I am certainly in a mood. I watched the last episode of Outlander night and I'm very upset. I can't wait until April for the new season. I just can't! They can't pull me into their story and then take it away like that! I belong in that story. I have never felt that strongly not even with Downtown Abbey. I should be living in that time, that moment. It takes me back to my younger years at boarding school where I immersed myself in historical romances. I could not get enough of them and indeed like the story behind Outlander, I was literally transported back to those times and places. It was such a rude awakening to have to come back to the present. Life was so much better in those stories. I never wanted to be the 'lady of the manor', but living the simple life of the village,in a simple cottage with gardens,meadows,and animals. Loving strongly with no pretense. Being myself and not living up to others expectations. Enjoying the simple things, working hard but proud of of what came of that hard work. I would be a healer, someone that people and animals came to for help. Perhaps a witch, wandering in the woods for herbs and weeds to distill into potions and poultices. A gypsy soul that could pick up and travel the lands. Wandering the moors, waysides, and beaches. I always loved to read. I would come alive in the pages of a book. I would feel the emotions of a well-written word. I would sigh, scream, sob. I could spend days reading and hate when it was finished. I devoured books. When I went to the library, I would typically bring back a bagful. Eagerly read them and go back for more. Reading came so easily. I would know how a sentence ended before I had read it. I could read almost as fast as I could turn the pages. It came easily to me. I gave up all that when I turned 40. I developed presbyopia, a disease that usually occurs beginning at around age 40, when people experience blurred near vision when reading, sewing or working at the computer. I strained to see the words and put complete sentences together. What had come so naturally to me, like breathing was now forced and uncomfortable. I got headaches as I squinted to see. Other hobbies I loved like sewing, cross stitch became unbearable. I struggled to use 'readers'. They were a necessary evil. I couldn't even see the computer at work or at home. And I was bitterly aware of giving up things I loved to do just because of aging. Nothing like reality bursting the bubbles of daydreams. Waking to a windy stormy morning. Even the chickens are reluctant to leave their cozy perches. But curiosity brings them out to see what goodies I have brought them this morning. Smokey, the coop kitty waits on the roof overhang for his plate of food. The dogs are lined up at the gate, barking excitedly to see him. Hoppy, the bunny happily scratches in the dirt and rubs his chin on branches and nestles the hens, looking for his favorites. I need to get busy. I have a vintage sale this weekend while Betsy does market for me. Last minute projects to complete. If the wind dies down and it gets drier, I have painting to do. A vanity needs a fresh look, table tops need their coats of urethane, and magnets need their topcoats. The canning ring pumpkins are strung and waiting for their paint or decoupage. I think I will bake some bread. While I wait for the storms to abate. While I dream of Outlander.