Weaving a Nest

I have long been fascinated by the idea that we perhaps, have 12 senses, rather than just the 5 that we are all so familiar with. It was Rudolph Steiner that first proposed this intriguing concept. I just love this post here at Fairy Dust Teaching that explains it all so beautifully. Having been raised in very conventional ways, myself- this news is thrilling to me. Suddenly, everything makes so much more sense, now that the missing bits have been delivered. It's like only ever having a set of five primary coloured crayons, kept in a very skinny pencil case, with which to colour in the world- so limiting. And then, quite suddenly, being presented with a complete rainbow box of delicious pastels to work with- everything changes.
I really like this homeschooling diagram as it puts the development of the 12 senses through childhood in to very helpful perspective.

And this is why I believe that a "good" childhood is so vital, a child's well-being is woven strand by strand with fine threads & teeny stitches in to a belief & value system that will travel with her the rest of her life. It may seem a very strange metaphor, but this belief system is much like a healthy pelvic floor- elastic & supportive & beautifully constructed to hold all the vital organs of creativity in place- effortlessly. The fabric of childhood values, is in fact, not crafted by the child, but woven by others around her. She may offer small snippets to be added in to the creation, but she is not the architect, nor is she in charge of the project. Some of the materials used are imperceptibly passed on by other generations, others are absorbed in to the fabric simply through the close & seamless bond with mothers & caregivers, as for some long time the little one does not see herself as separate from the mother, but as one & the same. Which is why I inadvertently absorbed so much of my mother's self hatred & melancholy. As a child you have no idea what is normal or healthy, or if it is not, it's just your life. Some of us are offered beautiful life blankets woven with love, richness & great skill, that we carry with us in to the adult world gratefully. Others are offered blankets of discordant colours & materials that may be scratchy & itchy & cause us no end of trouble & discomfort & do not serve us well. It is a very difficult thing to find yourself with a dumb life blanket. And the truth is, we are not at liberty to just throw the thing away, it's ours whether we like it or not & we must figure out for ourselves how we will re-craft the offering, in to a support that will more graciously sustain us. This work may mean a life time of unpicking.
I have come to observe that many people receive perfectly fine life blankets, others have a good bit of work making do & mending theirs, and then there are the others- the scapegoats & black sheep who have to face the truth that what they have been offered will harm, kill or disable them if they don't deconstruct the blanket almost entirely. The reason that we are not at liberty to simply burn the offensive thing is that by now it has also become part of our emotional & physical body.
I have become very aware of a troubling phenomena of recent times, as I observe many people around me suffering- really, really struggling with unsolvable, incurable health issues. And in every case I note that the life blanket given to them in childhood is a toxic/scratchy one. I  have struggled for the last 30 years with a lack of vitality & an inability to resolve health issues & become fully well myself, no matter what I have done to try & help myself, until now...now that I have fully separated myself from a father who intends me nothing but ill-will & has done so for over 40 years. You see, it never stops in childhood- the toxic thing, it goes on & on- sticking to your life life like dog poo on the bottom of your shoe. You cannot just simply, pull your socks up & get over such things.
Those who are so damaged that they have nothing to offer their offspring other than life blankets embedded with utterly inappropriate poison apples, are to be pitied.
Their legacy to their victims is a perpetual & gnawing sense of un-belonging & abandonment that follows us in to every nook & cranny of life, never allowing us rest. As a consequence we end up in a state of heightened anxiety & nervousness, struggling to trust others & the goodness in life- we long for even a little of the happiness & sunshine that others seem to so readily gather around themselves. Once activated by the life threat, we come to discover that the panic switch is set to always on & alert, & our rest & restore function is rendered faulty or broken.
So, how do these parentally disordered human beings come to be this way?
I cannot tell you.
All I do know is- that when you reach old age you have a lived your life daily, thirty thousand times over, making one choice, one response of love or contempt, kindness or selfishness- one decision at a time. How we came to have three such people within our family life, I also cannot tell you.
It has been a long 30 years of suffering the consequences, but we have done the work, we have used the tools that we have managed to dig up or find for ourselves & we have methodically bent our heads & worn down our fingers as we unpicked the corrupted & ugly threads & we have rewoven them with feathers & usnea & sheep's wool & joy. Snip, snip pull. Warp, snip, pull, discard, weft. Snip, snip pull, discard. Warp & weft.
It's not enough to proclaim "tell me if I ever start to behave like that!" the ink is indelible- the threads must be cut & pulled.
At various times through the years we have looked up from the work- to rub our aching necks & pause to consider what home means to us, what love means to us, what feeling safe means to us & what would healing from it all really look like.
Well it looks like this: photo credit: Linda Hallinan

