Carew Cottage Woolens

Dearest, 

you wove such beautiful dreams - each one unique and full.  

here is a little dream of mine - literally - a woven tale! 

Dream #1 "Carew Cottage Woolens." 

I buy a small operating farm in Wales or somewhere in the UK.  A piece of my heart lives in the countryside of Wales nearest the coastline. my Earthwatch experience had a lasting effect on where I would be forever happy.  I liked the "me" I was on that trip and will meet up with her again! 

I'm open to the location ...  I have a modest stone home and some outbuildings, with a small quality stock of sheep, maybe some lambs, and maybe even a hutch or two of angora rabbits. of course some fancy hens!  

Although even with some hired local hands to help,  I might forget the livestock completely and buy the raw material from my neighbors in the village.   I'd run a cottage industry of hand-dyed wools,  and home-spun yarns, specializing in dyes from organic fair-trade materials.  I'd return to my high school interest/instruction in weaving, carding, dyeing, and backstrap looms.  

Do most of the business by mail order - I know how to create a nice catalog! 

Walking enthusiastically, in my green wellies, down my long dirt drive with BIG hugs - I'll greet an occasional surprise visitor!  Welcoming the company - the sheep so lack in good conversation!  

We share a long break, at the old wooden farm table inside the cottage, stories, laughter, and fresh baked goodies.  We all take a long walk to the high point of the farm to the best view -  then, follow the stone walls back to the drive. I send them along with WelshCakes and local Cider for their travels. 

I'll spend early evenings weaving, knitting, and rocking on the porch to the faraway distinctive sounds of a flock of OysterCatchers feeding in the marshland.  

I've taken this daydream even further - but, I'll leave out the other pleasures I incorporate ... and NO the sheep are not involved! 

Cheers, 

r

I want to meet her!

Dear ______ ,

I think I need to go to COLORADO to do some research now for my found letter  = Dreams #2 CO summer story -  I could get comped a few nights somewhere!  but, I'd need to find an AirBnB - a cabin or trailer and rent it for a week to get REAL details.  

 

I wonder what this Ruthie was leaving behind ? 

I wonder what she orders at the local dive bar ?  beer? or something neat and straight up? like bourbon ... 

I wonder what color her uniforms are - maybe a yellow, a pink checked and a brown - just three = and then, she probably changes into Levi jeans and a fruit of the loom v=neck men's white undershirt - daily! - her favorite cowboy boots. of course,  she also has the obligatory Birkenstocks -  and one pair of well-worn hiking boots -  after all,  it is COLORADO. 

she probably has either really long hair - tied up - or really short - she needs a hat for those hikes she has lots of hats!  - btw - I've been told, I look good in hats ; )

The cabin has tables with scarves draped over them and collections of framed photos - people that are important to her - from beaches and festivals ... her old life.  lots of comfy sit upons and pillows. 

Wonder what the trucker's name is?

She has a bicycle - it's old - rusty but, dependable and not sure what car - maybe an old 2007 Honda!  

Millie has a story too ...

yup  - that story is just a snippet - a glimpse.  but, I want to find out more. 

and then, WHO plays the parts when the book goes to FILM????

here, I also found my Dream #1 - not as developed  - see attached.  wow, I wrote these so long ago - yet they are timeless! 

thanks for being a good audience for my new found old dreams!  

hugs, 

r

Colorado Dreamin'

Dearest, 

I love the dream you shared - Thank you.

Your descriptions of the desk and books - and chair where you will write your letters.  

so beautiful - I can smell the leather in your dream library - and picture it perfectly. 

I hope you enjoy the ink blotter I shipped - it will fit perfectly in your library den.   I'm enjoying this "DREAM SERIES" we are sharing.

Here is another dream of mine =

Dream # 2

I live in a small town tucked into the lodgepole pines of the Colorado Mtns - maybe a spruced up trailer or tiny small house.  I work the breakfast shift at the best little diner for miles.  

I wear a uniform with Ruthie embroidered on the front.  I have my regulars, that tip very well!   They wonder about me, I hear them quietly talking - their imagination is so much better than the truth, that I have to smile to myself!  some flirt - but, never succeed = it's playful and harmless.   Maybe it's the mystery that makes them keep coming back! It's not just my peach cobbler, the cleavage, or the fit of the uniform.

