the lighter side of

{death}. Don't worry this isn't like my last post on {death}.

While we were away, we stopped in at a lovely little township (3 or so shops, is that a township? a village? a group of shops?) called Newrybar. It was about 15 mins from the place we were staying. A beautiful drive along country roads. 
'It's all good stuff. Old is beautiful'. 
Makes me feel better about having passed another birthday.

The cafe,  Harvest, was delicious and a beautiful setting.
And then, across the road was a very interesting looking antique shop. Look at all those chairs lined up. I do wish we'd had space in our car to bring something home. But, you know, four people do need a whole car boot-ful of things for only three nights away!
 We brought home that purple glass old electricity topper thing. To add to our collection of 
electricity topped things that we have. What are they called, anyone know?

Country House Antiques is a quirky looking antique shop with so many perfectly little styled little corners. 
And what about the signs. 
This is where the {death} comes in. 'Dead People's Stuff Now On Sale'
'Antiques Made Daily'. Doesn't that make you look at your surroundings just that bit closer. The things you take for daily granted are the things that in two generations will be 'antiques'.  (Like this computer I'm using, and you're using - I do suppose. Or the sewing machine you'll sitting at sometime this weekend).

The flower arrangements were very pretty. Old fashioned camellias picked from the garden, presented in a sort of modern way. Against the corrogated tin walls.


This is a very homely, friendly place. The kids loved it, and the lady who owned the place chatted happily to them and us. I never once felt like the kids were 'unwelcome' as can often happen at somewhere with so many fragile things. 
In fact, I think the whole trip away was like that. Most everywhere we went people were friendly, and chatted to our kids. I did love watching them chat back, interact in conversation. It's so great to see Ari growing into someone who can stand strongly on his own two feet, and doesn't need us to assist him in every single aspect of life.