A Different But No Less Bonkers Christmas

 

The hopeless case(s) - it's the cats' fault!

Well, it’s happened. We have become hopeless ‘Cat Parents’! Our kind are not difficult to spot. Some obvious clues include:

• Social media posts full of photos and videos of cute feline poses and antics (that probably only WE find funny). 
• ‘Getaways’ are peppered with declarations of missing the cats!
• Conversations rarely take place without mention of at least one of the cats.
• There’s a pecking order for bedtime sleeping arrangements and us ‘hooman' parents accept our place near the bottom of that order!

There are other, no less common clues of course, but you get the gist?

Another clue - or does this qualify as a symptom?

Let’s not forget the dogs of course. We’re dog parents too, and it goes without saying that they are adored. So, you see, it is a pretty hopeless situation. There’s no escape. Perhaps we’re destined to become like those old people in photos; sitting in our wing-backed chair, in front of the fire, with several cats on our lap or around our feet. We're already more than half way there!

Although, Scott would likely disagree!

"Dogs have owners, cats have staff!"

Maya and Nevis are confused when it comes to cat relationships. Suffice to say, they are either running the gauntlet of a recalcitrant Murphy who waits to swipe a paw as they attempt to pass by unscathed, or curtsying to receive ‘nose kisses’ from a far less armed and dangerous Arthur or Phoebe. It doesn't take much to challenge their intelligence and make them stare with cross-eyed uncertainty as to whether a perilous or a welcoming situation might greet them as they make their way across the kitchen floor.

With two dogs and (now) five cats, it’s safe to say that we have spectacularly failed in the promise we made to each other: that we wouldn't replace each fur baby as they passed, thus declaring our freedom to pack a bag and head off for any length of time we chose.  

Fate (and evidently our love of animals) obviously had different plans.

And so we spend yet another year wondering if the Christmas Tree will survive!

Saying sad goodbyes 

It’s been a year of highs and lows. Without doubt, the lows have been the loss of Rocky, Wilma and Betty.

Rocky, our elder statesman, was put to sleep in January after a long and happy life. Old age and kidney failure took him from us. It was mercifully quick.

Then tragically, not destined to see their second birthdays, we lost Wilma and then Betty just a few weeks apart. You might remember they were our original ‘bin babies’; hand reared from no more than 48 hours old. Wilma lies in eternal sleep in our orchard alongside Rocky. Betty’s fate remains unknown and that's been hard to accept. Not a day goes by when we don’t think of them. Their loss has left a hole in our hearts that will never quite be repaired.

Welcoming new faces into the family

In the midst of loss, life has found a way to bring new blessings into our home (the term "blessings" is occasionally questionable!). Murphy and Mabel, born in a friend’s spare bedroom, somehow wove their way into our lives. While Murphy likes to act the boss he’s easily won over. He’s that proverbial ‘green-eyed monster’ too and muscles in if anyone else is receiving cuddles. His sister Mabel is playful but quick to complain when games get a little too rough for her liking - which is almost immediately! She’s turning into the most loving little soul and adores being fussed.

Arthur and Phoebe, like Wilma and Betty before them, were discovered abandoned by a bin. We estimated them to be about four weeks old at the time. You can thank Scott for the fact they ended up here to join the family. Truth be known, once I’d set eyes on them crying helplessly in that small cardboard box-turned-makeshift pet carrier, my heart simply melted and there was no going back. The same with Maya too. Desperate to replace her bond with Wilma, Maya adopted Arthur and Phoebe as her very own. I guess we’re all suckers for punishment, or heartbreak, or both!

Arthur is growing bigger and stronger by the day and is a worthy opponent for rough boyish bouts with Murphy. We’re not sure he’ll quite make it to Murphy’s stature. The latter is a proper lump, while the former seems to come from more refined stock. Arthur's nickname is “Little Breeches”; named after nearly losing him when he became weak and sickly just after his rescue. Phoebe, Arthur’s sister, while initially growing faster than Arthur, is now the smallest of the lot—she’s the tiniest cat I’ve ever seen! She’s been aptly nicknamed “Diddy Dido.”  One day I'm sure she'll succeed in climbing up on to anything higher than knee level. Or, we'll just have to buy her a ladder!

These four newcomers have comical characters that precisely explain the many reasons why cats weave their way into people’s lives: Phoebe has developed a fascination with my bath times and, despite her tiny size, is a bossy little madam and this constantly dents poor Murphy’s machismo.  Arthur, on the other hand, is proud of his ability to leap into the fridge the moment the door opens (he knows that’s where we keep the ham!)  His 'machismo' is tucked away somewhere as he still likes to climb into bed to sleep between his 'hoomans'.

Mabel you already know is loving and gentle. She prefers to avoid conflict and remains perfectly happy to sit out of most playtimes. Murphy? Well, enough said already.

And then there remains our Aurelia. Oh, our dear, sweet and delightful Aurelia; last, but by no uncertain means least in our line-up of felines.  Aurelia felt the loss of Wilma and Betty deeply. It was obvious. She distanced herself from the others at first and we barely saw her, except for mealtimes. But I never had the slightest worry that she would leave home. Because, despite her initial demeanour, when the new kittens started to venture outdoors, Aurelia ‘big-sistered’ them, rounding them up and keeping them from the danger of wandering too far. She might not have been initially keen on them, but she always brought them home.

As has been the case for us and the dogs, Aurelia’s heart has been mended by the appearance of these four newcomers. She’s fully back in the fold and, just as Wilma and Betty were before him, Murphy is now the object of her targeted ‘rough and tumble’ ambushes.

As the year draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on everything that has defined these past twelve months. It’s been a year of love and loss, but also triumph. Through it all the thread of family, both human and furry, has been a constant.

And now for the highlights (well, this IS supposed to be a Christmas blog!)

See the newlyweds off for their Honeymoon

Without a doubt, the biggest highlight of the year was the wedding of our eldest son, Daniel, to his beautiful Maria. Watching two such wonderful people pledge their lives to each other was a moment of pure joy, surrounded by family and friends, gathered to celebrate their love in the most perfectly romantic of settings. Two sets of parents (one honorary of course!) watching with immense love, pride (and a few happy tears), these memories will stay forever, etched into our hearts.

