Mid September and I'm trying to be still, to take stock of the year so far and also recognise how far have I come from that sunny September day (3 years today) when my life was turned upside down by a chance remark - and how far I have yet to go towards accepting my new reality. A recent spur of the moment decision to visit family and friends at "home" in Yorkshire left me with a terrible feeling of not belonging anywhere (yet) - old friends were away and too much had changed. I walked around Town like a deer in the hunting season, all full of adreneline, in case I should see Enemies (at one point retreating to my car for a few tears and the coffee I'd hastily tipped into a flask to escape the loneliness of a window seat for one). It's pretty hard for people to understand because on the face of it life here in the Lakes is pretty bloody idyllic and I can't argue with the fact that the enforced change has opened doors to exciting places and brought unimagined new joys ... but thats not the point, it wasn't my free choice to leave at that time. The prodded, still raw, emotions made me overflow with empathy for displaced people everywhere and wish more than anything that I could be of use somehow.In Costa, where the only newspapers were the Daily Mail and the Sun I felt like an outsider, even me with my privileged, white, middle class cappuccino, wondering how much worse it would feel to be a refugee or asylum seeker. Homesick for a place that no longer exists. I try to raise money for charities like Shelterbox but it doesn't seem enough; one bleeding heart idealist giving the odd tenner, however it is an amazing thing they do, so if my brief wallow in the past informs one person about their work then that's good isn't it? ( theres also a very neglected post on my Facebook Page which has some things for sale to raise money for them)And so the colour palette changes again - hot pink, steel grey, purple blacks, russet and velvet brown-  and I wish and wish I was a painter - or at least was able to express what I feel and see in some satisfying way. The Rosebay Willow Herb has climbed to the top of its stems and the last few magenta flowers are held above downy clouds of seed feathers, bright memories of a summer that seemed to be over before it had started. The joyful discovery of this summer was swimming without a wetsuit ( the wetsuit gives me floaty legs and I end up in a skydiving position with a crick in my neck - I'm really not a good swimmer!) and I can hardly believe that this picture, taken just a few weeks ago was probably the last one before next spring. There's been so much rain that all the water temperatures have dropped and since I do it so infrequently there's no chance to get acclimatised to the cold like some of the real swimmers are. Still, I might give it a go and I'm hoping one day to get  some tips from local swimming guru  Susanna Cruikshank who has just set up a new business as a swim guide and might help me progress from being a head up dipper to someone who can swim more than 25 metres without getting hiccoughs. (EDIT we went and swam in Ullswater last night as I was half way through writing this and I got in again for a moment or two after the wetsuit bit - it was chilly but bliss).Continuing to assess the year;  as far as work goes I've been up and down and round in circles and back up again. Sometimes things have worked really well and I feel quite surprised at myself; the digitally doodled Jackdaw I drew the other night for example or this hare print which is now a lamp, heading to Shetland, Bonhoga Gallery  next week. Other times I feel so cross with the whole thing I just wish I could get a regular job as a gardener or bake cakes for a living- everybody likes cake and gardens never stop growing but people don't always NEED a card or a piece of art, its undoubtably a luxury. I was really excited by the response to the "Just A Card Blog" interview I did earlier in the month, it had been a bit of an ambition to get some nice exposure and help promote their campaign message. On Twitter at least, I felt briefly famous and successful ... it's only when I tell you that barely 3 people looked at my website because of it and there were no extra sales that you start to realise that our social media bubbles are like a hall of mirrors, reflecting distorted versions of your own thoughts back at you ... the brutal reality is we need to reach customers not just other creatives.Its also vital that people realise why work is priced as it is - I'm probably being terribly indiscreet and unbusinesslike ( what's new) but 0n Saturday at a wonderful open studio in the Eden Valley I got into discussion with a visitor who praised my work but said it was "too expensive" in her opinion. I've said it so many times, and I know I'm preaching to the converted because you're here reading this, so you probably understand, but listen - a piece of art or anything you see in any shop probably has at least a 50% mark up (shops and galleries have bills to pay too) that means that if you half the price of a print which retails at  £70 you're left with £35 from which to take the cost of materials (the paper alone can be about £6 a sheet), time, framing or mounting and all the other expenses ( including the years of learning the technique, making preliminary sketches, thinking and planning). Nobody's getting rich quick like that.Having said that we recently walked in on a customer in an outdoor equipment shop rudely accusing the staff of  "just wanting to make money like all the other shops in this town" which was pretty crazy when you