Welcome to another guest post for my ‘Hello Home…’ pandemic themed feature. It would seem all of us have experienced or are still experiencing a lockdown of some sort while the corona virus continues to blight our lives. Although we are all in the same situation, we experience it differently because our homes are all so different. Thinking about this inspired me to write a piece a few weeks ago dedicated to my house and what it has meant to me during these strange and unsettling times. I then decided to reach out to others who might want to talk about what their home has meant to them during the pandemic. Today please welcome writer Adeola Sheehyto the blog!
My house has shrunk.
I’m not entirely sure when it happened, but sometime just past summer the walls began to move.
This house has always been cosy, but I now understand that bungalows have a habit of getting smaller the longer you stay in them, especially when the people inside just keep growing bigger.
I look down at the floor and expect to see a visible path in the carpet. There is a perfect circle to run in, from the hallway, through the kitchen, round through the front room and back again. I know it is perfect because I watch the exhilaration on their faces as they chase each other, and because I laugh at their shrieks as I join in the pursuit.
On a Monday there are so many people in my house I’m reminded of a house-party and my second favourite spot in the hallway, there are no getaway stairs here. Only now all the ‘guests’ are in tiny boxes on screens, with each child in a different class in a different room. There aren’t enough rooms or screens, so I end up here, in the hallway. Except this party is oddly quiet. I wonder if this is what those silent discos feel like? Everyone in their own individual worlds, together.
Our daily lives are now governed by these mini invasions, sudden bursts of people all talking at the same time, scrabbling for a moment of connection.
The nights are a contrast and that silence has a different feel.
Once it’s just the house and I, we both exhale, deep and long, releasing the built up tension and softening the edges which have hardened through the day’s onslaught.
The walls recede there in the dark. They shift back into place, a retreat from the battle lines drawn in the day. It’s those daylight hours, with their noise and movement that take up all the air and physical space. That’s when the walls move in and I start plotting my escape.
I used to love travel, but I loved coming home too. That brief window of time when you step inside the door and see the space as an outsider. It only lasts minutes, like the moment you bump into an old friend or lover on a busy street
and your eyes drink each other in, smiling in recognition, noticing the changes. The instant familiarity and simultaneous curiosity of the new.
Then slowly it all slots into place, the warmth of people fills the air, the sound of chatter pushes the stillness out and it’s all the same once more.
I haven’t left in over a year and familiarity is not helping our relationship. I need to leave so I can miss you. Your walls are like arms encouraging me on my way, pushing me out the door. We will like each other again I’m sure, but right now I can’t imagine how you got so small and I just don’t seem to fit.
Thank you so much to Adeola for writing this piece for the blog. If you would like to find out more about Adeola and her work, her bio and links are below!
Mother, writer, and women circle facilitator, Adeola leads courses in creativity and all aspects of the feminine experience. The written word has been her expression, safe haven, and dearest love for as long as she can remember. Be it fiction, poems, essays, or musings on life, her pen is almost always attached to paper.
Welcome to another guest post for my ‘Hello Home…’ pandemic themed feature. It would seem all of us have experienced or are still experiencing a lockdown of some sort while the corona virus continues to blight our lives. Although we are all in the same situation, we experience it differently because our homes are all so different. Thinking about this inspired me to write a piece a few weeks ago dedicated to my house and what it has meant to me during these strange and unsettling times. I then decided to reach out to others who might want to talk about what their home has meant to them during the pandemic. Today please welcome my oldest sister Danette. My sister lives in a beautiful 500 year old cottage that must have seen so many societal changes over the years so I was really pleased when she agreed to write this for the blog!
Inside Out by Danette Moorish
It feels a bit like that doesn’t it? Life under lockdown. Inside out and upside down and turned on a sixpence until like children blindfolded at a birthday party game we lurch forward into our days, stumbling, arms outstretched , not knowing quite what to hold on to or indeed what there even is to hold on to.
I have lived in 10 homes since I entered this world 50 years ago. I started life living at my nan’s house, I retreated back there in my teens when after leaving home rather too young my world became a scary place. I moved from bedsit to flat, to another flat, to another. One was a gloriously rambling maisonette over an antique shop which I believe is still there, a gem through whose windows I would gaze, feeling that as a teenager I probably was not their text book customer but longing to drink in the wonders that laid within. I eventually bought my nan’s house living there for years until a move to rural North Dorset brought about living in a completely different kind of home to that I had so far experienced.
