Head in the clouds

I have been Tasmania dreaming again.

But this time, my dreaming is more specific, more of a checklist, perhaps unrealistic.

The perfect house: A rambling old farmhouse (restored, of course) Dark polished wooden floors. White: inside and out. High ceilings. A fireplace with an old fashioned mantelpiece. Lots of windows. Lots of light. A few acres, not too many. Five minutes from town (for supplies). Thirty minutes from the beach (for exploring) Thirty minutes from the city (for the culture: movies, theatre, funky shops, etc)

But of course, the perfect house would not be perfect, unless my cousin, her husband and her five children lived down the country road. Our kids would grow up together. We would eat too many home baked morning tea's together. We would share our Sunday roasts. We would produce swap.

Hmmmmm!

So you see. I am dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. But what a lovely place dreams are, a place to go and feel so very happy, if only for a moment.