25 April 2011: Local Girl

Zzzzzzz

One of the best things about this vacation so far is that I’ve been sleeping!  Now, you might thing that sleeping is no big deal; however, I suffer from terrible bouts of insomnia.  The last time that I had a few consecutive nights of restful sleep was February.  Since then, I’ve had one night of a six- or seven-hour sleep followed by a week or more of two- or three-hour snoozes.  Having so little sleep really takes a toll when you add in the fact that I work every single day of the week for months at a time and then on top of that, toss in family stress.  So this past week of sleeping and sleeping and sleeping has been absolutely wonderful.  I don’t even feel guilty for sleeping in so late today; even though it got in the way of taking that walk.  Well, there’s still tomorrow.

Bowling Green

I did get outside to walk to the village shop where I purchased a pain au chocolat, apple juice, an orange, an apple, a Coke, a slice of ham and a newspaper (as I’d run out in starting a fire each night in the woodstove).  Yvonne was there(off-duty) with her husband in the café; we chatted for a few minutes and I had a snack and did some Internet surfing before I went up to the register to check-out.  Afterwards, I walked over and sat on a bench in the upper village green and watched two men playing bowls on the bowling green.  I’m not sure what the rules are for such a game; but when they prepare to bowl the balls, it reminds me of bowling back home.  No pins, though; so I’m not sure what the object is.  But it was gorgeous outside and so it was pleasant just to sit in the cool sunlight and watch them play for a long while.  Lots of families were out and about as there is a playground on the lower village green.  I cannot tell you how absolutely wonderful it was to sit there, watching the world around me, and breathing in that amazing flower-scented air.  I’m trying to drink in as much of all of this as possible since by this time next week, I’ll be back in the hot and miserable environment of Iraq. 

Dinner Plans

I stopped at the Great Western Arms pub on the way back to the cottage and confirmed my reservation for tomorrow’s Steak Night (a huge deal here in the village each week).  The bartender was a very nice guy and he said that he’ll introduce me to some local ale when I come in tomorrow.  Yippee!

Wedding Fever

The TV channels are now getting into the swing of things with the Royal Wedding coming up this Friday.  One channel tonight was showing all of the episodes of “Friends” where weddings took place; another channel was showing Royal Family documentaries all evening.  Stores are having sales, the news channels are going nuts, etc, etc.  It’s pretty neat.

Duh!

I started the fire tonight in the woodstove (this time without burning my hands!) and then went downstairs to run my bath.  Since there is no tumble dryer in the cottage and the neighbors have made full use of the drying lines outside, I set up a drying rack in the kitchen and hung my wet clothes off of it.  So while running the bath, I fingered the clothes to see how dry they were after being in the kitchen all day long (I’d done the laundry in the morning before I left).  They were still damp, dang it.  I stood there wishing that I knew of a way to get them to dry faster and then it hit me!  Why not take the drying rack and clothes upstairs and set them up in front of the woodstove?!  I could have just smacked myself for not thinking of this sooner.  So, up we went to the parlor and I got everything squared away and then went back downstairs to take my bubble bath.  Once that was done, I went back up to the parlor, checked on the clothes (which were very nearly dry now), added another log to the fire, and curled up on the settee and read my book for a while.  It was so nice!  And now, here I am: upstairs in bed and wishing that I didn’t have to leave this lovely place.  This vacation has been exactly what I needed and I fully plan to return again next year if I am still working overseas at that time. 

24 April 2011: Indoors

The Bells, They Are A-Ringin’

I woke up to light showers this morning.  It was fantastic!  I threw open the bedroom window and breathed in all of that wonderful, fresh, moist air.  If it were possible, the scent of flowers was stronger than ever!  As it was Easter Sunday and everything in the village was closed for the day, I decided to stay in and just rest.  I was flopped on the bed in my pajamas, reading a book with the window still wide open and then the bells in the church started ringing at 9:00 a.m.  Oh. My. God.  Why, oh, why do we not ring bells in the U.S. like this?!  I was absolutely, utterly entranced.  They rang for quite a long time and I was saddened when they stopped.  Well, at least I’ll get to hear bells again this coming Friday in London after the wedding service is over with.  What a wonderful, wonderful thing to experience on my vacation though!

D.I.Y.

I’m not sure what I did or how it came to be, but the camcorder is now working again!  Also, after several failed attempts, I finally managed to upload my photos to run in slideshow mode.  I’m hoping to upload some video taken on the train, in Moreton-in-Marsh and in the cottage later today.  I say “hoping” because it turns out that I’m not as technically-savvy as I once thought myself to be.  Being in Iraq and working for a company that doesn’t keep up with the latest technology computer-wise has had the effect of putting me somewhat behind the curve.  I’m sure that when I move on after my time in Iraq is completed; I’ll likely have to take some classes just to catch up with everyone else.  The one thing I can promise you, though, is that I WILL NOT own a cell phone (i.e. “leash”).  No thanks!  I have a phone number for the house and an answering machine for messages.  That’s good enough for me!  I know that it drives the kids nuts that I’m so against them; but that’s only because theirs are surgically attached to them and they can’t imagine life without one whereas I can’t bear having one since it means that you are at everyone’s beck and call 24/7.  Bleh.  I’ll pass, thank you anyway.

Commercials and Programs

English commercials are quite amusing.  For one thing, Easter is a major shopping holiday on par with, say, Christmas in the U.S.  Every other commercial is some sort of sale for Easter.  For another, ham is not as prevalent as salmon when it comes to Easter dinner.  Kevin Spacey sells airline tickets.  Lionel Richie sells potato chips.  The television programs, well, I’m not sure.  The English ones are pretty good; I especially like the documentaries as well as the cooking shows (more on that later).  The American shows that they insist on presenting are, well, crap.  Sorry for the bad word, but it’s the truth!  It’s just downright embarrassing that my country puts out stuff like this and calls it entertainment.  Ick.  Anyway, so TV-watching has not been high on my list of things to do here but I have enjoyed some of what I’ve seen.

Yes, But Can She Cook?