Adding to the joy were cherished visits from two mums and an aunt in the summer. It was my mum’s first visit since 2019, and she brought her younger sister for company, who I haven’t seen in a long time. Scott's mum, being a more regular visitor and who's 80th birthday we celebrated this year, returned for two visits.  

The icing on the cake for visitors, was meeting up with Susan and David (Brian's family) for a few hours, while their cruise ship docked in Malaga. 

The simple pleasure of sharing meals, stories, and laughter together with all of them was a gift we simply could never take for granted.

A personal triumph for me has been regaining my confidence in horse riding. For three glorious months, I shared a sweet and gentle PRE (Pura Raza Española) named Curioso, or “Oz” for short. With his kind demeanour, he reminded me just how much I love being in the saddle. Oz moved back to the coast with his owner, and I’ve since been accepting invitations to ride with new friends made. This is a new chapter in my life that I am still writing.

Between the ears: Curioso (Oz)

Looking ahead with love and gratitude

As we approach Christmas, our home feels both familiar and transformed. We acknowledge the ‘lows’ but remain enormously grateful for the ‘highs’.

We send blessings of the season as a whole new family, remembering those we’ve lost while celebrating the love and companionship of those still with us. The fuzzy little faces who graced last year’s Christmas message will never be forgotten, and their spirits remain a part of our lives.

May the coming year bring hope, love, and moments of joy to us all. From our ever-growing (and seemingly evolving) family to yours, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a peaceful New Year.

Much love.

“The best way to spread Christmas cheer is by sharing love with those who make your house a home.” — Elf, The Movie

Wilma's Message To The World

 

I don't know why I have never formally introduced my pets to this Blog. Perhaps I should have, before now, because if I had you would have got to know Wilma when she was alive: loving, funny, cute, sassy and independent, and so lucky to have been found alive at just 48 hours old, with her sister Betty. Why she was destined to die just short of her 2nd birthday is so difficult to accept. 

But, in the days that followed laying her to rest, the beginnings of the story below came to me as I slept. I like to think that these words are from Wilma, from the light that she has now become. I like to think she encouraged me as I fine-tuned her Message to the World. Perhaps this is her way of helping me to understand, and come to terms with her passing.

For the first time in three weeks, I rallied myself to choose a photo of her to use at the bottom of this Blog. I haven't been able to bring myself to look until now, I knew it would hurt too much to do it before. The first image is just a representation of her, the melding together of images created with the help of AI. It seems we have to own up to that now?!

So, over to you, Wilma. Thank you my Baby Girl:

On a warm, early summer’s evening, under the light of a full moon, Wilma sat on the edge of a bank in her garden, tongue-bathing in preparation for her next evening adventure. Just then, a beautiful golden light appeared beside her, brighter and more lovely than the moonlight itself.

Feeling the warmth and calm of this golden light beside her, Wilma turned her head towards it.

“I feel that I should know you,” she purred, “but why don’t I know your name?”

“You do know me,” said the golden light, “everyone knows me and by many names: ‘The Universe’, ‘Consciousness’, ‘Truth’, ‘Source’, ‘Divine Light’, ‘God’, ‘Spirit’, and even ‘Love’.

“I think I like ‘Love’ the best, Wilma mused, “I shall call you Love.” She then returned to the very important task of tongue-bathing.

A brief silence followed, before Love spoke again.

“Wilma,” it whispered gently, “I’m here to tell you that your time must soon come and that you must leave here.”

Wilma gasped. “Leave?! But I don’t want to leave. I love my home, and I love my family! Why must I leave?”.  She conjured up her most serious-looking stare before pointing it defiantly at the presence she’d called Love, thinking perhaps it wasn’t such a good name after all.

“Hmmm,” Love uttered, “then whom do you suggest I should ask instead? Betty perhaps?”

“Betty?!” exclaimed Wilma “No! You can’t ask Betty. She is my sister, and I love her most of all!”

Love remained silent, as if waiting for Wilma to ponder some more.

“Betty and Aurelia are so very close,” breathed Wilma, “Aurelia must have had such a sad life before Mummy found her. She would be so very lost if it were Betty who were to leave.”

“That’s a very good point,” nodded Love, “Mabel or Murphy then perhaps?”

“NO!” Wilma meowed angrily, her usually soft voice taking on a tone of incredulance at Love’s suggestion. “They are just babies!”  She then calmed herself as she cast her gaze downward in quiet contemplation.

Love sat silently, waiting for Wilma to draw the conclusion it knew she would make. It shimmered in what seemed like the movement of soft, gentle breathing.

“Will they miss me?” Wilma murmured eventually, fearing to ask, “because I know will miss them very, very much.” she continued sadly, a tear appearing on her cheek.

“Oh yes, Wilma, they will miss you so VERY much indeed,” reassured Love, “and their hearts will ache, because you are loved, so very loved. But time will pass, and Love itself will help wipe away their tears.”

“Then they will forget me.” Wilma purred again, taking a deep breath and resigning to herself to look up and out from the top of her bank.

Love’s glow then seemed to dull a little, as if mirroring the sadness it knew was sitting in Wilma’s heart right at that moment.

 “Oh Wilma, they will NEVER forget you”, it reassured her, “they will hold you in their hearts always, with precious memories of you and all that you were, and they will speak of you often. To them, the passing of time will feel like a lifetime, and they will miss you for as long as that. But to you, the passing of time will feel nothing more than the single beat of a heart, and you will see them again very soon.”

“Ah, now this I HAVE heard of!” Wilma’s spirits began to lift, “I’ve heard Mummy and her friends speak of a meeting place called ‘The Rainbow Bridge’!”  She nodded her head quite authoritatively, hoping Love would be impressed that she knew something at least.

Wilma then swore that at that very moment, she heard Love softly chuckle.

“That’s a wonderful way to think of it,” it responded, “and, yes, there is a meeting place, a place where you will be waiting for them. And when they come to join you there will be much joy, more than your earthly hearts can know, but the kind that your soul hearts have always known.”

“Is this where Heaven is?” asked Wilma, tentatively, “I have heard that it’s so very far away.” She cast her eyes up towards the moon.

Love appeared to swell and glow brighter at Wilma’s question. “You could say that’s where Heaven is,” it answered softly, “but Heaven, is not nearly as far away as you might think.”

