Day 45: Tempus fugit

Valentine's day is not normally a day we celebrate, apart from the obligatory card and effort to be more than civil for a day. Yet today seemed special. I had a lie in, and woke alone, hearing the patter of feet through the hall way, some giggling, and Charlie bursting into our room, climbing into our bed, cuddling me, jumping off the bed and disappearing. She returned with a card and some chocolates, sang happy birthday, opened the card and demanded a chocolate.

We had pancakes and maple syrup for breakfast, which were light and fluffy for once, exchanged cards (more posh chocolates for me, so feel rather stingy with my climbing magazine), and had a lovely lazy morning. It's also family weekend here; a bank holiday weekend, leading into half term. Last night we joined the local lantern parade. I'm not entirely sure what it celebrates, but it usually kicks off the winter festival here: a fortnight of frozen festivities. The minion head was definitely my favourite. Charlie's wind up torch didn't quite cut it, but she was happy waving it and jumping to the drumming band.

However, as it's unseasonable warm, some of the events may be a damp squib. I imagine tomorrow's ice skating on the melted lake will not go ahead. But some will: this morning we wandered to the Valentine's craft market and an ice carving display at the civic centre. Then went for coffee and muffins at a chain cafe, because we know it's good (smug local knowledge as some tourists passed by saying, 'it's far too busy, let's go to the one on the next block'). Then Charlie face planted in a muddy puddle, needed a full clothing change, tuna sandwich and tv boost before heading back out with Andy for an hour's park session. She was so tired she fell asleep in her dinner. Bonus early night and romantic (if slightly chewy) steak dinner.

All this has made me think about what we have gained, and what I miss. I'm starting to find my way around the bargains, and local discounts. Steak is really quite reasonable, but there's hardly any lamb, and Easter is round the corner. I love the hand driven sieve, but no pestle and mortar, and I still haven't found lard or bacon. The outdoors lifestyle is so alluring, and I feel healthier, but notice the increased use of moisturiser, and curse the moment I put my clinique eye cream in the no pile. I long for my own non-squeaky bed, linen and adult sized bath. Yet all of these things are easily remedied if we were to move here, and it is so tempting. There is a sense of community and welcome which I have missed since moving to the South of England. The expectation of life being spent outside is evident in the parks and facilities. And there are gherkins.

Yet as we dream of moving here, becoming outdoor instructors, skiing, running and climbing, Charlie an olympic snowboarder, I realise how much I am missing. My best friends'  and family's crises and celebrations: my dad turning 65, Sara and Ben's wedding planning, Luke hearing for the first time, my great-uncle's funeral, serious illnesses for which I can only send words and not hugs. It makes me feel that we really should be living for now, and enjoying all the opportunites presented. To mix proverbs: tempus fugit; carpe diem.