tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72482357829989712662023-11-16T07:43:49.432+00:00Holly BluesHolly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.comBlogger288125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-73303121400654166432015-11-06T09:58:00.001+00:002015-11-06T10:01:40.434+00:00Back again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Eight months have past since I spoke here last. Words dried up as motherhood grew. I've been unable to get to that creative, clear headed space I need to form any sentences. But I feel a shifting in the haze. As I walk through crisp leaves and watch Queenie running before me, my heart longs to create collections of words, I speak internally, a procession of paragraphs, a pouring out of my heart.<br />
I always struggle to maintain this space, or to keep up with my diary throughout the summer. My heart's outside. My creativity spent on the growing of food, in the garden digging, planting, reaping, learning. We're at the beach, in the sea. Mind free from thoughts, just experiencing. The camera roll on my phone is constantly full. Summer's beautiful and fun and fast.<br />
And then each year, autumn falls. The darkness creeps in on both sides. We hibernate more and the burly sea winds rattle our windows and the rain is thick and vigorous. And with it, a need to create emerges.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A short walk with the children is vital -whatever the weather- but those endless days outside are few. I am looked at to form activities. Art projects. Baking for little fingers. And my hands are twitchy to knit, draw, quilt or paint.</span><br />
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This week Queenie began nursery. A new stage in our lives. More about that for another time, but as I look on at her growing independence, a little more headspace returns to me. </span><br />
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Now, I will not make any promises. I won't even set goals. I shall let my heart guide my head and see what words befall me. When I can, the ink will soak paper, fingers tap keys, and if it feels right, here I will share. It's exciting but I am not putting too much weight on it. Life is full and I don't want this to become a burden as it has on the past, but as the pleasure it feels now. </span><br />
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Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-91352069535716275142015-05-21T15:01:00.000+01:002015-11-06T10:02:52.954+00:00Sunday evening thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm pretending I've sat calmly watching the evening sun warm my jars of spices, until the sky turned gold and then black. I imagine I pulled on thick socks as the air cooled. I would have embraced the stillness and quiet, sipping a cup of something warm and thinking how </span>nice<span style="font-family: inherit;"> it was to listen to the sounds of the world outside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But rather I stood in the middle of the kids room, rocking and singing, over an over. He's more unsettled than I've ever seen him, 'new teeth' I wonder. I stop a few times for him to have one more feed, sat at the end of Queenie's bed. She stirs and asks me to stroke her tummy. I oblige, balancing him on my knee. I whisper a love song to the pair of them. I'm exhausted right down to my very core, and it dull aches every part of me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At one point of my evening, while giving Jarvis some teething pearls and sips of water, I looked out our bedroom window and to the river, silver in the last seconds of daylight. That moment was enough beauty to have me grinning, grateful to God for showing me that sight. It energised me to keep going through the heartache of bedtimes alone.</span><br />
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I enjoyed reading <a href="http://meandorla.co.uk/sunshine-roses/" target="_blank">sunshine & roses</a> this morning.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-45206311628306898162015-04-28T09:18:00.003+01:002015-04-28T09:18:53.230+01:00Blossom<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes you come out the shop with two kids and a heck loads of shopping to find its started seriously chucking it down, it's </span>not<span style="font-family: inherit;"> a great place to be</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">. But then half way home you see the biggest drooping blossom tree and can't help pinching a few of its bouncy laden branches and all is good again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><i>Then you just have to (cringe) take some photos with it just 'cause.</i></span><br />
