Perhaps it seems odd to begin in the middle, but putting ten of the most beautiful days of my life into words has been a formidable challenge, and one that I am broaching slowly. I can give you the travel guides and the gritty details of what I ate (um, literally everything in sight), but for now, all I want to give you is a few of my favorite hours. A few, precious morning hours with my beloved. So here we go.
It was our next-to-last day in London. He walked down to our newfound favorite breakfast spot - a tiny French bakery that sat just around the corner from our hotel. He returned with three plump brioche buns as big as my face, in a paper bag -- two sugared and one with chocolate chips. We ate them, our faces sticky with the caramelized sugar, as we walked to the gardens - Kensington Gardens.
There was so much joy in my heart as we trotted down to the one place on earth that I had dreamt of visiting more than any other.
We walked through the gates and I am sure my smile nearly dislocated my jaw as I looked at Mr. Pedantic and exclaimed in an elated whisper, “We’re here!”
There was a soft, autumnal hush that fell over the landscape - interrupted only by the swishing of blowing leaves, and Londoners whistling for their strangely obedient and leash-less dogs that pranced about the green in front of Kensington Palace.
It was surreal and beautiful and breathtaking. I found myself wishing, more than I had at any other point on that trip, that I too could own the privilege of visiting this English sanctuary for my morning walks and weekend picnics.
Then, we saw it. The statue. The statue that I had so longed to see - a forever monument for the literary world’s dearest character.
“Good morning, Peter. I’ve been looking for you.”
I never wanted to leave.
Now, as I sit here in my new home, where I am completely content, there is a aching sense of longing for those moments gone by. I would live that morning over and over again forever, if only I could. Having Mr. Pedantic there by my side, no trivial responsibilities to separate our hands or hearts -- only us. That was the best of times.
This morning I made breakfast that was not brioche buns. He left me to go to work instead of the bakery. I spent my morning hours working by the Christmas tree rather than walking through the park. I guess this too, is the best of times.
Hannah Everly kept me fashionable for our morning in the gardens and she would love to help you prepare for your holiday parties, or revamp your work wardrobe. You can find this skirt as well as a full line of festive patterns in her shop now!