Will I ever get there?

Doesn't it fee like you are talking to an empty room with this blogging. Oh well one day soon someone might listen.

These are so gorgeous.

Three times now I have thought about picking up my laptop and typing my next post - and it doesn't happen. I even think about what I want to write. Take yesterday afternoon, the sun was shining, hubby was in the garden giving his hedges a last cut (he hopes) before the winter sets in, No.1 son (aged 7) was upstairs building some wonderful creation with his lego and knex and No.2 son (aged 2) was fast asleep on the sofa. Peace and quiet, with just the sound of the clock ticking. No TV or radio or noisy children. And me, I was sitting on my comfy chair in my kitchen with the sun shining through the window on my face, my eye closed.

It brought back a memory I had of my grandparents (I miss them loads) who lived in Birmingham, as a child I would stay there for a few weeks in the holidays. In the morning I would come down the stairs and there kneeling on the floor, in front of the gas fire (if it was cold it was usually on low) was my nan, looking at the newspaper and sometimes doing the crossword. The room was quiet except for the ticking of the clock on the mantel shelf. She would then get up from the floor and with a smile walk into the kitchen and put the kettle on. "Cup of tea" she would offer. I always did like a cup of tea, in a cup and saucer. Soon there was also the smell of bacon wafting in. Grandad would appear from the garden, he was always up early and either pottering in his immaculate garden or if the weather was bad he would be in the greehouse. With my cup of tea and bacon and egg breakfast I would sit happily listening the hiss of the gas fire and the ticking of the clock. (a single tear falls down my cheek as I type this). :-)  photos will be added later.

The windmill near where we live.