“Life is either a daring adventure...

 or nothing.” – Helen Keller


My adventurous spirit is hiding under the covers in a quivering mess.

When did this happen?

Where is the woman who would jump on a plane, last minute to travel to a foreign country-with a three-month old baby, no grasp of the language whatsoever and no reservations?

Where's the woman who decided that no transportation wouldn't deter her from walking around the Italian countryside alone at night in a downpour?

The shell left behind from her sudden departure had a mini meltdown a few months back. "I've lost the person I used to be!" She wailed. "My free spirit has died!" She bemoaned.

”Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain

So the Sexy Guy decided he must fix it. Because that's what men do when the little woman is a hot mess of blubbering nonsense, they fix it.

And fix it he did. So he thinks.

He booked an international flight for one scared-of-her-own-passport wife and said, "There. All better?"

"NO I AM NOT ALL BETTER. I can't drive your car, the shift is on the wrong side. And parking at the airport is insane and I'll be doing it while trying to shift with my left hand. And what if I get there late and my rental car (which also shifts on the wrong side) is a problem or I drive around in the dark for so long that I miss my B&B check in?"
"WHAT IF MISS KY HAS A BAD FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL?"

Yes, I will miss the first day of school.

Every confirmation that comes through my email box reignites the anxiety. "You must check in online and print your boarding pass..." Where's the paper bag, I need to breathe! "Print your airport parking confirmation to show..." in and out, in and out...

I miss my 34-year old self. But I'm not sure if throwing the older, scared version into the deep end is the best way to teach her how to swim on her own again.

Just sayin'.



“Remember what Bilbo used to say: It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” – JRR Tolkien

Our New, Last, House

Well we're in.


If one could see how loaded that statement is...

This was not one of my favorite moves, and it certainly wasn't the smoothest. If one were to go back and read all of the fears I had of what would happen when we vacated our last house (with the shady landlord), one would discover that landlords shouldn't be prejudged.  The recent landlord, who I (wrongly) thought "also being military would understand the stresses and paperwork involved to extricate our lives from this country" bit us in the backside BIG TIME... and is still biting. I see all of the red flags now. The ones I didn't pay attention to as I moved us while the husband was deployed.

Our new landlords (a couple), are every bit as lovely as the other was conniving. Having known them for the last 6 years, and know of the reputation they have in our village and schools, I feel safe. An additional assurance is that the people who share the other buildings associated with this farm (there's a bungalow overlooking our farmhouse and two barn conversions adjacent to it), all love Mr and Mrs C.

My kids are so joy-filled I often find myself standing at the window watching them laugh and play. The little ones have two new friends their age to ride bikes with, the two older ones-who were without internet for a week- joined in for the first time in ages. My garden has been filled with kids of all ages from the minute we moved in.

I could quite happily lie down and die in my new kitchen. There is a cupboard for everything.

The house has a great "feel" to it.  It's been filled with happy families for decades (Mr. C was born and reared in this house).



So why am I depressed?

I think the stress of it all has hit and it's everything I can do to keep plodding through the unpacking stage.
I'll survive.

Would you like a tour? Pre-my clutter added photos perhaps?

 This is the room I am writing from and yes, it IS really that small.

 The kitchen- before I covered the work tops with boxes

 From J2's bedroom window. To the left is the bungalow, straight ahead the 

barn conversion they hope to have finished by Christmas.

 Our front door -which is silly really, as we park and enter from the back.

The "front" of the house.

It would make a perfect haunted house, don't you think? 

our driveway.

See? It's all good. What was all the fuss about getting the shock that we'd have to move a few weeks back?