Rainy Afternoon

The last few days have been a bit of a let down as far as warm sunshine goes:  we haven't had any.  It all went wrong after the summer solstice a week ago.  Before then we had enough sun to keep even me happy, but ever since it has rained, or been dull and breezy on almost a daily basis.  Time to turn my attention to the mess indoors and the rattling of empty cake tins.  The weekend is upon us.

While the rain pattered against the windows and the wind whispered round the cottage, Pea and I cranked up the radio and settled in for a few hours baking.  When the mood takes me I can get quite carried away in the kitchen, but I always seem to be making cakes and biscuits.  I have little interest in making savoury pies and roasts at the moment, that is something I enjoy more in the autumn and winter and cakes are so gratifying to make and eat; especially eat.

So after an hour or so we had a tray full of raspberry buns, apple pasties and a simnel cake.  Chocolate was sadly lacking, so we made a chocolate biscuit cake.  I love bashing the living daylights out of a packet of biscuits, reducing them to chunky crumbs, then adding them to melted butter, cocoa and sugar and giving it all a stir.  It's so easy and quick but incredibly satisfying.  The addition of melted chocolate on the top finishes it off to perfection.  We all love it, but I have to limit myself to one or two very small pieces, otherwise I could easily eat the whole lot.

All that baking and licking the bowls out left us feeling a little guilty, so as the dogs were gleefully chasing each other round the table and bashing into my lovely dresser, it was time to rug up and head out.  There was only a slight drizzle in the air as we left the cottage, not enough to deter two hardy country girls, though Puppy was a tad non-plussed.  It was fairly mild and the rain fell softly, giving the hedgerows a fuzzy appearance as it draped a covering of tiny beads over the landscape.  We walked in our usual direction; up the hill and past the scary house but instead of turning right, we carried on down a lane we hadn't taken before.  I absolutely love discovering new lanes and wondering what lies round the next corner.  Usually I hope for a derelict cottage or farm house.  Guess what...?

I know!  Gorgeous isn't it?  I am quite adept at going into raptures over old houses that should probably be knocked down, but the romantic in me wishes I had the means to bring them back to their former glory.  I want to breathe life back into them; fill them with warmth, laughter, love and the smell of cooking; let their walls reverberate with the sound of children shouting, doors slamming and dogs barking; see smoke curling from their chimneys again and bring back the memories of Christmases long gone.  See?  Incurable Romantic.

By now the rain was starting to fall with the express purpose of soaking us to the skin, so we turned and retraced our steps homeward.  I love days like this.  I don't mind that we were getting very wet.  It was a pleasure to be out in this beautiful landscape, just us and the sounds of the countryside around us.  Peace and quiet.

By the time we got home all four of us were drenched.  Pea rubbed the dogs down and gave them a carrot each.  We dried ourselves and had a cup of tea while watching Wimbledon, where the sun was still shining.  I made the mistake of leaving my cosy chair for a second and when I got back it was to find Puppy had made himself nice and comfy in my absence.  Charming.

He had also stolen a coat hanger from H2's bedroom and was busy re-arranging it's shape.  I will pretend I didn't notice.  A bit of frantic cleaning and tidying ensued before it was time to fetch H2 from school.  The cottage looks clean, fresh and bright (apart from the boys' room, which I haven't had the energy to go into today).  But it feels as if it's holding it's breath, waiting for the moment when the boys arrive home and leave shoes, bags, uniforms and PE kits all over the place.  Someone's school jumper will lie in wait behind a door and try to leg me over as I pass.  H2 will fling himself down in a chair, thus testing the springs and stitching on my already old and worn furniture.  H1 will say he's had the worst day ever and needs to eat/fiddle with his ipod/ignore everybody/not do the dishes, for the rest of the evening.

Never mind, I can ply them with cakes and all will be well!

Have a lovely weekend and thank you for reading.xxx

Endless Love

I am inordinately fond of a cottage.  So said Willoughby in Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility and I agree with him wholeheartedly.  The exterior of a cottage must, in my opinion, be well maintained and cared for, but with an air of humbleness about it.  It could be built of red brick, or painted bright pink and yellow like the cottages along the seafront at Tobermory.  It could be long and low or tall and thin; it could stand proudly alone or snuggled up with other cottages.  It could have a vast garden or a pocket handkerchief scrap, but it should never, never be grand.

