Back in the nest....

We have just returned from ten days in England... landed in London and rented a car to drive into the English countryside, particularly The Cotswolds.  I am in love with those beautiful thatched-roof cottages, and have been ever since reading about them in the memoirs of Beverley Nichols. All of the English villages we visited looked as if they could be part of a well-illustrated fairy tale.

Driving on the 'wrong' side of the road was a challenge for my husband at first, but he quickly got accustomed to sitting on the right side of the car with the steering wheel in front of him. I, on the other hand, sitting on the left side of the vehicle without the capability to steer the car was somewhat of a challenge as well. For the first couple of days, I was constantly telling my husband "too close, too close," to warn him that the wheels of the car were getting too far over towards the left side of the road.

And the roads... so narrow and winding through the small villages... how on earth do the British manage to drive so well without dinging their pretty little cars?  In all of the ten days we were there, I saw only one car with a dented door, and for all I know, it could have been rented by an American tourist.

And the tea.... the English cannot, for the life of them, make a bad cup of tea. Wherever we went, tea was served in a pot, with pretty little mugs or delicate cups... sugar and milk... and a little scone with jam and clotted cream if one asked for it.  One of the secrets to a good cup of tea (besides a quality tea) is the teapot. Letting that tea steep in a covered pot is just a must-do, without a doubt. Yes, it takes a bit more time, and yes, you have to wash out the teapot along with your cup and saucer or mug, but it is just so worth it. And the English know that... and they take the time... and it isn't a chore at all.  It's a tradition, time-honored and time-trusted, and that's that.

Whilst we were there (don't you love that word-- Whilst) we met my friend J, who has lived in England for all of her life.... we've been friends since the late 1970s, meeting as 'pen-pals' and continuing on with a friendship that has lasted all these years and now we're just like family.  My husband and I met J in Malmesbury, and toured the gardens and the Abbey there, walked around the village, and then had lunch in a traditional English cafe. (I can now say I've eaten "Bubble and Squeak" and enjoyed it and plan to make it here.)

I will be writing about each of the villages we visited along the way.... looking thru the postcards and books I collected during our trip. (My suitcase was much heavier coming home than it was going across the Atlantic.) So many bookshops filled with much-loved and much-read books, and I think I bought one book in each of the villages we visited.  But all of that writing is not for today.... the washing machine is going, and so is the dryer, and the ironing board is calling my name.

We are still adjusting our body clocks to the time difference... we did grocery shopping on the way home from the airport, and today's chore is the laundry and ironing.  I'm trying to appreciate our property here in a new light as I look out at our acres.  I'm sure the English would love this property and the woods surrounding the pastures... I'm also sure they would plant hundreds of flowers around the house and make paths leading to secret corners of the garden. But would they scoff at the scorpions and tolerate the wildlife?   Probably so... they'd just make a pot of tea and carry on.