Eating Breakfast - Small Things Matter

The small breakfast bowl I use has green edges, when it hides I search for it, I dismiss the the other twenty bowls. This bowl has grapes and lemons on the bottom and once belonged to my little Nan, now it is mine. Each morning I smile as I pour my bran flakes into it. The chips on the edges are part of its history, I fear it's demise. 

In hospital the nurses encouraged me to use a china mug bought for me by a friend. It was a garden of flowers with a pale blue rim, my favourite colour. My lips curled up at the corners as my mug trundled towards me on the tea trolley, sipping my drink and dunking my biscuits felt like I was having tea at the Ritz. 

Before BT I took so much for granted: 
Carrying a full mug of coffee,without a stain on the carpet

Each foot leaving the ground and moving forward without a thought. 
Hovering on one leg as I pulled trousers on,
Twisting around in one move,
Standing and chatting
Eating without taking notice of the pattern on the plate....

Now I write nestled in my little Nans' rocking chair, an ergonomic disaster, but the love embroidered into the upholstery inspires me. I gaze out at the golden bamboo in the garden, the wind rustling the leaves, the Buddha waves at me as I look for the panda. 

The richness of small things in life....