<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" />Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-33090970754298102172015-04-27T11:04:00.000+01:002015-04-27T11:04:45.324+01:00Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Two photographs. One posted on instagram, the other not. Together they tell a story (she tried to pull up a young tree and when asked to stop gave me this look).</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now I'm back on Instagram the temptation to stop posting on here has returned. But I think words are important and I like sharing in this space. A series of photographs can (sometimes) have more say than a single square snap, and I want to continue pouring out my heart in this journal style. Words scrawled in my little moleskin are all very well, but sometimes it's good to share honest thoughts, to inspire, encourage or just the act of pushing myself to be a little braver and posting something true can help to grow us.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" />Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-77187388016757546732015-04-24T15:21:00.002+01:002015-04-24T15:21:09.655+01:00Hands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Liam took this top photo earlier this morning. By 9:30 they'd already worked with terracotta then with beetroot, these hands of mine. It's great way to start a day, using my fingers to create things I love. Today, pots and beetroot burgers. Therapy.</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm rather fascinated by hands. Not the perfectly manicured soft skin type, but the hands of makers. Tough calloused hands, that show the marks of their trade. Dents on fingers left from long days drawing, gardeners with dirt deep in the fingernails. The burns and food stains that a love of hands-on cooking brings, paint flecks on fingers. Clay </span>imbedded<span style="font-family: inherit;"> deep into cracks and creases. I love it all. Old hands who've lived long lives, that show their age, their beautiful, beautiful age.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The more I write these words, my inspiration intensifies. This idea that was initially just going to be a post on Instagram feels like it's bubbling into a creative endeavour. We shall have to wait and see... </span><br />
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<br />Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-53381020544139055382015-04-22T11:46:00.000+01:002015-04-22T11:48:36.038+01:0011.4.2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jarvis is one. A switch flicked and it dawned on me that he had been in our lives a year. The automatic reaction was to think, <i>oh my goodness, how has this time last so quickly?</i> But then I sit back and realise I don't actually mean that. Honestly, I think what, is that it? Was there ever life before him? He feels as though his little bald head and gappy teethed giggle has always been a part of my day. I struggle to remember a time where he didn't disturb our sleep and when his soft, round body not be the first thing I hold in the morning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We love this boy. A new love blossomed a year ago when I birthed him. I was struck by how deep I fell for him. The bond between mother and son was different to that of my love for Queenie. Not more, just different, maybe... soppier? I was able to see that this is the way Liam had been with her. He always calls and searches for me when he is in need, yet she will always ask for her daddy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He is funny and silly, proudly strutting around the house. He hides in his hands and gives the sloppiest of kisses. He loves guitars and clapping and watching Queenie dance. He's also got a bit of an obsession with her collection of baskets and her little wooden broom. He doesn't eat much at the moment, but will never refuse blueberries of frozen peas. He knows love and how to love, fiercely he dotes on his Queenie. Our Jarvis Oak.<br />In the evening we visited <a href="http://www.roskillys.co.uk/" target="_blank">Roskilly's</a> where we fed piglets, goats and chickens, oggled at calves and prancing lambs and watched the beautiful cows being milked. We gorged on delicious ice creams before ending the day eating stone baked pizzas in Coverack harbour. It was summery and totally perfect. He ended the day screaming with teething pains and cried himself to sleep on the journey home, a true sign to any good party!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We celebrated his birthday with pancakes and presents in bed. Queenie had requested she had bought him a present. Earlier in the week, I'd pulled down her money box, filled with coins she had collected and gathered and popped them in her purse. Her first shopping trip, and an important one, showing her the value and blessing that comes with giving what you have. She picked a leather coin purse in the shape of a fish, and a hand felted chicken. She wrapped them herself, the sweetest of gifts.</span><br />
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Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-14343054790519052252015-04-02T08:34:00.000+01:002015-04-02T08:34:10.964+01:00Reading<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Learning to share is an ongoing process.</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once a week we walk to the library and get a bundle of new books, storys for Queenie, a few board ones for Jarvis and I like to pick out a cookery or gardening book to flick through during a quiet tea break.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the mornings, we pull open the blind and read in bed. Jarvis pours over board books while I just snooze. Queenie joins us at some point with sleepy eyes and an armful of library books, her hair fluffy. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I made a decision that instead of turning on my phone or just slobbing out, I would use this time to get back into reading too. And oh my, it's blissful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Some nights I fall asleep reading, then next morning try and find at which part I'd slipped away. I am quickly working through People Of The Book, a beautiful story I started last summer then found it hard to keep reading once the holiday was over. It feels wonderfully indulgent to lie in a crisp bed, losing myself in a story. These small pleasures can start a day right.</span>Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-58931731458516260962015-03-23T15:10:00.001+00:002015-03-23T15:10:52.276+00:00Snippets of our new house<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One month of calling this house our home.<br />
