Horseshoe Lake

Turning down Ambarrow Lane off of Wokingham Road, I immediately feel disappointed. Why wasn't I born a fabulous, rich, English woman with a fondness for horses? Why lower middle class Tucsonan, scared to death of my grandparent's horsies, Roqueno and Copoli? Why???

It would be nice if I could simply admire the scenery and feel happy for those living in grand country homes surrounded by acres of manicured lawns with horses, a flock of geese, or say, Sheltland ponies to enhance the effect. I'm jealous. It looks really nice...

If you look carefully, there is a flock of geese enjoying nibbles.
 Notice stalker position of camera angle behind tree and bushes.

Driving around this area, you are likely to see gorgeous young women dressed in casual riding duds walking amped up horses who clearly have close, personal relationships with hairdressers. Unfortunately,  rubber necking is dangerous while driving because the lanes are very narrow and windy, too narrow for two cars to pass at the same time. For some reason, it seems when a car comes from the opposite directions, there is always a tiny cutout, and you can just squeeze by. At any rate, take a left on Lower Sandhurst Road off of Ambarrow and turn right onto Mill Lane. Then as "Cartrina" says, go offroad.

You've made it to Horseshoe Lake!

Horseshoe Lake is close to the town of Sandhurst; the name is derived from the sandy soil and gravel subsoil, and hurst which means woods. This area was quarried for gravel, and a string of lakes resulted along the River Blackwater, which flows near Sandhurst and marks the border between the counties of Hampshire (Jane Austen's home county) and Surrey and Hampshire and Berkshire, pronounced "BARKsheer" (our little town of Crowthorne is in Berkshire, thus the lesson in pronounciation, one I have had repeatedly). There is a path around Horseshoe Lake, that takes you along the River Blackwater. Mike and I took the boys there on Sunday, and we asked three people the distance around the lake. The estimates varied from 1/2 mile to 3 miles. I did my own estimation based on a map of the lake with a 1/4 mile scale, I'm sticking with 1.5 miles.




A lovely feature of England is the network of Public Right of Way Footpaths.
This path goes around Horseshoe Lake and connects with other paths in the area.



I didn't see any cattle, but there are definite signs of their presence. Mooseturd pie?? My favorite!
And by the way, every single pie had a foot print in it! Watch where you're going, people.

Take a break and soak in the view.

The path around the lake is covered here and there by planks.



Blackberry bushes are everywhere.
I think we are at the end of the season, but they keep coming.
I told the boys that blackberries contain a special ingredient that makes you feel better if you fall and hurt yourself.
Our new medicine.

Following the path after passing the horse pastures, you come to the Moor Green Lakes Nature Reserve, which is open only to members of the conservation group. It can be seen through heavy vegetation and it is a great place to birdwatch, with viewing points alongside the hides for non-members. In the winter they expect to see Goosander, Wigeon, Pochard, Gadwall, Shoveler, Goldeneye, Tufted Duck, and Coot.

Continue on the path to the left towards Horseshoe Lake and you will come to the River Blackwater, a tributary of the River Lodden, leading to the the River Thames. It is 20 miles long and according to Wikipedia, the path runs the entire length! I must return to investigate...

River Blackwater

Layers of trees, including Willow, Ash, Hazel, Maple and scrub.

Left of path is Horseshoe lake, on right is River Blackwater.

Are you sharing my ecstasy?

The river is home to many fishies, Roach, Chub, Perch, Pike, Stone Loach, Bream and Barbel. In spring many of these larger fish move upstream to spawn. Does this mean anything to anyone? We saw a few anglers, or I should say, we scared a few anglers with our Two Loudsketeers...sooooo loud...

'Ello Willow!

Very pretty little flower I was surprise to find.
It is getting chilly here, as I type this I am in my casita wearing a coat!
Teresa Cowan Jones, help me out with the name of this sweet thing.

This is the strange part. At the beginning/end of the path there is an obstacle course. Why not? It is perfect for little people, and not too bad for their moms and dads. Now Mike is better than I am at absolutely EVERYTHING. There is nothing I do that he couldn't do better if he had the desire. Except, it turns out, crossing a wobbly log suspended by rope from the two ends. I followed him on the obstacle course, and the wobbly log came last. "It's HARD!" He annoyingly announced. I wanted to kick him for putting that into my head...so I stepped onto the log and repeated over and over in my head..."it's easy, it's easy, it's easy..." And it was.  No biggie, I hopped off and went to play with the boys. He held back and attacked that log over and over. If he lost his balance and stepped off, he would start over. The boys and I were making sand castles and the boys began exclaiming, "Wow! He just won't give up! Look at Daddy! He's determined, he's a fighter!" He got it, of course.

