Settling down to write seems to be getting harder and harder and I wonder why; is it the endless lure and distraction of social media, a shortening of attention span or maybe a fear that I have nothing worth saying in these serious times. More often than not, when the short days are iron grey and heavy with damp, it's because I have no new images to share and maybe you're as guilty as I am of looking mainly at the pictures and skim reading the text!
Tonight I've completed some Christmassy tasks, the last posting day has been and gone, so I've lit candles, loaded up the wood stove and built a midwinter writing nest.
This month I have been escaping the gloom ( literally and metaphorically) by retreating into the world of familiar wintery books from my childhood and also enjoying some magical "children's" books, which I often start reading when I'm working in the bookshop and then, becoming lost in the story, have to bring home to finish. Last night snuggling in bed to read Snowglobe by Amy Wilson I was so aware that this "comfort reading" is vital to my mental health (and well earned after a month of Haruki Murakami's giant brick of a book!). Re-visiting these stories is pure escapism and while I'm reading I can feel connected to the younger me, when I still hoped to become a pony or Sherlock Holmes or to find other worlds in the back of wardrobes (Ok I know, you know I still do hope these things but Im 51 now so shhhh, don't tell). It has become a winter ritual for me, ever since a weird, sad winter when I discovered the Moomins, drank a lot of Whisky and listened to a lot of Vic Chesnutt and was held together somehow (see posts from December 2009 for reference). So, am I the only one? What is your comfort read?
The reason these posts take so long and are rarer than red squirrels is that I keep looking back to check stuff and then go off in a daydream, "off on a tandem" as a colleague of Rupert's once said in all seriousness. So I just looked back at that winter of 2009/10 and all that sparkling snow, a twist inside of homesickness and loss. Something I miss about "home" in Yorkshire is the quality of the light and the big skies... But it's crazy to say that when I see pictures like the one above; Borrowdale a week or two ago, a day for soaking up the winter sun, hugging mossy trees and thinking about all the amazing and wonderful things living here has brought - new people, new places and loads of artistic opportunities which, if I'm honest, just weren't happening back home.
Last weekend I did a small event in Cockermouth with a group of women who run a plastic free market - dried goods, baking, floristry and eco cleaning products. As a final event of the year it was heart warming and encouraging; vitally for me it was about connections, I feel as though I am starting to know more people. Today I got a lovely email from someone I'd only met twice (once by the lake and once at the market) just saying how much she liked the lantern she'd bought and hoping my cold was better, it seems an exaggeration to say so but it brightened my day beyond belief. If you make any resolutions for 2019 let it be to reach out more and keep in touch with people, write more letters and make more coffee dates!
As well as losing myself in "childish" books I've been doing something else I loved to do as a child; making up imaginary scenes and drawing stories. These watercolour doodles are such a nice antidote to cyanotype and probably fit into all that "mindfulness" thing as I can feel myself relaxing as I paint. I'm not a painter though, there's already one of those in our family, but I'm starting to feel the same enjoyment I've felt in the past, just doing it for fun, for me. Anyway, if I can't ever afford a real little golden house with a fairytale garden I can at least pretend one...
Now it seems that I've forgotten to put the kettle back on the stove and I really do need a pot of tea. I've missed loads out, I've waffled and not even mentioned the exhibitions and the stuff I want you to buy from my shop and the stoat that has turned into an ermine and the window of the bookshop and the kitten turning out to be a boy and ... my New Year thing should be to write more but for now, where ever you are Happy Midwinter, enjoy the pause, look after yourself. The light will soon be returning and we need to make some magic spells I think because there's some worrying stuff going on out there.
Reading: The Clockwork Crow - Catherine Fisher
Prairie Fires- Caroline Fraser
Snowglobe - Amy Wilson
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 
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 x