One thing I do love is getting Christmas cards. I wish I’d got addresses to respond to some of them. They arrive, and I can’t always find the address to respond. I had a letter off a good friend earlier in the year. I wrote back, but lost the original letter. I can’t address a card to ‘my friend’ ‘North of england’. I don’t think it would work like it does for ‘Santa, North Pole’.
I’m not putting up any decorations this year except for the cards.
This model Dalek was at Froghall Station a couple of years ago, if not more. It was wonderful to see. It was radio controlled. In the original series they were operated by men pedalling inside them and moving the weapons by hand. Nowadays they can climb steps in the modern series by hovering above them. But not in the 1960’s. I watched this classic TV series from the start. I wish I could time travel back then.
Snow, I’m sitting here wondering if it will or won’t. It tried to earlier on, little ice crystal shaped flecks melting on my windscreen.
So cold and chilly, even with the heating on. We don’t use our gas fire any more because it’s too old. The gas central heating boiler is due to be serviced in the morning.
Snow doesn’t happen much these days. If it does its usually in the new year for a few days. Not months like in the early 1960’s when there was snow on the ground in Britain for more than three months. When the drifts in country lanes were so deep children had to walk across fields to get to school. My hubby remembers that. When milk froze in milk bottles at school and pushed the silver lids up and off.
I remember walking to school and the snow over topped my wellies and soaked my stockinged feet. In fact I haven’t had to wear wellies (Wellington boots) for years. I miss my old blue wellies in the snow. I miss pretending to track people by looking at the tracks their shoes made….
Red hair and green eyed, pale skinned, she stood in the garden in the rain. She looked out over the countryside and remembered her old family farm.
Sadness overwhelmed her as she thought of her mother and father. It was ten years ago since they had died and she wished they were still here. She wanted to be able to pick up the phone and talk to them. She’d always called on Sunday nights. Then one day her father was ill, and in hospital, he passed away that night . Later in the same week her mother died of a heart attack, they said she had a broken heart.
All this was long ago, but the longing to be with them never ended. Her sister had stayed on the farm and inherited it. The problem was they didn’t get on anymore. She couldn’t face going home to the farm. She thought of her red hair, her green eyes, but she had no fire in her mind, no jealousy in her thoughts. The outside did not signify how she felt. She went in and closed the back door.