Wilma stared questioningly at Love, hoping for more. Love saw this and so continued:

“I am part of what you call Heaven,” it said, “yet here I am, resting here beside you. While you have chosen to name me ‘Love’, I am also The Universe.  I am everywhere and I am also wherever I need to be, and so this will be for you, when your Soul light joins with mine.”

Wilma turned back to Love. With a confused frown on her little grey brow she said: “So, if Heaven is here, and you are here, and you are The Universe and so part of Heaven, then when I become part of you, that means I am still here too, but you have just told me that I must leave?!”  Wilma’s frown lines knotted into the same muddle that sat inside her head, as she tried to make sense of it all.

Love’s glow softened, and Wilma felt as if gentle folding arms wrapped her in a reassuring embrace.

“Wilma, there are things that our earthly minds struggle to understand, but that our Souls know with all confidence,” it said warmly, “It is our earthly bodies that wither and die, while our Soul bodies continue, to Heaven as you call it.”

Wilma’s eyes twinkled brightly as she sat pondering for a moment, before looking up towards Love again: “Then I like to think that I will part of you and glow just as warm and pretty,” she said decidedly, “and I like to think that I will be part of The Universe, and Love, and that time will pass quickly for me before I see my family again.” As she said this, Wilma nodded again, this time understanding everything.

Love seemed to nod back and glow more brightly again. It also knew exactly the next question that sat on Wilma’s lips before saying: “Wilma, because you will be Love and a part of me, The Universe, I want you to know that your power will help heal the hearts of those you must leave behind.”

“How will I do that?” questioned Wilma

“Because of what I have told you already,” Love answered, glowing its brightest yet, “Because you will be wherever you need to be. When your family think of you and feel sad, you will go to them.

You will be in the breeze that kisses their cheeks, in the branches of trees that bend to its whisper. You will be in the sun that warms their skin, and in the butterfly wings that flutter past. You will be in the beauty of flowers that open each morning and in the glorious aroma of their perfume. You will be in the sound of the waves that lap the shore, in the sweet breath of a horse, the purr of a cat, and the even the soft rumble of an elephant’s song. You will be in all these things, and also everything else that is pure and good.

When your loved ones think of you, they will notice these things more and they will feel them in their hearts, because these things will be You. You will be all that is Love, and you will be all that is The Universe."

“Wow!” cried Wilma, her eyes opening wide.

But Wilma suddenly couldn’t help but feel a little scared. She turned to Love and asked: “Must I leave tonight?  Please tell me that I don’t have to leave tonight!” she pleaded, “I want to be able to say 'Goodbye'.”  Wilma’s eyes searched Love for the answer she so wanted to hear.

“Don’t worry Wilma,” replied Love quietly, “No, you won’t have to leave tonight. You will go about your adventures this evening, perhaps you will catch a mouse, and then you will return home and sleep on the sofa, like you always do.  No sooner than I leave you, you will have no memory of my visit. You will carry on being a cat until I return to take you with me.”

“Will they know I have gone?” asked Wilma, suddenly feeling very concerned, “Will they find me, the me that will no longer be me?”

“Yes Wilma. Your Mummy understands some of the ways of The Universe. She will ask me to bring you home, and together we will answer her. With your Daddy’s help, she will be able to lay you to rest, back where you belong.”

“I’m glad of that,” purred Wilma looking relieved, before adding: “I am happy that I will be in all those things that you have told me I will be. When they think of me, I will be all those things and they will know I’m there to comfort them.”

“Yes, Wilma, you will, and they will feel it too.” said Love gently.

“There is just one more thing that I must tell you before I leave you for now,” said Love.

Wilma sat patiently while Love finished:

“Your journey is not over Wilma. One day, when the time is right, you will return.”

“To my family? Tell me that I will come back to my family!” begged Wilma, her paws coming together as if in prayer.

“Wilma, the Souls you will join, and the Souls who will join you later, are your family, and that it is how it shall always remain,” it replied, “Your journeys will continue together. That is your destiny.”

“Ah,” Wilma said, feeling her most content. She sat up tall, puffed out her chest, and drew her soft paw authoritatively across a bothersome whisker. Then with an air of regal splendor she announced: “Then I shall return as a cat, because Mummy says that it’s really us cats who rule the World!”

Love’s glow let out spears of light in all directions, as if blasting forth in uncontrolled laughter.

“Wilma,” it bellowed, “I have every confidence that in whomsoever you return, you shall rule the World!”

A Very Merry Bonkers Christmas!

 

I can’t be the only one who finds herself getting giddy about Christmas, can I? I don’t mean: giddy at the anticipation of receiving, oh I don’t know, something gold and encrusted with diamonds, let's say (paint a picture if you will of this going completely over Scott’s head!). No, I mean going a bit silly at the excitement of all things Festive: decorating the tree, hanging the tinsel, wrapping presents, the aroma of mince pies and cake, Christmas Pud, and of course, fabulous family gatherings. On a recent trip (November) back home to the UK, I was reminded that I am most definitely not the only one! 

In our family at least, Christmas has a way of bringing out the Festive Spirit in each of us. From the meticulous planning of sweet baking, delicious savoury feasts, buying and wrapping presents, to the strategic placement of ornaments on the tree, we're all quite engulfed in the joyous madness that accompanies the season. So, I am DEFINITELY not alone in my penchant for becoming utterly bonkers about Christmas. 

I was in the UK for two reasons and visiting family was one very important reason. A hint of winter anticipation already hung in the air on my arrival (as in: it was bloody cold!). High Streets were adorned with twinkling lights and in the shops, placed carefully amongst the baubles and tinsel, hung sequined party outfits, reindeer PJ's and boxed gift sets galore!

Back at Mum's house (and my 'hotel' for a week), it was during lively talks about Christmas preparations with her and Kay and Rachel, that I was reminded that the holiday madness isn't exclusive to me. We laughed as we placed imaginary bets on who's tree would be the first to be put up. Suffice to say, I already knew that mine wouldn't be by a comfortable mile. No sooner was I home at the end of the month, photos of Christmas Tree installations had already been shared on our little WhatsApp group. There was nothing for it but to urgently employ the services of hubby and his ladder to help retrieve the decorations from their lofty storage so that I could get to work. 

Amid the preparations, my mind wandered to some distinct highlights of the year, which neatly brings me to the second reason (or first, if you take it in chronological order) for flying over:..