It's a Canoe Day

Saturday morning we packed up lunches (pbjs, ham sandwiches, apples, carrots, tomatoes, and yummiest of all, The Real McCoy's ridge cut salt and vinegar crisps, they look alot like potato chips, but they're not), and drove 15 to 20 minutes to the Thames in Reading, 3 minutes from the Thames Valley Park where Mike works. We rented canoes and were set up with two guides, Phil and Matt, at a riverside business called Marsport. 



Michael studies the geese while waiting for daddy to arrange the canoe rental.

 

I have been warned that swans are aggressive, this one was quite mellow,
 and although it doesn't show, it was as tall as Dominic.
Later, several more swans joined the party and one in particular came after us,
hissed and showed its tiny sharp teeth...spooky!



It was a completely gorgeous day, sun shining, and it was in the 60s. When the sun is out, I feel compelled to soak in it. The sun in England is stripped of its virility, at least lately. Yesterday I saw it, a pale yellow circle in the clouds and felt a little sorry for it.  

Moving on, Dominic was paired with Matt. When we told him he would ride in a separate canoe with a strapping superhero he got completely distressed. "But I don't know how to canoe!!!" He wailed in the bathroom, as we climbed out of and into the life preservers we had previously been harnessed into. He pictured the two of them as a team. I reassured him that strapping Matt knew perfectly well that 5 year old Dominic did not know how to handle a canoe and he calmed down.





 Michael was graced with the sweet temperment and rowing skills of Phil. He patiently rowed behind as Michael enthusiastically dug in his paddle, pulled hard and flung it out with a spray of water into Phil's face, for an entire hour.





Matt is 20 and has been racing kayaks in competition since he was 11. He was feeling pretty good about hisself and he entertained us with stories of his glory days. Dominic was not impressed. He won 28 of 30 races entered, and had lots of tricks. He knelt down in the canoe and paddled like a pasty white Algonquin wearing a dry suit, shoving the front of the boat where Dominic was seated, up out of the water and propelled them at an impressive speed. Boring. He handled the boat with calm precision, that made the oar seem like an extention of his being. Boring.

We paddled down river about 1.5 miles to the charming town of Sonning, where there is a lock. There is also a stair way where you can carry your canoe or kayak and drop it in on the other side, called a portage. The town of Sonning was described by Jerome K. Jerome in his book Three Men in a Boat as "the most fairy-like little nook on the whole river". (Thanks Wikipedia!)

This is where the guides turned our party around. The river was peaceful and glass-like. Matt and Phil told us there are days when the current is so strong there are advisories against paddling, hard to imagine, seeing it so calm. It's about 12 feet deep in the middle, 215 miles long and has many locks and portages. It's the longest river entirely in England. Matt told us about a canoeing race called Devizes to Westminster, sometimes referred to as "The Canoeist's Everest", a 125 mile canoe race which has run every Easter since 1948. He said a person could be proud if they had completed that race. His mom finished it four years ago.

Along the way we passed a few long, skinny houseboats; when I see one, I want one!!! People live in them and tie up along the river here and there.  They are super cool.



Here is one that passed by as we finished our paddle.
It was loaded with fellows looking a little sinister, and in my opinion, post-apocalytic.
Mike's vote was hippies.

Matt ended the ride a little frustrated at not wowing Dominic. He pulled out his tiny, black freestyle kayak and went to town. He flipped it, bounced around, rolled with oar, rolled with just hands, etc. It was too much. Dominic has converted, and Matt is 100% awesome!

Amazing Grace

I have a friend!
Thank you God for Etsko.
She is my next door neighbor and we have gone for coffee, lunch and shopping. She is from Japan, married to John, an Englishman, they have a 4 year old son. We laugh about the mysteries of England.  We sat outside yesterday evening, had a large glass of wine and watched the boys go wild. Thank you God for Etsko.

We are getting to know an American family who came over from Tucson with Opentext a year and a half ago. They have 2 young teens and plan to stay at least until their kids are into university. They came over for dinner on Friday, and I am excited for more time with them.

I barked at Michael for playing with the settings while I finished dinner.
He took this photo of his handiwork and I love it.

Set up by the front door, 45 minutes before the guests arrived to beg for money.
Is it wise to wear your crown and bling when begging for money?