After my shift, I go home to my container gardens of mountain wildflowers 

(container X wild ?? oxymoron)   I hang, dry and press - make cards and make collages to frame.  I sell these at the local bookstore and seasonal craft fairs - the Best I keep for myself!  The afternoons are spent hiking new trails, or some old favorites, and I find new varieties of flowers to collect. I stop by a mountain stream for my sack lunch - Milli ,  from the diner, always throws in extra pickles for me!  I journal, sketch the beautiful Scarlett Indian Paintbrush, or simply daydream.  Evenings, on a rare occasion, I'll wander into town, to a barstool and a live set of some local "white guys with guitars!"  Nick, the bartender, always has my cocktail on the bar before I even settle in on the stool. 
Just one set, wanting to avoid the fluorescent lighting and desperation of the Last Call!  

But, most evenings are spent alone in my cozy camp with my music collection,  still trying to master (ha!) that guitar tutorial on my computer, or catch that elusive song lyric I will write.  I email with old friends, read books, experiment with new recipes for the Diner - the cherries are ripe for picking -  perhaps a cherry bread for tomorrow  ...

I have a  friend - NOT a local,  he's a trucker! - he passes through town regularly, enough, - dead-heading back to his base. Yes, I now speak fluid CB slang.  He travels from, say ... Vancouver to  "the Gateway."  He probably hauls something like = Salmon Jerky!    

I eventually get used to the smell.    

He stays -  just long enough,  ~ he knows the better side of me. 

Sabine's Notebook: In Which the Extraordinary Correspondence of Griffin & Sabine Continues 

by Nick Bantock

This is the second novel in the trilogy.  First published in September 1992.  The same month and year I went on my adventure to Wales.   I love the construction of letters you remove from actual envelopes. It is a beautiful book.  

"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart"
Phyllis Therou

 

“a modicum of dignity”

And then, there was this:

     I answered the phone, a young girl's voice on the line from the Hospice service – explaining she was the Chaplain, and on her way, if it was convenient. I asked her to please hold and spoke to Michael – You don't have to do this, it is just part of the Hospice package, we can deny the visit. 
His response, “no, it's okay, let's see what she's got”
hoo boy, I thought, this young lady was surely going to remember this hospice visit! 

     In preparation for her visit, Michael wanted to move from the hospital bed downstairs to the bedroom upstairs – I dragged the O2 machine, the excessive amount of tubing, and then, assisted him with the stairs and into the “real” bed. He wanted to feel more human – a change of view, a change of shirt, and be in the comfort of our bedroom for the visit with The Chaplain.  I have to admit, the change looked good on him. 

     I met the Chaplain, at the front door, we sat and had a quick talk, then I led her back to the bedroom. I made introductions, I had placed a chair at the foot of the bed and she sat, hands clasped on her lap. She seemed so young and yes, very inexperienced. Michael was welcoming, as he always was, and filling in the silence with comfortable questions about her background. He asked her, “where do you hang your hat?” The Chaplain didn't understand the reference, so she turned it on him and asked, “I don't know, where do you hang your hat?” He replied, by saying once chemo stopped and his hair started growing back, he was never wearing a hat again! Then, he went on to explain the reference.  – she said she was some generic, lay representative. 

     She asked him of his faith – he explained, while a young kid living with his Aunts and Grandmothers during the summers in the Ozark country, he was schooled in Bible-thumping, Evangelists, Zealots, some relatives he stayed with during the summers even practiced the charismatic gifts of speaking in tongues! Later he studied – Buddhism, Christians, Judaism, Muslims, ALL of them - as many religions as he could. His thinking was that by studying world religions he was learning and understanding current events, people, traditions, geography, wars, and history. 

     He finished “the lesson” answering her = he was a “Zen Baptist.” 

     At this point, she was scrambling - wanting to connect. You could see she was searching for another conversation starter. She asked Michael, “how are you handling all the changes?” and he responds, “what changes - for example?” She looks at him, then around the room, and settles on the O2 compressor and says, “well, … like Oxygen, how long have you needed Oxygen?”  
Michael waits,  - and then – says -- “all my life … … I'm kind of addicted to it” 

     I LOVED that moment – seeing his brain and humor – still brilliant – still intact.  
At the close of her visit, she asked him, “What do you want? What are your wishes - at the end?”  I'm not sure what she was expecting to hear at this point! absolution of sins, a burial plan, an altar sacrifice, forgiveness, peace, freedom, a perfectly cooked steak, and a good pale ale …  

     Michael told her he wasn't scared, he would like to be with his family and friends – and finally said this = “I hope to have a modicum of dignity.” 

