Guest Post #5 Hello Home…

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. Today please welcome author Jessica Norrie. If you would like to know more about Jessica and her books, her links and bio are at the end of the post!

Counting blessings

Today was exciting. The window cleaner came. Then, a scaffolder’s lorry, delivering to the house opposite, blocked the road for two hours!

In lockdown I’m sure we look out of the windows more. From the front we nod to “our” postman He’s always in shorts, even in snow. We spot delivery men before they knock and the smart lady who brings wines from her posh emporium, a lockdown indulgence to replace going out. We admire the skilful dustmen reversing their truck when the road’s parked up with homeworkers. “This is the WORST road,” yelled one, grinning, which made me obscurely proud. The hens kept across the road regularly escape, that sets the late crowing cockerel off.

The rear windows show a more scenic view, pink dawns, rolling mists, deep snow, glowing sunsets and moongleams and one unforgettable conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn.

Last lockdown there were five bellowing sheep in the field beyond the end of the back garden. I worried they were missing their lambs until my neighbour pointed out they were rams. There are no shepherds abiding but a rare human – the farmer? – sometimes enters stage left in his tractor, and a jogger criss-crosses the cows in the far field. Our webcam reveals foxes in our night garden, muntjac deer and either one badger with a limp that’s got better, or two different badgers. Since Christmas they’ve been feeding on our fermenting windfall apples. Do they get drunk? This is cider country.

The other day in an idle moment (so many idle moments) I calculated I’ve moved eighteen times. I’ve lived in cities – London, Brighton, Paris, Dijon, Sheffield. I’ve looked out on grandeur and squalor, blue-light vehicles, escaped plastic bins and plane trees, a Salvation Army band whose trumpets blew us awake every Sunday, and people, people, people. Children, childminders, parents, pensioners, shoppers, car washers, skate boarders, dog walkers. I’ve moved for study, for jobs, for relationships, to upsize and downsize. I’m not exactly easy come, easy go, but I leave without resistance and I settle in quite fast.

Now leaving’s not an option. These windows, this garden are in my partner’s small but comfortable house. Mine is in London, with my son and his partner in happy charge of wear, tear and care. I happened to be down here in March 2020, and here I’ve been ever since, only meeting family when the tier system permits. Covid rates are lower here, the air’s fresher, we live and exercise daily in an AONB (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty). We both work from home and, not being keyworkers, the wisest course is to keep our heads down and try not to bother the NHS. We barely know anyone, as Partner hasn’t been here long, but trundling together through what could be claustrophobia is working surprisingly well. I’m here for the duration, hopeful his GP will put me on her vaccine list instead of telling me to make a seven hour round trip to plague-ridden London for it.

So we’re very lucky, and I’m grateful. But I do feel a little… displaced, though of course not in the awful sense of a true refugee. I haven’t had to abandon my family, lifestyle and possessions forever; I’ll get back “home” post vaccine, whoever jabs my arm. Still, it’s odd.

My daughter is displaced too, furloughed and voluntarily marooned in Cornwall with her boyfriend’s family after the first home they were buying together fell through when the March lockdown began. She’s struggled to access necessary medical treatment, and my son caught Covid at the school where he works. In their twenties it’s right they’re making their own lives, but when they’re sick my instinct is to check on them and I can’t. Some nights I’m sleepless with worry in my gilded cage. Twelve months ago, who knew we’d all be stuck hundreds of miles apart?

Only some nights. Partner and I are warm and well, living full time together hasn’t pushed us apart, we’ve found small rituals to structure the days, from measuring out vitamin pills at breakfast to pouring fine wine at seven. We can now get the wood burner going in two minutes flat, and hearing the neighbour poking theirs gives at least a sense of togetherness. Decorating a Christmas tree made the house a home, and the cards – when finally forwarded – had handwritten messages, longer than usual. Keep in touch, we haven’t forgotten you, don’t forget us. London’s waiting.

We’re fit from hill walking and the snowdrops are out. Today I heard bellowing again from the field. I can count sheep again. One, two, three, four, five.

©Jessica Norrie 2021

A huge thank you to Jessica for writing this wonderful piece for the Hello Home…feature. You can find all her links and social media pages below!

Links: Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jessica-Norrie/e/B01CEUZF26%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share Goodreads author page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3270629.Jessica_Norrie

Novels: http://getbook.at/TheMagicCarpet http://getbook/at/TheInfinityPool http://getbook.at/DerInfinity-Pool (German) http://getbook.at/Infinitude (French) Blog: https://jessicanorrie.wordpress.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordsandfictions Twitter: https://twitter.com/jessica_norrie

Author bio

Jessica Norrie was born in London and studied French Literature and Education at Sussex and Sheffield. She taught English, French and Spanish abroad and in the UK in settings ranging from nursery to university. She has two adult children and divides her time between London and Malvern, Worcestershire.

She has also worked as a freelance translator, published occasional journalism and a French textbook, and she blogs at https://jessicanorrie.wordpress.com

Covid permitting, Jessica sings soprano with any choir that will have her, and has been trying to master the piano since childhood but it’s not her forte.

She left teaching in 2016. The Infinity Pool was her first novel, drawing on encounters while travelling. Her second novel The Magic Carpet is inspired by working with families and their children. The third is about women’s lives in a small village. It’s currently being submitted to publishers by her agent.