No.  No, she can’t, sorry.  Seven years spent in Iraq means that she’s lost all her cooking abilities.  Ah, you think I jest.  I do not.  Remember my burnt chicken and ham pie for the birthday dinner?  Well, that was a success compared to what I tried to accomplish earlier today.  The great thing about my vacation is that I have not been obsessed with food: no bingeing, no squirreling, none of it!  I’m really eating just a light breakfast and then one other meal during the day and that’s it.  Well, today I didn’t feel like having breakfast and decided around 3:00 p.m. that it might be time to cook myself an Easter dinner.  Yesterday, I’d picked up a few things at the village shop and so I set about putting it all together.  Remember when I told you that the bacon over here is like ham at home?  Well, I had purchased a small packet of bacon, some strawberries and cheese for dinner.  Sounds easy enough, right?  Wrong!  I cut my finger twice while slicing up the strawberries and then the cheese.  And while I was tending to my injuries, I burnt the bacon (this is not entirely my fault; the burners on the stove are of a material I’ve never seen before and, well, okay, this part is my fault: I put it on the highest setting figuring hotter and faster was better).  I was feeling pretty bummed out at this point.  I mean, I used to make really nice multiple-dish dinners for Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving each year without putting a foot wrong and now I can’t even cook bacon or slice fruit!  There’s a show over here called “Come Dine with Me” and the premise is that five strangers are thrown together for a week of dining at each other’s homes.  After each meal, the guests score the host from 1-10 on how well the meal was, their hosting abilities, entertainment, etc.  At the end of the week, the winner walks away with 1000 GBP.  Some of the hosts struggle with getting the food right and I think that’s where I would fall were I to be on such a program.  Well, no matter.  I sat down to my sad-looking Easter dinner and was grateful for it nevertheless.  For dessert, I had a traditional hot-cross bun.  In the States, the white crosses would be done with icing but here they use different dough for the crosses.  So it is not sweet except for the candied fruit and the raisins.  All said and done, it wasn’t the best Easter dinner I’ve ever had (obviously) but it will be one of the most memorable.

Having My Say

I wrote to the parties involved in the newest family feud (and admittedly, it was directed to one rather more than the other for the most part) and threw out my thoughts in the matter and then made it clear that I’m not going to waste one more precious minute of this vacation feeling bad or guilty or distressed.  I have all the time in Iraq for that kind of thing (and really, even then, I’d rather not feel that way at all).  But this: this is MY time alone, MY time to leave all those awful feelings behind for a while and breathe again, MY time to rest and relax and have a little fun.  I’m tired to trying to make everything okay for everyone else!  At what point do people take responsibility for their own actions?  God knows I’ve had to and I’m weary of it.  So: tomorrow when I wake up, I’m leaving all that family-stress stuff behind.  If people don’t like it…too bad!  But I do feel better for having spoken my mind; I’ve never been very good at that and it is something that I need to get used to doing otherwise people will run me over me like the Roadrunner always did to Wile E. Coyote!!!

Foggy Dreams

As I prepare to finish up today’s entry to the blog, I’m a little nervous about going to sleep.  I had quite the strange dream last night.  I don’t remember too much of it except at the end: I was driving north of Vancouver, Washington and the headlights of the car were out.  I was trying to go north towards Seattle and there was a heavy grey fog on the freeway; so heavy you could not see very far in front of you at all.  Suddenly, the freeway split in two: one lane went hard to the left while the other road continued straight on.  Thinking that I was heading in the right direction, I kept going straight when all of a sudden, a sign loomed up out of the fog that said “Eugene”.  I yanked the steering wheel hard to the left and hit the gas (probably in an effort to get to the road that had just split to the left and now thinking that it would take me north).  Unfortunately, the freeway was no longer level with the earth but was high, high up in the air and so my car went flying off into the heavy fog where nothing could be seen and began to fall.  And in my dream, I just closed my eyes, waited to hit the earth and gave myself up to God.  I never did hit the ground; instead I awoke with my heart pounding like crazy and with the feeling that I’d just landed inside of myself.  Have you ever had a falling dream before?  If you have, then you know what I’m talking about; if you haven’t, congratulations.  Keep it that way if you can.  They can be very disorienting and can throw your whole day off-kilter.  I’m hoping that I don’t dream it again!  Anyway, it’s late and I’m tired.  Goodnight everyone! 

Tomorrow: These Nikes Were Made For Walkin’

23 April 2011: ½ In, ½ Out

Coco Puffs

How long has it been since I’ve had Coco Puffs for breakfast?  Well, a lifetime really, since I’ve never had them before today.  They were okay-tasting and, of course, it turns to chocolate milk once the cereal is all gone.  After washing up the breakfast dishes, I watched some television for a little while.  I was a little bored but then decided that I needed to get some things out of the way today: laundry, shopping, etc.  I was going to take that interesting-looking walk after lunch; but for reasons that I’ll explain later, I decided against it.  It was fun trying to learn how to work the washing machine in the downstairs closet.  Thankfully, the rental company had a stack of owner’s manuals available for the appliances (which would have been handy if I’d thought to read the one for the oven as I was attempting to heat up my birthday dinner!).  Eventually, I got the laundry underway and went around tidying everything else up before leaving for the day.  I was in a very good mood as I got ready; anxious to get outside and explore some more.

Poppies and Poems

I walked up to the village green (and check it out: I didn’t have to stop to catch my breath not even ONCE on the crazy hill!) and went to find the war memorial.  It commemorates the lives of those men in the village who died in World War I and World War II.  There was a wreath of red poppies at the base as well as little crosses made with Popsicle sticks and tiny red poppies.  You might be wondering about the significance of the poppies; I’m not completely sure myself, but I believe that it stems from WWI and reminds me of a poem about Flanders Field, in the Ypres salient in Europe.  My mom read me the poem when I was a young girl.  Here it is:

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD
(1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Crowded House

Today the café was very crowded but I managed to find myself a little corner table nevertheless.  I booted up my netbook and uploaded last night’s writings.  Charlotte was working again today; but was kept busy for much of the time that I was there.  So while I ate what has to be the best BLT sandwich of my life and downed some more of that excellent apple juice that I’d had previously, I people-watched.  I didn’t really feel like talking to anybody today; but it was interesting watching them regardless.  Two elderly couples came into together and ordered tea.  Some young women came in, ordered lattes (I hope I spelled that right; I never drink the stuff) and took them outside to drink.  Some children came into the shop area; I could hear them pestering their parents for ice cream cones.  I guess some things stay the same no matter where you go!  After the crowds dispersed for a little while, Charlotte came over, pulled up a chair and we chatted for a while.  She is eighteen years old and attended the primary school here in Blockley and the secondary school in Chipping Campden.  She went to South Africa last year with her ex-boyfriend and will be going again soon on her own.  I told her that I would love to travel to South Africa (oh, heck, ANY part of Africa!) someday.  She says that it is far cheaper to travel using hostels rather than hotels.  I definitely need to look into that. 

