Cake017

Me and my lovely old postman have got an unspoken deal going on. If I promise not to scare him by appearing at the door in my nightie and last nights mascara, he promises to  stash  a little pile of scrumptious mail  ready for the day when I need cheering up the most…

How else Dear Housekeeper’s are  we to explain the bundle of deliciousness he presented me with this morning and not a bill amongst it?

I am still living underwater.  My right ear is re-infected and my left  apparently needs  hoovering before  it will be possible to  assess  the damage. Add to these woes, an antibiotic inspired gruesome case of thrush and you’ve got yourself one pretty sorry for herself Vintage HouseKeeper.  But never mind all that because the blues are gloriously offset by  parcels and cards and  letters and my lovely postman somehow saw to it, that yet again they all arrived at once…

From Melissa, the gorgeous  shabbily scrumptious card above  (in an envelope that looks like it’s been around the world to get to me!), with words kind enough to make me cry, (Thank you, thank you Dear, sweet Melissa…)  from my lovely Auntie,  Barbie, a get well  card, (Ring me: I hear much better on the phone!) and  from the  scrumptious little fairycake who is Wendy, a pinkly perfect Birthday card. Good taste just shines from my Glaswegian friend… 

And then the parcels:-
1) A big envelope addressed to Alison Abcess May, (God I hope that name doesn’t stick!!)  which could  only have come from my  little cheeky sister, containing two tiny wonderful books, one called "I Like You" and the other  a tiny little tome about  tea celebrations.  Perfect and lovely , from a girl who’s  good taste and thoughtfulness are always accompanied by an insult or two (Hello BitchFaceMare. Yes, when she’s not calling me Abcess, that is my given name!)

2) A squashily soft parcel containing a four beautiful vintage lace pillowcases from Marie in France. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous!

3) And last of all an Amazon parcel containing this from my lovely, lovely Gayla.

Occasionally someone comes into your life who really see’s you. Who knows who you are and loves you anyway. Who can read your mood from a single sentence and knows what to say to make it right. For me that person is Gayla. With me from day one on BrocanteHome, she is the one I write for. The one whose appproval I seek. The one who is showing me, comment by comment, and email by email, who I should be.
Though we have only spoke on the phone and I don’t even know what she looks like, she is as real to me as everyone else in my family and I am proud to call her a friend. If I can love Finley the way she loves her son Gerard, and continue to laugh with and honour my parents well into their old age the way she does hers, I will be happy. And more than that:  if I ever have the opportunity to gently mentor someone in the future, the way she is quietly guiding me, I sincerely hope I will do it with half the humour and compassion she has shown me in the past eighteen months…

Thank you Gayla. The book couldn’t be more perfect, considering I am a decrepit mess! Happy Spring…