By far the biggest highlight HAS to be graduating with Mac Nutrition University. If anyone were to think: "EASY! Everyone passes online courses, don't they?!"  Well, in this case, no, not everyone does.  In MNU's defence (not that their reputation is in any danger whatsoever), the content is thorough and there's a lot to learn, and then the exams are purposefully difficult enough to make you work even harder to win the right to call yourself an MNU Certified Nutritionist. This year, MNU has been awarded by OFQUAL for Level 5 Diploma in Nutrition and Science. It's an incredible achievement for "just an online course" isn't it, and this means that I've earned the title of 'MN. Nutri' after my name. Frankly though, I am just thrilled that the last 18 months (and the year before that studying a pre-requisite course) has paid off and that I can really start to prepare for what I have brought myself out of 'retirement' to do. 

Back home in Spain, and I'm keeping good to the promise I made to my sister Helen and am taking what remains of 2023 off. I need to concentrate on family and friends again, relax too, and definitely give poor hubby a break from the telling 'DO NOT DISTURB' glares that I've shot at him over my laptop for the past year and a half. 

I also promised myself I would catch up on some neglected home and craft projects and am steadily working my way through those. I love being creative; something else that runs unchecked in our family (like our excitement for Christmas). 

Relieved from the distraction of studying nutrition science, my brain (all by itself, as it has tendency to do when it becomes a little idle!) conjured up the idea for starting a little sideline with Helen.  Pretty soon, "Hermana Crafts" was born. It's only on Instagram just now but we'll see now things develop. For now, it's a place for us to showcase the things we make and we'll throw in some hints and tips occasionally too. right now, we're focusing on Christmas crafts and especially on how one can lay a magazine-worthy Christmas table on a budget. It's going to be really exciting pooling our ideas together in one place, and to showcasing other family members' (and friends') work from time to time, if they also want to share their creative talents. 

I can't let the year pass by without acknowledging a notable little low, but I promise not to dwell. I lost my dear sweet Humbug in late Summer.  He was 16 and became frightfully poorly. Despite our best efforts, it was his time to go; to go meet his sister Fudge, and his Daddy. I'll miss the stripey little twit. He was simply the best 'Grandpa' to the newest furry members of the Forbes family. Oh yes, now about them: ...

So far, our Christmas tree (tied securely to a kitchen shelf!) has survived the unwanted attention of our latest kitten rescue. Her name is Aurelia (our little woodland nymph). She was found up a Eucalyptus tree, escaping a pack of ill-intentioned hunting dogs. You might appreciate my concern, therefore, that my carefully arranged baubles would end up spread about the floor, while the tree lay in horizontal hedgy confusion. To her credit though, Aurelia has at least given this tree a reasonably wide berth. That might be on account of the little pat on the bottom she got for daring to attempt to climb it just the once?

Aurelia is the latest member of our four-legged family, a family that was meant to shrink as the old legs naturally succumbed to old age. I'm acutely aware that I haven't formally introduced any of them to Blogland, but then my studies have kept me from writing. 

By rights, we should have just one dog by now (Rocky), but over the last two and half years he's been joined by German Shepherd siblings (Maya and Nevis), and two cat sisters (Wilma and Betty) who, at no more than 48 hours old, were found by Daniel beside a bin in a Luis Vuitton shopping bag (don't you just detest some people?). Sixteen months on, the sisters are ambushed on a daily basis by Aurelia, who's now 5 months. I remain hopeful that she will grow gracefully into the name that I carefully and tenderly chose for her. In reality, a creeping regret looms that I didn't christen her something with more of a hooligan connotation!

Scott has taken up Padel Tennis and is rather good at it. In fact, he's a self-proclaimed "natural". He's not the most gracious of players though, I must say; regularly pounding other members of the group with his competitively ferocious volleys. They keep volunteering for more matches, however, so they must either enjoy the pounding ... or they're all just foolish?!

My fitness endeavours continue with my commitment to turn up at the gym and strength train four times a week. If I'm ever to successfully encourage my future clients to get (or be) stronger, and be suitably fueled for the task, then I must try to be a decent advocate for its benefits.

On the sideline (or at least just up the road), an excellent sports physio awaits to massage away the odd pulled or strained muscle ... which happens at our age!

As the penultimate week before Christmas Day beckons, I am living up to the one quality Scott once said he loves most about me. I rather foolishly made the error of asking him the question, to which his answer was: "You're very organised". I honestly wondered why I bothered asking but I replaced my initial disappointment with acceptance of his declaration as a compliment. I'll let other women be adored for their beautiful smiles and swan-like grace. My smile (by deduction of Scott's protestation) can only be average at best.  As for swan-like grace? I trip over my own shoelaces!

So, in time-honoured (and evidently best-loved-for) organisational style, my final Christmas job list has been prepared and my week ahead of cooking and baking has been scheduled with near-military precision (with customary breaks for gatherings and merriment of course!)  Final food purchases are noted on my phone Notes, and the presents are wrapped and under the tree. They are occasionally sniffed at by the kitties to see if at least one of them might be a carton of fresh salmon.

My decorations and table plan for this year have been carefully selected to match the new home decor (poor Scott simply can't keep up with me and a paintbrush!) and our home looks rather splendid, if I might say so myself?!  We're hosting dinner for 10 this year so it's going to be busy, and also delightful. 

As I put the final touches to this blog, my Spotify account is Ding-Dong-Merrily-On-High'ing through Google Home and I'm singing along with the same bonkers enthusiasm I have for everything else at this time of year. The classic croonings of Bing, Nat and Louis are graciously sharing the airwaves with the more modern Do They Know It's Christmas'es.  They're all keeping me company while Scott's at the football with the boys. 

My phone sitting beside me is currently silent, but within the Christmas theme that I've chosen for it, I shall await the "...and a Happy New Year!" and sleigh bells sound of the notification tone, to hopefully tell me that our team have scored. I remain hopeful. 

Christmas is time to recall magical childhood memories, get a bit shouty and silly, share scrumptious and thoughtful gifts, watch all those Christmas specials, love one another more, and find joy among all the stuff we'd rather forget, because it's Christmas!

I shall remain joyfully focused behind my closed curtains and count my blessings that I have my family. I'm full of gratitude that they are mine and that they are all happy and healthy and making their own preparations for Christmas. I know that they'll make it perfect in their own unique and special way. 

