“Why are you so obsessed with England ?”
I get that question a lot.
I was born on the wrong side of the pond.
Don’t get me wrong, I love America. But I lost my heart to England the day Diana married her prince. Indeed, the wedding of the century hooked me. Forty years (40) ago, the couple made a conscious decision to stand at the altar in St Paul’s Cathedral-London on July 29, 1981. There they vowed their love before God and 750 million of us who tuned in as The Archbishop of Canterbury declared, “Here is the stuff of which fairytales are made…”
We all know how that ended.
Unbeknownst to us, the princess had been enduring much emotional turmoil on what was supposed to be one of the most important days of her life. “The night before the wedding I was very, very calm, deathly calm. I felt I was a lamb to the slaughter. I knew it and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
What might have been had different choices been made? Would Princess Diana still be alive today? So many what ifs.
Let’s face it. Whether a prince or a pauper, our choices affect the next generation.
Rich history abounds over there across the pond. The research fascinates me. It forces me to look back on my own generational faults and helps me to find a better way.
I want to leave a well-lived legacy, don’t you?
I’m all about face-to-face relationship. When that’s not possible, I choose pen to paper, stamp on envelope, slow mail delivery to my recipients. Call me old fashioned, but that’s my way. Click on Gail Mail to learn more.
I observe afternoon tea. Every. Single. Day. It’s my ‘pay attention’ habit. English Breakfast with a cube of sugar and cream is my favorite.
Do you have a signature accessory? I love my pearls.
Tea and scones are my top of the list food choice and daisies are my favored flower.
Cookie dough. Bliss in a spoonful.
These are my people. They grow me. My soul is filled with joy because of them. This is us on a family holiday to Hawaii in May 2019. We cherish this gifted space in time before the world changed.
I love to hike. Here I am in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. “Neat-ure” never gets old.