think about it, so maybe its not jus a problem in the creative industries.September 28th has been planned as #JustACard Day ; a chance to really spread the word about the importance of even apparently small sales to keeping independent shops thriving in our high streets and supporting artists and makers - if only by spreading more understanding of the issues around this kind of business. There are a few ways to get involved so do follow the link and see what it's all about.I almost lost my nerve a bit while thinking about what to write this time. There is a strong case for the whole "keeping up appearances/positivity attracts positivity/you're in business so don't be so open" school of thought but actually I'm bored with that kind of dishonesty; the extreme end of which is "fake news" and other evils of these unsettling Trumpian Times. Anyway, it is what it is and I'll end by singing about the good things... the walks in the now familiar fells (who have shaken the moths out of their brown velvet coats and scented them with woodsmoke), the postman arriving with surprise, unsolicited book gifts, the re-discovery of yoga ( yeah, like the rest of the world we're rolling around on the carpet most days trying to follow Adriene Mishler videos without falling over or getting attacked by the cat or distracted by the mousetrap going off) , the excitement of new exhibition plans with Cumbria Printmakers. It's not Utopia but sometimes when you're standing up as tall as you can on top of a hill and pretending to be a mountain it gets pretty close. xReading: " A Pocketful of Crows" Joanne Harris (one of those happy moments when social media works as it should and the lovely @likewinterblue from Sam Read Booksellers, Grasmere sent me a surprise pre-publication proof after seeing that it was on my wish list. Some people are just friendly and kind and that makes up for the rest!)  I'm loving it and making it last longer by also reading "The Ladies of Grace Adieu" by Susanna Clarke.Listening to: owls and there deepening breath ( ha ha! not really I'm just trying to get in the yoga mood)

I'm curled up by the fire with my new favourite mug full of coffee and a stack of mince pies; its been dark since 2 o'clock and wildly windy but here I am, cozy in my nest, just the comfortable sound of the stove chimney moaning slightly and the rain bubbling in the gutters. I've been thinking a lot this week about our carefully curated, aesthetically pleasing virtual lives and how we project ourselves to the outside world...a world where people are struggling just to exist, never mind taking pictures of their latest baking triumph or immaculate room decor. Sometimes the world just seems to be so full of  craziness and greed and violence that writing a blog or drawing a bear or trying to sell the last pack of Christmas cards feels totally self-indulgent. Guilt and impotence in the face of world events can be quite paralysing, I want to DO something to help but I haven't the skills...or the money to salve my conscience. So many of the artists, makers and creative people I've "met" online have similar concerns (and I know that a group of people here in Keswick are organising themselves to try and offer practical  help to Syrian refugees) that maybe we all just have to do what we can, try not to let compassion fatigue numb us and hope that small actions of peace and generosity can influence the bigger ones.Well, even in the darkest times there has to be a little light and sitting here on the eve of Winter Solstice I'm taking the time to think about the coming year and how to be more positive, wondering what I can actually contribute to this swirly blue planet and also what I would like to achieve for myself in the year I turn 50 (oh good grief how soon that happened!). It is an introspective time, the deepest dark of midwinter-  maybe I'll wake up tomorrow with a clear idea of what I want to be when I grow up, perhaps I'll get up early and toast the sunrise at Castlerigg with a flask of hot something...Apart from all the worrying about the world this week I've been out in the outdoors where I climbed up above the mist and fog to emerge on the top of the highest mountain on the planet (it is a strange thing that it always feels like the highest mountain even when it's just a tall hill) I felt momentarily dizzy as the whole aspect changed suddenly and different parts of the landscape were revealed like a theatrical set. The mist rose and fell like a living thing and the surface of the cloud lake went from smooth opaque pool to stormy cauldron and back as the sun set. A cloud inversion like another reality where the mountains are islands and distance is impossible to judge. We would all have to live in tall houses above the storm line.Back down in the thick fog and fading light we decided to have another go at swimming (last week we'd managed a quick dip in Loughrigg Tarn leaping about on the shore like nutters in gimp suits, doing the Floral Dance to warm up our screaming fingers and toes). This felt exciting and reckless but since we had no intention of swimming more than a few metres in the shallows of Rydal Water  it also felt safe... hidden by the fog. I can't explain how magical it felt to plunge in to milky water that blended into the sky so perfectly there was no horizon; I imagine it would be terrifying if we'd gone too far from shore but the cold drove us back after about 10 seconds to dance a warm up jig before doing it all again. It was pitch dark by the time we trotted back through the wood, the mist so heavy that the water droplets hung in the beams