Family Feud

It got busy again and Charlotte had to get back to work, so I opened up my emails and logged onto Facebook.  Now, up to that moment, I had been having the best time in years.  I mean YEARS!  No family issues.  No work crises.  No stress.  I was sleeping soundly for the first time in nearly two months.  I was walking around, eating healthy without really paying attention (okay, except for the Coco Puffs and the Cokes), meeting new people and generally just living in the moment.  But then reality came crashing back down in the form of an argument between two people that I love very much.  Now, without getting into details, one of them emailed me just to advise me of her viewpoints and left it at that.  The other, though, well, she pretty much told me that if I didn’t convince the other person to see things her way, then I was no better and that meant she had no one at all in the family that she could trust.  Ouch.  And the more this dialogue went on, the harder it became to maintain my happy state of mind.  The café was closing up, the netbook’s battery was nearly dead and to be honest, I just wanted to go back to the cottage and hide under the blankets.  Forget the walk.  Forget seeing anything else or going anywhere else.  So I went back to the cottage (after buying some groceries for my own Easter dinner tomorrow: bacon, strawberries, cheese, orange juice and hot-crossed buns).  Once there, I put away the groceries and went upstairs to the parlor and sat there in a very bad mood.  I tried to watch TV, but got irritated by the dumb American shows again and switched it off.  What was needed here was a bath.  So I took an early bubble bath which had the effect of making me feel marginally better.  Back up to the parlor where I made multiple attempts at starting a fire in the woodstove; finally succeeding but burning my right hand pretty badly in the process.  Up to the bedroom to fetch my book and then settling on the settee to try to lose myself in someone else’s story.  And it helped to some extent.  It grew dark outside and I checked the clothes on the drying rack: nearly dry.  I remembered that a channel called “4More” was running some documentaries that night; so I tuned in for a while.  Now that they are over and done with, I’m upstairs in bed and writing again.  And I’m angry.  I’m angry that I had to be dragged, intentionally or not, into a situation and then accused of not being caring enough or loving enough because I wouldn’t step in and “fix things”.  I’m angry that someone could not or would not appreciate the fact that I am on a very well-deserved vacation that I’ve waited all of my life to take and that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to leave the everyday world with all its stress far behind for a little while.  But mostly I’m angry at myself for caving into the guilty feelings that someone knew I would be feeling and thereby sabotaging myself from enjoying what was certain to have been a really wonderful afternoon.  The lesson?  I need to harden my heart a bit.  I need to say, “You’re an adult.  Figure it out.”  I need to sometimes put my own needs first.  And I need to remember that this is MY vacation and to make the most of it.

Tomorrow: Easter Sunday

22 April 2011: Rememberances

Will the real Birthday Girl please stand up?

I’m a year older and hopefully a year wiser.  It was later in the morning than it was yesterday when I woke up today; but the birds were out there singing their beautiful songs, the sunlight was dappling through the eyelet lace curtains, and you could just tell it was going to be a glorious spring day out there.  After a long while spent luxuriating in bed, I made my way to the kitchen, fixed a bowl of cold cereal and a glass of orange juice and thought about my mom.  As much as our society celebrates the birthday of an individual; it should be a celebration of the person who brought them into the world.  So I thought about my mom for a long time.  About how hard it must have been to be a mother at such a young age.  About all the dreams she gave up because my needs, and later those of my brother, came first.  About all the times she must have wished for different choices, better opportunities.  But mostly I thought about the little things that stick out in my memory.  Like the time when I was ten and I came downstairs in the middle of the night to find her making homemade strawberry jam; instead of sending me straight back to bed, she let me stay up with her so that we could make the jam together.  The time in seventh grade when my brother went to southern California to visit his dad and my mom took me to Mervyn’s to buy a pretty new skirt, blouse and purse; she even let me get some lip gloss (these things were a big deal back then because we didn’t have money for them very often).  The time we went to my Aunt Eileen and Uncle Jim’s house on Christmas morning and my mom played the Bill Cosby cassette that my brother’s dad had given her for Christmas as we drove in heavy snow and I can still remember her laughing and laughing and it felt so good to hear her laugh like that.  The time when I wiped out on my roller skates out on the street, taking a good layer of skin off of my thigh, and how she came running out to mend me up.  The time she filled in for my aunt on delivering newspapers at night while they were on vacation somewhere; which meant that we drove around all night long with Leo Sayer and Kool and The Gang playing on the radio and my mom singing along and sounding so happy while my brother and I were supposed to be asleep in the backseat. The time I got my heart broken but good for the very first time (but not the last, by God) and she popped me into her bed, pulled me close to her and sang me some Irish lullabies to help me to stop crying (I’m a crybaby, I admit it; I’ll cry over anything).  But the most amazing memory was having her by my side when I gave birth to my own daughter.  The room was filled with people; but it felt as if it were just my mom and me there and when that beautiful child was born, I remember my mom turning to me with tears in her eyes and saying, “Oh, Karen, it’s a girl!” (I subscribe to the theory that having a baby should be like eating a box of Cracker Jacks; there should be a surprise at the end…hence, my desire to NOT know the gender of my children before they were born).  The expression on her face the first time she held my little girl in her arms is one that I will never, ever forget.  My mom, among others, has been so incredibly supportive these past two years.  She kept telling me that everything would be okay; that I would survive the separation and subsequent divorce.  She kept picking me up whenever I started to fall down again.  I think of that and I know that I can trust her in it because of the inner strength that she had to rely upon in all those years of being a single mother.  So I want to tell my mom today: thank you.  Thank you for my life.  Thank you for the hugs and kisses and laughter and spankings and yelling and groundings and lectures and understanding and forgiveness and encouragement to follow my own dreams (including this vacation!).  Thank you for it all.  I’m sorry if I’m not always so appreciative or if I sometimes forget the lessons you’ve tried to teach me.  But I always, always love you.  Always.

And she’s off!

