How do you moor yourself? More-come-and-wise?

The gym was shut this morning and it left me feeling untethered, adrift.  When I’m feeling unsettled, out of sorts, out of touch, I throw myself into exercise.  Yes, I know I need only do a short sharp burst of HIIT or Tabata to keep fit but why do 20 minutes when you could lose yourself for an hour or more?  On the treadmill or the cross-trainer (as opposed to the happy trainer?) my body sinks into auto-pilot – it drops the need to stay tense – and my mind empties.  I float in a motion of sweat – and it’s sweet.

So, instead, I took the SP for a walk and, as I climbed the first sharp incline to the woods, I wondered…why do I make everything so damn hard?  I mean, everything.  Why, for instance, so I always assault the toughest path to the hill fort?  Nobody else goes that way (is that the appeal?) because it’s nigh-on vertical for mercy’s sake.  Anyhow, today I took the aptly named Middle Path and, every so often, as I slalomed through the trees, I walked into a wall of air – its texture palpable, thick.  It made me almost gasp and chew – the kind of air you eat rather than breathe.

And instead of route-marching round the entire circuit, I meandered to my tree, sat down and leaned against him, my head resting back against his bark and bite.  My woof/wulf-tree, lately left lorn. And spiders wobbled around me and a bee looped lazily and the grass was so grass green (like children’s crayons) and high, stalks leaning into one another as if exhausted already by this shot of summer. 

I sat and, well, just sat and became so very aware of my tension.  And I tried (ho ho) to loosen my jaw, to allow my shoulders (the should/ought/musters) to drop, to unclench my heart.  Just to be, just to breathe.  And it was good. 

The SP is always the best of companions.  He meandered around, doing what dogs do but kept coming back, checking in and, every so often, winding himself onto my lotus-lap and solemnly licking my wrist.  

Anyhow, that was it really.  No great revelations, no deep meanings, no nothing really.  

But I wonder...what do you do when you’re adrift? How do you moor (more?) yourself?  J

I have yurt envy

‘Turn here,’ said Trish, gesturing at a gap in the hedge as we were halfway up a one in five track.  ‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so.’
I swung the car onto a field and we bumped over a wide expanse of grass.
‘There it is!’
And there it was.  A small yurt set on top of the world.  Next to it a wooden structure, topped with tarpaulin, open on two sides, housing an outdoor kitchen. 

It's home for Hen and Leo, plus Willow the border collie.  And it’s beautiful. 

I’d been in my pit of course. Hadn’t really felt like doing anything much except curl up in a ball and cry but this had been planned weeks back and Trish doesn’t take prisoners.  She’s bootcamp mama, the woman partly responsible for my rippling quads and newly toned shoulders – she shouts, I just meekly obey.  So I went and it was what I needed. 

As we got out of the car, Hen came over, Willow bounding at her heels, and hugged Trish and hugged me.  The SP wriggled out and just fell on Willow in complete delight.

the stove  - pic by Hen

‘The soup is a disaster,’ said Hen, shaking her head. ‘Truly, it’s just gakkitygak!’
‘Hey, that’s okay.  The scones didn’t work out either,’ I said.  

Usually I make great scones. They’re my one area of culinary expertise.  Sod it, I’ve even won a prize for the darn things.  Except now, it seems, even that minor domestic skill has vanished.  I’d planned on taking some home-made japonica jelly to go with them but when I pulled down the last jar it had developed a nice furry crust of mould.  So it was fudge from the Tantivy instead.

Hen is one of those people who are just so *so* fabulous. Again, I *met* her on Twitter (so, see, it's not all bad!) - in fact you should follow her...here.  Sustainable land management is her “big thing”.  She lives in a yurt on the edge of an ancient oak woodland on Exmoor where she cares for 47 acres of oak wood, river and meadow.  Her aim is to help the woodland recover from years of over-grazing and lack of management.  She is also hoping to plant 6,000 trees to ‘fill in a break in a woodland corridor that runs from the North Devon coast, along a river to the moor.’

She showed us around the land and it’s heartbreakingly beautiful.  She gave us wood sorrel to nibble – ‘just like biting into a Granny Smith’ and pointed out the areas she’d cleared and where she wanted to plant trees and it made me think all over again that the environment has to our prime concern really.  Isn’t it obvious?  We can have the best society in the world but if we don’t have a world in which to live it… Or am I being stupid?

We walked back, with Willow and the SP playing all the way, and sat down on stools that Leo had made from greenwood, and ate our soup (which was delicious actually) outside and nibbled fudge and drank mugs of tea.  Then it started to rain so we went into the yurt and, by god, it was warm and cosy and lovely. 

And we talked about trees and baskets and long bows and deer and we talked about yurts and life in Mongolia, and about people and how they live on landscapes – either marching with clunky boots or dancing with light bare feet, all the while the dogs playing at our feet.

