A knock on the door heralds the postman with a box. I’m expecting several deliveries, so never gave it a thought as I opened it, expecting yet another item for the workshop weekend to finally make its appearance.

The box is not what I expect and as I begin to unpack it, my smile widens. Soft green velvet, little feminine luxuries, a book… a film that looks wonderful even though it wouldn’t need to be with the guy in the starring role to watch… a gift of music, that brings memories of song in a cathedral… and a papyrus painted with a familiar calendar of Egyptian gods…. Once unpacked it seems incredible so much could come out of that box, yet more went into it than meets the eye.

It isn’t Christmas, or my birthday… yet it feels like both as I look at the things spread out before me. This is ‘just’ a wee giftie from a friend… something beautiful to brighten my day and start it with love… and for no other reason than that. Tears prick my eyelids and I feel blessed. More than things went into that box… To have such a friend, who shares the joys and sorrows, is there with laughter, a shoulder, common sense and shared mischief… that is the real gift. We live a long way apart from each other and it is ages since we have been able to meet up… but in a few weeks she, I and the other member of a triad of loving sisterhood are getting together. Finally. And I can’t wait.

We can hear Ani’s excitement as we open the front door. She knows I have one of her boys with me and she cannot contain herself. As soon as the door is open, like a cork from a champagne bottle she shoots out and leaps on my son. For the next few hours she will be impossible to quell… she is joy incarnate.

I leave them to it while I get ready. “You look nice,” says my son. I smile. Then the other son knocks on the door. “You look nice,” says the other son and Ani goes wild… Both her boys at once! I can empathise with her.

She gets to play for an hour, but Nick has booked at table for eight and the three of us wander through the village, with me in heels in a vain attempt to seem less vertically challenged between the two bearded young men.

They are random, my sons, and maintain a constant flow of a lunacy they call hereditary. The evening will pass in laughter. Nick takes charge and orders for us, Alex and I on tenterhooks half expecting him to ask for the guinea pig… “The goat cheese mousse and the guinea fowl for the lady,” We breathe a sigh of mock relief, “and the Gressingham smoked duck for him.” Eyes meet, dancing. The atmosphere at the table is infectious. The food and service first class, the Rothschild burgundy as soft as velvet.

We bundle the elder son into a taxi and the younger one and I walk back through the village together. The night is mild and springlike. We part at the corner with a hug. The evening a Mother’s Day treat par excellence.

I have been spoiled today, touched by love, friendship and laughter from morning till night. And I am blessed.

Photos from http://www.waddesdon.org.uk/