After breakfast, Mom-appreciation time, and a quick check for any new wrinkles on my now-43 year old face, I headed out the door; this time remembering my camera.  I took my time walking into the village today; there were lots of photos to be taken along the way.  I visited the grounds of the local church: St. Peter and St. Paul and was gob smacked (Google it if you don’t know the meaning) by the cemetery.  Now, mind you, I’m not a big fan of cemeteries; they give me the willies but good.  However, my queasiness over gravestones disappeared when I started checking some of them out.  Like one that had a single stone for three people: a man (I think his first name was John), predeceased by his first wife (Hannah) and followed in death by his second wife (Emma).  And when John (?) died at the age of 75, Emma was only 30 (she died fifteen years later at the age of 45).  There were gravestones shaped like coffins, etc.  The willies did finally creep through and I bolted the premises; but it was fascinating in retrospect to see such very, very old gravestones.  Next, I walked up and down High Street which was very busy with the Bank Holidays starting today and the crowds out and about.  I located the Crown Hotel and Bar; they have a really nice outdoor seating area.  I also found a woodshop where I can purchase some kindling when I finally run out.  There were some empty shops about here and there; the economy affects people everywhere, it would seem.

Charlotte’s Chocolate Cake

I headed back to the café where I visited yesterday; unfortunately, Jenny had the day off and Yvonne had just left.  So today I met Charlotte.  Charlotte was in the café portion of the village shop cleaning the tables when I came in and we immediately hit it off:

Charlotte: Good afternoon!

Me: Hello!

C: Oh my goodness, are you from America?

M: Yes, I am.  I’m from Oregon.

C: Oregon?

M: Yes, right above California. ßSide note: can anyone tell me why NO ONE ever knows where Oregon is located?  Even other Americans I’ve met in Iraq sometimes don’t know!  I always have to mention California, dang it.

C: Oh, please take me with you!

M: Well, I’m not actually going back there until next autumn.

C: That’s okay, I’ll wait.

Charlotte is totally charming and funny.  The café was closing early due to the Bank Holiday; so we didn’t get to spend a great deal of time chatting; but I’m sure we’ll get the opportunity to talk again soon.  In the meantime, she cut me off a slice of a very delicious-looking piece of chocolate cake to take to the cottage with me for my after-dinner birthday dessert.  Unfortunately, I forgot to buy a bottle of wine as originally planned.  Well, there’s always tomorrow!  I uploaded last night’s writings to this blog, checked my email accounts and Facebook (and was so overwhelmed by all the unexpected birthday wishes!), waved goodbye to Charlotte and headed off to wander around some more.

Footpaths

In the upper village green, there is a big sign that shows the various public footpaths in Blockley Parish.  The wonderful thing about the Cotswolds is that you can walk anywhere and everywhere.  I wasn’t sure that I was up for a pre-determined walk; so I decided to head back up High Street to investigate the beginning of a footpath that I’d seen there earlier.  Having found it, I ventured off.  The path started off winding between buildings in the village and at one point, it went in two different directions: one going uphill and one going downhill.  Being the lazy chit that I am, I went downhill.  Ah, but dear friend, there is a price to pay for laziness and I soon found that the downhill path ended at the river.  So now not only did I have to go uphill to get back to where I made the fateful decision; I would have to go uphill again after that to follow the path I should have chosen in the first place.  Having left the village behind me in climbing the hill, I soon found myself crossing a wide-open field and a feeling of being transported back to childhood engulfed me.  When I was a child, we often visited my Aunt Eileen and Uncle Jim at their house out in the country.  My cousin Greg and I, with only five months difference in our ages, were inseparable and we combed the countryside as children do.  As I walked and smelled the scents and heard the sounds of the English countryside, I felt as if I were a young girl again.  What a wonderful feeling it was.  And suddenly I was sure that I could walk for miles and miles and never tire.  So many good memories, things I had forgotten over the years, came flooding back: Greg and I sleeping outside in the camper and my mom waking us so that we could see their cow Molly give birth to her calf; the whole family working together out in the garden to plant the vegetables; my Aunt Eileen and I picking grapes and then canning grape juice together; and how quiet it was at night after everyone was in bed and no city noises could be heard outside.  Wonderful memories indeed.  After crossing several more fields, I walked another footpath alongside a road; I could hear farm animals calling to one another over the high hedges, bees were buzzing around the flowers, and the sunlight filtered down through the leafy trees.  As I neared the village again, I saw the beginnings of another footpath to the right; it was called “The Heart of England”.  I am definitely taking that one tomorrow!

It’s My Party and I’ll Smile if I Want To

I arrived back at the cottage, put everything away and busied myself making dinner.  As I’d forgotten to have dinner the night before, I still had the chicken and ham pie in the fridge.  I had a bit of a time with the oven; I burned the top of the pie but the inside of it was still cold to the touch.  So I turned the pie upside-down on a plate, removed the tin pie plate and tossed the works into the microwave (I haven’t screwed up anything in the microwave since I was eleven and blew up a whole egg in a neighbor’s microwave).  Having heated up the pie, I paired it with some sliced white cheddar cheese and green grapes.   It was a nice birthday dinner, burned pie crust and all.  I was mindful of how lucky I was to be spending my birthday in the one place I’ve always wanted to visit.  Afterwards, I took my slice of birthday cake upstairs to the parlor and watched the news for a little while.  However, I soon grew tired of that and went back down to the kitchen to tidy everything up and then take a hot bath before bed.  Following that, I closed up the house and headed upstairs to the bedroom.  I did a little reading and here I am now, thinking about past birthdays.  Like everyone else, I’m sure, I’ve had good ones and bad ones and some in the middle.  This one, today, is definitely in the top three alongside my 16^th birthday on an Easter Sunday and my 21^st birthday in NYC.  My worst birthday was two years ago when my ex-husband announced that he wanted a divorce (seriously…on my 41^st birthday!); though in retrospect, it was probably the best present ever considering how my life has changed since then.  If we were still together, would I be spending THIS birthday in England?  I can honestly and unequivocally answer “no” that that question.  Over the past two years, but particularly the last year, I have gained a better idea of who I am and what I want out of my own life.  I’ve become more open to new experiences and have begun to think about what the future might entail.  And I’m learning to fight my natural shyness and reach out to meet new people.  When I was young, I was always afraid of being alone.  But now, I relish solitude.  I’m comfortable with being alone; it doesn’t frighten me anymore and I find that when there’s a healthy balance between being with others and being by myself, I’m happy.  I’m truly, honestly happy for the first time in a very long time.  I think about my blessings in life and I’m grateful for all of them: my children, my mother, my brother, my extended family, my friends, my job, my home, etc.  I’m thankful to God for all of these things in my life and I’m looking forward to all the years in front of me.  And on that note, dear ones, I’m signing off and going to sleep.