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Surrounding ourself with family and memories. Tiny trinkets gathered over the last six years are given little spaces to dwell.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-54194581922365825102015-03-15T08:10:00.000+00:002015-03-15T08:12:55.043+00:00Friday's pot of tea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm on the top step on our stairs and have set up a little painting area in the corridor. We've had the day out and the children are playing happily in Queenie's bedroom with trains. We haven't got a stairgate built in yet so I'm guarding the stairs from jarvis and yet giving them their own space to play. If I stretch my neck up I can see the river, the boats all beautifully waiting for their next adventure. The sun is golden and brightly glowing for its last hour before slipping behind the hill. I've got a small bowl of the lentil rice I made last night that I'm slowly working through and a cup of lemon tea. Poured from the most perfect little teapot I purchased with the last of some money I was given for my birthday. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm buzzing to create after an eventful, inspiring day and so I've pulled out my sketch book and a rather beaten up set of watercolours. I have just dipped my paintbrush into the dregs of tea. Every time! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The teapot was purchased at my new favourite shop. A wee space in a cobbled courtyard called </span><a href="http://www.folklorefalmouth.co.uk/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">Folklore</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. I've been dying to go in since we've moved but it hasn't been open. After sending an email we walked over today. Hannah, who runs it is kind and interesting and interested. She is real talented and after pouring over her beautiful ceramics, falling in love with each piece. I eventually chose this teapot. We carefully carry it home. Jarvis sleeps and Queenie chatters about her plans for a birthday party. Dark chocolate cake, doggies, green flowers and oh dear: pink. And she wants her daddy to be there. She asks for one of Hannah's 'white cups' as a present, beautiful porcelain dreams. Or maybe a bike like her new friend from next door has. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We make it to our road and she is finished. It's too cold and she can't take another step. I bribe her with tea and one piece of my birthday chocolate. With screams of delight she runs home! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We pop on the kettle and unwrap the teapot. With a small square of dark chocolate we sip our tea and it's the best cup ever. I pour my </span>girl<span style="font-family: inherit;"> another tiny cup from the pot and we sit quietly, admiring it and mmmming at our sweet treat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now the sun is almost gone, Queenie's oggling the sunset beside me and I'm going to finish my painting before a simple dinner just the three of us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(<i>An afterthought/ note: I'm aware I may be a little sickeningly happy these last few posts. God is good and after an uphill struggle we arrived and stood looking out at a beautiful view with the sun on our backs. But to make you feel a little better, moments after I wrote this, we </i></span><i>had<span style="font-family: inherit;"> little fire while cooking, so the kitchen stinks of burnt plastic and the cupboards </span>are<span style="font-family: inherit;"> blackened. Jarvis is up every hour or more overnight. We are so, so tired. And I'm off instagram for lent, I hate to admit it but </span>I'm</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> so missing it! I aim to share honestly, including the good and the bad. Those bad things are minor right now but its ever changing.</i>)</span>Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-29650946336730533632015-03-12T22:36:00.000+00:002015-03-12T22:36:39.815+00:00Carrot and raisin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I baked <a href="http://fiveandspice.com/2014/06/15/carrot-and-raisin-soda-bread/#more-7148" target="_blank">this</a> beautiful soda bread last week and it was so flipping delicious. It didn't last long.<br />
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We are unpacked. There's still have a few more boxes of donations to drop off at the charity shops, a wardrobe to finish building and a fair few shelves to put up, but this house is feeling like ours.<br />
