I have always loved sunrises and sunsets, and living in France that love grew when the sun rose over the valleys, unbelievably different every day.
When we made our decision to leave it was one of the things I knew I would miss, living in the hope that I would find inspirational sunrises from our new home.
Getting up early for my new job has it’s bonuses, as I pushed up our blind this morning I was met with this…
Sunrise over the blue stack Mountains IrelandThe View From My Bedroom Window
It was a reminder that you have to have the courage to make change and trust there will be new beautiful sunrises along the way.
Rosie
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Its funny the things that make a home. Since moving to our house we have been making do with the old ripped sofa and chairs that were here. To say that they were uncomfortable would be an understatement, add to that they were clearly full of flea eggs! So when we arrived, clicked the heating on and sat down there we were: dinner! Luckily all of our animals had been treated with the combo that kills the eggs and the cats did their job, sleeping on the sofa and chairs and slowly killing the fleas. It was a joy! As RD would say the chairs and sofa were on ‘death row.’
Today we have been mostly sitting in our bare living room waiting for our new sofas. We dispatched the chairs to the garage (good luck in the cold fleas) yesterday, but were up early taking the sofa out. Understandably, given the past few months all of the furries, started to get stressed, looking at us as if to say ‘Oh no not again! We’re not moving again are we?’ In fact when we took the sofa to the garage (pending skip hire) Daisy set up a protest strike and proceeded to sit on it for hours whilst staring in the window, clearly making a statement that where the sofa was going she was going too.
Daisy (also known as Pussy Upsy Daisy) in protest mode.
For those of you who follow this blog you will see that we have changed the house quite a bit. But we still don’t own this house so I have not shared it all with you, and cannot do so until the sale is complete (something I am chasing weekly). But I am proud of what we have achieved in the living room, everything will be white in this house, a first for me, but necessary because it is so small. We have been busy.
Before…..with flea ridden sofas
Now … I love our mirror, a small thing but helps us feel at home.
A new table is now on the horizon..
The mirror above the fireplace is new, but the wooden mirrors were left here and I gave them a new lease of life whitewashing them and adding some pretty cheap hearts that we found. I miss my stars, that are currently still trapped in France (more of that to come.) I do believe that a star is for life and not just for Christmas. Its funny the small things you miss.
One of our handmade stars…
Because we don’t own the house we have decided to hold fire on the floorcovering until we do. We don’t know where life is taking us yet, or what we will do to the house when we do own it, so for now our new rug will suffice.
The curtains are up framing the view
The sofa’s duly arrived this afternoon, and all our cushions were placed, and then redesigned by Wiglet!
Wiglet, our new interior designer, she does love a cushion!
As RD and I sat down we both looked at each other and said ‘Now it’s home.’ Sitting on our own sofa, with our own cushion’s we both realised that this was the first time it felt like home for us in over five months. Needless to say I think that the Welshies and girlies are happy too!
Harley, finally back on the sofa with mummy
It’s good to be home. More to come I haven’t forgotten The Poisoned Glen!
Rosie
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I thought that I would share with you the views from our new home. Some time back one of my readers said to me ‘You sure can pick a view!’ and that thought came to mind when I was looking out of our bedroom window the other day.
The immediate view from our bedroom window when lying in bed.
The vista here changes constantly due to the atmosphere created by the mountains, and at times we have sheep, like little white clouds dotted about on the hillside, or huge cows grazing contentedly. When the sun shines it dips low into the hills and when it rains you can see the rain lifting from the Bluestack Mountains as if magicked up by fairies’ and sent our way.
Rain on the Mountaintop
Despite visiting Ireland many times with my late dad more than ever before I have come to realise that Ireland is truly a place where magic is in the air.
I was sad to leave the beautiful vallees of Montaigu, I counted my blessings for the years I had spent there when I said au revoir, but I trusted in ‘life’ and she bought me to new views, and new horizons. As someone once said to me ‘it’s just a view.
Sunrise Over Ambrieres Les Vallees Our View From Our Old House.
Over the past few weeks we have been busy, but I cannot share any changes we have made to the house until it becomes fully ours. At the moment we are renting it at a reduced rate as the house sale has still not completed. There will be more of that to come when it is all done.
in the meantime we have taken the time to start to find our way around our surroundings and walked the dogs up the lanes to the old Presbyterian church.
We have started to make the house into a home, the ever present sparkly lights are essential as always. After two weeks of living here and getting dressed and undressed in the dark we have finally got our blinds up.