Wherever you are, and whoever you are with, have a Joyful and Merry Christmas, and a Peaceful New Year. 

Much love x.

A Nostalgic Christmas Story

A Christmas Scene of Bygone Days (when tins of Quality Street
were a decent size!) : December's Calendar hanging in our study

Part I : The Nostalgia Of Then

It was December 22nd and after another busy day of preparing Christmas savouries and treats, we flopped down wearily on the sofa in front of the TV just as a special edition of The Repair Shop began with its opening credits.  As stories of much-loved, once glorious but now tired and worn family heirlooms unfolded, two particular tales sent a huge wave of nostalgia over me and tugged me gently and invitingly back to the Christmases of my childhood.  I settled deeper into my comfortable seat, bathed in the warmth and flickering light of our log fire, and while clutching a hot mug of tea and freshly baked mince pie, I was reminded why Christmas holds such special memories and why it will always remain a magical time for me. 

The first story was of a vintage radiogram.  The second was of an old music box fashioned as a carousel which had once played Jingle Bells.  My eyes glistened and I wept little happy tears as my own stories replayed alongside those which the two families had brought.    

As a child, we had a 'posh' sitting room.  The door to it would remain firmly closed, only to open to welcome and entertain invited guests, or for special family occasions like Christmas of course, or simply to be used as a place of quiet solitude for my parents when they needed a break from their four offspring.

Under the window sat a radiogram, never to be moved from its position; the heavy legs permitted only to set four 'dimples' in the expensive carpet.  It wasn't the first one I remember.  Years before, in a previous home, there sat a much grander one made of walnut which my parents would have bought in the late 50s after they were married.  Thinking about it now, it must have cost a pretty penny.  Both radiograms are long gone but the nostalgia remains.  After opening the cabinet lid and setting up his chosen method of play, my dad would settle back in his chair with his feet rested on the footstool, and sounds of jazz or brass bands would begin to float around the room.  I would watch his foot tap in time to the music and his hand, supported above his elbow which in turn rested on the chair, would sway in the air with his fingertips conducting the mini orchestra sounds resonating from the cabinet beside him.  He'd try to educate me on the finer points of music while retelling his years in the Salvation Army band, but his efforts were sadly lost on his youngest child!

A 1950s Radiogram, not unlike the one our family once owned. 

Like the two sisters on the programme, I also remember sitting at the top of the stairs (when I should have been in bed!) listening to the music coming from the living room, while my parents entertained their guests.  

Back in The Repair Shop, when the repair was done, the two sisters were treated to the delights of Nat King Cole singing "Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire", something they'd not been able to do since their parents were alive.  The magic in their embrace, and the happy memory tears that flowed, brought all my Christmases back once more: sitting in that 'posh' sitting room with only the light of the Christmas Tree to see by.  I'd breathe in the aroma of fresh pine and wonder if I should dare lift the lid and find something to play.  I was forbidden to touch such an expensive piece of kit of course, and I was certain my parents could see through walls so, of course, the lid remained firmly shut. 

At the serenade from a repaired radiogram, tears for the
special memories then brought of Christmases past

Christmas mornings would sometimes be heralded by the music coming from that radiogram and it would only have ever been Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole. 

In that same 'posh' room, just inside the door, stood a cabinet which displayed all sorts of porcelain.  Atop the cabinet every Christmas sat our own music box; a Christmas Tree which, when wound, would gently revolve to the tune of "White Christmas".  One of my most favourite things to do, aside from decorating the tree, would be to turn the winder underneath that little tree and watch mesmerized while it played its little song.  I'd repeat the process, lost in my own world, with only this little tree for company until my family wondered where I was and came looking for me. 

That little tree, now somewhat in need of its own trip to The Repair Shop, lives with our eldest sister, quite rightly so since it was bought for her first Christmas in 1959.  In her own words, it's "the most Christmassy thing in the house"!

Part II : The Nostalgia Of Now

Today these childhood memories (and so many more) cement my love of Christmas and a need to hold on tight to them.  It's always been this way with me.  I have never changed.  My houses have always been serenaded by the crooning of Crosby and Cole, been decked with fountains of lights, and my tree has always told a story.  My ovens have turned out the best cakes, sweets and Christmas Dinner that I could possibly muster.  I've got better at this as time has passed; my earlier offerings being more "it's the thought that counts" than "something resembling edible".

Finca Tres Hermanos is now where new nostalgia is made and it seems I'm now competing with myself to make each year better than the last, such is my desire to share the magic of the kind of Christmases I once experienced as a child, with my new family. 

Whether they like it or not, this family is now subject to my utter giddiness with Christmas and they shall just have to tolerate my proffering of cake, sweets, pies and ... more cake until they can't move.  They'll sit through repeats of White Christmas, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and Love Actually to keep me happy and with a bit of luck, they'll enjoy them too. 

Our dining table resembles a 'Kirsty's Homemade Christmas Crafting Bee' in the weeks leading up to the Festive Season, and the house fills with the aromas of sweet treats, boozy Christmas cakes, mince pies, and savouries coming from the kitchen.  And all while Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole bring their serenading spirits from my old houses to this new one. It takes me hours to adorn the house with lights while Scott's gentle bemoaning of the cost of replacement batteries falls on my (literally!) deaf ears.  

But Scott doesn't escape reasons to be nostalgic.  The fairy that sits on top of our tree was bought for Daniel when his baby brother Ben was born.  Like many 2 year-olds, he had to be reassured that he still mattered, and it seems the Christmas Tree fairy did the trick.  Years later, her tinfoil dress and wings fell off, and so did her hair.  This year, however, on Scott's insistence that she was too special to be 'retired', she's had a makeover and now sits proudly atop once more with a new dress, new wings and, of course, new hair.  Her face fittingly still bears the faded pen scribbles of an exuberant toddler and rightly so.  Our tree now tells two stories; of both our Christmases Past and Present.

Our beautiful tree, full of nostalgia

It's fitting really that our tree represents us the way that it does. Laden with adornments combined from our once separate lives, it now brings together our love for each other, his love for his boys, and my love for them all.  It proudly stands as a reminder that Christmas is full of wonderful memories; old ones cherished and new ones eagerly waiting to be made.  

All I want for Christmas is a family that keeps coming back for more!

