Blankety Days

So today was a bit of a strange old Saturday for all kinds of different reasons. The good start was that there was no alarm clock set for 6:15am this kinda grey, turning Autumny morning. My body woke me at 8:30ish, which is good, because I am particularly cranky if I feel the morning has slid past me in a rush of possibilities while my eyes were shut and my hands were idle.

Now it was strange because man was away fishing (in the rain, crazy boy), and both my girlies were at friends', and so the house was empty. Except for me, The Moo and the constantly hungry cats. Last week I has spied a mouldy old chip board sign for a village garage sale today, commencing 10am. This was my plan. I could feel the anticipation of treasure, waiting for me.....I could hear my house groaning "but I'm sort of full to bursting" and I ignored it, knowing I could always find a spot for a new old thing that I didn't need. 

After a false start, with a boring tale of a lost bank card and a call for 'Mum's Taxi Service', I left the house for a second time, a teensy bit anxious that I'd missed the first 40 minutes and possibly some thrifty witch had spied and taken what should have been mine (I had a bad experience at Newark Antique Fair last month.....*sobs). Before I reached the car, I saw a lovely gentle giant friend, who crossed the street with terrible news of his broken heart. My tummy turned, and my heart beat way up in my throat, and as I watched a tear trickle down his cheek, I recognised his terrible pain and lostness, and held my tears in only long enough to spare him the sight. Sitting in my car, I suddenly felt insanely grateful for my 'lot', and rang them all to tell them. On expressing my sad mood to man, he urged me to press on with the garage sale, which I did.  

I'm glad I did.

But I have thought about gentle giant ALL day, and want to dry his eyes.

I found lovely lovely wool blankets on my travels. These have all even laundered now, smell beautifully of softener (my addiction, or one of), and are drying on the airer overnight.

I couldn't pass up this chipped little jug either, at 30 Great British pence, and so rescued her to take on the hugely important role of 'The Keeper Of Knitting Needles'

On returning home, and feeling a bit humbled and grateful, I decided to mooch on into town and visit the second hand book stall in residence in my local church. In fact, St.Mary's quadruples up as a) Church, b) Bookshop, c) Coffee shop, d) Fairtrade Outlet.

Oh, and did I mention that the postman had been?

Life is good. Love is wonderful. And hurtful. And scary. We each make ourselves vulnerable in order to reap all the glories of love. I hope the giant heals. 

My babies both came home, we ate pasta and fresh crusty bread from the market.

And then I had to leave for the nightshift :( Which is quiteish so I could write to you :)

Strange Saturday