RD is loving it here, not least the language, or not least the lack of a language barrier. Every time he goes into the garden he ends up talking to someone who is walking by. Last Friday night he went out in the garden, with the Welshie posse and didn’t come back. When I went out to look for him there he was, in his pyjamas, dogs in tow, chatting to Gerald, who likes to take his dog for a walk in the late evening. It just made me smile, when I thought back to when we were getting on the boat to come here, and he looked at me and said ‘I will love it won’t I? I am trusting you.’ Given that he had never been to Ireland, it was a lot of trust he placed in me, but I know him well, knew he would love it, and he does!
So does she…..
Wiglet the Welshie
Rosie
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A few years ago I wrote a series of blogs about counting my blessings over the Christmas period. It was as always a hard winter in France and Christmas was a very pared down affair, although that was, and will continue to be, a good thing in this house. The simplicity of our Christmas enabled me to see the small simple blessings like a cup of tea in the morning.
Fast forward to current times and Monday night just gone, as I lay in my new bed absolutely exhausted after sleeping on the floor for 2 nights. As I lay there I realised how blessed I was to have a bed, and my thoughts led me to think of how if I had to sleep on the floor for an indefinite amount of nights my health would definitely be affected. And I felt blessed, and I said thank you to ‘life’ for giving me the abilities and the tenacity to be in this position.
I found my eyes filling with tears when I thought of all the people sleeping on the floor, from older people to street children, and all those in-between, and I felt humbled.
Moisy
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It’s been a week since we started the move from our rental property to our new house, and what a week! Being the second time we have moved country we are used to the hard work and logistics that have to be put into place. The when you move country is you often have to move twice, once into a rental and then again into the home you buy.
RD and I were talking the other day about how we have basically been packing and unpacking in some form for seven months this time: Montaigu France – Gite in France- Rental Cottage in Ireland- New home.
But I’m not complaining because we have learned a lot from this part of the adventure, not least for me, because I have learned that whilst I think we need to do X life will show me we need to do Y, and this time I listen.
The start of decorating the bedroom
I was convinced we needed to decorate our bedroom before our bed came yesterday (that’s another story!) and bless RD he duly starting stripping the wall, but we had deliveries every day, on top of actually loading our van with stuff from the rental and driving it across the mountains to our new home, often through snowy wonderlands.
The oven in our new home looked as if it had something growing in it! Needless to say once the huge delivery of white goods arrived on Saturday that was a priority job for RD, along with fitting the washing machine and so much more: moving the fridge 4 times (women of the world will understand), putting the Hoover together, and the bed when it finally arrived, and the coffee table….
As well as decanting the boxes and boxes of stuff we have acquired and brought with us I have been busy ordering essentials, like crockery! Nearly all of our worldly goods are in France with no sign of when we can have them sent over, or collect them. But as most of them are going in the garage they’re not a priority for now, but it does mean we have to buy many essentials all over again.
I have also been busy arranging rubbish collection (not automatic in Ireland, it’s collected by private companies) and arranging internet, and deliveries. To say we’re tired is an understatement.
The front gates and gate into the paddock had to be covered in wire to stop the Welshies getting out, that was our first job, carried out by RD on the first day we started the move in the snow and sleet. When we finally spent our first night here on Saturday, sleeping in the floor, we had been driving a total of 15 hours in round trips back to the rental. Add the final trip on Sunday when we went back to pick up our final bits and clean the cottage RD had wracked up 18 hours of driving and we still had another full van to unload. Followed by another night of sleeping on the floor!
I have limited internet, it’s hit and miss with the 4G on my phone, so pictures will be few for now, but I will do my best to keep you all in the mix. RD and I really feel that this little house is home, I think we all feel that.
Moisy
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We’re finally on the move. Our contract has been signed, the ten per cent deposit has been paid and we’re just waiting for all the dots on the I’s and crosses on the T’ until completion.In the meantime our vendor has allowed us to move into the house pending everything going through.
It’s exciting times, not least these two will finally have a garden, albeit small to start with, to run around in with no fear of other dogs.
Harley and Wiglet, our babies.
Eventually RD will open up the half acre paddock you can see on the side of the property. But that’s a little bit off for now. So far it’s been busy just getting what we need together to move in.
When we moved from France we came over with virtually nothing, all of our treasured belongings left in France in anticipation of moving them over. But sadly in this world we live in that has proved exceptionally difficult, what with tests, lockdowns, and isolation! Meaning we will move in without our stars, cherubs, and hearts, along with step ladders, and basic utensils for the kitchen which will need to be bought.
We have been busy buying: lamps, sparkly lights, rugs and sofas. Add to that all the basics you need like a fridge freezer, microwave, washing machine and it all begins to become quite scary, but also very exciting.
Our New Bedroom mmmm lots of work to do.
