My blog has been neglected but for a good reason, packing books, albums, loom with wools, my old windsor chair that accompanies me through life, my favourite desk, old bear this morning stuffed into the box with pictures. Photographs have been sorted and reduced, seem to have done a lot over the years, correspondence to be sorted, never did get round to filing. My radio and computer the last to be packed, favorite creuset pan plus others...
Letters have dropped out of cookery books from language students I used to host, and 'granny' type letters from my long dead ex-mother-in-law, Lotta, in Switzerland to my daughter, her elegant crest of L bringing a sharp pang of memory of the marvellous scenery and trips we took, Sunday lunches out in the garden with friends.
A friend to visit yesterday, and to sit in their pretty garden on the bench I bought them years ago because their lightweight seats always used to tumble people out. I shall be back of course for there is much else to do, but there is also a new life awaiting with someone who has become the other half of myself, and who is such an extraordinary person..
So I have been unable to write anything, because all my books are packed, though occasionally my fingers itch to write and explore an idea. The season is advancing, dawn chorus in the morning still, but the birds have had their young, plenty of bumble bees around and insects galore, bats have made an appearance here, and the fox suns himself in the afternoon down in the field. But my beans and courgettes are growing in another place now and I grow homesick for the 'golden fields' of Essex.
A friend to visit yesterday, and to sit in their pretty garden on the bench I bought them years ago because their lightweight seats always used to tumble people out. I shall be back of course for there is much else to do, but there is also a new life awaiting with someone who has become the other half of myself, and who is such an extraordinary person..
So I have been unable to write anything, because all my books are packed, though occasionally my fingers itch to write and explore an idea. The season is advancing, dawn chorus in the morning still, but the birds have had their young, plenty of bumble bees around and insects galore, bats have made an appearance here, and the fox suns himself in the afternoon down in the field. But my beans and courgettes are growing in another place now and I grow homesick for the 'golden fields' of Essex.
Gordon Brown is still with us as I write, but the disarray of the labour government was both disastrous and eye-opening at the same time. We came face to face with the reality that some of our politicians are greedy and corrupt, and it will never be the same again. They'll cobble something together of course because the politicians reflect our own society.
But perhaps there is a small ray of hope elsewhere with the new president of America....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02Ao9jyq5Vk
'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight
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