It's been a few days
since I wrote last. During the weekend I was busy being Harvest
Goddess in the woods, picking mushrooms, and then I've been in bed
with a bit of a cold.
The Long Suffering
Husband has been at his most heroic, running and fetching hankies,
and extra blankies and pillows for me. In our family there is no such
thing as ”man flu”. It is usually I who feel so terribly sorry
for myself when I get ill that he'll pick up all the slack and take
care of everything. He's very nurturing, LSH.
So, since Sunday I have
been in bed, squealing like a birdling, demanding hot drinks and
cuddles. I'm worse than the cats when I'm ill! LSH has done what he
always does when I'm poorly, he's looked after me with the dedication
of a Florence Nightingale.
The only thing that
will solace me when I have a cold is blackcurrant tea and crumpets.
Can't get crumpets here, so toast will have to do.
Autumn is my favourite
time of year – the time when the urge to become a Domestic Goddess
is at it's strongest. I emerge myself in mushroom picking, jam making
and baking. The fact that we don't eat cakes or jam is neither here,
nor there. It isn't the eating, it's the making and baking which
empowers me.
Given half a chance I'd
move out in the country and have my own herb garden. I'd have to win
the lottery first, cause I'd need a gardener – I absolutely detest
gardening! It's worse than ironing, and that is not to say little.
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