The Doll’s House as I fondly call it was incredibly small and yet within its walls the life changing blows of facing the fact my marriage was quite frankly an appalling place to be and that I had to replace the roof overhead as a now single working mum of 4 year old twins and all that entailed reverberated in them like a blast from a cannon.
I found work as Housekeeper at an ancient Manor House that provided a tied cottage and life fell into a swift new routine of learning on my feet, raising my children who had just started at the local village primary school and tending the small flock of sheep, geese and hens that came with my job. Life was little short of exhilarating as I found myself surrounded by all things I loved, beautiful buildings, history and the countryside. Living in the countryside as I had first discovered when I moved to the area meant navigating delights such as soak aways and septic tanks, rickety electrics, lengthy powercuts and being snowed in. With much hilarity and the large streak of optimism I thankfully own I had a full and happy life.
That life was neatly ordered into routine, work, home, school and being outside. Everything was very separate and to some possibly monotonous, dare I say it even dull or boring but to me it gave me a strong framework for my daughters and I to thrive in.
Planets align, paths are revealed and obstacles clear and destiny had us three turn into us four and with my now darling husband, move this time into his grandparents house. A move that took us back towards the coast into rural West Dorset to live in an achingly old ramshackle Cobb and thatch farmhouse with only a well for water, minimal electric supply and all the holes in the thatch and windows that you could throw your earnings at.
This house has stood here for over 500 years and there’s good reason to think there has been a dwelling here going back longer than that, maybe even back as far as the 14th century when lockdown life back then was due to the Great Plague.
Oh how easy it would be to navigate the choppy waters of a global pandemic if it just meant better flea and rodent control along with a huge jump in basic sewerage systems and personal hygiene- do read the superb Minette Walters The Last Hours and it’s follow up The Turn of Midnight for a compelling insight into lockdown life circa 1348, there are similarities with issues of division, mistrust, blame and confusion.
In 2020 we found ourselves sheltered within thick walls of mud and straw bound together with the blood and urine of long dead animals yet compared to all other testing times that have beheld the previous occupants we now shelter here with electricity, a full larder and store cupboard, running water and all the delights that modern plumbing has brought us, yes we upgraded from the well dear reader. My holiday accommodation business slammed shut and my husband’s business, a QS in construction in the hospitality and leisure industry ( double ouch) meant we for the first time in our lives found ourselves at home with no ‘work’.
We had time to finally enjoy our home. And there in is ‘it’ for me. I believe as well as sheltering us our homes should be things that bring us great joy. I’ll hand over to William Morris for he worded it perfectly a long time ago. ‘ Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful , or believe to be beautiful’. Absolutely. I decided long ago to surround myself with things that bring me joy. Call me trivial but I get immense pleasure from drinking from a beautiful mug than an ugly one, it matters not if it is chipped, it is not perfection that brings me joy, far from it, it is beauty. So the first lockdown gave us this chance to throw all our doors and windows wide open, the warm Spring egged us on as we sorted and cleaned. Not just perfunctory but proper old fashioned Spring cleaning! We turfed out cupboards, we sorted papers and wardrobes. As the days lengthened we ventured into sheds and garages, we were unstoppable and all that being busy helped tremendously to giving our minds something to focus on, and after all when we were weary from the endless news we could turn it off and go and find a shady spot in the garden or park to sit in.
The world slowly began to turn again and whilst my husband’s job remained sadly static, mine burst back into life as our shepherd’s hut and outbuilding conversion filled with city weary folk desperate for the sight of rolling green hills to feast their eyes on. Life went from zero to 100mph and our home became again something we sped through or collapsed into after a busy day. Soon little jobs began to pile up again, little piles of ‘stuff’, oh how I loathe ‘stuff’.
Yet before we had time to grumble too much November had us slamming on the anchors again and this time it felt different. With the calendar turned to the last but one month of the year it felt as if the house hunkered down around us as the first bad weather of the Winter hit. I found myself lying on the sofa in the living room writing long letters to friends whilst my husband sat listing to records in the sitting room and the girls did what ever it is teenagers do on the internet up in their rooms ( don’t ask they wont tell you!) As I sat there I could actually feel the house holding us. Holding us safe. All with space to have privacy when we needed it and room to regroup when we needed that too and having lived in a very small house, remember The Doll’s House I mentioned earlier? That is something that I truly appreciate and never take for granted.
