Scargill in pictures and a poem

Abigail loved her bed with the roof and the special light. She also quickly developed an obsession with eating marmalade straight from the little plastic pots with her fingers.

She actually ate on this holiday! But shhh, don't tell her we noticed...Seriously, though, she really seemed to blossom here in every aspect of behaviour and her speech as well.  I enjoyed her company so much.

"Oh, hello, sheep."  (Also, TheRev had just said something like, "I'll carry the umbrella.  Look! I can wear it like a sword...")

 Strait is the gate...especially if you are carrying a baby!

 In Kettlewell church, we said morning prayer; but we warbled the Benedictus rather loudly, apparently, as two walkers who came in later complimented us on our singing...That's me reading about David and Absalom, although at this point Jeremy seems to be doing more of the storytelling.

 This may be further evidence of my insanity, but looking at this view makes me want to lie down and roll down that hill.

 A new best friend for Jeremy and Abi

And another one...Jeremy was good at making friends.  Abi mainly befriended a large pink string puppet, but that's another story.

 Babies on the back

Scargill, 4am

I told myself I'd use this time to pray,

But my son's sleepy snuffling at the breast

Has lulled me to a semi-slumbering rest

And skims the rising bubbles of my prayers away.

Subjects occur to me, but never stay:

In the peripheries of my mind swim pleas and fears

That vanish, like a star which disappears

When looked at straight. The dawning of the day

Is nearly here. Birdsong. I sigh and yawn.

My reverent efforts having failed, my thoughts

Switch to toast and coffee: prayer leaves with no trace.

Yet somehow, in the meshes of the dawn

Around this prayed-in place, my prayers are caught

And every wordless word is heard with grace.