Tomorrow: Into the Heart of England

21 April 2011: Silk Cottage and Blockley

Silk Cottage

Silk Cottage was built in the early 1800’s and is part of a small row of cottages connected to the old silk mill by an arch over the drive.  As the mill was powered by water, a small river (I haven’t discovered the name of it…yet!) runs alongside it.  The mill and these four cottages are located at the bottom of a steep hill, which is peppered with other cottages as well.  After descending the hill and walking under the arch, there is a set of steps and a main walkway which runs in front the cottages, with each cottage then having its own walkway to the door.  Silk Cottage is the cottage at the far end and is snuggled up against the hill.  Unlike Alice’s larger cottage, Silk Cottage has no windows facing to the rear; all four windows face forward only.  The walkway to the door, as well as the private seating area in front which will be perfect for enjoying an early breakfast outdoors, is surrounded by flowers and greenery.  The key safe is located next to the door and I won’t mind telling you that I had a bit of trouble getting the key out!  Finally I got it right and here was a skeleton key for the door in my hot little hand. 

The Kitchen

I opened the door and walked straight into the kitchen.  There are only four rooms in Silk Cottage: the kitchen and bathroom are located on the first floor; the parlor (or living room) is located on the second floor, and the bedroom is located on the third floor.  When I first walked into the kitchen, I faced two doors directly across from the front door.  The door on the left leads to the bathroom while the door on the right leads to the very, very steep staircase.  The kitchen is fairly modern and has wonderful tiling and a table for two next to the window.  The rental company left me some homemade tea cakes and milk in the fridge and a tray of coffee and tea on the table as well as fresh flowers; so very thoughtful.  All of the appliances are miniature in size since the kitchen and the cottage itself are so small.  Perfect for one or two people, to be sure. 

The Bathroom

After opening the door that leads to the bathroom; there is a small closet area which holds a washing machine.  There isn’t a dryer but there is a drying rack outside.  The bathroom is very nice: a nice deep tub with a hand-held shower head for washing and rinsing your hair.  No shower curtain; so it’s a long, luxurious bath every night for me.  Can’t you just feel my heart breaking?  Not!  The only downside to the bathroom is the fact that I’ve found four spiders in there so far. 

The Stairwell

The stairs that go up to the parlor and the bedroom are the steepest I’ve ever seen (though I think my grandmother may have had stairs like these to her attic, but I can’t recall precisely).  Having already slipped on them once, I am taking the utmost care in climbing and descending them.  There are all sorts of interesting things to look at in the stairwell.  Pictures, a display shelf of old-fashioned cameras, a collection box of antique thimbles painted with the faces of famous historical figures, a baby’s plate featuring George VI and his wife, etc, etc.  When coming down the stairs and just as you are to enter the kitchen, there is a sign on the doorway which says “Mind Your Head”.  Okie dokie!  Luckily, I’m not in any danger of hitting my head on there; but if I were any taller, it might be an issue. 

The Parlor

The parlor is very warm and welcoming.  There is a little red settee with lovely pillows, an antique chair and a very nice woodstove in the fireplace.  There are two windows in this room, each one with a window seat.  I should mention at this point that the color scheme throughout the house runs to butter, cream and burgundy.  Quite nice, really.  There is a large basket filled with firewood and kindling next to the woodstove, an information notebook (as well as a basket of brochures downstairs in the kitchen) with suggestions of where to go, what to do, and recommended pubs in the area.  There are even some maps showing the various walking paths within and around Blockley as well as the rest of the Cotswolds.  A small collection of books as well as a closet which contains several jigsaw puzzles and games are in there as well for keeping me occupied.

The Bedroom

The bedroom is charm itself.  An old-fashioned brass bed, a handmade throw, a white wicker chair, and antiques fill the room.  The window gives the best view of the area and has white eyelet curtains on bars that swing open and shut over the window.  As in the rest of the rooms, there are exposed beams of dark wood and what appears to be the original wood flooring.  The mattress is extremely comfortable and the bedding is quite pretty.  It’s just the kind of room I’d like to have at home.  Quite lovely.

Last Night

The first night in the cottage was wonderful.  As tired as I was from all the traveling, I decided to settle in right away.  All the girly-get-ready stuff went into the bathroom, the books and electronics went into the parlor, and everything else went into the bedroom.   There is a TV in the bedroom and one in the parlor as well; however, I have yet to get the TV in the bedroom to work.  I’m sure it is something simple that I’m overlooking, like usual.  On the other hand, how nice it is to lounge in bed and not have a box of noise shouting at me.  I think it makes for a more restful experience.  The TV in the parlor works well, however, and so I watched a little TV before going down to the kitchen to have my dinner of the sandwich and Coke that I’d purchased in Moreton-in-Marsh earlier in the day.  Following that, I decided to take a hot, relaxing bath.  Ahhhh.  In Iraq, we do not have bathtubs and since we live in dry (no bathroom attached) containers, I have to share an ablution trailer with many other women.  It doesn’t bother me very much; but I definitely appreciated the tub and the privacy here.  Once my bath was done, it was time to write.  I didn’t feel like writing in the parlor; so I took the netbook and camcorder to the bedroom with me.  And that’s when I discovered that something is wrong with my camcorder.  I can’t get it to turn on.  So tomorrow when I go back into the village to get online again, I’m going to Google what I can do to fix it; in the meantime, however, this means no video uploads until I can figure out what’s gone wrong, sorry.  I wrote late into the night; it felt so good not to be pressured by time: time to go to sleep, time to wake up, time to go to work, time to go home.  I just wrote to my heart’s content and felt then, as I’m feeling now, a strong sense of peace and contentment.  I truly wish that I could spend my life like this.  The solitude is soothing, the environment is just right and I feel happy.  At last sleep beckoned; I turned out the light and snuggled in under the bedding and drifted off to Dreamland.

