A baby sombrero, sent to my son from my mom's first and last trip to Spain. She was pick-pocketed by an old, gnarled gypsy woman there, and she hated Spain ever after.
Heart-shaped, Valentine's Day blueberry muffins, given to the Little One in lieu of the hot dogs he asked for.
The Sixes Mill, the writing space of my dreams. I live nearby, and every time I drive past, I imagine what it would be like to sit inside with nothing but a thermos of hot coffee, a fountain pen, a stack of paper, and time. What kind of novel could be written in that space? I've long wondered about the family who lives up on the hill and gets to behold the mill every morning when they awake, or hear the rush of the water down below whenever they step outside...
2 Things not left unsaid:
Like the reflection of the plate in the pitcher. But when you get that close and can smell the muffins, I want to reach out ... and boink my fingers on the screen! Drat! Cheers - Jeanne in Oregon
That last shot is worth it all. Have a great week ahead, Sweetie.
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