Letting Go

We each shed a tear or two today, on Easter Sunday, for one reason or another.

            For Noah it was because the bouncy thing he’d bought at House of Marbles had flung up into the air, courtesy of Amelia, and unbeknownst to him, had quickly descended into a bowl of tomato soup. It was a delayed reaction from Noah, who was busy with something else at the time, but once alerted to it by our uncontrollable laughter, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. And throwing of pillows. And feeble attempts at revenge. And it quickly escalated into floods of tears because we couldn’t buy a dog. A border collie to be exact.

            For Amelia it was because she’d acquired too many cards in a game of Uno which put her in last place on the points table. And that turned into being jealous of our praise towards Noah’s bravery, after a nasty fall at the skate park yesterday. And something else that I never quite got my head around.

            Mine started before all that, while I was making the beds, after I’d seen some Facebook pictures of my gorgeous nieces and nephews enjoying Easter hunts at home, like we used to, with family. And I started thinking back. To all the people and things and memories we’ve left behind.

            The month before leaving was a whirlwind, and the past three weeks here haven’t been much different. There have been small moments of time to pause and reflect and remember, before the present has jolted us back, to organise or schedule or get something done. Until this morning - a rare opportunity to do nothing for a while. Maciek and the kids were occupied playing cards downstairs, and so I sat on the bed, looked at the few things we’d brought with us, remembered everything we’d left behind, and I cried. I really cried. I looked at the photo of Amelia in her first calisthenics costume and remembered how proud we were to see her on stage for the very first time. The sibling photo of them when they were so little at the Kindergarten in Austria, the one from Montessori when Amelia had no front teeth and Noah still had his, the teddies they’ve had since they were babies, and I thought of how much they’ve grown up, and I remembered the years of height markings on the bathroom door frame in Kingsley, and how it’s probably been painted over by now. And I picked up Amelia’s silver-heart locket with a photo of Babcia inside. And the sound of Noah riding his go-cart around in our garden came to me, and I regretted the times we told him to stop for the noise of it, while were trying to enjoy a coffee and a chat outside. And in my mind I went through our house, and remembered all sorts of other things, and cried even more.

            I sat on the bed and through the window there were trees in bloom and hills in the distance, and a paddock where four white horses graze every day. The house in front has a flag pole on its grounds, with a Union Jack whipping in the breeze, and I’d always thought I’d belonged to that flag, more than the other, but at that moment all I wanted to see was the Southern Cross. And I wondered about leaving and belonging. I wondered where home really was. And I had a sense of all the people in the world who’ve left theirs for new lands. With hardly more than the clothes on their backs and a heart straining with hope. For a chance of survival, for an opportunity of safety for their children, for a peaceful life. Out of desperation not choice. And how so many don’t end up finding it, not for a long time anyway. The things they lose on the way. And how it must be, to have to drop everything, without the time to think, to just have to go as you are. And then I felt lucky. Because I have two places to call home. Two flags. And we have choice. And the time to pack our most precious things safely into boxes to come back to. The opportunity to pick and choose what to bring. The choice to experience this. And into the sadness came gratefulness, despite how hard things feel right now.

            It’s a good time to talk about letting go, and new beginnings, it being Easter. Spring time. Rebirth. New life. And quite apt really, that over this weekend we managed to secure a six month lease on an apartment, just south of Exeter. It’s a ground floor 3-bed, and belongs to a building which started life as a hospital built in the mid 1800’s. A lunatic asylum actually, as they were called back then. So it’s pretty fitting for us some would think! But actually it’s quite posh. Gated. With 11 acres of communal grounds.

            For the moment, till Friday, home is a 17th century thatched cottage on the edge of the Dartmoor National Park. It’s cosy and warm with a creaky staircase and fabulous views, and an extremely awkward driveway shared with five other cottages. Last night we hid chocolates around the pretty garden using a torch after the kids went to bed, and hoped we wouldn’t attract trouble from curious old neighbours, especially since that evening we’d hauled the frame of an old bunk bed along with a stinky mattress from the boot of our car, and stashed it for now in the shed.

            We hid 40 chocolates but only 36 turned up this morning. Must have been a thief in the night. We had a lazy morning, and at half past two decided to go out to a local village, Widecombe-in-the-Moor, where an Easter hunt was meant to be happening at the 15th century Sexton Cottage and Church House. The ladies in there knew nothing about it. Not that it mattered. It was a gorgeous village and I’m glad we went to see it. If it wasn’t for the promise of an Easter hunt we may not have gone. All stone houses surrounding a green. A 300 year old forge where a blacksmith still worked making candle sticks and wine racks and other souvenirs. An Inn, equal in age, where we stopped for some Ale, some nuggets and chips, some thick warm bread dipped in cheese fondue. And a walk through the church to light a candle for Babcia, and sit for a few quiet moments, and that’s when Maciek’s turn came for some tears. And we hugged. And we sat with the kids in a pew and remembered, each in our own silent way.  

