I have been tossing and turning for three hours, no sleep to speak of and got thinking about many things. I've been off colour for a few days, have had to cancel classes and it's almost holidays. Some of my younger students sent home a card with 'hope you're better soon' wishes, and included some pics of yours truly in the classroom with very attentive students. That, and all their signatures, made me weepy.
It's freezing cold and not the best time to be out of bed. Laird Peter is snoring peacefully, unaware that I am in the lounge, tapping away. Thoughts of Milo remind me that I've just finished (a one-day read) a beautiful first novel called Past the Shallows by a young writer called Favel Parrett. The book is set in Tasmania, and mentions familiar places. Not only did it make me nostalgic - we went to Tasmania for our honeymoon in 1989 - but the story, about three brothers growing up in the remote south, features, among many beautiful things, Milo. I'm not being silly. The youngest brother, Harry, gains comfort in his lonely existence from simple things: finding small treasure in the sand, befriending a kelpie pup and its master and a big mug of Milo. This book is our read this month for book club (which is tomorrow night) and I can't imagine anyone not loving it.
Being awake at 2am brings forth other thoughts about places, places we long to see again.
In twelve months' time we will be back in the UK, and, of course, visiting our wee plots in Scotland.
We are already making lists and making plans. We will be there at the end of summer and through autumn, and can hardly wait.
Closer to home we have many things to think about; the most important at the moment being Peter's Mum, who is in hospital. I've known her since I was a baby, and she has just had her 92nd birthday.
Now I'm going back to bed, to sleep, perchance to dream.
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