Carrie and Emily

I woke this morning to birds singing in the trees.  It took me a minute to realize where I was and when I did, I must have had the biggest smile on my face.  I just laid there in bed, listening to the birds, for a long, long while.  The room was filled with light.  Eventually, I got out of bed and went down to the kitchen for a glass of milk.  Then I went up to the parlor and watched TV for a while.  Television here is a little disappointing because they have a lot of American TV shows on and not as many English TV shows as I would have liked to have seen.  Ah well.  So after a while, I turned off the TV and decided to start a jigsaw puzzle.  There is a good-sized coffee table in the parlor for this very activity, thank goodness.  After working on the puzzle for a while, I told myself, “Self, get ready and go outside!”  Part of me really wanted to spend the day hiding away in this little piece of heaven; but I also know that a balance should be reached between solitude and socializing.  I’m actually a pretty shy person; but since the divorce, I’ve made myself be more outgoing and each time I do, it’s rewarding in that I make new friends and I have new experiences.  My tendency to hide away is still the stronger urge of the two, though.  In any case, I got dressed, put on my makeup and then fought with my hair (giving up as usual and clipping it up in back to get it out of the way).  I grabbed my netbook bag and my purse (as well as the cute skeleton key) and headed out the door.  And then that first breath of the outside morning air hit me.  I wish I could somehow convey the scent of the air here.  Hemingway could do it with no problem, I’m sure.  The best that I can do is to say that the air was heavy with the scent of flowers while the breeze was light and cool on my face.  The weather here, according to everyone I’ve spoken with, has been perfect.  The sun is out and the temperature is just right.  A soft blue sky with beautiful fluffy clouds; green grass and flowers in every direction.  This is my Heaven.  So I walked down the walkway, admiring everyone’s gardens, until I arrived at Alice’s cottage and ran into her mother and younger sister enjoying tea outside.  Her mom, who I’d met the night before but couldn’t remember her name, is Carrie and Alice’s younger sister is Emily.  We had a nice chat about the mill and the cottages before I said my goodbyes and headed up the hill.

Blockley Village

The hill leading down to Silk Cottage is a piece of cake…down being the key word here.  Going up is a whole other potato.  It is seriously steep!  I only had to stop twice to catch my breath, so perhaps that’s not too bad.  I reached the main road and then followed the signs to Blockley Village.  I passed by the village green; the walking path rose up alongside the roadway (cut into another hill; I can tell that I’m going to get some serious exercise on this vacation just walking to the village and back every day!) and that’s when I got a stunning view of the hills in the distance.  I dug all through my purse looking for my camera (since the camcorder is on the fritz) only to find that the camera was back at the cottage.  Dang me!  I stood there for a while, just drinking in the view.  As you may or may not know, the English primarily use hedges and stone walls to define their property lines.  The effect of that is beautiful.  After a while, I continued on.  I reached the other side of the village green and headed for the high street (in the States it’s called “Main Street”).  As I walked, I could see the top of the church’s bell tower and clock in the distance; like everything else around here, it was amazing.  Who knew I loved old buildings so much?!  Not me; I’m just as surprised as anyone else.  I did hear the bells every hour while I was out; they sound incredible.  It’s truly easy to feel as if you’ve been transported to another place in time out here.  After a while, I found the Blockley Village Shop & Café.  As with everything here, it is located in a very old building.  There is a red phone booth (one of the old-fashioned ones that London is famous for) just outside the shop along with a stand of fresh fruits and vegetables.  There were a fair amount of people milling around outside.  It is a gathering place for the locals to meet, shop, have a bite to eat and/or a spot of tea, etc.  I was completely won over.  The interior of the shop itself is very small and cramped; however, the café opens off to the right and is quite nice indeed.

Jenny, Yvonne and the couple from Stratford-on-Avon

I was seated by a very nice woman named Jenny and although the shop sells soda, the café does not serve it.  So I ordered an apple juice (and OMG it was soooo good!) along with a buttered bagel with scrambled eggs and bacon on top.  England and I completely see eye-to-eye on the topic of food.  There is no need for fancy-schmancy ingredients nor is there a need to make the food spicy or salty or peppery.  Just a buttered bagel lightly toasted, still soft.  Just plain eggs, no other additions.  Just bacon cooked perfectly (not too limp, not too crispy).  The bacon here is more like ham at home in appearance; there is no stripe and it is delicious!  Even my sandwich last night was plain, hearty and delicious; just the way a sandwich should be, in my opinion.  Anyway, the café offers free wireless broadband access; so I whipped out my netbook while I was waiting for my lunch and hopped online.  I was very tempted to check my work email; however, I promised a colleague that I would not do so on this vacation and so instead I checked my personal email accounts and then uploaded last night’s entry to this blog.  It was a little hard to concentrate because I was so busy people-watching.  Jenny and her co-workers were busy bringing in a delivery and so there was a lot of chattering going on amongst them.  I watched people coming in and out of the shop while I ate my lunch.  After a while, it quieted down and then Jenny and one of her co-workers, a woman named Yvonne, came in and sat down in the café for a piece of cake (which I plan to purchase a piece tomorrow along with a nice bottle of wine for my birthday) and a “cuppa” (cup of tea, for those who don’t know what a “cuppa” is).  We had a long and lovely conversation, in the middle of which a nice couple from Stratford-on-Avon arrived for tea (they visit the Cotswolds during the week to avoid the crowds), and they were all interested in my experiences in Iraq as well as learning about Oregon just as I was in meeting them and learning about the village’s history and future.  Tomorrow the bank holidays commence; which means that shops open later and close earlier or don’t open at all.  The village tried a year ago to purchase the property across the way so that they could have larger premises; unfortunately, they could not raise the 600,000 GBP to do so.  They recently obtained council permission to build new premises down the road and are in the middle of raising the money for that.  It’s always so interesting to learn about other people’s lives and about a community’s efforts to improve things. 

Shopping

After lunch, I went into the shop portion of the building and purchased a few things to take back to the cottage with me: apple juice, pear juice, orange juice, Coke (okay, okay!), a homemade single-size chicken and ham pie, a small block of local white cheddar cheese, some single-serve boxes of cold cereal and green grapes.  Food shopping has to be done daily or at the latest, every other day as the fridge is so small and there is little room in the cupboards.  The total came to a little over 22 GBP (that’s including lunch).  I’m not certain if that’s a good deal or not; probably not since rural food prices are almost always higher than urban due to supply-and-demand.  And even though I’m carefully watching the pence (pennies for you Yanks); I’m also trying to remember that it is the experience that I’m looking for on this vacation and I need to balance frugality with a carefree attitude.  Yvonne and Jenny told me that fresh croissants are made each morning along with fresh-baked bread.  Mmmmm…bread!  I informed them that I would be popping in each day for lunch and to upload my latest writings to this blog as well as visit with them; they assured me that I would be most welcome and that they are looking forward to seeing me again tomorrow.  I absolutely love it here.