            On the way home we stopped at Hound Tor, behind which is hidden the stone remains of a medieval village. We sat in the stone rectangles of long ago homes, and there were several attempts at a family portrait using the timer, where we each took a turn to blink at the crucial moment, or stand in the wrong position and end up headless. Or the slip of the camera snapped us a pic of the bracken and brambles instead. We posed for about 10 minutes in the wind before giving up. And I drove the car for the first time, home to the cottage, through the narrow winding lanes in the fading light.

            Yesterday was mostly wasted in traffic, to pick up the bunk bed I mentioned, which we found for sale on gumtree. So there’s at least a place to sleep when we move. We haven’t yet thought about covers or sheets.

            Good Friday we had a great day at Becky Falls Woodland Park, not far from us, and collected stamps on the trail and clambered over boulders in the falls, and won a cream egg from the gift shop for the Easter quiz we completed. (What does oviparous mean? Does a Boa constrictor lay eggs?)

            Last week was spent looking at houses to rent. Discovered some lovely villages in the process - Chagford is one to visit if you come to this part of the world. But it was hard to get everything right. Village, school, house, availability. It was one or two out of four. We’ve ended up with a nice house in an alright village, with an average school and a fairly busy commute to the city, available just at the right time. Not what we had in mind. But we went with it anyway.

            Before that was a visit to my 93 year old Nan in her residential home by the coast. And the tour of the place that she gave us, up to her room and back again, an expedition for her in her slippers, shuffling along with her walker, my arms ready to catch should she trip over her feet and tumble.  Sharing a cup of tea and a poem she’d remembered. Waving goodbye and closing the door and swallowing tears on leaving.

            Before that was a move from our first cottage - The Woodshed in the village of Upton Pyne. Tiny but gorgeous oak-framed addition to the farmhouse with stunning views of the countryside over which we dragged the kids through the mud (on the first day, before we’d bought decent shoes, having left their wellies at home in the madness of cutting down the piles of things we wanted to bring). That was also the week we searched for and bought a new car that I couldn’t drive through a half-empty Sainsbury’s car park without stalling and side-swiping the bars at the trolley return, never mind out on the roads without risking somebody’s life. The car that cost us a bomb for insurance due to our foreign licences. Not the car we had in mind either. Not the car we drove to the middle of nowhere to look at because it was the make and model we wanted, the one that had serviced a family of six and it’s animals (including a dog and a lamb) who lived on a farm. I really wanted to buy it, I did, because the seller was a lady so friendly I was this close to asking if she wanted to go for a drink at that thatched pub we’d seen in the village. But the interior was encrusted with mud and sheep’s wool and God knows what else and we couldn’t imagine how we’d get rid of it ... so, with time pressing again, we went with one from the guy with tattoos and a bald head, born and bred in Exeter, born and bred, me, proud of it too, you should know, and why not? A Vauxhall. A Holden. Not what we had in mind. But what incredible boot space, for all that camping and outdoor gear to come. I’ve never seen a man so ecstatic about boot space, as Maciek was on moving day.

            Before that was a walk called The Jane Austen Way, thought to have inspired scenes from Sense and Sensibility. For us it was more like Nonsense and Sensitivity. We followed a map and tried to engage Amelia and Noah in the story of the Dashwood sisters, but they were more engaged with complaining and pulling disgusted faces at all of the mud and poo. It followed a path through bridal ways, public footpaths through fields and farms, and we were stopped in our tracks by a close encounter of the bovine kind, a herd shuttled along by a man in a tractor, and I attempted to duck under a wire to get out of their way as they can look quite menacing, cows, close up. And I got zapped. Maciek doesn’t believe me. It was rope, he says. But I did. I got zapped. Definitely. It startled my heart and zipped down my arm and left me all a-tingle. Shortly after that we slid through a few meters of mud-mixed-with-poo. Oh-Oh. Poo. We can’t go over it. We can’t go round it. We’ve got to go through it. It could have been a disaster. But that came later, when further along I attempted to dodge a dodgy section of lane by going up on the verge of grass, only to step back down calf deep in mud-slush. And probably more poo besides. My Merrell boots are certainly living the life they were meant for!