     That time came, so darn quickly, just a few days later, and we did him right. I'll be forever grateful to Jackson for protecting and ensuring Michael's dignity right up until his last breath and beyond.

I privately watched, from the porch above, as my husband's body, perfectly wrapped in a nice old quilt, exited our home – accompanied, each step, by Jackson to the car waiting. Jackson stood close as they loaded him in and closed the door. I then saw my son shake the driver's hand and thank him before the car headed out – one last dignified ride down our long driveway, in the dark of night.


addendum to this story:  
I had decided who I would call to take care of Michael after he passed and surprised myself with a change to a different service about 10 min after he died because of a suggestion/information from the random private nurse I had hired for the night - I had met her for the first time - 3 hours earlier!  
anyway ...  about an hour after that car headed out our driveway with Michael -  I said to Jackson, "hey, did you happen to get a business card from those guys?"  "no,"  After a minute or two - I said, "hmmm,  I didn't notice a logo, name or sign on that car, did you?" 
and then, we both busted out laughing, wondering where Michael might be going!  I have to say, I was a bit relieved when I called the service the next day to confirm Michael was there!  but, we still joke about wondering who those nice guys were? and their wonderful old quilt driving off with Mike to the great beyond! 

that dang snooze button

Dearest,

I received your email today I can't believe it - what a wonderful journey you shared with me. I was transported to another place.

What I've realized in the last couple days is this:

I spoke of wanting to meet up with the "me" that I was during that time we met,  and I find that writing you again, reading your emails, and all the thought in between ... well, that woman - that "me" - has made a surprise visit!  Plopped down right here next to me - as I sit in front of the screen and search cyberspace, witnessing this verbal volley into the void ~ that we are experiencing.   She resurfaces briefly - a ghost of myself revisiting my soul - she makes me giggle. and I'm not the giggling type at all. ( as you know, I tend to snort.)

That realization is very powerful. It has shaken my world. What I  thought as lost - only to be remembered or found in my autumn years, that twinkle you see in old ladies' eyes - is showing me a glimpse of its presence NOW.  Preempting my script - missing the cue - walking boldly right on stage!  What will I do with this? Drop the curtain, Shove her back down,  sweep the ghost under a rug - an embarrassing dust? Pull her from the depths - giving breath, stir the embers, spark, fire!  Or, let her be?  sleeping peacefully not making any waves - just an inner glow?  I suppose it is a comfort to know she hasn't died!   OH my, she isn't Dead after all! 

She waits - patiently, for the time to blossom and show herself boldly to the world 

or      

simply for me to WAKE UP! stop hitting that snooze button. 

That I can give the signal - the encouraging push. It is all in my power - what a new feeling for me.

I know, this is all about me - but, I had to share it now.  I sat alone at the dining table and reread what I had written to you earlier of my dreams and thought - WHAT am I waiting for? Why am I settling? It is against all I preach. That "me" has always been HERE.

I guess I will chew on this awhile, swirl it between tongue and cheek. Swish, then, spit it out - to that face in the mirror and see what appears ... as if a gypsy reading tea leaves. I read something like that once on a greeting card and it always has stayed with me - a great visual.  (thank you creative greeting card writer)

I may wake tomorrow and laugh at my dramatic, sophomoric, self-absorption AND maybe even forget THIS overwhelming feeling I can't even fully describe. That is why I wrote it down and addressed it to you (or maybe it is to the future me?) and will hold onto it - a plane on the tar-mat in a holding pattern waiting for its turn - put it in my letterbox to read again.

Do we have lift off?

Meanwhile, I will man this cyber watchtower.

and later - time to clean the bathroom mirror! 

ink on paper

"so, forgive me if this all sounds limp and monotone - it is not meant to be, but email neuters emotion from text, it sucks dry all feeling, leaving people to resort to crass picto-grams to depict their sorrows and joys .......

I never could get the hang of those smiley faces

   : - )

no, I won't even try. 

The handwritten letter holds so much more; words that can be traced, paper that can be touched and smelt and letters that can be stored as precious memories, to be feasted upon whenever the soul needs vigor.

You are right, thankfully we missed the email phenomenon.

I don't think a week has gone by where I have not thought about you - I never ever thought 

I would hear from you again after I stopped writing, - Our time together was one of the most special and meaningful periods of my life, and I cherish dearly those memories, they are my sanctuary, my retreat and an inspiration of what love can and should be."