If there could be anything material that I could have it would be thus. (please excuse grammar and spelling. this is cathartic stream of conciousness that i want to shout about, where else but a blog for that)
There will be a big farmhouse and the edges of a market town, where they still had a market. it would be red brick and warm and cosy. there'd be a field so rob could play football with the lads and enough land for a couple of sheep and some chickens. i'd have fresh boiled eggs for breakfast with marmite soliders and love. the lounge wouldn't have a telly plugged in to the aerial, only dvds so only good things could be watched, and it's have red velvet sofa and a rug to warm toes in and a pile of books and a pile of yarn.
There'd be four happy children and a big kitchen table and light hearted teasing and huge bowls of soup for the world and his mate. and a big range cooker not an aga but a gas one so i could teach the kids about melting marshmellows on rainy days and teach them to spin and make wool and knit teddy sized jumpers.there would be big dinner parties where friends from all over come down and make witty speeches about unidays and football triumphs and drink red wine and eat good cheese. where i'd cook all day and grin when the food disappears in 20 mins and the kids hide under the table cloth to steal brownies and snatches and snippets of jokes and bygone years.
There's be a multitude of topsy turvey rooms upstairs and a rowdy teenage music and "where are my socks mum" and laughter they learn to play guitar from their dad. The master bedroom would have a huge sleigh bed for sex and tears and long summer nights and where small children would creep in when they had a nightmare and for opening presents on at christmas or birthdays. and mothersday breakfast in bed.
and we'd bury hamsters in the garden next to begraggled sunflowers and nastursiums
There'd be a recording studio in the barn for rob to work on his producing and where local bands could come rehearse.
My hair would grey and i would wear it in a fat plait encicling my head, and i;d look like mrs christmas and make a red dress like hers to wear in winter to sell baked goods at the WI christmas fair. My face would be creased by a thousand memories happy and sad and they wouls show when i smiled as the ghosts of good laughs. i would be old but cheerfully reckless and wear purples as the poem goes and smile as they brought the grandchildren over for a weekend rolling in the mud and finger painting and making fairy houses in the woods.
and i would be happy surrounded by this and never as alone as i feel now