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Yesterday I turned 25. I walked the short walk into town with Jarvis in the morning, and looking out across the water, thought how happy and grateful I was to be spending it in this town. We're already home in a way we never felt in Newquay. We know God's done a lot of work in us while we have waited, but it sure is wonderful to be where our heart is. Liam and I went out for dinner just the two of us -the second time in a week!- and it was blissful to walk the cobbled streets, hand in hand, giddy like the teenagers we were when we first fell for each other.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-9280522774052534872015-03-04T13:28:00.002+00:002015-03-04T13:28:41.387+00:00The move<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>This sweet trio wave us off as we leave to collect the keys of the new home, car laden with house plants / Plants in, keys collected, and admiring the wooden floors / A quiet moment after the chaotic <span style="font-family: inherit;">move.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thoughts on a move from a journal page, </span>reread<span style="font-family: inherit;"> a week later:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I lie in bed tucked up beside me is a sleeping boy, lips pouted, eyes flickering with dreams. As I watch him, I am happy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We are here. After four days of tiresome, unrelenting hard work, we are in our new home in Falmouth. I can hear Queenie's feet pattering up and down the stairs outside as she plays with her grandma. Liam left for work not long after the sun came up, I'd been downstairs to wave him off on his first day, then crept back up with toasted hot crust bun and orange juice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He stirs a little, rolling over in the big bed. I'm struck by his peacefulness, the calm After the storm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The move was difficult. I had a week of chronic toothache resulting in having my wisdom tooth pulled out on Monday. The children still weren't completely well and the confusion of moving house wobbled them both back into sickness. Queenie resented having to return to the old house to clean up, so thrilled that we have moved to beautiful Fal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Together we keep running to the window to see the river and boats out the window, as if checking we didn't imagine the glorious view.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While chattering away to my mum she says "when it's dark and the moons out, and we look out the window. The boats have lights on them." I think how her speech has improved and how she is going to grow in this new home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jarvis is awake now, he clumsily crawls over to me for a kiss and I have to be quick before he bites my lip. The day had begun and there is so much to do. </span>Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-73742457417694002132015-02-14T10:43:00.000+00:002015-02-14T10:43:18.734+00:00Love of course <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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HAPPY VALENTINES DAY FRIENDS!</div>
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Here are a few cards I made for a friends pop up art fair a few weeks ago. We had a stall and made loads of crappy (and some good) cards to earn little pennies, and quench our thirst for ginger beer on tap! These folded valentines were inspired by that which John Keats gave Fanny Brawne in Bright Star (and possibly in real life, I just never delved deeper). I like them.<br />
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But the card is was fondest of I made last minute and was sold first so I didn't take a photograph. A curvy lady with the words LOVE YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE, I SURE DO.<br />
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Ladies, gentlemen, lets give a little more love this valentine, to lovers, family, friends, and to yourself! Put on your favourite dress, try a fancy hair do, make the most wonderful indulgent chocolate pudding, and do it to make yourself feel a little brighter*. Because you're bloody brilliant.<br />
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*maybe doing it because you want to spoil the one(s) you love is pretty swell too.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-8881854691260521652015-02-11T20:27:00.002+00:002015-02-11T20:27:56.785+00:00A change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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11 . 2 . 15<br />
<br />
This morning.<br />
We are incredibly languid for the state we are in. Hardly packed and moving in just over a week. The cold makes us lie in late, pouring over books and cuddling. We procrastinate, holding no confidence in ourselves, how are we ever going to do it, get everything ready in time to move?<br />
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I eventually crawl out of bed and pull on as many clothes as I can bear. While Liam reads the babies stories, I decide to tackle the unusual paraphernalia found on our bedroom windowsill. Football trophies, wooden pots of jewellery I detest but can't bear to part with JUST incase Queenie wants them to adorn future costumes. Then perched among the dusty books, I find this old friend. A bird I most likely illegally acquired while in college, he's travelled with us from house to house. It breaks my heart to say he won't join us on our move onto the next one. His eyes have shrivelled, his beaks yellowed, foot broken, the tail is hanging on by a thread, and his feathers are laying about the windowsill. He is irrefutably disgusting, and Liam has decided its time for goodbye. Bitterly, I agree.<br />
