Unattended baggage and the chain saw massacre...

Life has been doing the unthinkable and getting badly in the way of blogging.....maybe that is a positive thing, but I am back. The summer months are flying by and the children are back at school already. Daily routines are being re-established, as we wave goodbye to all of the visitors and  the sun shine dares to disappear behind the cloud and the evenings begin to once more draw in again.

The happy farmer continues his building project and is so near to completion now. Living in the farmhouse resembles a dentist's waiting room, not because it is neat, clean and tidy, far from it, but because my nerves are constantly on edge with the regular grinding of circular saws and drop saw. It reminds me of the chain saw massacre. I wince every time the drill roars to life, listening to the clanging of tools, the shouts of despair when things are not going accordingly, the deep sighs and the general reminder that it is no easy task. The saw has already claimed one finger, luckily not the happy farmer's, and certainly not a recent claim, but the memory of the happy potter feeding his finger to the jaws of that saw remain emblazoned on my mind.

As I drove youngest out of the farmyard and onto the single track road today to make the journey to school I could hardly miss the flattened tin of silver paint that had spewed its contents out across the road, and the discarded rucksack lying abandoned at the side of the road. I tried to get my head round the clues that had been left challenging me on the road ahead as we continued our journey. A walker, leaving the rucksack while he stops to get a perfect photo of the Paps, or to relieve himself behind the hedge. The walker then became a protester, rucksack on back, large can of silver paint in hand, ready to join the march, the words never leave baggage unattended rang out in my ears, as youngest left me at the school gates. On the journey home then my head was filled with thoughts of terrorism, bombs and protesters as I gingerly drove over the paint and past the abandoned ruck sack once more.

Of course the happy farmer had a much simpler explanation, work men heading to the morning ferry, in a rush, back door of van not closed properly and rucksack and paint fell out onto road. A five minute drive to catch the mainland ferry before it left our shores and the happy farmer's suspicions were confirmed. One happy workman grinned as he made his way along the ramp off the ferry boat to retrieve his rucksack out of our jeep, safe in the knowledge that his dirty linen would not be laid out in public but would accompany him home to the mainland.
Until next time.....

What's in a language......

Exams over, and I have decided it is far more stressful to be the parent of a child sitting exams, than the candidate, especially when said offspring have thankfully inherited the completely laid back attitude to life their father the happy farmer has. This year my stress levels doubled as I had two teenagers putting me through my paces with their exams. I appeared to be the only one who suffered from exam stress in this house, which is a good thing, except when one teenager gets exam times totally wrong and is on the bus instead of in the actual exam. Lots of motherly flapping and the issue was soon sorted and said child was thankfully unfazed and sat the exam quite confidently, unlike mother who was a quivering heap of jelly on the floor at home. Other teenager then announces they have just realised they copied their candidate number down incorrectly on all exam papers and only realised their mistake when they could not log into their details on SQA website…more jelly wobbles and panicking, until I am reassured this is not going to affect the paper or mark. So finally the exams are over and I can pack my bag of nerves away for another year having endured lots of teasing from my laid back eldest two, who really could not work out what all of my fussing was about.

The laid back attitude continues when eldest daughter drops into the conversation as an aside remark that she has won the school’s award for Gaelic this session and will be presented with a £50.00 book token at the forthcoming awards ceremony. Truly proud mum is immediately texting nearest and dearest to spread the happy news, while eldest daughter is completely unfazed. It is a real asset that when success knocks at her door, she takes it in her stride.  Her real sense of pleasure and success is not awarded by other people or how others perceive her; it comes from deep within, from a journey through her own talents and ability.

Eldest was only 7 when she decided she wanted to learn more Gaelic, having been immersed in the Gaelic culture by her Seanmhair and Seanair ( the happy farmer’s parents) who conversed in their mother tongue to my youngsters. For years she sat in the evenings with a local Gaelic tutor learning to converse in a language which inspired her. This year, not having studied Gaelic at school for a number of years, she opted to study Gaelic and sat her Higher Gaelic exam. In April I was invited to a conference at the local Gaelic college where there were children from across the island showcasing their Gaelic studies, youngsters of all ages, singing, performing and giving speeches in Gaelic. I watched with huge pride as my eldest daughter took to the stage with her peers, in front of the large assembled crowd, and gave a fluent presentation in Gaelic. It is quite something to see your own child converse comfortably in a language you know only a few garbled phrases in, and for me it was especially poignant as both her Seanair and Seanmhair have now passed on, but their mother tongue is living on through the future generations. They would have been so proud to see their granddaughter take to the platform, to know that their Gaelic heritage is being nurtured, preserved and is passing on to the younger generations. A language that is so vitally important, because locked up in the language is the humour, dialect, idioms and culture of generations of islanders, it is a language that for many years was persecuted, has struggled at times to survive and in recent years it has strengthened, and is today embedded in the present and the future of the island. My daughter now holds the key to her own island roots and heritage and for that I incredibly grateful and extremely proud.

Gle math agus slainte! (Well done and good luck).

Until next time…

Flying away in a hammock.....

The weekend saw a gathering of teenagers and slightly older teenagers, invariably in their 50s, although Farmer T possibly 60s, as they gathered in the old byre to celebrate eldest daughter’s 16^th birthday.

Preparations for the day had been conducted in top secret as I had been warned that under no circumstances were there to be any balloons, decorations and fuss, just a small gathering of her friends. As she sat her final exam I enlisted the help of the younger two to help transform the byre, complete with streamers, and of course balloons.

As I traipsed between byre and farmhouse with goodies the line of helpers seemed to be ever increasing. First it was just me and the children, and then the dogs began to follow our steady stream back and forth, between farmhouse and byre. Charlie hen then joined the line, waddling closely behind her pal Mist the sheepdog, much to Mist’s annoyance. Finally it all got a bit too taxing when I found myself tripping over Sherbet the pet lamb too, constantly under my feet, bleating away, faithfully following backwards and forwards, until I could persuade youngest to go and mix a bottle of lamb’s milk and put her back in her pen.

The BBQ and party went well, teenagers tripping back and forth, happy farmer and Farmer T in charge of cooking and drinks, girlies sat in sunshine giggling away, and as the evening wore on, and the sun disappeared, fading below the horizon, we retired into the byre, to the disco lights and music. At some unearthly hour I made it back to the farmhouse where various bodies were sleeping in various corners, movies playing in one room with popcorn, lights out and snoring from another. The following day they all headed off to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and swimming. Oh to be 16 again.

Finally in the early hours of Sunday evening the happy farmer and I got to relax in the garden hammocks. We were joined a while later by the happy chappy and his brother. As I went to get drinks I suggested the happy chappy relaxed in a hammock, slightly cautious he remarked that he had not ventured into a hammock before, and would not know how to position himself without toppling off. Full of the joys of the hammocks I carefully advised him to place his bottom in the middle of the hammock and swing his legs across. Being ever so over zealous in following my good advice his backside missed the middle as he flung himself right over the edge of the hammock, flying backwards through the air, and landing upside down, legs splayed and hammock landing on top of him, and hardly a drop of his cider spilt, I was most impressed.

Until next time….