Finally, as I glance at December's calendar for nearly the last time, I look at the picture of nostalgia there and ponder that the scene is .... "Just Like The Ones We Used To Know".

Seasons Greetings, with Love, from Finca Tres Hermanos

Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

A prophetic wedding present from my Mother!

A fact of falling in love with someone new and remaining that way inclined is that you soon realise that it pays to develop more than a passing interest in their chosen pastime.  For me that meant developing a love of the game of football. It was either that or accept the vacuum of space and time we'd have to spend apart during the seemingly endless season.  I used to believe that football was just about the worst waste of broadcasting airspace and sponsorship negotiation known to any intelligent thought: a sport for the overpaid and underdeveloped (intellectually speaking!); 90 minutes of running about and falling over quite a bit, gripping some part of a lower limb, then occasionally scoring a goal whereat the "dubious" injury to said lower limb is subsequently all forgotten about.  Based on this, my apparent turnabout can only mean one thing: I am stupidly in love and will go along with ANYTHING as a result! Ah well, I suppose it's quite fun when you get into it and, we do have fun (remembering that ridiculous earlier shot of us all in blue and white wigs.)




First game of the season, in our new seats … a whole 10 rows nearer the goal!

Malaga CF might fare better in La Liga 2

And that's all I shall say on the matter of football … for now. 

It's been a busy time at the Finca and being good to my word (mainly between myself and me) I am filling my days honing my housewifery skills (is 'housewifery' even a word?).  I'm not ashamed to say that I'm loving it!  Sorry girls, I realise that I may be letting the side down. "Where is your independence, your gritty resolve, your 'If you want it doing, do it yourself oh dear husband of mine'" I hear you cry out in exasperation!  I won't blame you for wanting to grasp me firmly by the shoulders and giving me a good shake.  Or perhaps you're like me: satisfied with your career achievements, you've folded your wings in quiet repose to concentrate on what matters most?  These days, my 'proper job' is multi faceted but essentially means taking care of my home, my animals and my husband. That's more than enough.

So with no more wedding planning to occupy my every waking hour and with the oppressive heat of summer slowly beginning to wane, I can begin plans to breathe new life into our home.  First on the project hit list is the freshening up of our two guest rooms. The principal one is in pretty good shape already and in any event will receive its next occupant in a week, so the second will have its makeover first.  The lid has come off the home improvement budget tin and I have begun my shopping trips for furnishing fabrics and 'accent' colour schemes. I persuaded Scott that the removal of the giant monolithic wardrobe to its new home in the study would answer the storage needs there and make the vacated guest room more spacious and comfortable. He's resigned now to my persuasive skills and actually doesn't care that I'm riding roughshod all over the place. Someone should have probably warned him of the dangers of giving me so much free rein!

When I'm not eagerly flicking through fabric swatches and paint colours, or filling holes and rubbing down paintwork, I'm pulling my recipe books down from the shelves.  The tomato plants have been burgeoning under the weight of a good crop. Now, Scott does love to give some of his homegrown produce away to friends and favourite customers but that still leaves plenty for us to roast or chop for a salad.  For something a little extra, one of the first products to come out of the kitchen under our Finca Tres Hermanos label was Spicy Tomato Chutney.  Following closely behind the chutney was our first batches of Peach and Paraguaya, and Spiced Peach Marmalades.  I'll share the recipes for these separately.

Our peach tree, planted in memory of my Father, produced 24 peaches in its first
season; the basis of our tasty pots of marmalade.

Some of our produce. When I created the labels, I used my design for our wedding
 stationery. Even the fabric is left over lining for our wedding favour baskets. A nice reminder of a happy day!



Our tomatoes eagerly waiting to be turned into something delicious!

The vegetable patch is beginning to look a little empty of its summer crops and we'll soon need to prepare the soil for planting out the winter growing vegetables.  Other than tomatoes, we've had a good crop of garlic, onions, beetroot, melons and peppers.  Sadly, our runner beans weren't a success this year but perhaps we'll give them another go next Spring.



Piles of manure ready to rotovate into the beds to make ready for our winter crop.

The second veggie patch, looking out towards the pool bar. The row
of tomatoes is virtually at an end, but we may still get a late autumn yield.

Most of our weekends are spent in the garden and there's a great deal to do aside from tend the vegetable patch.  It's not mowing season yet, so time is occupied by trimming trees and pulling up weeds. We also have a container lock up and large wooden shed that are both in dire need of a good sort out, especially since I've been adding clutter from my workshop at Finca del Olivar.  Moving the wardrobe from the guest room to the study began a domino effect of additional jobs with poor Mr Forbes at the receiving end of yet more of my organisational ideas. With Scott being a plumber, parts of our garden can be likened to Steptoe's yard: lumps of old boiler, pumps, bits of toilets, bathroom fittings, pipe joints and random piles of copper are scattered here and there.  I've done my best to convince him to file the lot behind the giant pampas hedge and he does try to be fair; however, the odd bit of scrap can be spotted lurking beside the oleander hedge or any convenient place he feels prone to drop it after years of habit. 

Anyhow, in true organisational Forbes fashion (meaning me and my OCD!), Scott and I are getting to grips with our outside storage. After my gentle questioning techniques (honest!) a huge pile of boiler parts have been reduced to what Scott will most likely use.

The Shed : Half way to tidy.  Well, for a start, we can now see the floor!

A random pile of plumber's bits, but at least this one was destined for the scrappy.

Despite the flurry of activity, we're not forgetting to allow ourselves time out to relax and enjoy what is left of the summer.  Dark evenings cosying up in front of the fire are just around the corner so the end of summer has to be enjoyed to the fullest.  The occasional escape to the beach is not overlooked.  More recently, we went further afield to enjoy lunch at a friend's newly opened Beach Bar in the Europe's surf capital: Tarifa.  Life's a beach as they say!

A day off and Mr Forbes can't get on that beach quick enough!

Not just a veggie patch, we have melons too!



'Coinish' Pasties: fresh out of the oven.  If you have to ask? It's because we live in Coín of course!

Lavender, Confetti and Getting down to 'Bees'ness

Spring is on the way, heralded principally by the appearance of the Almond Blossom at Finca Tres Hermanos.  It's a timely cue to begin paying a little extra attention to the garden; specifically to tidying the veggie patches and clearing them of their unwelcome weeds, and preparing the new beehives for what we hope will eventually become home to some new honeybee colonies.  

