I was so innocent back then. blisfuly unaware of what my life would turn into and how it would be drastically changed. my only concerns were when one of my soft toys would get sick, or whether it would rain at my birthday party. I had no clue that only a few years later i would be torn out of the ground and planted somehwere else in a matter of 2 weeks. I was unconditionally happy.
Now that the weather has changed and homecoming is coming up ive started remembering more. the rain brings back every memory, good and bad. everytime i look out the window and see it raining i remember the rainy days in england when i would sit in my army green pants with my black belt, a beigy golden turtle neck, and my hair in a half back braid with a tartan ribbon holding it. I would sit on the arm of a chair with my feet behind the coffee table next to it, knees resting against the radiator, wondering if there were any spiders near my feet, watching the rain. It rained heavier than it does now of course, and the trees would be throwing themselves around. several times i would see a thinner tree break and collapse onto the front garden. Sandbarn Cottage (my house in england) was pretty big, but what was unique about it was it sat right in the mddle of the garden. the huge garden surrounded by pine trees. there was the front garden wich was at the side of the house, the side facing the road, but you couldnt see the road because of the trees. This part of the garden was on a slope, i remember climbing into one of those tunnels you can buy with tents and rolling down into the budlear tree. there was the back garden wich was at the back of the house. this had my brothers makeshift basketball court wich consited of a patio area made just for him, and a hoop on the wall. There was also a climbing frame with a swing on it, and my forest. my forest was two rows of huge pine trees wich about 6 months before we knew we were leaving got cut down on account of their roots being two big and causing cracks in the house. At the side of the house was a flower patch and my faerie house. the latter was mad eby my dad. he had cut a path through a holly tree and surrounded it with flowers, it weas magical. next to that was another garden, i dont think there was a name for it. there we had a kennel wich at one point was made for the dog we had for 18 months, however he never went in it, he would sit next to it in the pouring rain. later on it housed 14 guinea pigs. next to it was a swing on a tree, nexty to that was another tree with anotherr swing on it. infront of those trees was a huge patch opf open grass where me and james would play soccer or rounders. there was another garden that we used to call the rough patch, but then we got it returfed and it became the smooth patch. this garden was seperated by trees and contained my grandfathers shed, and my wendy house with my vegtable patch. behind the house and the varuious gardens was a hugggeeee field, growing wheat or something. every year they would set it on fire to clean it out to make room fr new planting. i woul;d sit on the fence sperationg the field and my house and write poetry...not very good poetry, but hey, i was young lol.
i realize i would be bored out of my minds in that house iof i were this age. i dont know how james did it. he spent his teenage years in england meditating. Ifi was asked to move back now i dont think i could. i dont have the emotional stamina just yet to say goodbye to people i love again. But recenlty as i watch about a boy, notting hill, or wimbledon i find myself wishing i was back there and a part of the culture. america is so dull...no offense, i mean hollywood is awesome and stuff, but i miss having history. i miss houses being 200-600 years old, i miss castles, i miss fields, i miss the monarchy! im a country girl at heart because thats where i was born and where i feel i belong. I will go back to england, i know i will because that is where i want to raise my children. I dont even have a true accent anymore. i have a confused accent! its terrible! i dotn want to move back, i want to be garenteed at least 2 trips back a year. im getting old enough to go back by myself, and as my mum had to decide between getting drunk in the buisness class lounge before she got on the plane or taking a sleeping pill as soon as she got on the plane because she knew she wouldnt go back there, not even for my dads investiture if she was sober or awake, going back alone is my only hope. if i talk to my mum about it she dismisses it because she hates england, so if i asked her if i could go back shed laugh it off and not take me seriously.
no one will have read this far.
a year ago on november 13th tom died. i just found a picture of him. its hard to think of him as being real, in the picture hes wearing sweatpants, a teeshirt, and his socks. that makes him seem like a real person and i cant stand it. i dont even remember the last time i saw him. but for a year ive convinced myself he wasnt real. but he was.
Now that the weather has changed and homecoming is coming up ive started remembering more. the rain brings back every memory, good and bad. everytime i look out the window and see it raining i remember the rainy days in england when i would sit in my army green pants with my black belt, a beigy golden turtle neck, and my hair in a half back braid with a tartan ribbon holding it. I would sit on the arm of a chair with my feet behind the coffee table next to it, knees resting against the radiator, wondering if there were any spiders near my feet, watching the rain. It rained heavier than it does now of course, and the trees would be throwing themselves around. several times i would see a thinner tree break and collapse onto the front garden. Sandbarn Cottage (my house in england) was pretty big, but what was unique about it was it sat right in the mddle of the garden. the huge garden surrounded by pine trees. there was the front garden wich was at the side of the house, the side facing the road, but you couldnt see the road because of the trees. This part of the garden was on a slope, i remember climbing into one of those tunnels you can buy with tents and rolling down into the budlear tree. there was the back garden wich was at the back of the house. this had my brothers makeshift basketball court wich consited of a patio area made just for him, and a hoop on the wall. There was also a climbing frame with a swing on it, and my forest. my forest was two rows of huge pine trees wich about 6 months before we knew we were leaving got cut down on account of their roots being two big and causing cracks in the house. At the side of the house was a flower patch and my faerie house. the latter was mad eby my dad. he had cut a path through a holly tree and surrounded it with flowers, it weas magical. next to that was another garden, i dont think there was a name for it. there we had a kennel wich at one point was made for the dog we had for 18 months, however he never went in it, he would sit next to it in the pouring rain. later on it housed 14 guinea pigs. next to it was a swing on a tree, nexty to that was another tree with anotherr swing on it. infront of those trees was a huge patch opf open grass where me and james would play soccer or rounders. there was another garden that we used to call the rough patch, but then we got it returfed and it became the smooth patch. this garden was seperated by trees and contained my grandfathers shed, and my wendy house with my vegtable patch. behind the house and the varuious gardens was a hugggeeee field, growing wheat or something. every year they would set it on fire to clean it out to make room fr new planting. i woul;d sit on the fence sperationg the field and my house and write poetry...not very good poetry, but hey, i was young lol.
i realize i would be bored out of my minds in that house iof i were this age. i dont know how james did it. he spent his teenage years in england meditating. Ifi was asked to move back now i dont think i could. i dont have the emotional stamina just yet to say goodbye to people i love again. But recenlty as i watch about a boy, notting hill, or wimbledon i find myself wishing i was back there and a part of the culture. america is so dull...no offense, i mean hollywood is awesome and stuff, but i miss having history. i miss houses being 200-600 years old, i miss castles, i miss fields, i miss the monarchy! im a country girl at heart because thats where i was born and where i feel i belong. I will go back to england, i know i will because that is where i want to raise my children. I dont even have a true accent anymore. i have a confused accent! its terrible! i dotn want to move back, i want to be garenteed at least 2 trips back a year. im getting old enough to go back by myself, and as my mum had to decide between getting drunk in the buisness class lounge before she got on the plane or taking a sleeping pill as soon as she got on the plane because she knew she wouldnt go back there, not even for my dads investiture if she was sober or awake, going back alone is my only hope. if i talk to my mum about it she dismisses it because she hates england, so if i asked her if i could go back shed laugh it off and not take me seriously.
no one will have read this far.
a year ago on november 13th tom died. i just found a picture of him. its hard to think of him as being real, in the picture hes wearing sweatpants, a teeshirt, and his socks. that makes him seem like a real person and i cant stand it. i dont even remember the last time i saw him. but for a year ive convinced myself he wasnt real. but he was.
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