Christmas felt a cautious time, the girls broke up from school and I don’t believe any of us gave much thought to them possibly not going back but here we are. All stood in 2021 in our homes again,children tethered to kitchen tables with online school and us adults feeling that inside out, upside down feeling I started this off with.
Why do we feel so unsettled and irked this time round? How many of us standing at crowded bus stops in the dark and rain have stood there over the years on our work commute willing the world to JUST STOP so we could hide at home and have endless duvet days and not venture out much in January thank you very much! Yet we find ourselves back at home and a quick trip around social media will show weary tales of people struggling deeply with trying to make sense of this all.
Maybe we can’t. I don’t have answers, I just know what works for me is – quoting William Morris once more to remember that keeping busy for me is key to getting through the days with my sanity intact, it was a very long time ago he wrote
‘ A good way to rid one’s self of a sense of discomfort is to do something. That uneasy , dissatisfied feeling is actual force vibrating out of order, it may be turned to practical account by giving proper expression to it’s creative character’
Yet he could have written it a few days ago in a weekend article in the papers as a way to try to get through this enforced time at home. Our homes perform many functions and never more so than now. They are schools and offices, gyms and studios, canteens and corner shops and we are having to fit all that living, all that emotion and interaction that we normally expel out into those different places into our homes and that is a lot of living to unfold between four walls!
In quiet moments I like to sit and let this house settle around me. In the corporeal sense it literally settles, creaking and depositing centuries old dust from its walls and ceilings yet emotionally I believe it needs to settle too. With travel away from our homes curtailed for so many reasons we can still all thankfully head out for exercise so when we all head out with the dogs I whisper to the house as I leave, ‘be still, thank you , we love you’. And on the rare occasions the others head out and I am here alone I will light an incense stick, always Nag Champa for it is our home’s signature scent, and walk into each room , carrying the gently smouldering stick and letting it waft around the rooms settling the energy as it disperses through the air.
This works for me, I’m too old to worry too much if I sound as mad as a hatter. What I believe is if you are struggling to find your inner core of peace and resilience at the moment and who isn’t, by making peace with your surroundings and not fighting it will ease some of the discord. You may blast out music, we do that here too, you may move things around, gather round watching films or play games. You might all yell and storm off to rooms away from each other and that’ ok too as long as you regroup later and talk and hug. Our homes can take it, they just ask that we balance up the energy books a bit later on.
The current situation we all find ourselves in is just one of many that the home I sit and write this in has witnessed, from the Peasants Revolt to The War of The Roses, through the tumultuous Tudor times to another plague in 1665, to Stuarts and Hanoverians, Waterloo and the dawn of the Victorian age and more recent historical events such as the Industrial Revolution and the two World Wars. I doubt the inhabitants of our house were directly affected by Waterloo, with no internet, indeed with most of the population being unable to read and write, news didn’t travel terribly fast and tended to be be news of the local area passed on by word of mouth by folk travelling through.
What I am trying to say is that we need to spend less time occupying our heads and hearts with what goes on outside of our four walls. Imagine, before you cry I am thoughtless and shortsighted, if we all bought less, consumed less, chose wiser, made do with more, slowed down, grew more, recycled what we couldn’t reuse, bartered what we couldn’t buy and at the risk of ending in a bucolic naive haze generally gave a bit more considered though to our actions on the natural world that exists outside our four walls, wouldn’t that be a force for good? A change for the better for all?
Something such as being asked to remain at home can feel like an Orwellian command but it could be a switch of mindset to see it was a chance to let old paradigms fall to the wayside.
Now, I am off to boil the kettle, grateful as ever that its coming easily out of a tap and that the kettle will do in a few minutes what the top of the wood burner would take nearly 30 to do. As I pour the freshly boiled water into my cup I will call to my teens that the school day IS nearly over and that time draws near when we shall all spill outside with the dogs. The cold air will hit the breath from us and it will feel a welcome embrace that we come back into, not a constricting prison. As with most things it is a matter of finding the best perspective to see the situation from.
From this very old house to yours, I wish you peace and resilience, good humour and patience as we head into more days like those that we have already under our belts. As long as we all keep busy in the ways we can individually find, we will be alright.
A big thank you to my lovely sister for writing this heartfelt piece! We will be back with another guest post next Friday!