We have a beautiful super king size bed in France, but on Saturday we took on board ‘living in the here and now’, in that our bed is not here, and we need a bed now! We also finally accepted that our super king bed would never fit into our small bedroom, not unless we rip out the wardrobes which offer a huge amount of storage; it’s not feasible. So we bought a new king size bed, and the wardrobes are staying. Trust me when I say that the wardrobes are going to have the mother of all facelifts and the crystal doorknobs have already been ordered!
We will make room for the super king bed one day. I live in hope.
We had the conversation on Saturday about thinking realistically as to when we can retrieve our belongings, and how buying new things makes us realise we had still packed too much stuff to bring over to our new life. I think we may be letting even more things go.
The van is packed for its first three hour round trip to our house, including coal and logs so that we can light the fire when we get there. The oil has been ordered and should be delivered tomorrow, all good because the house has been unheated for at least two years, and it’s blowing a hooley with snow at the moment, so to say it’s cold is an understatement. Luckily we are not moving in until next Sunday hopefully it will be warm by then.
I wrote in 2015 that we had one more house left in us, now it looks like we have one more. #Excited.
Rosie
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In Donegal where we are putting down roots the Gaelic language is still the main language, although all those we have met have kindly spoken English to us. Most signs in our area are in Gaelic, and I plan to learn some as the years go on.
I believe it’s important to embrace the culture of where you live, even more so when it’s your heritage. It should help that I learned quite a bit of French because I notice how a lot of Gaelic words are very close to some French words. Although the French are mainly considered Gauls, many people in Brittany consider themselves Celts, and so the link continues.
I am lost on the pronunciation however, although I am getting my head around some of it involving dropping the syllables, for example Donegal … Dún na nGall, when you say it quickly it sounds the same but has a gutteral intonation.
My actual name is Moira, I use Rosie as a pseudonym because of my book, but at times it pisses me off that I lose my own identity due to that. Given that Moira is an Irish Gaelic name, derived from Celtic, I think it’s important now I live in Ireland to own it and embrace the Gaelic language.
Moira comes from the name Máire which means bitter, beloved, drop of the sea. How apt then that I have chosen to live in a place surrounded by the sea. It’s good to see that my name is right up there with Boudicca, it explains my strength, being able to fight my own corner and my hate of injustice since as long as I can remember.
I have always felt closer to my Irish roots than my English. I am proud of England for many things, mainly their stoic approach to the second world war; for whilst I am not someone who condones war I understand that from all wars that war was probably the one most necessary. Britain was up against it where that war was concerned, and they stood their ground, eventually convincing others of its need; but I think it’s important to also remember that WWI was a pre-cursor to it’s cause.
I don’t buy into the crap of ‘let’s make Britain great again’, or watching the 1966 World Cup Final over and over again. It was 55 years ago, lets move on FFS!
I have never felt a sense of English pride, not when I look back through our history and listened to my dad’s experience where Ireland was concerned. Sadly, including my time in France, there have been many times when I have been ashamed of my English heritage, including that sense of entitlement and grabbiness that I have found on my travels, perhaps that comes from all those times in our history that we have just ‘taken’ other’s countries! Then there is football hooliganism: Jack Charlton was so ashamed he gave up the Irish Football Managers job because of it. Or when I holidayed in Turkey and the other English guests ran down to put their Union Jack towels on their sun-beds, there was no other person from any other country (mostly from Germany) who did. Where did that myth about the germans putting their towels on the sunbeds come from? I know some people will read this and say ‘well other nations do that too!’ But I am half English, I’m not speaking for ‘other nations’.
Let us not forget all the times my relatives would call my dad the ‘thick Paddy’, when he was the cleverest of them all. So clever he never felt the need to put them straight, he knew he had the last laugh when he left them to drown in their own ignorance and ego.
Perhaps my Irish ancestry is coming through. I know that’s why I have been thinking about my dad more than ever and finally understanding him, more than ever. We learn and evolve, if we want to.
Where Gaelic is concerned some of the words are familiar to me and I understand them, it may be that my Irish DNA is coming through and my ancestors memories are finally starting to show themselves.
I do feel as if I am finally home.
Deireadh seachtaine maith a bheith agat
Moira
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Our first St Patrick’s Day and Ireland is in lockdown! No pubs open, no parades, only virtual ones that RD is going to watch for the marching bands. That’s something I have never shared that RD was in a marching band until he was 27, he even travelled to the USA to compete, so that part of Ireland is really going to resonate with him. Me, it’s not my thing, but I will love the atmosphere when the parades take place next year (we’re going down the positive route now!)
But sadly this St Patricks Day is a subdued affair (or perhaps a celebration that is being held behind closed doors away from prying eyes for some.) It is a bank holiday here in Ireland, but as we heard the assistant in our local Cope yesterday they will be open because ‘sure what else is there for people to do?’ A classic Irish way to look at things! Who ever thought that supermarket shopping could be so exciting!