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When we do finally get round to packing, the children unpack as we turn our backs. We stop far too often for coffee and food breaks. We run out of boxes and realise the packing tape has also gone. We really are the worst at moving house. As we 'work', my thoughts go back to this funny old bird, I persuade myself to delve him out of the rubbish, I could do this or that to restore him, or work this and he would remain the current state, no longer slipping into disrepair (ok, lets face it, he's reached that, but my mind won't stop battling).<br />
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A little later into the afternoon, as if wound up by little keys slotting into gaps in our spines, we have a flurry of energy, of activity, finally it feels like we are making progress. We wrap and pack, tidy and let go, boxes pile up in the hallway. The rooms feel bare. Queenie's a caged animal, turned stir crazy among cardboard, her singing echoes in the empty spaces we have previously called home. Jarvis sleeps unbelievably long into the early evening and I begin to cook soup, distracted with more purging I could do to unused, dusty cooking items.<br />
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Chanted loudly in our every being is a new phrase, 'We can do it.'<br />
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<br />Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-80366257075519222542015-02-06T21:19:00.000+00:002015-02-06T21:22:37.883+00:00January<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Snippets of the year so far: A white shelf, reflecting a brief snowfall this week / He cheers me up while I fold endless washing / Capturing this home before we begin packing / Little boxes packed with her favourite things</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's early January</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We write promises, plans and dreams, talk about our hopes for the following year. Little things, big things, things that are scary and a few treats for good measure.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Within a few weeks our biggest came to fruition. God planted the beautiful town of Falmouth as a seed in our hearts years ago, before our marriage had begun. He's been watering it, the love for that place growing, and with it so had we. The wait has been tough, our hearts have ached and we have wept but we see now, as always Gods timing was perfect. And finally, our time is now. With a big sigh of relief we smile, and feel as if we are going home. In just over two weeks we will be loading up cars and a van with boxes, bags, (and at this rate) pillow cases stuffed with our possessions to embark on the next adventure our little family will share.<br />Last month flew by and then the first six days of this have also. Its been exhausting and tough and all we've wanted to do is take a long trip to a warmer place! But to have this on our horizon is a joy, a weight is lifted from our shoulders, a hope at the end of the exhuastion of day to day jobs and the cold weather and everything else that leaves us feeling sour and blue at this time of year. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://themabooks.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/beautiful-things-happen-at-home.html" target="_blank">This</a> post on the ever inspiring blog, the Ma Books hit me and encouraged me at a day I couldn't have needed it more.</span>Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-417402240314785262014-12-28T23:00:00.001+00:002014-12-28T23:00:20.551+00:00More sunlight <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Finally, we have a computer again (a christmas present to ourselves). I have big dreams for this space next year, but for now some lazy photographs from Christmas. Family portraits. Forever lounging around, basking in the glow of sunny spots.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-83305681123817013242014-11-23T22:23:00.000+00:002014-11-23T22:23:04.595+00:00Evening light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>My true loves playing, lit in the evening sun.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
What a joy to have Liam home early from work on Tuesday.<br />
We sit and play, talking about our day, Queenie providing us with plates of pancakes, soup and plenty of tea. She sure loves this kitchen and uses it much more than any other toy. We are taking note of what she actually spends time playing with and being mindful of that when buying her and Jarvis their christmas presents this year.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-31590537596872780472014-11-15T13:57:00.000+00:002014-11-15T13:57:04.446+00:00I forgot where we were<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: start;">A print by Eilidh Gordon, bought at Indias degree show in August. / </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: start;">An unfinished drawing of the all-encasing night sky.</span></span></i></div>
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<b>An Ode to Ben Howard's second album</b>.<br />
<br />
We drive through the dark, all is still and the music plays, those deep and mystical tones of 'I Forgot Where We Were'.<br />
<br />