My latest theory is that I am living in a land where almost everyone has some degree of social anxiety. Is there such thing as a country filled with shy people? How can that be a country-wide phenomena?

To remedy the isolation I feel in my daily life I have discovered the beauty of the ipod. I have never been a big user, I enjoy going out for walks without the added sound track. I like hearing the sounds that come my way. Mother nature, other peoples music, pounding bass from a bouncy car, dogs barking, people barking at their dogs or kids, kids laughing, etc.

Not any more.

I like to listen to George Lopez talking about the hilarity of growing up Latino while grocery shopping at Tesco. I laugh out loud while I seach in vain for hot dogs (I never found them). And they are called frankfurters...As I walk around Heath Lake I yuk it up while Chris Rock kills me with his stories about being black in America. And I have noticed that more people engage with me, smile at me if I have a HUGE grin on my face, about to break into laughter.

On a walk around Heath Lake

I do want to say that everyone I interact with here has been incredibly nice. English people are very nice, courteous, sweet and generous. We have had many people go out of their way for us, over and over and over. It is humbling. If only they were more chatty!

When I'm at home, I find I want to rock out. My current favorite is Wolfmother, they speak my language. I think this desire for more input is my nervous system adjusting to the QUIET...it suddenly makes sense to me that punk rock came out of this country (and to be fair, out of other countries too). Growing up tidy and sensible has got to encourage some serious expressive creations. Throw me into a mosh pit, I want to FEEL something.

A few years back I was knocked to my knees by a massive clinical depression. With the help of Mike I was able to get immediate help from my OB, who put me on Lexapro and got me in to see a counselor within a week. For the next year as I worked to recover I read only Jane Austen novels; she had been a favorite of mine since my late teens. I read everything I could find, including two unfinished books (devastatingly frustrating, by the way...I want an ending!), and several of her books I read more than once. I think I read Emma three times in a row. And every night in the early days of the depression I watched Pride and Prejudice before bed. Sometimes only 10 minutes, then the next night I started where I had left off. The world she describes was a safe place for my mind to be.

When I say that I love Jane Austen, I mean deep down. I feel her reach across the centuries and hold my hand the way my living friends and family did during that time and do every day. She captured humans doing their thing and they are funny and ridiculous. And thoughtless and selfish. And scared, secretive, generous, caring, daring and bold. She was born in Steventon, Hampshire, which is less than 30 minutes from our house.

Watching TV for me is like having a best friend who is a gossipy, popular girl in junior high. Her parents have more money than mine, and she often leaves me frustrated but unable to explain why. I resolve to move on and make better friends, but then the next day she has a new pair of designer jeans, and her hair is so cool, and other people like her and want to hang out. Besides, I have no one to eat lunch with.

I have often asked myself and Mike...what would we do if we didn't have TV??? Think of everything we could accomplish, we could be writing stories, painting great works of art, we could play games as a family, read more great works of literature, etc, etc. But oh, that America's Next Top Model, that Gossip Girl, that Food Network, that NBA Mike likes so much...

We decided to go without TV here in England. I thought it would be harder for the boys, but to my surprise, they adapted very easily and play nicely 90% of the time and attempt murder the other 10%. They invented a game called "Sink". Michael brought it up the other day and Dominic wailed, "But I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY SINK!!!!" Michael explained, "It's when I am a vampire and you are a zombie and we get sucked down the drain!" Sounds like fun! 

Now I feel the pressure to get all that other stuff done! I gotta get on that, just as soon as I finish facebooking...

Michael with an invention and journal,
notice pencil tucked behind ear buried in mass of curls.
He and Dominic are on it.

So I move into this life we are so blessed to enjoy. And I look forward to the day when I can squeeze and kiss my Anna and William, when I can laugh in person with my sister, when I can get loved on by my mum. When our beloved friends descend on us in swarms and we laugh and cook and sing spirituals. Today I thank God for this rich life filled with love and laughter, and for the lovely, living, beautiful Etsko.

And I intend to go to Hampshire, to visit Steventon, to Chawton where Jane lived her happiest years in a cottage with her mother and sister, and to Winchester, where my dear friend is buried.

"In her, rare union, were combined a fair form, and a fairer mind;
Hers fancy quick, and clear good sense,
And wit which never gave offence;
A heart as warm as ever beat, A temper even; calm & sweet.
Though quick & keen her mental eye Poor nature's foibles to espy,
And seemed for [ever?] on the watch,
Some trails of ridicule to catch
Yet not a word she ever penned
Which hurt the feelings of a friend."
                           James Austen, brother of Jane

"William, Anna, Michael and Dominic"
by Dominic

The Empress of Peking

My boys have a new game.