 A work of art & perfection. Cleverly, beautifully crafted, little by little until the very best nest is formed. And it always fits the family, the person it is made for- just right.
I love too, the way that my beloved Wild Carrot (Queen Anne's Lace) mimics the nest- flowers giving way to seed & closing in on themselves to form a beautiful, natural womb of protection for the mature seed of her making. One of the golden threads of nature is the miraculous- humans don't always know that they can be part of the same lovely plan.

When we came across that lovely Danish concept of Hygge- making life cosy & warm, we were so delighted & we set about infusing our lives with as much Hygge as we could muster. Recently we came to see that the fundamental thing that must be in place before Hygge makes any difference at all, is the state of The Nest. We each get to craft our own nest through our adult years, but we will only do a fine job of this creation if we have truly assessed & dealt to the state of the life blanket we we've been given so long before.
The first of the 12 senses is The Sense of Life, or The Sense of Wellbeing.
Fairy Dust Teaching suggests that one of the fundamental things that children long for is a rhythmic life-
"And it is the rhythms that hold life- rising and setting of the sun, seven days a week, the cycle of the moon, the twelve months in a year- that we build our rhythms upon. Children require rhythm and actually long for it!! The more rythmical the life of a child, the healthier that child."

Here in this home we return again and again, as beloved children to the basic threads, materials for building a cosy nest- the scents & the beauty of seasonal flowers growing in our garden.

 The wonder of lettuce going to seed.

 The gratitude for the delicious Red Shiso that volunteers each summer in cracks all about the garden.

 The medicinal plants like yarrow...& the visitation of bees.

Seeing once again the wonder of the process of metamorphosis right before our eyes.

 Knowing, always knowing that Lucy is just there, keeping company with the hydrangea Bloody Marvellous. Lucy feels like home- always.

 Eating a rainbow from the garden- because there's nourishing magic in such food.

 Standing in awe before an echinacea flower- such astonishing form.

 Gathering so much glorious summer produce from our little community garden down the road, then sharing it with others.

Harvesting Kawakawa fruits from the school down the road & eating breakfast with joy.

 Gathering wild flowers for their colour explosion. Wow!

 Picnicking by the river at Sacred Hill in the heat of summer, having taken the time to prepare delicious food for our dinner.

Marvelling at the setting sunlight through double Thalictrim blossoms.

 Holding the nourishing gift of red clover blossoms- also offerings from the summer garden.

 Bothering to peel the mountain pawpaws & making Nan's old Fruit Delight dessert recipe with them.

 Taking the time to carefully collect one of every begonia blooming in pots. Their petals are tangy & lemony & so much fun in salads.

 Sitting a sunflower head on a wee seat- like an important visitor.

 Reading snippets of fabulous books like Apples for Jam to each other, warms our hearts & makes us feel loved.

Memories-
"There's children's laughter escaping through the iron gates & past the oleander, and the daffodils, sprinkling on the just-cut lawns that line the road and fluttering up to me through my open window, falling over my shoulder's like fairy glitter. And that atmosphere of sleeping head to tail in trains and on holiday, and knocking on walls to see if others are still awake". Tessa Kiros

 Staying to watch the moon come up even though it's long past tea time & then running to the car 'cos we're freezing.

 These are the threads of life that we now weave- rhythmically, daily, joyfully.
Vintage French enamel bucket- op shop find.

Because all that really matters are the moments- knowing that you are loved, will always be loved & you are truly, fully awake & alive.

The moments...

"Observing freedom" 

 Captured in a split second by David (son). Click photo to enlarge
 Life. Gift to see.

Moulin Rouge sunflower in Matthew's amazing, productive garden.
Photo- Matthew (son).
Life. Gift to see.