Anyhow.  I’m not really full of words right now so all I can do is suggest you take a walk to Hen’s website and blog and read about her vision.  And think about dancing rather than clod-hopping.  

Let me give you one small taster from her blog:

"You've met Old Bert before. He is my favourite tree. Bert is completely hollow inside (but he still has a huge heart), and he's so old he has lots of plants living on him. There's Old Ivy, who loves him so much that fifty years ago she wrapped herself around him and never let go, there's young Campion and Wood sorrel, and many old friend Lichens and Moss. He's a house for lots of little mammals, bugs and birds too. He doesn't mind though, Old Bert loves the company and life by the river is good."

Old Bert (pic by Hen)

Life by the river does look good, to be sure. Surrounded by trees, not people.  So does life in an isolated yurt, to be honest.  I have yurt envy. Deep deep deep yurt envy. 

actually this looks like a good spot for me!

Swollen Testicles v the Moon

Okay, so I’ve been trying, I really have.  I watch everyone on Twitter, chatting about TV, and I figure, maybe I’m missing out here.  Maybe I should join in.  I mean, I do watch TV a bit – but it’s usually Top Gear or The Gadget Show or The Simpsons to keep James company – and I’ll only have half an eye on Jeremy Clarkson (unless he’s driving a particularly juicy motor) cos I’ll be balancing on my fitball and waving a kettlebell over my head (yup, those triceps still need a bit of work). 

But the other night I thought, no, give it a go.  So I sat on the sofa, turned on and – OMG – there was a vast swollen scrotum staring me in the eye.  For one bizarre moment I wondered if James had signed us up for some Sky package that involved porn channels, except no…this was not even remotely erotic (unless you get off on infected scrota of course – and, don’t tell me, some people probably do). 

I then watched, slack-jawed, some poor man having six stone – SIX STONE! – of stomach “apron” excised.  Six stone? Sorry, I keep repeating it but you know, that’s a large child. I don’t think I will ever expunge that image. 

It was about four times this size, btw

But really.  This is entertainment?  This is what we choose to do with our evenings?  Well, obviously because last night I found myself back on the sofa switching on again, with puzzled yet morbid fascination.  This time it was the women’s turn.  One poor girl had her humungous breasts lopped off and we got to see a woman with a prolapsed vagina expelling a squirt of urine up close.  In fact, the director liked the pee shot so much, we got it three times, until the woman finally managed to splash the consultant in the eye. 

Now, I’m not remotely squeamish.  I’ve watched operations up close; I’ve staunched a severed artery with my bare hands (not my own artery, I hasten to add) and I begged a surgeon to let me watch my own emergency C-section (he refused, the spoilsport) but, but, but…no.  Just no.   I turned away.

The moon was so huge, so bright.  It was flirting through the window at me, singing a love song to me and I just couldn't resist.  So I switched off the TV and walked out into the garden.  The daisies were shining like a reflection of stars.  The moon stroked my face so I lay down on the damp grass, stretched out and smelled earth and roses and lilies and the faintest hint of woodsmoke.  I felt the earth beneath me and gazed up at the clear night sky as the last vestiges of light faded to slate. For once I didn't go hurtling out into the darkness - I was content just to hang...just to hold the earth's hand and spin with it through space.

I so love moonlight.  Do you?  Do you ever really appreciate it?  Have you ever walked in the woods at night?  Your eyes adjust, you know – you don’t need a flashlight…  You see, you hear, you smell, you feel so much… Have you ever swum in a river at night?  Slid softly through black water?   Have you ever floated in the sea under the stars, your body caressed by moon and wave, floating in a nowhere place, twixt elements, inbetween time?  Oh, I know, I know….dangerous…  Oh whatever.  It’s beautiful, just beautiful…so beautiful….

….a million worlds away from the images on my TV screen.

For some reason Blogger won't let me embed a vid here:  but when I think of seas and floating this is the song that plays in my head:  it's Song to the Siren  by This Mortal Coil and it is just plain gorgeous.

It’s okay, btw – I know I’m weird, I know this isn’t the norm.  And I’m not judging or condemning, really I’m not.  It’s just…why?  Why do we watch TV?  Is it entertainment, escapism, bonding, numbing?  Honestly, I’d love to know. 

The show, btw#2, was Embarrassing Bodies and, having taken a look at their website I can see they do probably help demystify stuff and so on...and encourage people to see their GPs and check their bodies and....oh heck, there's a penis gallery and a vulva gallery....no, really, there is.  Jeez, sometimes you have to wonder about our bodies - I mean, couldn't they be a bit more aesthetic?  Couldn't someone run a competition or something - design decent-looking sex apparatus?