My favourites are Welsh cottages made of stone with slate roofs, two chimneys, a garden full of flowers and hens and a stone path trickling down to a low, solid door set squarely in the middle.  If it has four small sash windows too, then I am in heaven.

Now we either have a house that looks like that or we don't; there's not much we can do to change it, but the interior is a different matter.  Any house can have a country cottage feel, it's all about hand-made, make-do-and-mend and never throw anything away kind of attitude.  Sounds perfect.

I remember the first cottage I ever went inside.  It belonged to a woman who seemed to me, at the tender age of 11, a little fierce.  She ran the riding school I helped out at and I couldn't believe I was actually allowed inside!  I only went into the kitchen but it was enough.  She had an Aga, a large oak table, an inglenook fireplace, a rocking chair and a bridle hung on the back of a wooden door leading to who-knows-where.  I could hardly speak.  I was in love.  I dreamt of this cottage for many years and my fertile imagination furnished it with all manner of horse tack, grooming kits, riding boots and hats.

Around a year or so later, still in the throws of a deep, unabiding love with a cottage, my parents brought us to Wales on holiday.  We stayed in the middle of nowhere, down endless country lanes to a long driveway almost hidden among lush verges and trees, which opened out into a farm yard. This in itself gave my heart cause to bang against my chest and I remember looking longingly at the higgledy-piggledy stone outbuildings with stable doors and cobbled floors.

Sadly there were no horses bowing their heads over the half-doors or scraping their hooves impatiently on the cobbles, but there was a farm house.  It was beautiful, even more beautiful than the riding school cottage.  Was my fickle heart about to change direction?  Absolutely!

This farm house was even more exciting.  A solid door was set at the end of a slate path that snaked between flower beds.   The door opened onto a tiny porch crammed with red geraniums and offered a choice of two internal doors; this I found most intriguing.  One led to a small, cosy lounge filled with mis-matched squashy settees and chairs, crocheted blankets and antimacassars hung over their backs and arms, patchwork cushions covered their seats and rugs scattered over the worn carpets.  This was my idea of sheer, perfect bliss.

The kitchen was huge and my sister and I ran about squealing and giggling with excitement.  The thing I loved the most was the enormous table and chairs that sat at one end of the kitchen, beneath a beautiful sash window over looking the cottage garden.  This then, was the epitome of home.  The worn rugs, faded pictures, old books and heavy furniture.  This is what I have tried to re-create, in my own way in every home I have lived in since.

One day I will live in a small farm house with sash windows, two chimneys, stone walls and a slate roof.  It will have a garden where I can grow flowers, herbs and vegetables and lavender coloured hens will scratch the earth between bright orange English marigolds.  There will be a field where my llamas or Welsh Mountain sheep will graze contentedly and my old blue Land Rover will wait patiently in the barn until she is needed.  If all goes to plan, there will be an Aga in the homely kitchen where I will make steak and kidney pudding, apple pie and farm house fruit cake.  It will have old rugs on the floor and most certainly there will be a rocking chair in a corner.  For anyone who cares to visit, there will always be tea and cake and my joy will know no bounds if I can send them home laden with fresh eggs, vegetables and homemade jam.

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!

Enjoy a little day dreaming of your own today. xxx

Pottering About

Yesterday was a dull, chilly and damp day.  It would have been perfect for staying home, reading, baking and drinking tea, but we had Plans with a capital 'P'; we were going to spend the day at a pottery.  As it turned out, said pottery is located only a short drive from our home down narrow, windy lanes and nestled in beautiful, wild countryside.  Oh yes, this I was looking forward to.

Not only has Richard Daniels been our pottery class tutor for the last two Fridays, but he is also the owner of the most gorgeous home and work place anyone could wish for.  He very kindly allowed the 7 of us to spend the day in his workshop, splash around with glazes and poke about.  When we arrived my jaw fell open as I beheld yet another glorious country dwelling.  What a place, what a location!  We drove into a courtyard surrounded by outbuildings that have been converted by Richard and his wife over the years to accommodate his passion for pottery.  Beautifully tended plants shone from every corner and a wealth of character whispered to you to look closer.  To be honest, my desire to create more pots had dried up a little on arriving and I just wanted to walk round on my own, take photos and day dream.