We stop so I can feed the boy who stirs with a mix of hunger and teething pains. The music plays on and outside is crisp and as black as pitch. And in the blackness, scattered so densely, are the stars. Never have there felt so many. Liam hears queenie wake and wraps her up tight in a duvet before pulling her out to share this moment with him. Together they are lit by a passing car, looking up at this low incasing sky.<br />
"Let me show you something. Look up, see the sky. Look at all those beautiful stars."<br />
"We go to sleep on those stars."<br />
The music still plays on and she holds him tighter.<br />
"We go home now."<br />
"Yeah" he replies and slips her back into her seat.<br />
<br />
Back on the road we restart the track, soothing Jarvis' tears into slumber.<br />
This beautiful drive where few words are spoken but after a long and draining week we are drawn back together in the silence. By music, nature and the shared love of two babies, our babies, so perfect and content in their unconscious state.<br />
<br />
<i>"Found sorrow </i><br />
<i>in my mind most times </i><br />
<i>gave it all back to the life i led</i><br />
<i>but since times changed</i><br />
<i>it all rolls away</i><br />
<i>I've got a woman at home</i><br />
<i>she treats me well"</i><br />
<br />
Emotions are heavy, we are greiving and have just left a week of loving family. This music enchants, soothes and relinquishes us from discussion, so we can rest our weary brains.<br />
<br />
I slip into slumber, praying to be a woman that treats him well.<br />
<br />
<br />
A journey between the stars, October 2014.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-43960388424051201692014-11-06T21:05:00.001+00:002014-11-06T21:05:52.944+00:00Jars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday we were inspired to make something special. I pulled out age old collections of stamps, sequins and unearthed the deepest layers of my flower press. Together we found some real treasures and made these jars. 2-dimensional wonders can be trapped between two layers of PVA. The first two jars are mine but the others are Queenie's, and quite frankly hers are fantastic, a class above mine.</div>
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She's a true wonder that girl of ours.</div>
Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-12296520817737387652014-10-17T17:41:00.001+01:002014-11-07T21:52:26.132+00:00Josh and India<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Setting up the wedding reception and picking the flowers</i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The few pictures I remembered to take during my sisters wedding day.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh blimey. We made it through the long, busy-yet-beautiful summer and hit hard into autumn. This cooler season has come at a perfect time. Our bodies and brains are exhausted and we are crashing into hibernation mode, surrendering to our aching bones. I've spent a few days rejigging bedrooms to be more comfortable and spacious, as these are the spaces we tend to all be in on a chilled afternoon at home. All snuggled into our bed with piles of books, or building blanket forts with Queenie in her room, before collapsing underneath them with stickers, pens and paper.<br />Thick socks and multiple layers are a must as well as the hearty meals cooking on the stove. Root vegetables and pulses are soaked in rich spices and piled high on brown rice. Food is voluptuous and helpings are generous. Every last morsel soaked up with bread, we are like wild things, famished. But why so weary, why so utterly spent?<br /><br />I'm not completely sure. I know the change of any season takes it's toll, and perhaps that from summer to autumn the worst of all. Our summer months were hectic and flew by like a blink, then September was fit to burst. We celebrated three of the best couples coming together in love, in Saturday after Saturday after Saturday. The weddings were all so unique and special. The second was my sister India marrying one of our closest friends, Josh. Liam was best man and Queenie and I bridesmaids. It was an incredible wedding that we'd all worked so hard for and it was absolutely perfect. We ate fantastic food and we danced to a band of old boys playing jazz until the bride and groom waved goodbye and drove away to the hazy world of marital bliss. Liam and I looked upon the love birds and wept with genuine love, happiness and excitement.<br /><br />And the next day we crashed and wept again with exhaustion. </span></div>
Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-36620885933736655502014-08-14T12:45:00.000+01:002014-11-07T21:56:19.133+00:00that darn 52 project<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I got to a point where I had to set a reminder on my phone every Sunday, to do the 52 project blog post. Then I set it on snooze, over and over. It was a weight and I felt as though all I did on the blog was try and catch up.<br />
I enjoyed the outcome of the first year, having a beautiful book with 52 photos of Queenie printed at <a href="http://www.artifactuprising.com/" target="_blank">Artifact Uprising</a>. But there was no reason that we can't continue that without boring you all to death with pictures of my babies.<br />