            Before that, and the only day of rain we’ve experienced so far, was a race through the city for waterproof runners/hikers for Amelia. We got drenched. Soaked. It was torrential, out of nowhere. I thought it just drizzled here? Like, all the time? But the glimpse of cathedral was nice. And so was the medieval bridge from what I could see of it enclosed in a hood as I was. We went back a couple of days later, when it was sunny, to buy The-Most-Expensive-Insurance-In-The-World. Saw the city properly. Strolled with a coffee. Some awesome historical features, not least the Cathedral. And Noah got told off for throwing sticks and ran away and hid behind a bin. He’ll never look at teenage girls the same way again.

            Before that two days at Pendley Manor in a village called Tring west of London, where the staff were all called Svetlana and Fabio and such (stereotypical names to give you a picture) with the exception of Beryl and Bob who monitored the pool and sauna and Carol the cleaner (again, not real names). We woke at 3 in the morning, then at 4 on night two. Lay in the dark listening to night-time activities from the neighbouring room. Peacocks ran amok in the gardens - Bob, Francis, Lola, Riley and Sammy - actual real names given by Amelia and Noah, very fitting of peacocks I must say. Noah exclaimed that it was so cool to live in a place where rabbits and squirrels ran round, not realising that we weren’t actually going to be living there. It was from here that we surprised the kids with a trip to Warner Bros Studios, the Harry Potter Tour. We did it with a treasure hunt consisting of poetic clues and the tickets hidden under a pillow. Amelia was the sweetest, most kind, most helpful, most thoughtful, most lovely child that day, happier than happy she was. She even dressed up and let me do her hair! It was brilliant, the tour. Highly recommend. Although eat before you go. We got a BLT in the cafe with more L than T and almost non-existent B. Gluey white bread. Glad we took apples.

            Before that a hire car that wouldn’t fit our stuff, despite unpacking a bag and squashing things in down the side, under feet, between seats. It wasn’t to happen. So we upgraded in the end. A Korean something or other we’d never heard of, the Gangnam Style car. Did the trick for a week though.

            Before that. The horribly looong journey. Took five hours to watch La La Land. Mum, this isn’t working. Pause. Mum, I need a drink of water. Pause. Mum, I need to go to the toilet. Pause. Mum, I want teddy from my bag. Pause. Oh, hold on, here comes dinner. Meanwhile, across the aisle, Maciek is engrossed in whatever is playing on his screen. Apparently, he’s watched two movies already. And on the second flight, there he is tucked up with the hood of his fleece round his face, all peaceful, mouth open and sleeping. While I’ve got one child’s feet on my lap, and the other child’s head on my boob. It’s my fault. I can’t let go of being the one to tend to their every need.

            So here we are at the point of letting go.

            In a world where everything seems so uncertain, we’re letting go of safety and comfort and familiarity. Letting go of the company of good friends, of time spent with family. Letting go of stuff packed in boxes, of photo albums, favourite books, clothes that would have come in handy right now, jewellery I might one day wear, of their first pair of shoes, of the picture they painted and stuck on the wall. Letting go of a great school where I know they’ll be well educated and looked after until the age of 18. Of a house we complained about but now miss for its space and the fact it was ours. Letting go of ideals, expectations, of what you had in mind, of things working out just so. Letting go of past things and beginning again.

            What will be will be. That’s all we’ve got to work with right now.

            But we’ve got each other. And at least we’ve been blessed with great weather. Everyday has been stunning.

            We hope you’re Easter has been full of memorable moments and time to pause and reflect.

            We’ve been listening to Heart FM. And as they say at the end of each news break - It’s Monday the 17th of April, and you’re up to date, with “Grubs”.

Drenched in Exeter

Being silly at Aunty Val's

Sunset from The Woodshed balcony

Bit more offputting than a dog!

Gangnam Style car outside The Woodshed

Lovely lunch at The Lazy Toad

That's one magnificent boot!

Poo slide!

Washing our boots in the stream!

Exeter Cathedral

Cow procession

On a walk to Ilsington village

Powderham Castle

Deer at Powderham Castle

Islington Village

Local traffic on our lane

Walk through the woods to Islington

Appletree Cottage

On the walk to Islington

Wild horses on the moors

Boulder clamber at Becky Falls

Becky Falls

Saying hello to a miniature pony

Don't mind if I do!

Happy Easter!

Hunting in the garden

These are different!

Squid rings at the 300 year old Inn

A saxon well in Widecombe-in-the-Moor

Outside the church Widecombe-in-the-Moor

15th century church Widecombe-in-the-Moor

Medieval Village at Hound Tor

Noah ended up taking one instead!