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It's Friday, at last.  What a long week it's been.  Poor H2 came home on Thursday feeling very poorly indeed.  He sat in the back of the car bundled up in his new winter coat, woolly hat and gloves and shivered while the tears rolled down his red hot cheeks.  Definitely not well.  I took him to the doctor yesterday to be told he has tonsillitis.  We came home clutching a small bag of medicine and a bottle of Lucozade that I bought on the way back.  Funny how just being told what is wrong can make us feel a bit better.  Now we know, we can deal with it.

MAL seems to know instinctively when one of us isn't well.  She stays firmly by the inflicted person's side and likes nothing better than snuggling up on the settee with them.  Puppy is good with cuts and bruises and MAL with bugs and viruses.  Between them, they have all eventualities covered.  To ensure the ill person sits down and does nothing, they walk about in front of you and stop when you least expect it, forcing you to hit the breaks or fall over them and lie sprawled on the floor, feeling worse than before.  I think this is their way of being cruel to be kind; no one can get better if they are constantly wandering about doing things.  In the end, you have to go and sit down, just to avoid breaking your neck.

Poor H2 has been having high temperature induced dreams these last two nights, so I have been up several times during the small hours, wiping his tears and stroking his sodden hair.  A sore throat and a cold are hovering around me, threatening to take hold at any moment.  I have been falling into bed at nine thirty each evening feeling chilled to the bone and aching all over.  No, no, no I refuse to be ill.  There is too much to do and I have H2 to look after.  Besides that, I don't much care for illness.  It is such a dismal waste of time and makes me very cross.  I hate feeling useless and not being able to care for my children properly and do the things I should be doing each day.  Usually though, they are still there waiting for me to do them once I feel well again.

One thing I managed to get done this week was to make my Christmas cake.  I usually do it in September then feed it every week with brandy until it's time to ice it.  This September though, I was too busy packing the cottage up to move house, so cake making didn't happen.  Mum gave me a recipe that I copied down from a television programme when I was about 15 years old, (about 100 years ago then) and it can be made up to a week before Christmas.  I always use the big mixing bowl that belonged to my nan when I make Christmas cake or mincemeat.  It reminds me of all the times I watched as she made cakes, pastry and puddings in that bowl.  I feel closer to her and I'm sure she ensures that my cakes turn out alright!  I adjusted the recipe to suit what I had in the cupboard; dried fruit can be so expensive, so I used bags of mixed fruit and peel that I already had and put in a whole pot of glace cherries and a bag of almonds.

Once out of the oven and cool, I gave it a generous drop of brandy and will keep feeding it up until a few days before Christmas.  It will be a miracle if it receives a whole slab of marzipan, as I am sure some will make it's way into my mouth.  Well, there's bound to be a bit left over...

The days are certainly cooler, although we have been lucky so far.  I met a lovely old farmer this week, who recently lost his wife.  He still has to come out and check his sheep and feed his cattle regardless of how he feels.  He said the animals keep him going.  He wanted to talk, so we talked.  He told me how his cows are still in the fields as it is so mild for the time of year and the grass is still growing a little.  This time last year, he had already brought them all in.  He said he always has a good breakfast as it keeps him going until later in the day when he has done most of his farm jobs.  His daughter is living with him for a while and looking after him well.  I was relieved to hear this, as a tiny part of my mind had already taken him home, sat him down by the fire with a blanket round his legs and a mug of tea in his hand.  What am I like?   What is this thing in me that wants to look after people who seem a bit lost or sad?  I think it's just the mother instinct and a love for making things and people cosy and happy.  I haven't as yet, got to the stage where I force people indoors and feed them.  I do hope the children don't let me!

Even on dull November days, with illness in the house, there are things to gladden my heart and make me smile.  Walking the dogs one morning this week, a rabbit shot out from the hedge in front of us and darted across the lane, it's cotton tail flashing white as it went.  A swirl of Lapwings rose from the damp fields and speckled the sky like bara brith, their plaintive cry echoing across the silence.  And a murmuration of starlings danced against the backdrop of grey cloud; they flew over my head, parting in the middle like a velvet curtain being drawn open, a hundred pairs of wings sighing as air rushed over feather.  They dropped down in a nearby field and at once set up a cacophony of excited noise and chatter.  Sometimes I think I like the countryside more in the colder months.  I love the security of the patterns of nature; the swallows have left and the geese have arrived.  Starlings group into ever larger families, wrens pack together in empty bird boxes and gold finches form flocks of twenty or so birds, all the better for finding food and warmth.  It reminds me that whatever happens in our human lives, the constancy of nature will always keep us grounded and assure us that we are most certainly never alone.  I must remember this tomorrow when I am investigating a suspected blockage in the septic tank....

Oh joy.


Enjoy the nature around you and keep warm on these damp days.xxx