Fortunately, Richard was kind enough to let me do just that, and I must say I had a lot of fun!

But we were there to glaze our pots and the other items of gorgeousness we had been busy crafting over the last two weeks, so I put my camera down eventually and got on with it.  Pottery, like many crafts, is a labour of love and takes time from initial idea to completed product, so the things we glazed yesterday will have to be fired again before we can actually get our hands on them.  I glazed my dad's Three-legged-stargazing-pig half in a yellow-brown and half in some other colour that I can't actually remember, so the result will most definitely be a surprise!  Most of the glazes are quite manly and dark, where I am a girly girl and love pastels, so I was delighted that Richard had a peach glaze.  I have no idea what colour it will end up being as he didn't have an example to show us, so that will be a surprise too.

Richard is extremely enthusiastic about his craft and is obviously very skilled and talented.  He is a larger than life character with a respected reputation earned through hard work and diligence.  Anyone with a love of pottery would enjoy spending time in his company.  If you want to take a peek at his work, you can visit his website creigiaumawrpottery.co.uk.  There is plenty to go at and well worth a look.

Pea and I had to return home to fetch H2 from school, so we left the others still painting, laughing and learning and off we went back down the lanes that were new to us only a week ago but are, even now, starting to feel like home.  The untamed romantic in me very satisfied with this new discovery.

Thank you Richard for sharing your home and your passion with us. xxx

Something About Brown

I love brown.  To me it is the colour of Autumn, chocolate, warmth and kindness.  Brown has a softness that black does not possess, it has depth and comfort.  It is in the eyes of a horse when it looks deep into your soul, it is in the changing leaves on the trees in September, it is in sun scorched fields of hay and wheat and it is most definitely in a glass bowl of melted chocolate.  Yesterday, I had a very Brown Day...!

In my last post I mentioned I would be making Brown Bread Ice-cream.  The recipe was given to me some years ago by my friend Hilary Brown, (coincidence!) but I haven't made it for ages now.  The children all remembered it suddenly one tea time and begged me to make it again.  Being a Good Mother, or probably one who just wishes to curry favour with my children so they will be more biddable, I gathered the ingredients and set to.

It doesn't actually sound that appealing in reality.  I can't stand brown bread for a start as it makes me gag and toasted brown bread is like eating cardboard.  Why would anyone spoil a jolly good ham and mustard sarny by using brown bread?  Gross.  BUT, in this ice-cream you don't taste the bread, it is made into breadcrumbs to start with and then mixed with demerara sugar and ground hazelnuts and then toasted under the grill.

This is a bit tricky as it can easily burn and I have ended up with a tray full of ash before now.  Not very brown or tasty.  Next you beat egg whites into submission until they form stiff peaks and mix in a whole load of double cream and your toasted brown bits.  Pour and scrape it into a tub, sprinkle more hazelnuts on the top, put the lid on and stick it in the freezer until it is solid.  That's it.  No messing about with ice-cream makers or stirring it every half hour to break up ice crystals.  It's easy and delicious.

The thing with ice-cream is that you need something to go with it and what better than chocolate Brownies?  Pea made them while I faffed about doing something else.  Brownies are a bit tricky too as they need to come out of the oven before they really look done.  They should be a tad gooey in the middle but baked on the outside.  It takes practise, but she's almost got it now and they went beautifully with the ice-cream.

The boys both went berserk when they found out the answer to their daily question, 'What's for tea?'

'Hi mum.'
'Hello darling, did you have a good day?'
(A bit of unintelligible grunting follows)'What's for tea?'
'Veggie stir fry, egg noodles followed by brown bread ice-cream and chocolate brownies.'
'Oh my God! Really?  REALLY? Yeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssss!  Thanks mum.'

Hmm, easily pleased anyway.

A bit more Brown is hidden in the cake tins for later.  Or at least until H2 starts poking about and finds them.

If you have been sold on the idea of brown bread ice-cream, you will probably want to make it for yourself, so here is the recipe.  Make it, taste it and enjoy it.

INGREDIENTS

75grams (3 ounces) wholemeal breadcrumbs
50grams (2 ounces) demerara sugar
50grams (2 ounces) hazelnuts, ground (you can use skinned or un-skinned as you like)
3 egg whites
125grams (4 ounces) caster sugar
About half a pint of double cream, lightly whipped
Hazelnuts, slightly chopped to decorate

METHOD

Combine the breadcrumbs, demerara sugar and hazelnuts on a heatproof tray.  Place under a hot grill until golden brown, stirring occasionally.  Leave to cool.

