Return to my Ivory Tower.

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Well it’s not actually ivory and it’s only two stories, but it is an idyllic place and I do have a “knight in shining armor” living next door, a “jack of all trades” with a heart of gold who routinely rescues folks (not only me). The lakes and trees are nearby for me to wander in and my quaint old English town is dressed in red and white flags (world cup fever strikes even here.)
The love birds have returned from their honeymoon and I’m free of watching over my grandkids. It was precious having the company of my other daughter for a while, here from China for the wedding, and my eight year old grandson is a great guy. We spent wonderful afternoons together enjoying the benefits of the love birds’ home, picnicking under the pavilion in the garden, listening to the birds, the sound of the little river, watching swan and duck visitations, but I’m aching to write. Words and ideas crowd my head so it’s hard to sleep and I’ve missed the simple tranquility of my “tower”.
It’s strange; I always dreaded the idea of living alone, having been part of a large extended family. A fellow friend and writer smiled and said I’d love it. He knew me better than I knew myself, or perhaps we are just alike, because I do love it! I love the time, the tranquility of my situation, time to think, to ponder, to write and to paint.