It's been somewhat of a lackluster start to our winter growing season.  A person with the remotest grasp of horticultural knowledge will know that bad growing seasons happen from time to time, and it seems that our vegetable garden is a little tired from overworked soil which in turn has given over to struggling plants.  The best way to avoid this happening of course is to let an area rest for a year.  As luck would have it, we have a good deal of space and while Scott continues to make a full recovery from fracturing his ribs last September, our good friend Antonio has rotivated some new areas in our fruit orchard and these are now planted out with peas, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower and broad beans; better late than never we suppose!  What we've already planted in the existing beds are picking up a little bit so fingers' crossed we'll have platefuls of fresh veg for our dinner yet!

The new vegetable garden has somewhat expanded our production capacity
(as well as saving the chore of mowing by quite a significant degree!)

 

Broad beans in one of the existing beds are giving it their best shot, despite the tired soil!
(pictured left: our broad bean flowers in morning dew)

On to the subject of bees now and, sadly, things are no better there; a lot worse in fact.   A few weeks ago, our remaining hive was raided by a nearby squadron of hungry bees.  Always in the know about all matters relating to campo life, Antonio later explained the certain cause was a nearby beekeeper who regularly fails to provide extra food for his own hives during the hard winter foraging months.  His bees cannot be blamed for heading out on the rampage therefore.  Scott was first to notice the ensuing battle raging outside our hive.  At first, we mistook the scene for "bearding" (gathering around the entrance to a hive in order to cool down) since the weather was unseasonable warm for the time of year.  However, it soon dawned on us that a raid was in progress.  In just a few short days, debris formed by the dropped honey and nectar left by the overladen raiders at the entrance, and the noticeable reduction of our colony number was evidence enough that there was an inevitable sorry outcome for the hive. 

Neither of us could really bring ourselves to visit the bee terraces to check in the aftermath of the raid.  It seemed a little too hopeless a situation.  There's little a beekeeper can do once a hive is fully under attack.  Had we a little more experience, there might have been something we could have tried in order to throw the attackers off, but we've learned a valuable lesson from the experience nevertheless.  It's just so sad that it has come at the expense of our growing colony.  

So, it appeared as though our colony was doomed.  After a few days, however, we noticed some activity again and it seemed as if our bees were making a comeback against the odds.  I rallied and took steps to try and help.  I made the one entrance in use smaller (the top entrance being closed off) by stuffing it with bits of dried twigs and grass so as to make for a better defense, and quickly shoved a feeder of sugar syrup in the hive top to boost the dwindled food supplies.   Despite our efforts, alas, within a few days activity around the hive had reduced to zero.  We were left to surmise the queen had lost her life in the raid and/or new developing larvae were ruined.   All was lost.  The last remaining bees had probably died a natural death out in the field and our hive was empty.  

Cleaning out the hive and disposing of the raided frames was done with an air of melancholy.  As I examined the combs, I found within them the promise of the honey production that had begun.  It seemed that in the rush to gather up their booty and flee, the raiders had missed a cell or two.  We were nowhere near ready to start harvesting honey and neither will we do so until we have a fully established and healthy colony.  Even so, it was sad to see the early promise from all that hard work (both human and bee) go to ruin. 

Fast forward to the weekend just passed and, not to be deterred, we regrouped and have set the way forward to begin our beekeeping adventure again.  This time, we have three hives ready to welcome their new dwellers.  We might just hold the third one back for a while in case we should get a desperate call later in Spring to rescue a displaced swarm that has taken up residence in someone's back garden.   You might remember that during our first lockdown last year, and only four weeks into our beekeeping adventure, Scott didn't hesitate to do just that when the call came from a friend, and he brought a rescue colony home in a prepared hive one twilight evening.  Of course, that colony overtook the one we'd already started and it's that very same colony that we have just lost. 

It was a beautiful sunny day on Saturday and a good one to prepare the new site for our third hive and re-place the two existing and freshly cleaned hives down beside it.  As Scott trimmed the low-hanging branches from an almond tree above the third hive site, a gentle breeze blew the blossom from its boughs, as well as from those suspended from the other almond trees nearby.  As I watched the little pink and white flower petals float down and land in higgledy-piggledy fashion around the hives and beyond, it reminded me of confetti in a church yard after a wedding.  I pondered a while at the scene.  As is my wont, my mind often ambles off to seek the poetry in life and I couldn't help but imagine what this spectacle of nature might be saying.  I pictured a moment of silence and sorrow.  The joyfulness of confetti was replaced by the sadness of tears, falling quietly and softly around the silent hives, as if mourning the loss of one of natures greatest marvels.  And then my mind turned full circle and back to the beauty of it all; delicate little petals adding colour to wherever they lay.  Looking back at the trees from which it was falling, and there before my eyes was the promise of new beginnings.  I like to think of it that way.  Nature might seem cruel at times, but it is also profoundly beautiful and renewing too, especially if you look for the poetry within it. 

Elsewhere on the bee terraces, our lavender continues to bloom, as it has done all winter, thanks to the relatively mild weather and a gentle watering from the irrigation system.  I didn't have to look far for further proof that life carries on for the collective honeybee.  Pollen and nectar remains to be gathered in abundance, albeit just not by our very own little army of workers.  It hardly matters they are not ours.  One day soon, they will be.  We'll have to just try a little harder to keep the next lot safe. 

And so, we are ready.  The sun and the little Spring precipitations are already seeing to the regrowth of the citrus blossom, and to slowly bringing on the flowers that will give birth to our organic veg.  It's a good time to be out in the garden, but, it will be a better day when we see clouds of honeybees fly over and take up residence in the hives.  

Down on the bee terraces, preparing the hive sites.
The lavender is waiting

Siting the hives.  We've painted the lids white to deflect the sun.
A finishing touch: the hearts will tell the bees they are loved.

Lavender, Almond Blossom and Beehives.  A picture of new beginnings

Warts 'n All - The Real Story of Finca Tres Hermanos

This is the "Warts 'n All" story of Finca Tres Hermanos; this beautiful place we call home; this place that inspires "Mowing Over Oranges".  

