I’m down to the last couple of chapters and I don’t want it to end—not the book I’m writing, the one I am reading, Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher.
Think of a Scottish countryside, cold, snow, people who say, “Dear boy,” and “It’s lovely.” And they talk of a dram of bitters, and pounds, the snow on the grouse bushes. I couldn’t resist the book when on the first page a 62 year old woman goes into the pound and adopts a dog. After a tragic accident she, when asked, and being an impulsive former actress, accompanies a widower to an ancient Estate house in Scotland. Enter a broken hearted niece bringing with her a delightful child whose divorced mother and Grandmother, with whom they live, do not have time for. They have come to spend Christmas—an event the elder members of the household had decided to forgo that year. Enter a man, an executive who will be refurbishing the old woolen mill, who came simply to look at the house and became snowbound, was invited for Christmas, and entered into the family like an old friend. I love these characters, and the delight in which they prepare for Christmas, and heal, and bring new life to everyone involved. You see what’s coming and you can’t wait to get there. Oh it will set you for a splendid Christmas.
Last night we sought out an Italian restaurant in Murrieta. What a charming area—didn’t know about the old part of Murrieta, and the restaurant. The ad said they made all their own food, pasta, sausages, everything. It was like walking into another world, people hugged, and dressed up for dinner, there was a din of activity, and live music. And standing there at the entrance I was almost run over by the establishment throwing out man who had a guitar and thought he was going to play with the band. They were rather rough with him, swearing and telling him never to return, then apologizing to us for the row. I thought it was all rather colorful. A patron told me, the man had lived in the town all his life, and had been in a mental hospital. I felt sorry for him and wondered how much he was kicked around by people who saw him as crazy.
We waited an hour—Friday night, no reservation, the people were in no hurry to leave and I didn’t blame them. But we were starving, and left without dinner, but Anthony’s has been on my mind this morning and we will definitely go back. Baby Darling cried for a couple of miles saying “Go back.” I, too, wanted to be embraced into the old country.