We’re just having a quiet day, we won’t be eating boiled ham and cabbage, the traditional Irish meal for Paddy’s day,, although I was brought up with it and have converted RD. But we will toast St Paddy, and wait until next year to fully celebrate then.
St Patrick’s Day is celebrated all over the world, including Japan, Turkey, Argentina, and many more, Montserrat even has a bank holiday to celebrate (who knew!) I think it’s the infectious enthusiasm of the Irish just spreads across the world. Or as I put it when RD asked me if there were Irish in Japan: ‘Of course there are, the Irish get everywhere!’ I realised then that I have followed that tradition, being Irish by descent, and have so far been in England, France and now back to the homeland. I understand that pull to return.
St Patrick was it appears a saint that liked to have a drink or two, he sounds like my kind of man. Folkelore says that when he went into the pub and ordered a drink the landlord served his drink in short measure and St Patrick was having none of it. He was the man who introduced Christianity to Ireland, but I think the Irish respect him because he came back to Ireland after being a child slave here, to bring ‘The Faith’ to the Irish. Although I’m not into religion I respect the man for that.
Happy St Patrick’s Day folks
Rosie
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There are thirty mountain ranges in Ireland, with glen’s running down through them. The word glen comes from the Irish and Scottish word ‘gleann’ and means a narrow valley, more often than not with water cascading down through it cutting through the rock as it goes. We are currently living near the Derryveagh Mountain range in Donegal. My understanding is that it is the Bluestack mountains that we will be able to see from the house we are hoping to buy, which is good news as far as I am concerned.
I have written before of my love of the glens. When I was a very young child we would visit Ireland on holiday, and whilst my dad helped his brother on his farm I would play with my cousins in the glen that run past the side of their farmland. There was a small stone bridge that straddled the freezing cold sparkling water as it ran down from the mountains to meet the sea, and we would all congregate under the bridge on warm sunny days catching tiddlers and then letting them go. It is one of my favourite memories of my holidays in Ireland.
The glen of Aherlow which run past my uncles farm
Ever since then I have always been fascinated with the beauty of the glens, as they catch the light and take it with them to the sea.
The last time I was in Ireland before moving here, was thirty-six years ago when my dad brought the whole family, including boyfriends of the time, to visit his family. I can remember walking up what I think were the Galtee Mountains and along the edge of the Glen of Aherlow; the further you walked up the mountain the bigger the glen was in places, sometimes a raging torrent angrily hurtling down the hills, as if it really didn’t want to leave it’s surroundings but compelled by some sort of magic to keep going anyway. The sun was shining and the glen was at it’s most magnificent, a watery jewel that only nature could create.
The glen of Aherlow in the mountains
My partner at the time had a terrible wound on his hand, he had caught it with a grinder and took layers of skin off and it just wouldn’t heal. My dad told him to place his hand in the freezing pure waters of the glen and hold it there. His hand was healed before the holiday was over.
My Beautiful Boy Harley
For those new to my blog, of which there seem to be quite a few so welcome, our Welshie Harley has always loved water, and especially the light that sparkles on it. There was never a moment of peace when our pool was in place for the summer, no laying in the water and relaxing because Harley would just be stood up beside the pool barking incessantly until you splashed him, and he would then chase the sparkling droplets all around the garden. It was the same with the hose, he just loved it.
Harley at the Pool Harley chasing sparkling water courtesy of daddy
It was one of the things that broke our heart when we took it down for the last time. But we comforted ourselves that he would love his life here.
Harley had a terrible health scare back in 2017 when he nearly died. Since then we have always been afraid that it would have affected him in other ways, add to that he is not getting any younger and it is always a worry.
Towards the end of last year we had another health scare with him, which resulted in me being in tears for a whole weekend until we decided to ‘wait and see’. But one of the things that I said at the time, through the tears was that I just wanted to get Harley to Ireland, and for him to see the beaches, and more importantly the glens, with their sparkling magical light that I knew my boy would love.
I was not wrong.
Although we have not been able to go into the mountains for walks due to the dreaded lockdown we have been able to experience some of the glens as they finally meet the sea; and Harley, like his mummy, has absolutely loved them.
We have visited a town near to us where the glen finally runs free into the sea, gurgling hysterically as it’s journey finally comes to fruition. Harley could not resist getting closer to take a look.
A few weeks ago we went to the long beach near to us, and there was a small glen trickling down to freedom, because we have not been able to get into the mountains we showed it to Harley, it was one of those moments that makes you smile.
I cannot wait until we can go into the mountains and my boy can finally stand in their healing waters. More to come on this subject.
Rosie
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