Whisk the egg whites until stiff then gradually whisk in the caster sugar.  Fold the cream into the meringue with the breadcrumb mixture.  Sprinkle the chopped hazelnuts on the top

Turn into a 1.2litre (2 pint) freezer proof mould, (I use a Celebrations tub).  Cover and freeze until solid.

Remove from the freezer about 15 minutes before serving.

I really hope you enjoy making and eating this.  I think it is a good ice-cream to have in the winter too and would go down well with Christmas pudding.  Just a thought...

Have a good day and thank you for reading.xxx

Stolen Day

Sometimes I have such feelings of guilt when I spend time doing pleasurable things that it almost puts me off doing them.  Almost...But not quite.  Life is for living and we are only here once so it comes down to all of us to make the most of what we have and live each day as if it were our first; eyes and hearts wide open, ready to see things as we did when we were children and not so full of cynicism we can't see the wood for the trees.  That said, the sun is out, the sky is blue, who's for the beach?

I am not the kind of woman to waste a glorious day indoors cleaning.  Dust will always be there if I live to be a hundred, but warm, sunny days are few and far between, so it would be a crime to do anything other than be out in it and enjoy what Mother Nature has sent us.  Besides that, Pea finally finished her exams yesterday and now has ten weeks at home with which to do nothing, so it obviously falls to me to provide a little diversion now and then.  Going to the beach is something we are lucky enough to do whenever we want, but I still love it as each time is different.  Today we chose a beach further away from the ones we usually go to, but we wanted to feel as if we were on holiday, so somewhere less familiar was necessary.

We chose Red Wharf Bay.  When we arrived the tide was out, far out and going even further out by the minute, but it afforded us the opportunity to walk bare-foot down to the shore along soft, warm sand and enjoy the feeling between our toes.

Jelly-fish season is upon us and the beach was littered with washed-up bodies drying in the sun.  A jelly-fish is a beautiful creature and it is always sad to see such beauty sadly abandoned by the sea and dying as the sun beats down on their delicate forms.  But it is the circle of nature and they will become food for sea birds and later on today when the tide turns again, it will take them all back to the sea where fish and other marine creatures will feed on their remains and nothing about their lives will be wasted.  Perfect.

The sea, when we reached it, was warm and inviting.  The waves lapped gently against our legs and gulls called in that special way that can only mean one thing; you are at the seaside!

What ever beach I visit, the same thing happens to me after about half an hour of pure sea air; I get hungry.  Really hungry.  The kind of hunger that I never feel anywhere other than the beach.  We headed back along the sand to a gorgeous little tea-room-cum-restaurant and sat outside under a giant parasol.  We had tea and Pea indulged in a home-made vanilla ice-cream the colour of clotted cream and dotted throughout with vanilla seeds.

I am not overly keen on ice-cream.  I think it's because when I want a treat I want something comforting, not something that will crash against my teeth and give me brain freeze.  However, tomorrow I will be making ice-cream.  Bit of a paradox, I agree, but there is a reason for it.  This ice-cream is soft, smooth and comforting.  It is filled with hazelnuts, copious amounts of double cream and, would you believe, brown bread.  I know, I thought the same thing when I was given the recipe a few years ago.  I will say no more for now as I will write more fully about brown bread ice-cream tomorrow; after I have cut the lawn, cleaned the bathroom, washed a small mountain of dirty clothes, (having picked them up off the floor first) and completed several other delightful chores I neglected to do today. But in the distant future, today is the day that I will remember; another stitch in the tapestry of my life, not tomorrow full of house work and boring stuff.  When I am dead, hopefully I will be remembered for being kind, always smiling and making nice food.

I do not want to be remembered for having a perfectly clean house.

Let the dust settle and steal a day for yourself! xxx

Easy Like Sunday Morning

Sunday mornings are designed for getting up late, drinking tea in your dressing gown, gazing at the sky and generally lazing about.  After a week of lethargy, I woke this morning with something akin to enthusiasm and energy.  I think this was brought on by the state of the house; paper and books everywhere, dishes in the sink waiting to be washed and clothes waiting to be put away.  Enough of this mess, it is spoiling my lazy Sunday morning.