Welcome to the last post in my Pandemic Pets feature! I have been welcoming guests to the blog to tell us how the furry friends in their life have made getting through the Covid 19 pandemic that much easier. Today I’d like to extend a warm welcome to my very own big sister, Fran Hemsley. Fran is not a writer or a blogger, but I felt she had an interesting experience during lockdown, so I asked her if she would consider contributing to the blog.
When I found myself furloughed back in April I did what a lot of people in my position did – I started running! Every day I escaped home-schooling and the house full of people for about thirty minutes of ‘me time’; something I have never really indulged in before.
During lockdown I experienced the sudden death of my beloved Weimaraner Beau. I’m not ashamed to say he was the love of my life and my best friend. To cope with this unexpected bereavement I turned to running even more and found it even more beneficial as a means of ‘escape’.
Beau
It was during one such running session that I first came across Mr Fox. Well, I think he was a mister! He was sat as bold as brass in the middle of the road and when I paused to talk to him, he bounded on over and stopped at my feet.
And so an unlikely friendship developed in the midst of the global pandemic and the loss of my best friend.
After that initial hello, Mr Fox started appearing on my drive when I returned from my runs. He quite quickly started to follow me through the gate of our side lean-to. Even when the running stopped and I returned to work, if I left the gate open, he would appear like clockwork at the kitchen door.
After Beau died I was left with some very expensive dog food, so of course this went Mr Fox’s way. As did his wormer and flea treatment.
Mr Fox
Some people don’t like foxes being fed in urban areas, but their opinions don’t bother me. We have taken over their natural environment with the urban sprawl, turning them from hunters to scavengers and with the modern wheelie bins being so tall, it is hard for them to find our leftovers. Every single person I have spoken to about Mr Fox, bar one, does not have a problem with me feeding him. In fact, many neighbours confided in me and said; ‘Well, don’t tell anyone, but I feed the foxes too!’ It seems to be a very well kept secret where I live!
These days it’s too cold to sit in the lean-to and wait for Mr Fox to appear but I leave food for him out the front every night. Our property is kept clean and tidy and he must devour the food quickly, as we do not have a rodent problem in the area.
Brave Mr Fox
Making friends with Mr Fox was totally unexpected and magical and really helped me to get through the lockdown and the loss of my beloved Beau. I really hope to see Mr Fox again in the Spring.
Thank you so much to my sister Fran for sharing this with us and thank you too to the other bloggers and guests who shared their pandemic pet stories!
Welcome to another guest post for my feature Dreaming of Another World. This feature was inspired by a post I wrote here a few months back, where I considered whether another world was possible and could just be glimpsed when lockdown forced us to stay still. I was interested in how other creatives reacted to lockdown and the changes it pushed upon us and opened up my blog to their responses and experiences. I’ve had a great response and here is guest post no.10 from fantasy author Rick Haynes, where he reminisces about leaving the house for the first time after a prolonged spell of isolation.
A TRIP INTO THE UNKNOWN by Rick Haynes
My wife and I thought hard. Due to the impact of Covid-19, we had spent many months cooped up in our nice comfortable prison, but dare we venture outside? But the rays from the sky were sending warmth, giving the prospect of new life to old bones. And after much discussion about the safety aspects, we agreed to depart our sanctuary. For an hour or so, we would take our first trip back to reality, whatever that was.
Now for the checklist. Face masks? Check. Sanitiser? Check. Gloves? Check, but did we need gloves? Medical kit? Check. Blanket? Check. Jackets? In case we felt cold, check.
Taking a drive through the roads of our virus-ridden country was never on any previous menu, but times change for boredom had been our permanent friend for months.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at our destination. The car park at the local garden centre was more than half full, but – in for a penny – as the saying goes. Yet, we hesitated. I could see my wife shaking as we approached the doors of no return.
Inside, the carefully designed twisty routes – to make you see, and hopefully buy, more of the things you don’t want – are like a one-way street. Once in, you cannot reverse and have to travel forward.
With her hand firmly in mine and a nod of her head, we adjusted our masks of fear and entered a world of all things gardening. Much to our surprise, the visitors were few. Wondering about the car numbers in the parking area was over in a flash. Maybe this visit would be less hazardous than we thought?
