R's rue

Launde Abbey was built for Thomas Cromwell before his execution Yesterday, with Phoebe riding on her father's back in her brand new "Little Life"  back carrier, we undertook a country walk of some three miles after parking at Launde Abbey. We were on the eastern edge of Leicestershire and in fact strayed over into Rutland on the middle section of the walk. The weather remained beautifully warm as we tramped along to Withcote before heading back south to Launde Abbey. This historical mansion was home to Gregory Cromwell, the son of Thomas Cromwell who was Henry VIII's right-hand man during the time of  The Dissolution of the Monasteries. Much of the stone came from the ruins of the original Launde Abbey - built some four hundred years earlier. The place is now a Christian retreat and as God-fearing Christians we visited the Abbey's cafe where Stew and I had bacon. lettuce and tomato sandwiches and Frances ordered a cheese and onion panini. Shirley asked if th...

  First day of holiday. Washing day. I’ve cleaned the cottage and stripped the beds .  The duvets are pristine white and are drying gently on the field gate in the warm breeze we have today Their presence signals I am home. Monday’s were always wash days when I was a child. The house smelled of OMO and hot water and the twin tub churned loudly in the back kitchen . They were busy days My grandmother was always there   Big arms bare to the elbow and her face perspiring, she would squeeze the clothes and sheets through the mangle before filling the washing lines with laundry, wooden pegs in her mouth. Lunch was hurried leftovers from Sunday dinner.  Dark gravy to soften the dry meat. The ironing came later.  Ironing the whites with stories a plenty to entertain us with. I used to love wash days just because of her. I ironed the duvet today , which was a first . I was shamed into by a gay friend who thought I was an animal for never doing s...

 Dreaming of strolling Rolling around  In the warm grass As bright blue skies Skim my skin In delight As I savor summer, I realize I must acquaint with the real world. Facebook isn’t it.  My life needs to be surrounded by truth, love and the beauty of humanity. I wonder when we will actually form opinions from experience not purported falsehoods. I’m glad my youth was formed by a love of books and critical thinking. Cerebral Palsy continues to teach me that I don’t bury my head to pain, but I actively seek what feeds the soul. I miss walking to the mailbox and chatting with my neighbors as I would bring them my old issues of fashion magazines I had accumulated.  The small chit chat would lead to meaningful conversations I can still recall.  Coming inside for some snacks and ice cold coke. What would be a few minutes, would end up being an afternoon. One that brings a wry smile to my face. The good ole days can still survive if we make the time.  fr...

  A  window in St John the Baptist Church, Goadby All is well here in the heart of Leicestershire. It is 6.50 am on Monday morning and I am here at the dining table with the twelfth century tower of St Thomas a Becket church staring down at me from across our neighbours' garden. Saturday was a grey overcast day though dry and warm enough. We headed up to Melton Mowbray for a look round and lunch before moving on to Oakham which is the capital of England's smallest county - Rutland. Rutland's motto is "Multum in Parvo" which means "Much in Little". We mooched around and eventually drifted over to The Grainstore Brewery near the railway station for liquid refreshment. Famous pork pie shop in Melton Mowbray The Castle Hall at Oakham - a Norman building In the evening , after a homemade spaghetti bolognaise, we watched "Baby Driver" courtesy of Netflix. There were a lot of cars chasing around and crashing into each other as police sirens ...