Tonight

After returning to Silk Cottage with my purchases, I put away the groceries. On the way back, I passed the Great Western Arms pub where I’ll be enjoying dinner this coming Tuesday night.   I’d spent quite a long time at the café and was happy that the socialization gauge was reading full.  Now it was time for some peace and quiet.  I took another long, hot bath surrounded by loads and loads of bubbles and then afterwards went up to the parlor.  It completely slipped my mind to heat up my pie for dinner; that’s okay, it’ll be there for dinner tomorrow instead.  I got a good fire going in the woodstove and curled up on the settee to read.  It was so pleasant: the sounds of the fire crackling, the smell of the wood, the soft lighting and the interesting book.  Just exactly the kind of moment I love to be in.  I can see where this would be quite the romantic place to be as a couple; however, for a singleton like me, it’s just as perfect.  Once the fire burned down to embers, I closed up the house and headed upstairs to begin writing.  And here is where I stop since Sleep beckons me with an inviting smile.

Tomorrow: Happy 43^rd birthday to me!

20 April 2011: From Dubai to Blockley

Dubai International Airport

This vacation officially started at midnight, 20 April.  At that moment, I was in the Dubai International Airport, wandering around the different shops.  Dubai is nothing if not a shopper’s paradise.  But since I dislike shopping; it’s not really for me.  However, I was in need of electrical adapters and a book to read and perhaps a bite to eat.  After a little while, I found the electrical adapters at a little travel shop and then I purchased Dan Brown’s new book “The Lost Symbol” at the bookstore on the premises.  I also stopped at the currency exchange and traded my AEDs for GBPs (note: going from 700+ AED to 120+ GBP is very discouraging…I like the bigger numbers, to be sure).  Now it was time to find something to eat.  And this is where I surprised myself.  I saw a Cold Stone Creamery…and passed it by.  I stood in line at McDonald’s…and then left.  I went to Starbuck’s, looked at everything…and walked away.  It is the first time in all the years in Dubai that I did not eat something at the airport.  I did, however, finally purchase a bottle of Coke and that was the moment they called my flight pre-boarding.  I stood in line and when I finally made it to the counter, the staff noticed my unopened bottle of Coke and told me I could not take it with me.  I made the case that it was unopened and asked very nicely if I couldn’t please just take it with me (because, oddly enough, I suddenly became VERY thirsty at this point and wanted that Coke more than anything).  I think they agreed not because I was right or because I wasn’t wearing the “Ugly American” hat but because there was a long line behind me.  So I proceeded to the enclosed seating area to await boarding and struck up a conversation with the woman next to me.  She was from the States (and I’m sorry, but although we introduced ourselves, I cannot for the life of me remember her name).  She’s a retired educator from Texas and moved to Dubai four months ago to be with her husband who has worked in Dubai for the past few years.  They were returning to the States to see their children and grandchildren for a visit.  We chatted about her adjustment to living in Dubai as an expat until it was time to board the flight. 

Nile

I’m always jealous when I have to walk past the business class section on the wide-body jets (first class being so exclusive, you see, that you never get to walk past their seats).  In any case, it is bad enough walking past business class with their seats that lay down flat and their divider screens, etc.  I nursed a small hope that the economy-plus seat I paid a little extra for would be worth it…and it was!  It had a footrest, a seat that rose up and down and was pretty comfortable.  Oh, I’m sure the business class folks would sniff derisively at it; but considering the alternative that waited in economy, I was pleased.  It was right next to the window as I had requested and there was only one other seat between me and the aisle.  I busied myself with getting situated (Coke stuffed into the seatback, purse set down on the floor, headphones out and at the ready, etc) and then my seatmate arrived.  His name is Nile (not Niles, like on “Frasier”, just Nile but he told me he answers to both since people always mess up his name).  He is an efficiency expert and travels around the world for his company.  It reminded me of the book I had read a long time ago, “Cheaper by the Dozen” (no, not the Steve Martin movie; this was a book written by two of the twelve children of an efficiency expert who died in the 1920’s).  So we talked for a while about his job and mine (with me thinking that he REALLY needs to come to Iraq and put his talents to the test!).  Nile hails from the Birmingham area of England and is a very nice person indeed.  He chuckled when I very quietly opened my bottle of Coke and took a swig before take-off.  We both agreed that the beverage cart takes way too long to make its way to us after takeoff.  Eventually, we both put on our headphones and started our entertainment systems and for the first time in recent memory, I FELL ASLEEP!  I’m pretty sure I was asleep before we even got out of the Gulf because the next thing I know, the lights were back on and breakfast was being served.  I looked out the window and sure enough, the sky was streaked with pink, blue, green, gold…all the colors of sunrise.  We were one hour out of London.  “Scrambled eggs or omelet?” the flight attendant queried and since my last choice of omelet led to the unpleasant discovery that it was a mushroom omelet (and not cheese as I’d assumed), I went with scrambled eggs…only to find them smushed right next to a big pile of, yes, mushrooms.  Bleh.  So I ate the apple pastry and the fruit salad and finished off my now-warm Coke.  Then Nile and I went back to talking and so deep was the conversation that when I felt a jolt that made me grab the armrests in a panic, he laughed and said, “I saw the ground coming up; should have told you, sorry” and I had to laugh with him.  I’m fine with taking off and flying through the air; but landings always make me very nervous.  We walked to the passport area together and that’s where we parted way since he got to go into the UK/EU lines and I had to stand in a very long Foreign Nationals line.