Usually when I mention the C word to my children, it is met with groans of despair, the dogs hide and H2 looks at me with tears in his eyes and says, I hate it when you're like this!  Charming.  Might I remind you all that the mess is not caused by me, but it falls to me to clean it up, or at least martial everyone else into cleaning it up.  Today though they all seemed quite happy to set about with the hoover and dusters and within an hour things looked much neater.  The washing is blowing  madly on the line, the floors are clean and most of the surfaces are tidy.

So enough of the manic cleaning and on with the real business of the day; being lazy.  H1 is doing a power point on Puppy for his Welsh presentation at school,  so he has been taking photos of Puppy going about his Sunday morning.  He loves woodlice and has found quite a few of them in the garden.  He then plays with them for a bit and then they disappear.  We are not sure if he eats them or if they run away in fear for their lives.  He spent a few happy moments chasing a butterfly and then dug a hole in the lawn and finding something within, chewed contentedly on it for a bit.

Today is Father's Day in Britain, and to show my dad just how much I love him I gave him the Stargazing Pig that I made in pottery class last week.  It has been fired (unglazed) in the kiln during the week and came back to me a lovely delicate pink colour but minus one leg as it had blown off in the kiln.  So my dad is now the proud owner of a three-legged-stargazing pig.  He was delighted with his gift but managed to hide it well by laughing his head off and asking me what it was.  Huh, isn't it obvious?  Clearly not.  That aside, Pea and I made a bit more tat with which to clutter up our home at pottery class on Friday.

It would seem that my initial success on the potter's wheel was purely beginner's luck as this time I managed to make a right hash of it.  I kept getting my fingers in the wrong place and ended up squashing my lovely pot.  Pea, however made a super job of hers and will have something really lovely to gather more dust in her bedroom.

In keeping with the theme of today, dinner will be a joint effort between Pea and myself.  Yesterday I made a chocolate and cinnamon cake and there is, miraculously, enough left for pudding today.  After dinner I fully intend to read and drink tea for most of the afternoon.  If the sun comes out again and this blessed wind drops, I will be doing it in the garden without any of the feelings of guilt that usually accompany me during this activity.  It is Sunday and you should please yourself what you do with it.

Enjoy your day, what ever you do with it.  Thank you for dropping by my Windy Island. xxx
 

Moody Monday

After a blisteringly hot, dry weekend of wall to wall sunshine (at long last), today is cloudy and close.  A breeze stirs things up now and then, but the sun has finally been shut out by cloud.  Over the mountains the sky is gun metal grey; heavy with the threat of rain.  The sea is slowly being obscured from view by a thick, creeping mist that may or may not reach us later in the day.  It seems that Nature has worked her magic on me again and matched the atmosphere to my present mood.  

By nature I am a happy, content kind of gal.  It takes unkindness and cruelty to make my blood boil and I always try to see the good in people before I give up hope.  I have everything a woman could want; gorgeous children, a beautiful home, kind friends and a loving family.  So why on earth would I wake today feeling slightly less than happy?  Actually that's the wrong word; I am happy, just not full of enthusiasm.  This feeling comes across me now and then and I loathe it.  It is such a waste of time and I cannot account for it at all.  I have nothing in the world to complain about.  I am not in a mood exactly, nor cross or bad tempered, just a teeny bit...dare I say it?...Bored.  Nooooo!  What a horrid word!  It doesn't bother me when the children are bored, indeed I think it does them good sometimes, providing it doesn't become too much of a habit.  So maybe I should adopt the same attitude regarding my own mood.  Who cares?  It matters not.

Anyway the cure for this kind of malady, as we all know is a jolly good magazine and some chocolate!  Pea and I drove into Cemaes Bay and purchased said items.  The chocolate went down a treat but the magazine failed to lift my flagging spirits.  Even pretty pictures didn't excite any interest.

But a girl cannot live on chocolate alone, so it was time for me to take myself in hand and get out into the lanes and let Mother Nature do her thing.

There is one thing that never fails to bring a smile to my lips and that is the scent of flowers.  Lilac is one of the best, and as this tree was so kindly draping her branches over the wall to us, we took full advantage and filled our senses with the delicious perfume.  Smile number one.

