November Days

Pixies2

And so once again Celiacs Disease has reared it's ugly head and left Finley and I marooned on our own little island. Though I have been unable to identify the source of the problem (A stolen biscuit at nursery? The consumption of strictly forbidden playdough? A sudden inexplicable ingredient change in a food formerly known to be safe? What?), the symptoms are distinguished enough to have no other explanation,  (I tell ya Mummy, my bumbum has never had a tantrum like this one!) and are accompanied by strops of such magnificent proportions that I have no choice but to hug them away because clearly he just can't help himself...

It isn't all bad.  Three days in a centrally heated, candlelit  jail is not to be sniffed at.  And so we've made the most of it.  Stories have been whispered underneath a flower sprinkled duvet tent. (Stories out of your brain please Mum...). Nigellas flourless chocolate cake baked to tempt a very empty tummy (didn't work but I enjoyed it!) and afternoon naps taken on the sofa, instantly triggering scrumptious memories of Finn's newborn days, when all was calm and our whole world was standing up straight...

But straight, wonky or upside down, there is in every day passed something to spill onto the pages of my gratitude journal.   Wednesday night  snuggled up with a man who tickles my toes and last night curved into a sofa pulled up to the fire, with my velvet ribboned Christmas planner on my knee (the internet order tracker has changed my life!) and a huuuge cup of warm cinnamon milk on  a gingham topped side table beside me. Tonight every Christmas magazine I can get my hands on this afternoon when Mark comes to takeover and I can escape into a bitterly cold Autumn afternoon, a felted scarf abundant with scarlet roses around my neck...

A trip to the library is of course in order. My library bag already packed. Then a drive up to my favorite deli for walnut bread and local Lancashire cheese for tonights supper and into Southport for a wander down the tree lined Victorian shopping parade and a sniff around a secondhand bookshop in the glass topped arcade that is home to a heart stopping collection of vintage housekeeping books and presided over by a funny little couple with all the quirks bookshop owners should be blessed with. Perhaps the purchase of some artisan mustard from the teeny little French shop in the corner wouldn't go amiss either, followed by a perfunctory trip to the supermarket and a journey home accompanied by the jolly tinkle of Doris Day singing Christmas songs. Be a child at Christmas she says and so, don't tell anyone, under my oh so sensible boots, my socks are wearing reindeers.

Finley will be better  tomorrow. There is a bundle of happy berried twigs on my windowsill and plans to be made for a weekend in the countryside with my family  at the  end of  next week...

All is well. Life on our island is a feast of tomorrows and blissful cosy afternoons.

On My Wishlist...