We placed one foot in front of the other and began the long walk along the meandering trail, eventually emerging into bright sunlight. We inhaled deeply as a world of fragrance, freshness, and clean air instantly hit us. It was good to feel the heat, even better to view the rows and rows of plants and take in the intoxicating scent from the multitude of flowers. With large smiles on our faces, this was our first step into the future but a giant step towards normality.
Our good neighbours – shielding like us – had visited the centre in the last week and advised us to try the coffee shop. They said it was run with military precision, big spaces between seats – inside and out – and you order from the table. Everything was sanitised. Visitors only leave their table to pay and that is to a lass sitting behind a large screen. It worked. We enjoyed our coffee as we felt safe.
And when we left the café behind us, it wasn’t time to go home, as the number of visitors had declined, the walkways almost empty now. My mind wandered back to the decision to shake our fists at the virus, and, without thinking, I was grinning like an idiot.
My wife was looking at the vast array of small shrubs on display. With some being heavily reduced, she thought about buying two small Hebes, one purple and one pinky red. They would do nicely in our new garden, she said. Covered in bees could be the clincher but when the rare Humming Bird Hawk Moth arrived, it was game set and match. The moniker for that stunning moth is long and for that reason, we have always called them, Mobys. Rare in England? Yes, but we have seen many in Greece.
With my wife entranced, I wandered lonely, as if? This garden centre had an aquarium and I sauntered over. It was lovely to see so many highly coloured fish behind glass but I’d rather see them in a large pond. With that in mind, I saw a massive tank to the rear of the aquarium. I climbed the few steps and peered into the murky waters.
At first, I saw little in the gloom. A flash, the tail smacked the water and, like a great magician, the fish vanished. I stared until my eyes were bulging but could see nothing for the tank was murky and at least eight or nine feet deep. The far side was a mystery as I could barely see it.
I turned to go, heard a slap of a tail once more, and felt water hitting my shoulders. I peered into the deep, and like the greatest aqua performers, the Koi Carp made an impressive arrival. With shades of black and hues of gold, orange, and red, the large fish shoaled around the area nearest to me, their eyes seeking something. Eventually, my brain engaged and I realised the fish were awaiting food. Alas, I didn’t have any but the stones at the bottom of the steps looked promising. The first one I lifted was swarming with woodlice. Grabbing a handful, I lowered my hand into the water, released the insects and the fun started. Koi madness took over as the water erupted with fish jumping high, slapping the water with their tails, and lunging into each other. The picture of demons from the deep sucking me under came into my head, but I couldn’t stop now, even though my shirt was damp. I picked up more woodlice and two large spiders and returned to their feeding spot.
The water was unmoving; the fish had vanished. I could see nothing through the murk, not a flash of colour, nor a fin breaking the water.
With my hand full of fishy treats, I slowly opened my palm. And as I began to ease it from the water a huge mouth appeared. It touched my fingers, sucked hard, and gently pulled. Without thinking, instinct took over. I pulled back, and the toothless grin of the largest Koi Carp I had ever seen emerged from the dark waters.
My panic quickly turned to stupidity and then to rational thought. The remaining insects were learning how to swim for their lives, and the black and red giant monster sucked them up quicker than our carpet cleaner could. Within a minute all was once more serene in the tank of amazement.
Sitting on the lowest step leading up to the massive tank, I sat and pondered. Why did such a huge fish like that hide and then propel its self forward to take a meal from my hand? It couldn’t be that hungry, could it? In my world, fish either bite you or leave you alone, not try and suck you to death. Nevertheless, I checked all my fingers for any bites, sighed with relief, and knew it was time to go. I pulled myself slowly upright and waved to my wife some distance away. Within seconds, I slammed on the brakes for my eyes had homed in on a small and faded notice.
Feed the fish here. Only £1 a bag.
Stupid? I felt like a man with no brain as I walked away.
“I’ve been looking for you, love. Where have you been?”
All I could manage was the grin of a brainless idiot.
A huge thank you to Rick for sharing this post with us! If you would like to find out more about Rick and his books his author bio and links are below.
AUTHOR BIO
My passion is epic fantasy and my first two novels, Evil Never Dies and Heroes Never Fade, have received excellent reviews. As one reviewer posted – ‘Fans of Games of Thrones must read this book!’
My new novel, Outcast, a tale of love, betrayal and giants, has recently been published.
I also write short stories. Several have been published in Scribble, the Portsmouth News and The Chania Post.
The Glorious Outsiders 