Also snapped in a moment of time. Setting sun. Effects- produced by Australian wild fires.

Photo- mother. Life. Gift to see.

Photo- father. Me age 59. Life. Gift to see.

When The Nest is woven with threads of love, kindness, care & acceptance...warmth naturally comes to fill it & grace abides.

Life

All is well.

Reel Therapy and Red Shoes

Thank you so much everyone for the support and encouragement that you gave me after I wrote my last post, I so very much appreciate your love, kindness & friendship.

It's interesting how powerful family can be. Even the concept of family can be a binding/blinding force in our lives & all that comes with it- joy, love, connection, duty, shame, embarrassment or blessing.

I know many people hold an unwavering belief in the importance of family & family loyalty, once you're signed up- it's for life. But for some of us, family can seem more like a life sentence of disenchantment, disenfranchisement, loneliness & damage. Even so, there's a yearning in most of us to make sense of who we are & where we have come from. It's often not until we put the pieces together & grow a fresh perspective that we can make the right decisions about our own lives & understand which bits we can make peace with, which to screw up & burn, & those parts worth embracing with all our hearts. One of the most useful ways that we have found through the years to put our stories in to right focus, has been through 'reel therapy". We discovered early on that we have the same taste in movies & television & it just so happened that last year Rob went searching through libraries & various places online for programmes & "reels" that we might both enjoy viewing. As it turned out, this has been one of the most powerful perspective shifters we could ever have chosen. It was like understanding our history by being there in person. One of our absolute favourites is a British series called Home Fires: 

"Based on Jambusters: The Story of the Women's Institute in the Second World War by Julie Summers, Home Fires follows the exploits of a group of inspirational women in a rural Cheshire community. They may be far from the front and the fighting, but the shadow of the Second World War has cast a dark cloud over their lives.

With their husbands, fathers, sons and brothers experiencing bloodshed on the battlefields, the women band together to prevent their world falling apart."

When we begin to understand the forces, events & nuances of history that have served to shape our own families of origin & therefore our present lives, in more compassionate, objective ways there is a certain peace that sneaks in & settles us down, envelopes us in an old feather eiderdown & whispers "there, there". A fresh gratitude for the opportunities, gifts & abundance that we have received in our own generation, arrives. And this is a very good thing. It has quite a different effect than the stories handed down through family members- many of which are stuck & lopsided.

It is interesting to observe that, together through the years, we have grounded ourselves by instinctively recreating the values & down-to-earthness resourcefulness that we discovered in these programmes. 

Foyle's War is another series that we love passionately.

When things go awry in families the mess & consequences can be huge. We can often end up feeling dis-connected, unsupported, alone & plain not good enough. We can try way too long & hard to find a sense of belonging & safety in our families of origin when, in fact, if we could only see that our legacy cards were just never going to match up or overlap beyond blood, we would then be free to walk away from the expectation of finding love & fulfilment there. You know the saying "Oh look, aren't they just peas-in-a-pod?'

 & other times it's- "Where ever did she come from- the milk man?" Well that's all quite true- sometimes the apples drop all nice & neatly around the tree & other times, oh my goodness, we are not sure what kind of fruit we even are & neither does anybody else around us. So what do we do?    

A really great place to start is in allowing our old well rehearsed ways of seeing things to dissolve & along with it, a great deal of pain & frustration.
This short Danish video is a perfect example of what I mean.



If we are no longer backing the wrong horse & permit ourselves to see the world in fresh ways, we will be ready to open our eyes & hearts to new connections, friendships & ways of belonging.
Life is a little like a game of snap -sometimes we serendipitously meet someone & when we turn over the next life card we both cry "snap"! & in that moment we are also both found & seen.
Last year I came across Elizabeth Mortlock. I have never met her in person, but just by seeing this "reel story" I feel a kinship, a connection & a sense of joy that I didn't have before.
 I adore her.

 Some 27 years ago now I met my very dear friend Cheryl. From that first moment to this, even though we lead very different lives, we always "see" each other when we get together. Cheryl gave me a gift 6 years ago that was delivered in the shape of a card, but was in truth, a golden key that was to unlock my life purpose. The card said Angel in my garden.

