I've not posted for a long time.  I've been in Great Britain with my sister, my dearest friend.  I surprised her in Belfast Ireland and ran a marathon with her (my first).  We flew back to northern England and I spent a week with her little family in their lovely English home in the country.  We ate dessert every day, often times more than once a day.  We went for walks and admired the green rolling hills and the sheep and the cows and the pheasants and the unbelievable homes in her "neighborhood".  We walked the children to school (I believe their schoolhouse was built in 1876).  More than anything, we soaked each other up.  We talked and laughed for days in a row.  I loved it.  I loved being with her.  I loved being with her husband and her beautiful children.  And I'm sad to be apart from them now, but happy to be back with my own little family.

One evening, we went for a walk, just Elizabeth and I.  The homes in the area where she lives are scenes from Jane Austen movies (not that I've ever actually seen one, but I can imagine...).  I'm glad I had my camera around my neck on our walk, because we passed this home (exactly 1.5 miles from her own), and I just had to take a picture.  I'd give anything to know the history behind this estate- who was born there, who died there, who lives there now.  I want to hear the story, told by its inhabitants through the generations.  How tragic that so many amazing stories have died with their narrators!  I suppose that's where great writers come in, fabricating tales that appease the audiences- people like me, who want to be carried away in a great story.

Loads of pictures yet to come.  For now, it's time for bed. 


webR_6974.jpg


I've not posted for a long time.  I've been in Great Britain with my sister, my dearest friend.  I surprised her in Belfast Ireland and ran a marathon with her (my first).  We flew back to northern England and I spent a week with her little family in their lovely English home in the country.  We ate dessert every day, often times more than once a day.  We went for walks and admired the green rolling hills and the sheep and the cows and the pheasants and the unbelievable homes in her "neighborhood".  We walked the children to school (I believe their schoolhouse was built in 1876).  More than anything, we soaked each other up.  We talked and laughed for days in a row.  I loved it.  I loved being with her.  I loved being with her husband and her beautiful children.  And I'm sad to be apart from them now, but happy to be back with my own little family.

One evening, we went for a walk, just Elizabeth and I.  The homes in the area where she lives are scenes from Jane Austen movies (not that I've ever actually seen one, but I can imagine...).  I'm glad I had my camera around my neck on our walk, because we passed this home (exactly 1.5 miles from her own), and I just had to take a picture.  I'd give anything to know the history behind this estate- who was born there, who died there, who lives there now.  I want to hear the story, told by its inhabitants through the generations.  How tragic that so many amazing stories have died with their narrators!  I suppose that's where great writers come in, fabricating tales that appease the audiences- people like me, who want to be carried away in a great story.

Loads of pictures yet to come.  For now, it's time for bed. 


webR_6974.jpg




Comments
Jennifer Chaney says:

Oh Rach, such a beautiful post. I'm glad your trip was amazing... can't wait to hear more about it!

(05.15.11 @ 09:48 PM)
Jen says:

Gasp! This is only 1.5 miles from Lizzie's house?! WOW. So glad your trip was amazing. Eager to hear (and see!) more.

(05.16.11 @ 08:00 AM)
Meshan says:

Absolutely amazing! I'm so jealous and yet happy for you.

(05.24.11 @ 01:15 PM)