If I am to be accused of previously showing our home in its best light, and of hiding the lumps, bumps and imperfections that lie beneath then I stand guilty as charged.  Perhaps I can't be blamed for that.  In my eyes, the imperfections blend seamlessly into the perfect.  I'm not ashamed of this house, quite the opposite.  Since moving in three and a half years' ago it has slowly burrowed its way slowly yet determinedly into my heart.  It was lucky, there was still space for it after I'd given up a huge chunk for its owner.  In the short time that has passed since, together Scott and I have poured much into it and now it is the place where the word "Home" means so much more than a dictionary definition and where we share the hard work that it constantly demands of us to keep it looking shipshape.  But, we hardly started from scratch.  So much had already been done to make this place a home, just as many others do, or even perhaps aspire to do, to 'live the dream' in their own piece of idyllic Andalucia.  So here is a brief story of our place, of how it came to be, and of how it continues to grow. 

In the Spring of 2002, Scott's search for a family home ended when he came across a little house on an isolated plateau surrounded by farmland.  Neither anything sat within nor without its boundary fences to puncture the view of the landscape that surrounded it.  Many people, myself included, would not have given this place a second glance.  It left so much to the imagination that even the most creative of minds would have thrown their arms up in defeat and left without looking back. To call these walls a "house" would have been to stretch the imagination beyond reality; it bore more resemblance to a warehouse fit for storing oranges (which is rather apt considering the title of this blog).  Only some scattered furniture, a few well placed windows, and the pretence of a kitchen and bathroom inside gave a suggestion that it was quite serviceable as a home.  I always imagine falling instantly in love with a house that you might then prospect to buy, like most people.  Falling in love with this little house must have taken some doing. 

A montage documenting how "Tres Hermanos" started life 

Despite its shortcomings the deal was done, the papers were signed, the family moved in and the four walls became a home.  It then secured its rightful place when it was appropriately renamed "Finca Tres Hermanos" in honour of Scott's three boys.  Not long afterwards a new extension was added to provide much needed extra space, a pool was dug out, and the outside bar was built; the latter creating a perfect place to entertain. 

The meadow: top left, in its early days and now

Fast forward to today and as you look around you can plainly see what it has become and why it is worthy of being loved.  We blush when visitors profuse their admiration but when I think about it I think it's pretty damn worthy of the praise, as is Scott for his vision for creating the perfect place to raise his boys.  

The land when first purchased and now

One of the first things to change when I moved in, in July 2017, was the remodeling of the kitchen. Now I distinctly remember only refusing to cook with the old oven that sat somewhat neglectfully, of a good clean, in the little galley kitchen, despite it having done a pretty decent job over the years servicing a family and hoards of visiting friends.  For reasons best left to him (should anyone care to ask), Scott chose to give up a bedroom to make way for a whole new kitchen more fitting for my new incumbency status.  Perhaps I should have explained first that my culinary skills had never risen above the level of satisfactory before he made such an undertaking but I still appreciated the sentiment of course.  Luckily, my cooking skills have improved quite a bit since!

The kitchen is put to good use!

From thereon in Scott never once batted an eyelid as my influence was exacted elsewhere (cue over-enthusiastic makeover show!) not even when another bedroom was lost to the study that I insisted was absolutely necessary!  And the shabby but beautiful old covered terrace is now transformed to a sunny music-come-reading room; an addition that once would have given this little pre-00's 'orange store' delusions of grandeur. 

A woman's touch or, as a friend put it: "I can see the effects of the New Broom"!

It's unlikely we'll ever stop working on this place, that is simply unrealistic given its size and age.  I guess that's how it should be: one could no more easily cease from nurturing the child that has flown the nest than cease from nurturing the love and attention that went into making that nest beautiful. 

OK, we didn't grow the bananas!

And this is why love the warts too and like so many old Andalucian houses this house has quite a few.  Despite every best effort to build a home on solid foundations, this part of Spain makes it a constant battle and visible signs of movement are evident in just about every house you come across (and I've seen a fair few in my time here!) 

Our home is no exception, it moves, sometimes a little and sometimes a little bit more.  Cracks appear when the ground dries up in the summer, and then they close again after the winter rains soften the ground.  We diligently follow round with some filler and a paintbrush with almost subconscious routine.  I'm still trying my hardest not to point paranoically while exclaiming loudly: "Is this another bloody crack?!" or "Has this one got bloody wider?!"  As some of the cracks have become wider these last few months owing to an exceptionally hot, dry summer my paranoia has been increasingly harder to control. 

A few notable 'warts' being repaired or soon to be addressed

The wood store: from "wart" to, well, tidier "wart"!

Top Left: The pool from its good side and its bad.
Pictured below: the rapid deterioration that's occurred this year

Not everything in the garden is rosy: well, I am married to a plumber
and you never know when those spares might come in handy!

And then there's the garden, beautiful in all its splendor.  Scott can take the credit for this of course (as well as for the random piles of junk!).  My job is simply to be Gardener's Apprentice since I still might be prone to pulling up a valuable crop instead of an invading weed!  That said, I'm pretty handy with a lawnmower and have a certain flair for finishing touches. 

Images of quiet solitude around the garden

The bee terraces and a place to sit and watch Mother Nature work her magic

So the work (and improvements) continue.  In fact, as I type, I can hear our Spanish builder friend (Antonio) chipping away at another crack to repair with his trusty tools of the trade and that's where we are today, to bring us bang up-to-date.  An old crumbling terrace has been taken up and relaid, cracks are being repaired (hopefully once and for all) and after nearly 20 years the house now boasts an electric gate (with freshly rendered walls either side to follow suit in the New Year).  The aging swimming pool is next as that too is in dire need of attention.  The contract has been awarded and the work also starts early in the New Year. 

The crumbling bedroom terrace gets a makeover

At last, Finca Tres Hermanos gets a proper gate and 
the surrounding wall is nearing completion

Finally, the last major job will be to remodel our ensuite bathroom; definitely the last remaining wart, and one of the most problematic!

With the majority of transformations complete, we can sit back and be happy with what we've created so far: a place where tasty fruit and vegetables grow in rich soil, where bees hum and make their honey, where butterflies and insects flitter amongst the wildflowers, where the aroma of baking fills the air, and where Christmases and social gatherings are joyous occasions.

Everyone would claim to have an Eden, their little "corner of paradise" and that would be true because there are many but this is is ours. We are grateful for it and we love it. The warts pale into insignificance and satisfaction is oozed in abundance.