A friend that we have not seen for ten years was asking after our menagerie today. I caught her up on the news and in that process I realised that Nell is now eight years old, not seven as I had been thinking. We really should stop believing her to be the pup of the family as she will be sprouting grey hairs some time soon!
Thinking on this subject brought forth the realisation that we had failed to celebrate our ninth anniversary of living on the island – an event that exactly coincides with our anniversary of Mr L moving in to share his life with me, a few years earlier (sixteen years now!) We normally cook up a celebration dinner and indulge in some gooey-ness but I suppose we have been busy and had things on our mind – plans and so forth. Practicality has overtaken romance. We too must be getting old.
Nine years in one place is a record for me. I have never before stayed put for so long. Now I wish that I had planted a tree when we arrived. I have always wanted to live somewhere long enough to see a tree grow.
Do you think we might be stopping?
On an almost unrelated topic, Mr L and I were discussing our planned break and he asked me if I realised that this was our first proper holiday. As in, a week or longer. In the past we have not exceeded a five day break, tending more to the long weekend. In fact,until Brunhilde came along last year we had very few breaks at all. We tried to tick them all off last night:
- Two nights B&B in Edinburgh, when Mr L came up to meet me after a work thing that I had been attending – this only weeks after he moved in
- A weekend B&B in Wales, the week after Suzie came to live with us
- A weekend in Brussels in an hotel.
- That awful Christmas Markets weekend, best forgotten
- Camping weekend: Shap, Oban, Skye (the only time we ever pitched our tent. We still have it but I doubt it will see use again)
- A weekend in our trailer tent at Glenluce (the only time we ever used it – had to sell when we moved North)
So, we have been away more in the last 12 months than we had in the fifteen years before — and now as he says, we are going to have a proper holiday. Hmm. To my mind a proper holiday involves somebody to make my bed and do my cooking. Camping of any form, even as luxurious as Brunhilde may be, is not a proper holiday. It’s a break, at best.
Hark at me! The bod to whom “holiday” was a completely alien idea until Mr L happened into my life. Actually, as I told him last night, I don’t believe that I really started living until he came along. There’s something special about that man. He is a nurturer. I think that he gave me the confidence finally to be me and that is what brought me to life at last.
Here’s to the next sixteen.
(featured image, Nell with Suzie, 2007)