This Christmas I received another shiny, perfect gift, from Jude- this little book called Ruby Red Shoes by Kate Knapp. From the minute I held it in my hands, I found myself both enthralled & exhilarated- here was my new life story written in a childrens' book. Jude saw me when she picked up the book- the seeing & the book, both exquisite gifts.

Babushka Galushka encourages Ruby to be an aware hare, treating everyone's feelings, as well as her own with great care.

"Feelings are just like delicate bird's eggs," she would say. 

"Be as gentle as you can with them".

Ruby enjoys little naps in the cool grass.

Often she daydreams, watching the breeze tickling the leaves or hurrying lazy clouds through the powdery blue sky. 

Ruby Red Shoes lives in prettily painted caravan...with a very sweet & kind man.

And shares her happy Sunshine Vintage life with all who pass by.

"There are always so many things to do in the garden- seedlings to be planted & watered, busy, buzy bees to be calmed with gentle words."

This Ruby Red Shoes now has a bike called Wisp

that she rides all round the neighbourhood, looking over fences, collecting seeds & waving cheerily to all the nice people that she sees along the way.

She even has a little bell.

Just in case hedgehogs & other small animals come across her path.

Lucy & Wisp are now best of friends.

Ruby doesn't know what she'd ever do without them now.

At the conclusion of last year I wrote a personal manifesto. 

Here is a little of what it says:

...I fling open every window to wonder, curiosity & beauty & I am deeply thankful for the abundance that flows all around & through us.

These are the days when I will remember how to skip & play & dream.

My lost & uncomforted inner child will re-connect with goodness & love, & learn to believe in her own sacred calling & expression.

One day, I will truly learn to laugh with gay abandon.

Even though these times are hard for many, my path will be sprinkled (saturated) with flowers, bees & butterflies.

The trees & birds will be my friends.

I am An angel in the garden & I am Ruby Red shoes.....

Generosity will be my trademark; friendship & kindness my coat of many colours.   

I will be healed.

Goodness will flow.

My floral, fragrant, light-filled legacy of joy & kindness will be a well-spring for many years to come & this- will change the world, for good.

Grace

Much love, Katie- the little girl who finally found her shoes, her wings & her destiny.
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The Memory of Violets

Hello there dear friends & readers.

Here we are, once again...in the time of violets,

and daphne...

 toasty wood fires, chicken stock in the slow cooker & pretty vintage blankets on our knees in the evening. The winter sun is low on the front veranda. Most days we put out fruit at the gate: lemons from Ted, grapefruit from the giant tree (huge as far as grapefruit trees go) across the road, walnuts from Ruth's gatherings & local oranges.

Violets & seeds & even rose cuttings are continually being dispersed around the countryside at quite an alarming rate. So, as it happens, it was quite a challenge to create a little space so that I could go to Palmerston North with Rob, a week or two ago. He attended a Champions of Nursing training & I had a lovely time op-shopping.
What an utter delight it was to hear a "Hello, Catherine?" in the Red Cross shop, only to discover Gina, my friend (that I'd actually never met)...visiting from way up north & having the presence of mind to recognise me from this blog. We had such a lovely catch up over tea & I think we're both still marvelling at such an act of pure grace.
On our journey home Rob & I found a lovely old oak mirror in the Woodville Mart. Clever man discovered that we had very nice hooks in the back of one of our old wardrobes to make it perfectly useful. Our hallway has become a cloakroom

 & even had a jolly good old clean. The ever patient driver screeched to a halt several times on the return journey home, so that I could pick some...rather sort after verbena bonariensis seeds. Good man, now the coat hook mirror is already half paid for!

 I found this dear jug in The Salys in Dannevirke.

 So cute.

I really do find violets enchanting. 

I've decided I shall be a Collector of Violets.

Might be how I came across this little novel...the scent of them sent me on a violet mission; the memory of violets, the enchantment of these delicious little flowers,

 coaxing out the stories stored in childhood...so many I've heard these passed few months: a mother who would gather bunches at the kitchen table & tie them up with string to sell to the florists, a grandmother who always gave a granddaughter a fragrant posy from the first of the violet blossoms each late winter. It's the simple warm memories that weave the most charm & remain indelibly pressed in to our hearts. One whiff and...

 you could find yourself transported to the flower markets of old London.