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And so with that, I decided to call it a day, and boy, it feels good! So I am back, sans 52!Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-73879102122516627572014-08-14T09:10:00.001+01:002014-11-07T22:23:10.865+00:00Swanage <span style="font-family: inherit;">Towards the end of July, we spent a week with Liam's family camping on the Jurassic coast. One day we walked through an </span>abandoned<span style="font-family: inherit;"> village, a sweet little woodland, a tank training area, and got to two incredibly beautiful, quiet beaches.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The soft greys, blues and whites of this place calmed me. Liam and Jarvis fell asleep so Queenie and I explored, gathered and built.</span><br />
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At some point of every day since I've wanted to go back here.<br />
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Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-50875352655191137542014-07-06T16:57:00.002+01:002014-07-06T16:57:30.680+01:00Scarlett<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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5th June 2014<br />
Scarlett's 16th birthday.<br />
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I love watching her grow. Anticipating the future, the adventures we will be able to share now she's finished school forever.Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-30992478635016116852014-07-01T15:35:00.002+01:002014-07-01T15:35:39.825+01:0024/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.4;">"A portrait of our children, once a week, every week in 2014."</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Queenie- On a boiling hot day she insisted she'd need mittens.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><span style="line-height: 1.4;">Jarvis- He had a </span><span style="line-height: 22px;">super brilliant time meeting Josie. I LOVE this photograph of them!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"><br />Joining in with Jodi's <a href="http://www.practisingsimplicity.com/search/label/the%2052%20project" style="color: #676767; line-height: 1.4; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">52 project</a>.</span>Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-54967803071026449442014-07-01T12:17:00.003+01:002014-07-01T13:06:50.954+01:0023/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.4;">"A portrait of our children, once a week, every week in 2014."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Queenie- A roadside break with her baby Flora.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.4;">Jarvis- He is so snuggly</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.4;">.</span><br />
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Joining in with Jodi's <a href="http://www.practisingsimplicity.com/search/label/the%2052%20project" style="color: #676767; line-height: 1.4; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">52 project</a>.</span>Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7248235782998971266.post-37784428123626461022014-06-28T08:35:00.000+01:002014-06-28T08:35:40.822+01:00Memories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">My family home is for sale. I lived here from the age of ten to nineteen. When we moved in it was a boring guesthouse. Over the years it's been worked on and turned into a beautiful place with a big heart. My mum is a fantastic home maker. I've been capturing some farewell snaps each time I'm there. I want to be able to show them to Jarvis and Queenie, to tell her about when she used to insist on people walking up and down the stairs with her, all three floors of them. About when we were younger and used to sit on the high fence at the back and call out to people walking by. About the way I decorated my room as a teenager, walls caked in paintings, torn-out editorials and Polaroids, a self indulgent shrine to my emotions and crushes. About that first summer we lived there and we'd sunbath on the little roof at the back of the house, giving each other henna tattoos and braiding our hair with beads.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">This house has watched each of us grow from girls to women. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">The walls creak with secrets overheard. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">It holds many stories.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> First loves, broken hearts, fits of giggles, tears and rage. 14 Christmas' have passed, 98 birthdays, hundreds of bedroom swaps and sister sleepovers. Too many all-nighters before art deadlines (this house has seen some incredible patience and generosity from my parents!). One wedding, maybe two*. So.much.toast.. For breakfast, lunch and dinner, piles of it made for friends after school, hoards churned out after a night out, dripping with butter. The kitchen is the focal point of the home, a beautiful space with an AGA at the centre. Used for baking, roasting, toasting, drying, sitting, lingering. I grew accustomed to it's quirky ways and found adjusting to a conventional oven such a challenge!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">One day I hope we can own an AGA for our family home. That I can create a space that our children love as much as I do this one. That holds good memories and grows with us, a home with a soul.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">*India's getting married in September!!!</span>Holly Branniganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515603155551237121noreply@blogger.com0