Anne of Green Gables

 When I have all the time in the world to blog, I can never think of anything to write; and then when I have a dearth of potential blog material I never have enough time to sit and write it out.
This is irony, apparently.
Well, this is one of the all-the-time-in-the-world-times so I thought I would do a quick little book review, just for a change :) (Such an original idea..)
I am currently re-reading the Anne of Green Gables series for the billionth time. They are the type of book you pick up and then have to carry on reading; corny I know, but it's physically true!
I grew up with Anne of Green Gables.
We were bosom friends and kindred spirits (back then, that is...) I used to desperately want red hair.
She ruined my childhood ideals. They could have been so innocent, so lofty. But no. She brought them down to the envies of red hair.
If only Anne had had a blog we would have all got bored of her... but alas this was not to be, and instead we are forced to like her and laugh over her and long for her to make up with Gilbert Blythe because we are all in love with him anyway and we know its going to happen so why prolong the suspense?!
So if you haven't read the books, read them. And if you have read them, read them again!!

(Was just wondering how I WOULD look with red hair... I think not)

The Red Rose

This is a beautiful story that I heard the other day...

It was England; it was wartime.
Somehow, through a friend, a young man and lady had started writing to each other. They wrote often, even whilst he was away fighting at the warfront, and through their letters they found they shared a bond, and became very close.
One day the man wrote asking for a photo. The lady refused.
After a while he repeated his request, but she again refused.
Then finally, just after the war was over, they decided to meet each other.
The man asked for a photo, so that he would know what she looked like when he came to meet her at the train station.
She refused, but told him she would wear a red rose, so that he would know who she was.
The day came; and the man stood waiting on the platform as the train drew in. It crawled to a stop with a whirl of smoke, and several passengers alighted.
As he stood on the platform he saw a young dark-haired woman wearing a lovely green coat, walking towards him, and straightaway he thought: 'It must be her!' But when he looked, he saw that she was not wearing a rose; and she passed him by and walked out of the station.
Then he turned, to see an old lady with a stick, hobbling towards him. In the lapel of her brown tweed jacket she wore a red rose.
His heart fell, but he thought to himself, I must be polite, I will take her to the restaurant and I will make sure she has a wonderful time. I must not show my disappointment.
And he greeted her with a smile, and took her arm and led her out of the station towards the waiting taxi.
Then, just as they stepped out of the station onto the pavement, the old lady turned to him and said: 'My dear boy, as we were nearing the station, a young lady in a green coat told me that you were waiting to meet her here, and she gave me this rose and asked me to wear it.' She looked at him, and smiled.
'She told me it was because she wanted to see how you would treat her when she was old.'