Digitalis Purpurea or Foxglove, to give it it's English name, is one of my most favourite wild flowers.  It doesn't smell, or at least not to us, but the bees love it and it brightens up all the banks and hedgerows around us.  It is starting to come into bloom now and the purple flowers contrast beautifully with the acid yellow Alexanders.  Smile number two.

Smile number three came soon after, courtesy of a Hawthorn bush and it's snowy white blossoms. You can smell these on a warm day before you see them.  They gently scent the air and make you look for the flowers from whence it came.  A Hawthorn in full bloom is a sight to behold and it makes me smile for days.

And then there is the humble buttercup.  It's roots are incredibly invasive if you are (un)lucky enough to have it in your garden and you will have one heck of a job to remove it for good, but out in the countryside it lights up the lanes and fields and glows in the sunshine like the sun itself.  Even on a dull day, it has a light of it's own and any one catching a glimpse of these gorgeous gems must surely smile as I did.  Smile number four.

Back at home, the sun peeped out from behind the clouds for a moment and bathed Puppy in it's warmth.  He doesn't get down in the dumps or bored.  Watching a very healthy, happy dog chew his bone made me happy too.  Life isn't too bad!

So there we have it, a bit of boredom never killed anyone and sometimes it can be a good thing.  It makes us slow down and notice things beyond our own worries and concerns and if it doesn't rid us of them it can at least make them more bearable.  At this very moment I wish that my children were bored too.  They are so excitable for some bizarre reason beyond my comprehension and making so much noise that I am going to take a cup of tea and my Dracula book outside in the garden and read.

I bet they will follow me!

Have a lovely evening and remember to smell the roses! xxx

The Ghost Of An Idea

I am no Demi Moore and my Patrick Swayze was not to be found, but undeterred I attended the Pottery for Beginners course anyway.  I have wanted to learn how to throw a pot ever since I first walked into the art block at the Forest of Needwood High School in England (too) many years ago, and saw the potter's wheels there.  I never got to try them out, despite being seriously keen and loving my art lessons.  Finally, today, I got my chance...

There were 11 of us on what was possibly the hottest day of the year for the island so far.  Typical.  We wait for months for some heat and when it arrives we are indoors all day.  Never mind, it was worth it.  Pea came with me to keep me company and as a break from revision.  Richard, our tutor showed us how to make thumb pots to begin with.  We have all made these as children no doubt, with plasticine or play dough; you take a ball of clay, poke your thumb in the top and turn the ball while squeezing with the fingers of the same hand, thus making a tiny little pot.  Easy.  We made 2 each and stuck them together and then turned them into animals.

 Pea made a mouse-rat and I made a star-gazing pig.

He's meant to look like that, actually!  He has a little heart on his back too. I love him.

Flushed with success there was no stopping us, so next we made some small cereal bowels using molds.

Pea's turned out really well, but mine was a bit small and probably better suited as a bowl to put a single walnut in.  We decided to make a wind chime as a joint effort next and cut out loads of hearts and rain drops which we inscribed with all our names, including our pets and the year.  Once it has been fired we will string it together with fishing line and find a suitable place to hang it.

We had loads of fun making this but the real reason I was there was to throw a pot.  I was excited but also nervous.  After waiting for so long, what if I was rubbish at it or worse still, hated it?  I watched as a few other brave souls had a go and then forced myself to get up in front of the class and try my hand.  The clay felt warm and smooth.  It needed more pressure from my hand than I thought it would and I soon found that I was completely lost in the hypnotic movement and sound of the turning wheel, and the feel of clay beneath my hands.  It was such a relaxing thing to do and I felt completely at ease.  Somehow I knew what to do to mold it and felt unhurried and happy.  
I lost myself in making my little pot and could see how you could easily lose many hours just silently making pots and enjoying the craft.  Wow, I love it!

I know that in the great scheme of things, it isn't that impressive, but I am absolutely delighted with my pot and want to make more...lots more!

Pea had a go next and did extremely well.  She felt like I did, that we want to do this again, we want to be good at it.

We were all pretty hooked on this new craft and were pleased to hear that we can all go again for the next two Fridays and then start a proper course in September.  Yes!

I think I should warn my family that they will be getting all manner of hand-made rubbish from me for Christmas and birthdays for years and years to come.  Sorry!

Thank you for reading. xxx