Christmas cocoon on Saturday. Tentatively we put our heads outside the door. There was nothing gentle and hesitant about the weather though. From inside our little nest of chocolate, open fires, board games and DVDs the world outside seemed bright and inviting. A much needed walk to blow away the cobwebs was required.



So up to the Downs we went. Wrapped up warm against the elements. What a shock it was for us having been basking at home with the thermostat up high and a constant supply of carbohydrates to keep us warm. I have NEVER been so cold! The sort of cold that hurts your head, that brings tears to your eyes, and wish you had added a balaclava to your Christmas wish list.



We followed the path that was thick with frost, crunching crisp underfoot as we walked down into the valley to find some shelter from the piercing cold. Not only was it cold but it was slippery and it wasn't long before my whimpering grew louder.



My vision was now obscured almost completely by my hat which I had pulled down over my face to keep me warm and my feet were doing their best Bambi impressions as they slipped over the icy ground.



It wasn't long before us Roses were all moaning about the loss of feeling in our hands, feet, faces and Mr Roses was wondering at the joys of coming out for a Christmas walk with us lightweights ...



We reached the sheltered, wooded path that led us down to the village and all was right with the world. The warmth of the winter sun hit us, its rays streamed through the branches, and the birds sang high up on the sunny branches. Instantly I forgot the cold, I began to smile, the conversation flowed as we followed the sun.



It was good to feel part of an outside world again, nodding hello to passers by as they headed off in the opposite direction away from the sun and into the piercing cold.

Light and dark

I have been looking out of the window a lot recently. Feeling a bit like a child with her nose pressed up against a sweet shop window, wanting to get out and have some fun. At long last the sewing is over, shop orders completed, school play costumes completed and craft events out of the way. Look out bloggers I'm on my way to visit, put the kettle on! I thought today I might have gone into town to start (Yes, start!) the Christmas shopping, yet, here I am once again looking out of the window. I'm nursing a lurgy that I know is trying to take a strong hold of me and am determined that honey, lemon and echinacea will get the upperhand...



On these beautiful quiet winter mornings the view can be quite mesmerising. I was listening to a play on the radio yesterday and one of the characters was talking about April being the month between thin winter and plump spring. Those few words are great aren't they. Winter can be dramatic, violent and stormy, yet it can also be still and calm and ethereal, the air does seem thin at times doesn't it. Early frosty mornings are the best - yesterday morning on the way to school as we walked down the hill I heard a bird singing and its song was all the more beautiful set against a solitary blanket of mist and silence.
I love the run up to Christmas but do regret that there always seems to be such little time to enjoy it all! It would be so good to be able to stand and savour these days.



Early December is a funny time of the year for me, the anniversary of my mother's death colours the start of the festive season. Isn't it strange how one day will always be forever locked in time, no matter what I am doing on that day I will forever be back in the hospital saying my last goodbye...



But now the fun begins. Lists to be written, decorations to be found, endless trips to the loft to find the missing Christmas tree lights, school plays to attend, carols to be sung and somewhere, somewhere in this very messy home there must be some chocolate to be eaten. Home alone, the computer to myself and loads of lovely blogs to catch up with, I'm putting Christmas on hold for just one more day ...

Fade to grey ...

This morning I had to go into town to collect some concert tickets for Big Sister. As the box office is actually on the seafront I decided to take a stroll along the beach. You would think that with the beach so very near I would be down here all the time, but in the summer it's far too busy and we prefer to go along the coast to more quiet spots to enjoy the sea. However, this beach in winter is something I love. Before we had children M and I would walk down here on Christmas Day enjoying a more quieter romantic festive moment.



Today the weather was grey and crisp, not too cold but still there was a chill in the air. Across from the box office stands the shell of the old West Pier, its blackened skeleton standing forlornly adrift at sea. I remember the day of the storms and then the terrible fire, people flocked down to the seafront to see the tragic demise of one of our city's true beauties. So today it stands beyond repair, leaving melancholy hints of what might have been ...



Its neighbour, the Palace Pier, is still thriving. Today its colours are muted against the grey sky and it looked more like some sort of surreal construction site standing out to sea. I don't know if you can spot the helter skelter with its fairground blue and red stripes - that has to be the best thing on the pier, those first few seconds when you go helterskeltering down it and are almost jettisoned out to sea are not for the fainthearted!!!



I love the greys that have replaced the blues of the sea and summer sky down here.



At home, out walking in the countryside or even doing the shopping those colours are just sad and depressing, yet down here they just lend a sense of calm to the place.



I love the way the seafront is transformed at this time of the year, in summer the seafront is bustling with people and awash with vibrant colour and noise, and now its colours have been bleached, the sound turned down and you can see it for what it really is with its winter coat on.



The grey fading light followed me home, yet there were a few splashes of unexpected colour to surpise me.


I don't think I would have noticed them if the sun were shining, yet after the soothing and strangely comforting monochromes of the beach, their vibrance and brashness made me smile.


And if I'd had a few more pennies, this little chap would have been coming home with me ... I wonder just how much that doggy in the window really is.