of our head torches and our foggy breath bounced the light back in our eyes. Obviously I didn't take any pictures but I saw this on Instagram, taken on the same day, and it seemed too beautiful not to share. Its a picture by Paul Scully of Jenny Rice (who is clearly a lot braver and more photogenic than me- in a bikini rather than wetsuit); they were recently featured on the BBC's Open Country programme about the Lake District and Wordsworth.So dear readers, tomorrow the nights will slowly slowly start to get shorter and already I can see snowdrop shoots where the birds have scuffled the fallen leaves away under the feeder. Still I'm hoping for snow and some brighter days before the rush of Spring. Right, it's time for me to remove my Polar Bear bobble hat and rinse off the henna mud that is plastered on my hair, my one misguided concession to hair styling, also I need to stop getting distracted and do some drawing  (If you follow me on Facebook you'll know I've been posting a bear drawing for every day in December and I'm running out).Happy Winter Solstice wherever you are, thank you for reading xReading: "Waterlog" ~Roger Deakin and The Barefoot Diaries 

November arrived in great style with rustling piles of crispy leaves, the kind you can jump in and throw about, seldom seen in recent soggy years. Autumn colours almost worthy of a New England Fall and blue mirror lakes reflecting impossibly blue skies. It may seem as though I'm constantly swanning about having photogenic adventures in perfect landscapes while the rest of the world knuckles down to an honest day's work... I can assure you this is mostly down to editing and curating, but recently I have to admit it's all felt like living in a Disney Autumn scene.Last week we had another emergency visit to the bookshop, a torchlit climb up Wansfell and an atmospheric Halloween night spent in the van on the side of Coniston. The photo above is a before shot; before swimming out to the little island in Moss Eccles Tarn,with icicle fingers, discovering a perfect red and white toadstool in the middle of the fairy kingdom and swimming back feeling smug (for being brave enough to brave it on November 1st) and blissful with the sun in our faces. I don't think the fairies minded being disturbed but I think I heard them laughing.After the swim we walked around the garden of Beatrix Potter's house Hill Top. The house was closed for the winter but what a treat to have the garden almost to ourselves... last time we visited it was so busy with groups of people and tour guides that we had to queue in the garden listening to an introductory talk and Sara had a spectacular attack of suppressed giggles so that tears were streaming down her face by the time we got in. What a perfect little house and garden, I could sit and draw there all day.Channeling my inner Beatrix (I'm getting to be almost her shape these days too) I've been drawing hedgehogs in quiet moments at work and expecting to be told off at any moment.

A book is a dream that you hold in your hand.–Neil Gaiman

Last week I was told I must clean shelves at all times and reading was banned even during the quietest days when everything was sparkling... this week I was told off for cleaning while customers were in. I'm a confused and resentful rebel; the teenager who wouldn't eat fish pie at school, the child who got in trouble at primary school for putting her hands in a tray of seed compost because she wanted to see how it felt, the frustrated artist disguised as a middle aged shop assistant! I've mused a lot about work in this blog and of course I'm aware that potential employers may read this and give the naughty troublemaker a wide berth but actually I think they'd be missing the point and the potential. Rules and regulations should also allow for imagination and inventiveness which is how things advance and grow and without which we are extras in a Samuel Beckett play or living a scene in Catch 22. I read this meme recently "people don't leave good jobs they leave bad managers" and looking back now I actually miss (the early years) working in a pub in Osmotherley when despite the long hours and low pay I would gladly have done just about anything for the manager Helen who had a healthy cynicism about our bosses, the job and a real skill in asking rather than telling. Helen now runs TeaCakes of Yorkshire, a lovely online tea company and I miss her loads.Hey ho, the perils of over sharing in a public arena... but life's too short not to say what you mean just so long as you're not nasty. Now it's almost time for me to throw some more logs on the stove and find another pair of socks to put on over the other two - November is showing its other face today, it's cold and damp and the leaves are mushy gold on the doorstep. Last night we went up Catbells in the dark to watch the fireworks, it was so clear and bitingly cold, sitting on the rocks drinking hot blackcurrant and Brandy and contemplating almost two years in Newlands Valley.I dug out this old sketch which I'd made after one of our weekend trips here from "home";  it seems so long ago now but the drawing feels more special now that I'm living surrounded by those colours , today the fells are just as black and topped with mist. Meanwhile in the land of blue and white more horses have emerged and a bear has left the Artfinder shop which is fantastic news and really encouraging.Keep warm where ever you are and enjoy the last of Autumn xReading: "When the Floods Came" Clare Morrall Listening to:  "Paper Moon" Ella Fitzgerald after listening to Ali Smith on Desert Island Discs