Crown Jewels,visiting an art museum, and seeing a play. Yet this, too, was England. All of it. We were savoring a rare taste of so much more than the average visitor gets to experience. It struck me that God was “gracing” us with more than we ever imagined. I had a wish to go to England so I could see Big Ben; my expectations were small. God’s gifts to us were immense.
The realization humbled me.
I readjusted my position under the covers and thought of how, just as God had given me my wish to go to England, He now seemed to be offering Kellie her wish of a hot-air balloon ride, and she wanted me to take a risk and go with her.
An image floated into my thoughts of Opal popping out of her chair that morning and setting the pace for her own happy little pancake race. Then I thought of Rose and her weighty stares of disapproval.
I drew in a deep breath and glanced across the shadowed room at peaceful Kellie. She wanted to go up in the hot-air balloon. With me.
Okay. Why not? Up, up, and away. No anchors from this best friend
.
After I made that determination, I nodded off and slept wonderfully well.
A tap on the door at five the next morning produced a shy young woman who carried in a tray with a pot of tea and two cups with saucers. The tray also had a small pitcher of milk and a dish with sugar cubes. The basket of assorted breads steamedwith the warmth of the fresh bakery items. She placed the tray on the end table between our two beds and slipped out as Kellie and I roused from a deep slumber.
“Such service,” I said.
“I feel like royalty. Breakfast in bed!”
“May I pour you a spot of tea, Lady Ebb?”
“Oh, yes please, would you, Lady Flo? You are so kind.”
“Oh, yes, aren’t I, though?”
We sipped our tea while still in bed and shared some petite muffins tucked in the white cloth napkin that lined the basket.
“Kellie, I decided last night that I want to do this with you. I want to defy gravity and go up in the hot-air balloon.”
Kellie’s expression lines were curling up in the happiest sort of way.
Just then we heard a soft tapping on our door.
“Yes?” I called out.
“A message came for you this morning. Shall I slip it under the door?”
“Yes, thank you.” I shot a wary glance at Kellie. No one knew we were at this hotel. Who would leave a message for us?
Kellie scanned the note. “It’s from the hot-air balloon company. Due to a schedule adjustment, our launch time has been postponed. They will pick us up at nine. Well, we might as well check out the local bookstores if they’re open.”
A short time later, with a map in hand and wearing several layers of clothes, we headed down the street in the same directionwe had taken toward the pub the night before. The skies were clear, and the air was crisp. Sunshine came gallantly marching through the narrow spaces between the old buildings and left its footprints on the cobblestones. We could see our breath as we walked briskly, trying to warm up.
“It’s a gorgeous day,” I said. “I love this early morning light.”
The first open shop we saw was a used bookstore. It seemed early in the day for a shop to be open, but as Kellie reminded me, “This is a college town. Students need books at all hours of the day and night.”
Ducking inside, we were met head-on with the scent of old books laced with a hint of pipe tobacco. The shelves reached to the ceiling in the small shop. All the books that hadn’t found a place to perch on one of the shelves were stacked in precarious leaning towers at the end of each aisle. In the far corner of the small shop, an old cane-back chair awaited weary book hunters alongside a crook-necked lamp wearing an amber shade at a fashionable slant. The invitation to sit in the corner and read was a dusty sort of invitation, but welcoming nonetheless.
We shopped in separate sections of the curious little bookstore. I picked up books as if they were shells washed ashore after a storm on a
The realization humbled me.
I readjusted my position under the covers and thought of how, just as God had given me my wish to go to England, He now seemed to be offering Kellie her wish of a hot-air balloon ride, and she wanted me to take a risk and go with her.
An image floated into my thoughts of Opal popping out of her chair that morning and setting the pace for her own happy little pancake race. Then I thought of Rose and her weighty stares of disapproval.
I drew in a deep breath and glanced across the shadowed room at peaceful Kellie. She wanted to go up in the hot-air balloon. With me.
Okay. Why not? Up, up, and away. No anchors from this best friend
.
After I made that determination, I nodded off and slept wonderfully well.
A tap on the door at five the next morning produced a shy young woman who carried in a tray with a pot of tea and two cups with saucers. The tray also had a small pitcher of milk and a dish with sugar cubes. The basket of assorted breads steamedwith the warmth of the fresh bakery items. She placed the tray on the end table between our two beds and slipped out as Kellie and I roused from a deep slumber.
“Such service,” I said.
“I feel like royalty. Breakfast in bed!”
“May I pour you a spot of tea, Lady Ebb?”
“Oh, yes please, would you, Lady Flo? You are so kind.”
“Oh, yes, aren’t I, though?”
We sipped our tea while still in bed and shared some petite muffins tucked in the white cloth napkin that lined the basket.
“Kellie, I decided last night that I want to do this with you. I want to defy gravity and go up in the hot-air balloon.”
Kellie’s expression lines were curling up in the happiest sort of way.
Just then we heard a soft tapping on our door.
“Yes?” I called out.
“A message came for you this morning. Shall I slip it under the door?”
“Yes, thank you.” I shot a wary glance at Kellie. No one knew we were at this hotel. Who would leave a message for us?
Kellie scanned the note. “It’s from the hot-air balloon company. Due to a schedule adjustment, our launch time has been postponed. They will pick us up at nine. Well, we might as well check out the local bookstores if they’re open.”
A short time later, with a map in hand and wearing several layers of clothes, we headed down the street in the same directionwe had taken toward the pub the night before. The skies were clear, and the air was crisp. Sunshine came gallantly marching through the narrow spaces between the old buildings and left its footprints on the cobblestones. We could see our breath as we walked briskly, trying to warm up.
“It’s a gorgeous day,” I said. “I love this early morning light.”
The first open shop we saw was a used bookstore. It seemed early in the day for a shop to be open, but as Kellie reminded me, “This is a college town. Students need books at all hours of the day and night.”
Ducking inside, we were met head-on with the scent of old books laced with a hint of pipe tobacco. The shelves reached to the ceiling in the small shop. All the books that hadn’t found a place to perch on one of the shelves were stacked in precarious leaning towers at the end of each aisle. In the far corner of the small shop, an old cane-back chair awaited weary book hunters alongside a crook-necked lamp wearing an amber shade at a fashionable slant. The invitation to sit in the corner and read was a dusty sort of invitation, but welcoming nonetheless.
We shopped in separate sections of the curious little bookstore. I picked up books as if they were shells washed ashore after a storm on a
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