Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of my arrival to Scotland to see if Paul and I were as good a match in person as we seemed to be through two years of telephone and email conversations. The plan was we'd see if we could get along sharing one small Scottish bathroom and if we could, we'd marry - which we did.

Looking back now it seems insane that I took such a chance - one friend contacted me three days after my arrival to make sure Paul hadn't killed me and hidden my body under the floorboards. A former colleague kept checking in until I'd been here a few years to make sure I was still breathing. She still sends a Christmas email 'just to be sure'. 

At the time I took that Atlanta to Edinburgh flight (via Chicago and Copenhagen, the layovers were interesting), Fox and his sister and I were still estranged so they had no real input and honestly had we not been estranged I quite likely would never have got on that plane in the first place. Four months after I'd arrived to Scotland and Paul and I were knee deep in planning a wedding, a friend I'd kept in contact with told Fox I'd flitted off to Scotland the way I had, was being married in the New Year, and gave my son the phone number. He immediately telephoned to tell me he was flabbergasted and worried that I'd done something so daring 'at your age, Mum, wth were you thinking?!' (I was ten days shy of 54). His sister, on the other hand, mostly shrugged and left it at 'Are you happy?' then plunged straight into her woes and worries and well-beings - she's always been that way, I don't let it bother me ('Oh, it's your birthday? Happy Birthday. Mom, that idiot son of mine has only gone and...').

And of course, there were things Paul and I both had to work out and through once it dawned us about three months in that we were a rather good match despite some rather large differences in personality, habits, opinions.

Adjustments have been made in all areas and over all our life together is good - he's learned to trust me to make decisions about running the household (and using hand and power tools, he's now at the point if he needs a screwdriver or small claw hammer he asks me if he can borrow mine, and he doesn't flinch when I break out the jig and circular saws to, say, build a quilting frame or bookcase). I'm gardening again and the exercise is good for me and the way our front, back and sides are shaping up - he no longer argues about what and where to plant (yes, well, he does moan a bit about the containers I keep buying to use in the front garden as everyone's drains run through there so I can't plant anything in the actual ground). He's still an absolute horror as a motor passenger so I'm still on that provisional driving licence and haven't been behind the wheel since 2013; his eyesight and reflexes aren't what they were - he sold the motorbike when we sold the house and he's reluctant to take long driving trips these days but refuses to have his eyes checked or go see the GP for what we laughingly call an 'MOT' (car inspection that must be done annually) - thank-heavens for the 60+bus pass or I'd never get out of the village:). We're not a wildly romantic couple, rather we bumble along nicely and are good for one another in so many ways.

The older we become the even easier things are, moving house to this small cottage has been a real boost to us both. Everything is on level easy to navigate ground here so I can get out to walk for exercise or a quick nip down the shops (and he won't admit it but it's easier for him as well). Living costs are lower in a smaller property even with the inevitable expenses incurred 'settling in' - money is usually an issue for an Aspie like Paul so the savings help in more ways than just the bank balance.

The plumber is coming next week to change kitchen and bath basin taps, and fit a water bib through the bathroom wall to the front garden - and Paul only wanted three months to agree with me those had to be changed. Which is a huge improvement for Paul - it took seven years at the old house for him to admit we needed to do something major to the bathroom (and then of course a year later we sold the house and moved here). Next spring the bathtub is coming out and a shower cabinet fitted in its place, and the kitchen will be renovated (re-wire and plumbing for the dishwasher, tumble dryer, and relocated fridge-freezer, cooktop, vent-to-the-outside extractor fan, and raised oven; new cabinets with pull-out drawers and slots - ageing-in-place work that will make the kitchen usable for us both no matter how old we manage to become). I'd love to fit a small water closet where Paul's bedroom closet is (mine is being used for a 'pantry of doom' - medical supplies, kitchen and toilet roll, bottled water, tinned food, rice, etc - and yes I rotate. Coming from Hurricane Central USA, preparedness is my real first name!). But I think that WC may be a far distant dream. Unless we win the lottery...

Although this is only a one bedroom cottage, this house is perfect for 'two old gits'. We love it here. Despite the cottage being next to a historic landmark tourist attraction, the solitude here is superb - the landmark garden, open and busy four days a week between 10am and 4pm April through September, is sited relative to ours in such a way as to not be intrusive; we get no foot or motor traffic past our windows. The couple in the other semi-detached are friendly without being overly so. The peace is just the ticket for an older Asperger's person, Paul is so much more relaxed here. As for me, I can get out and about on my own (Paul's not much for socialising and visiting local attractions), and owing to his Asperger's induced need for 'personal space' I am able to sew-crochet-needlework for hours without interruption. The galley kitchen is a marvel for cooking in - plenty of cabinets so all my equipment is easy to fetch and use, and once the reno is done, this kitchen will be absolutely perfect in my opinion. This property suits us and I think we can honestly say moving to this cottage has made a huge improvement in our lives. 1st September will be the one year anniversary of moving here and Paul still can't believe we're here but then follows saying that with 'But it feels as though we've always been here.'

Last night I asked him if he was truly happy and he said he couldn't believe it's been nine years, that he can't imagine without feeling sick ever going back to the way his life was before I arrived.

Works for me:)