Hope Springs Eternal

What I've been thinking about:

• Well timed long weekends 
• Hope over experience

I like to think that I'm pretty optimistic. I'm a glass half-full type of person with a healthy dose of realism thrown in. During lambing, Ivie tends towards the blind optimism. 

You might remember that lambing got off to an early start at The Spittal. Ivie convinced himself that this would equate to an early finish. Now, I know very little about very little when it comes to farming but even I know that's not a thing. Regardless of start date, things are usually winding up around the end of March, which is just as well because that's when my birthday is. 

This year was a big birthday and was beautifully timed around Easter weekend. Lambing had been a bit of a slog (for Ivie) and my work had been incredibly busy so four days off (my) work was very welcome indeed. 

There was a time when I wasn't sure I'd make it this far. Kidney doctors are very reluctant to make promises about how long your new kidney will last so I never thought too far into the future. A few years ago, though, they said that if you're 15 years post-transplant, that's a good indicator that the kidney will outlast the patient. I'm not sure it will be recycle-able by then but it'll have had a good innings.

Sales pitch: Home | Organ Donation Scotland

There's something about big birthdays that makes me contemplative. When I turned 40, I'd not long landed in D&G. I had a very part-time job at what is now Upland and was trying to figure out how to make a living so I could stay in this special corner of the world. Two weeks later, I received a call from Wigtown Book Festival asking if I'd like a temporary contract. Fast forward another six years and I bumped into a farmer I hadn't seen for a while at the opening party. The rest, as they say, is history. 

Now, at half a century, I have a job, a farmer and a life I love. I couldn't imagine that this is how it would turn out but I've lucked out all round. 

Anyway, back to the long weekend. We had our first night in the campervan since Nice in September. It was almost as warm in Sandhead and the dog was living her best life, tearing up and down the beach. We bumped into someone we knew (obviously) and I wondered how to explain that we're sort of related (my partner's brother's wife's brother - prizes for anyone who can figure that one out). 

It all makes me feel pretty rooted in D&G and at The Spittal. I remain optimistic that Ivie will keep me around for another birthday or two. 

On Balance

What I've been thinking about:

You've got to take the rough with the smooth. 

There are many things that happen in the country that wouldn't even be on your radar in the city, some good, some not so good. 

• We all know that we regularly have to travel a fair distance to join in with something - but when we get there, we'll likely get a warm welcome and bump into one or two people we know (or 17, if you're Ivie). 

• We sometimes don't get to see the high profile exhibitions that go to big city galleries - but we are surrounded by first class artists and makers (don't forget Spring Fling this weekend).

• We don't always get the big blockbuster films the first weekend they come out - but we do sometimes get special premieres before anyone else. 

There's no shortage of good stuff. At the weekend, we pootled along the road in the van and 45 minutes later were set up in Portpatrick ready for wine, sunburn and lie-ins (thanks to Eilidh for minding the dog). A short cliff walk later past the Grand Designs house (that looks like a nuclear bunker) and we were at a beach that would have been hoaching if it wasn't in our secret corner of the world. And it's all pretty much on our doorstep.

Perfect peace

We've been taking the dog swimming on our doorstep recently too (not in the local pool, you understand, that would just be silly). After getting a fright when she was wee, Rudi hasn't been the keenest of swimmers but has been getting a bit more confident lately and throwing herself into the Bruntis. More often than not we have the place to ourselves, which is just as well given how enthusiastically we cheer when Rudi retrieves a stick. 

The Bruntis at Kirroughtree

The whole reason I started thinking about this rough and smooth thing today was that I had to rewash my washing when it was nearly dry because there was a distinctly unfresh aroma in the air (or fresh, depending on what definition of the word you favour). I muttered away to myself that I'd never had to do that in Leith and then I remembered the basement flat I lived in, in Bristol where my clothes were fousty and ready to go in the wash again by the time they'd actually dried. 

It all balanced out though as we finished the day with home-made venison burgers, given to Ivie last week when he was working nearby. I didn't get that in Leith either. Maybe, it's not so rough around here after all. 

Camper Van Dreams

What I've been thinking about this every week:

1. Tea.
2. Books.

Over lunch today, I suggested to Ivie that it's just as well that we got together when we did. It's not just that we started seeing each other in a November - any other month and Ivie would have been far too busy working - but that I was far too boring in my 20s or 30s for Ivie to have paid me any attention. Now that I'm nearing 50, I can put it down to middle age, rather than my actual personality. 

Unlike Ivie, I've never been the life and soul of the party. Even as a student, I was quite happy to be tucked up in bed long before my flatmates crashed home in the wee small hours, singing and burning toast.

There are times I look back and think I wasted the student experience but the reality is, I've always been a fairly solitary creature who can manage a little bit of socialising before needing a nice cup of tea, a sit down and a good book. 

I saw this online the other day. 

We might not be - or have any plans ever to be - married (been there, done that, binned the t-shirt) but the principle still stands. It's funny because it's true. 
 

Anyway, all this is by way of introduction to the realisation that we came to at the weekend. The signs have been there for a while and we've ignored them as best we can. But it's time to face the truth. The fact is, we're officially MIDDLE-AGED.

As I say, there have been clues along the way:

• we co-own a dog.
• we co-own a camper van. 
• we do the crossword online every lunchtime. 

The clincher involved something neither of us knew existed. You know how motorcyclists nod at each other when they see each other on the road? Well, this is the less cool version for middle-aged camper van drivers - they wave at each other, even from the other side of the motorway! Imagine how many times Ivie had to wave along the A75, M74, M80 and A9 before we got to my auntie's at Dunkeld. And then all the way home again. On the Easter Weekend. It was A LOT. 

Dog in a camper van

Suffice to say, if there was a Ministry of Funny Waves, Ivie would have been a fully fledged Senior Minister by the time we got home on Sunday night. I'm now wondering if there's a French version for when we head there in September or whether we'll just have to perfect a nonchalant shrug.