Primroses & polyanthus,

the promise of bluebells,

 hellebores

 and sweetest primlettes.

All bring me back round to the scent,

 the memory

 of violets.

 The memories stretch oh so far back in time. I have recently discovered that this particular violet Mrs David Lloyd George was introduced in 1915 & described as
"A pretty and rare violet originating from Corfe Mullen in Dorset, so is sometimes known as the Dorset Violet.".

 And so I began Hazel Gaynor's novel A Memory of Violets...

Life was terribly tough for the poor in London in the late 1800's & the little girls that faced life mired in poverty & orphaning, often survived on the filthy streets by selling violets or watercress to the wealthy passersby. They were known as The Flower Sellers.

 The story unfolds with deceptive simplicity & reminded me of books of my childhood; yet slowly & surely the story is woven together with colourful threads of fragrant intrigue & purpose.

"1876. Among the filth and depravity of Covent Garden’s flower markets, orphaned Irish sisters Flora and Rosie Flynn sell posies of violets and watercress to survive. It is a pitiful existence, made bearable only by the presence of each other. When they become separated, the decision of a desperate woman sets their lives on very different paths.

1912. Twenty-one-year-old Tilly Harper leaves the peace and beauty of her native Lake District for London, to become assistant housemother at Mr. Shaw’s Home for Watercress and Flower Girls. For years, the home has cared for London’s orphaned and crippled flower girls, taking them off the streets. For Tilly, the appointment is a fresh start; a chance to leave her troubled past behind.

Soon after she arrives, Tilly discovers a notebook belonging to Flora Flynn. Hidden between the pages she finds dried flowers and a heartbreaking tale of loss and separation as Flora’s entries reveal how she never stopped looking for her sister.  Tilly sets out to discover what happened to Rosie. But the search will not be easy. Full of twists and surprises, it leads the caring and determined young woman into unexpected places, including the depths of her own heart." 

The story, I found fascinating on so many levels. So close to my own heart, the resonance of loss & struggle & abandonment...the sense that the world has set it's face against you & that you have no one to truly care for you & protect you.

 The real Albert Shaw of the story, was a christian man named John Groom, who always had a sense that he was called to do more with his life than engrave silver. He eventually fulfilled that calling & set up homes for the Flower Sellers with charming names like Violet & Foxglove House, where they learnt to create artificial flowers as a way of life. Wonderfully, the girls work & plight was acknowledged in the most delightful way, told so well here:

"With a dozen occupants in each home, under the care of a Housemother, these women and young girls lived and worked together making artificial flowers in a nearby factory. It took them off the streets, gave them employment that wasn’t dependent on the seasons or the weather, and improved their quality of life immeasurably. The artificial flowers produced were mostly sold to the wealthy to decorate their homes, but the work of the ‘Flower Girls’ was eventually noticed by the Dowager Queen, Alexandra of Denmark (widow of King Edward VII).
Queen Alexandra was to commemorate fifty years since she had first arrived in England from her native Denmark and rather than the usual processional drive through London, she wanted to use the occasion to raise funds for the city’s hospitals. Aware of the work of the girls at Groom’s ‘crippleage’ she commissioned them to make thousands of artificial pink roses for buttonholes which would be sold all over London.

The event on 26th June, 1912, was a huge success, supported by a thousand titled ladies who took to the streets to sell the roses. As The Times reported of the event, ‘the most noticeable sight was the enormous number of men who wore [a rose]. In the City and West End, at any rate, nearly every second men had at least one bloom and often had two or three in one buttonhole.‘ In total, over £30,000 was raised for charity (several million pounds in today’s equivalent). This was the very first ‘flag’ day of its kind, known as Queen Alexandra Rose Day, and the capital had never seen anything like it."  

Photo & excerpt form here with many thanks.

So it seems...that beauty & kindness remain a saving grace.
 And an honour it is indeed, to have become a "Flower Seller" too; a woman immersed in fragrance & grace & beauty.
Thank you dear readers & friends for you patience with me & for your visit here.
Much love,
Catherine x0x0x