Two of my favourite songs growing up were ‘Jackson‘ and ‘These Boots Are Made For Walkin’ ‘. As a child, I didn’t understand why anyone would want to get married in a fever (why would you want to get married if you were sick, I wondered?), but it fascinated me trying to imagine what on earth could be hotter than a ‘pepper sprout’, when I didn’t even know what a pepper sprout was.
As for a pair of boots (no legs or feet inside, just a lone pair of boots) quite literally walking over someone, my imagination ran riot at such a thought, as I sang along enthusiastically to the lyrics.
Hello dear friends, ’tis I, and oh how I have missed you!
I hope you had a wonderful summer as we ease into a glorious autumn (or spring, for some).
It seems a long time since I last blogged, but during these past five weeks, I have done a fair bit of walking (on the ground that is, not keen on the idea of walking all over someone, metaphorically or otherwise)…
During a holiday in Western Loire, France, with my family…
…where I also celebrated my birthday ~
And along a coastal path overlooking the English Channel from the Devonshire coastline near Salcombe ~
I’ve watched the sun dip into the horizon, etching wisps of pastel-pink
across the late evening sky ~
But not before catching a golden glass of liquid sunset as the sea-breeze whispered of calm and relief ~
For, dear ones, I am so excited to share the news with you: I have written the first draft of my memoir!
Of course, I am not the only one in this whole wide world who has ever achieved this, and I know only too well that there is much work ahead with revisions, and edits and all the rest. But I’ve got past the first post with a completed manuscript from beginning to middle to end.
And while I most certainly did not run off to Jackson (or get married in a fever, at least not recently), I know what it’s like to feel hotter than a pepper sprout: writing fever, a crazy, driving force that won’t quit and gives you no peace until every last word is sweated out and the crisis breaks.
But I wondered so many times if I could really do it, and still do…
In that curious mix of elation strained at its ragged edges by sheer exhaustion, I could not let it lie. As the early hours of Monday morning dawned, unable to sleep, I climbed out of bed and looked out of the window, searching for cool respite. There, in a crystal-clear starlit sky, hung a blood-red Supermoon, glorious and majestic, in perfect clarity.
No photos of mine could do it justice, so I just watched, with hubby, in silence and awe.
And a heart filled with gratitude.
Thank you all so much for keeping an eye on things and leaving your heartwarming messages at the Summerhouse, keeping things ticking over. But now it’s time to roll up the blinds, throw open the doors and dust the place off.
It’s great to be back! Love Sherri x