When daddy comes home from work they speak in squeaky, high-pitched voices and claim to be Grandma. Daddy interviews them to figure out who is the real Grandma.
What is your favorite breakfast? Pasta. (It used to be wine, which CRACKED up the real Grandma)
Do you like to go to the movies? YES!
Who do you love? Michael and Dominic and William and Anna and Mei-Ling with her button nose!
Who is your best friend? Linda!

Last night the game went on painfully long and dominated all of dinner. It was a draw, they are both Grandma.

I have been thinking a lot about Babette lately, she has been gone a week, and I am alone to contemplate the month we had with her. She flew over with us and helped in every way to get settled here in Crowthorne. (If you are considering a similar adventure with small children, be sure you have the help of a loved one!)

Babette is a giver.
The list of what she has done for us is too long to repeat, but it includes giving us her time and her money in various generous amounts, repeat, repeat, repeat.
I am more tit for tat (not in everything, but generally speaking, my mind likes to find order and keep a balance). Being around a giver is a challenge for me, because ideally, I would like to keep up with her generosity, and not be buried in kindness, hopeless to return her favors.

My four children are graced with amazing grandparents. I am grateful to the universe for arranging this gift of love and devotion. How can I ever repay you, Universe?

Silvia and Guillermo, Mexican grandparents extraordinaire. They keep minute tabs on William and Anna, teach them to dance, laugh, argue, to be courteous and to be vital family members. I love them forever and would sell my soul to keep them in our lives. I am who I am, thanks in large part, to them.

Bubbe and Zaide, old fashioned grandparents, adoring them all, especially enjoying the big ones and let's get a babysitter for the under 5 crowd, shall we? Bubbe and Zaide are teaching their grandchildren to believe in psychics, love your spouse passionately, hike, bike, lift weights, drink swampjuice, and play golf when you have mostly grey hair (or when you're old, whichever comes last).

Grandpa Longton loved his grandbabies. Every trait possessed by the grandkids my dad was able to identify as Longton, or possibly Lalonde... No in-laws got credit in my dad's book. Dominic was born with Mike Spacone's man-sized perfect nose and my dad announced, "That's a Longton throwback nose!" What???
Days before my dad's death he was on the floor (yes, with leukemia, in hospice!) showing Michael and Dominic how magnets work, rolling them around his tiny house.

Grandpa Jim is their Harley-riding grandparent. Every kid should have one of those! Jim has massive man hands, rides horses in a crazy sport called "Team Penning" which involves other cowboys yelling curse words and cows with numbers on them. He is a sweet softy who has taught his grandkids the joy, no, not joy, the IMPORTANCE of pasta, and it's equally important partner, red sauce. When we get back to Tucson, I want to party on the beach in Mexico with Jim and the 4 grandkids, of course there will be pasta and lots of wine.

Nana and Papa, sweet, loving, adorable Sacramento grandparents. I love how they swoop in and nail all the kids with their love and attention. Donna is pure tenderness and attention and Pete is a walking love bomb. We are deeply grateful for them in our lives. They are the least Mexican grandparents, but they teach the kids to love El Mezon, mariachi music, and Sonoran hot dogs, which are best consumed in a parking lot in the cool evening of a hot summer. When we are in Tucson again we will go for raspados! This will be Donna's new favorite thing to do.

And there are great grandparents. When I met Mike he had lost only one of the 8 grandparents the universe had given him, today 4 are going strong. So a big saludo to Betty and Lou Adam, Grandma Sally Spacone, and Marge.

I would like to come to terms with the unevenness in relationships. Like that verse from the Bible, "There is a time for every season under heaven." Now is my season to receive from some, and to give to others.

Tea at the Jane Austen museum in Bath.
This is where we discovered the most delicious tea, Empress of Peking.
Of course, Babette surpised me after with a bag of this tea she had secretly bought for me. 

So I take from Babette.
I take her time, her help, her laundry skills, her babysitting hours. I take her money, even though I don't want it. I take her willingness to sit on the floor and build a Lego Starwars ship, I take the stories of her life that she shares, I take her permanent good mood, I take the love she has for my family and her love for our family. And most of all, I take her son, my soul's greatest blessing.

Thank you God in heaven for the love you have packed into Babette, for the caring kindness she heaps on us. May we all be grateful and loving and kind.

And once last gripe, if I may. My husband had better not be deluded into thinking that I will be that good looking when I am in my sixties. Am I right??