Yotel

I’d made the decision while waiting at the ticket counter in Dubai that I didn’t really have the energy to go banging around London for several hours after landing and before catching my train to the Cotswolds.  So I got online and reserved a room at the Heathrow Yotel.  After landing in London and then standing in a very long line of Foreign Nationals to get my passport stamped (which my interview went really fast compared to how most of them seemed to take), I headed to the baggage claim area and collected my giant suitcase.  I took the Heathrow Express train from the Terminal 5 station to the Terminals 1, 2 and 3 station where I transferred to the Heathrow Connect train which took me to the Terminal 4 station.  I got a little turned around trying to find the Yotel check-in area; but finally figured it out.  In the Arrivals hall, there are signs hanging down that say “Zone A”, “Zone C”, etc.  You have to go to “Zone E” and then take the lift (we’re in England now, folks; there’s no such thing as an elevator) to Floor 1 and then head for the Windsor restaurant and bar.  Hang a left and you’re there.  Since I still had an hour to go until check-in, I sat down at the “pay as you go” computer stations and paid 4 GBP to use the computer for 50 minutes.  And that’s when I discovered that my Facebook account was locked “for security purposes”.  Huh?  Well, it turns out that if you travel a lot and log into Facebook from various computers, the good people at Facebook decide there’s a problem with security and lock you out until you can assure them that it was you all along.  So most of the 50 minutes was spent getting Facebook unlocked again; after which, I grabbed my suitcase and went to check-in at the Yotel.  It was a very quick and easy process; you check in at the kiosk and it spits out your key card and receipt.  Pretty fun.  I found my “cabin”, which was the tiniest room I’ve ever been in.  Depending on the room you’re in, you either have to climb up into the bed or climb down onto it.  There is a shower as well as a desk that you can pull up from the wall and a folding chair to use at the desk.  It is about ¼ the size of my room in al-Taji; so that should give you some idea of how incredibly small it is.  But if you think about it, it’s just meant for short-term use anyway: a quick shower, a little nap, some online work.  Perfect.  There is a “galley” there that you can order from; so I ordered a bacon, sausage and egg Panini and a Coke (yes, I know, Coke is very bad for you but I’ve been in the mood for it lately; I do generally keep just to Sprite).  I hopped online (thank goodness it was wireless because silly me forgot to bring an internet cable) and surfed around some more.  Then I took a quick shower and then laid down for about an hour or so.  They have TVs stationed at the foot of the bed and one show that was on was called “Bridezillas” and was, of course, an American show.  And it made me cringe.  Well, all reality shows make me cringe, but this one was particularly bad.  I resolved right then and there to be on my very best behavior with everyone that I meet so that they don’t think that all Americans are like the people they see on TV.  Finally, it was time to go and see about getting over to London Paddington station.  I gathered my things together and headed out.   

Aga

Getting to the Underground station at Heathrow’s Terminal 4 station was very easy, actually.  Once I got there, however, confusion reigned.  I found Terminal 4 on the map and I found London Paddington on the map and in between was lines and lines of different colors and I could not see how I was to get from one place to another.  I had three hours to get from here to there; so there was a little bit of time for mistakes, but not much.  A feeling of panic started to rise to the surface but I reminded myself that a little over twenty years ago, I navigated NYC with no problem and I could do the same here.  And that’s when I noticed a window at the far end of the station that said “Tickets & Information”.  Information?!  Perfect!  So I went over quickly, tried very hard not to look like a clueless idiot, and asked the bored-looking woman at the window how to get to London Paddington.  “Five pounds for the ticket and you change at Earl’s Court” and that’s all she was going to tell me.  Okay, I told myself, you’ll figure it out at Earl’s Court; just get on the damn train already.  I hopped on the train, apologized to everyone for the giant suitcase in the way, and took my seat.  It was very warm in the train at first until it got outside and the breeze could be felt from the open window at the end of the car.  I very much enjoyed people-watching but did not strike up any conversations.  I was also occupied with looking out the window and pinching myself: I’m in England!  Really, really here at long last!  Earl’s Court was the ninth stop.  I got off the train (which, by the way, was the Piccadilly blue line) and needed to get on the District green line.  Trouble was, I couldn’t figure out which direction I was supposed to go in.  I appealed to one man and he directed me to take the eastbound train.  Grateful for his assistance, I hopped onto the eastbound train.  It was three stops later that I realized (by peering once more in puzzlement at the little map I’d picked up) that I was on the wrong train.  I was finding it hard to be a pleasant and happy American at that moment; however, I told myself that all I had to do was backtrack to Earl’s Court and try again.  So I got off the train and looked around and felt just as confused as ever.  And that’s when I met Aga.  She asked me if I needed any help and I gratefully answered in the affirmative.  It turns out that she knew of an even faster way of getting to Paddington and was going in that direction herself!  So we caught the Circle yellow line train and chatted as we traveled.  She moved to England about eight years ago from Holland and loves living in London.  Aga is short for some really long name that she assures me I would never be able to pronounce (she’s probably right about that!) and we had the nicest conversation.  The anxious feeling that had been gripping me dissipated away and I found myself feeling cheerful and happy again.  She got off the train at Notting Hill Gate (Paddington was only a couple of more stops away) and I felt an immense gratitude towards her.  It is so nice when people reach out and help others.  I must remember to be like that, too.       

Chris

Paddington Station is immense.  First of all, I haven’t seen a train station so full of people since the time I went to Grand Central Station in NYC.  It was a little overwhelming at first but then it was fun.  I love to watch people and in Paddington there were all kinds.  I had a little difficulty getting my pre-paid ticket out of the machine until the man repairing the machine next to me helped me out; hopefully he doesn’t think all Americans are as ditzy as me!  Since I had some time before my train was due to leave, I took out my video camera and started filming here and there.  And that’s when I realized that I had not charged up my battery!  So I filmed what I found interesting and then decided to save the rest of the battery for the train ride to the Cotswolds.  Of course, they have little stands selling Paddington Bears and there were a few coffee and sandwich stands.  I wandered over to the flower stand and gazed at all the beautiful flowers.  Iraq has given me a much greater appreciation for things that grow: flowers, grass, fruits and vegetables.  There was a bench nearby, so I sat down and reorganized my purse and suitcase while I waited for my train to begin boarding.  At last, the electronic board showed that it was time to go.  I had pre-paid for my ticket and had elected to reserve my seat.  It was a long walk past all of the cars to get to Coach A at the front of the train.  Once on board the train, there was a luggage storage area where I gratefully put that suitcase of mine and then I headed down to my seat.  When I stopped to see which row I was at, a man hopped up and asked if that was my seat.  Sure enough, it was: seat 29, right next to the window.  I had specifically requested a table seat, facing forward and with a power outlet (originally thinking to have my netbook in use, but now grateful because it meant that I could power up my camcorder and film the scenery at the same time!).  The man (who had not reserved a seat) took up a seat on the other side of the table and introduced himself as Chris.  Chris is a computer programmer who lives in the country, works from home most days, but goes down into London about two or three times a week.  He is married with a two-year old daughter; she is their reason for moving to the country rather than living in London or a nearby suburb.  He was very informative about the places I was filming as we passed through.  We had a really great conversation about life in England and he was able to point out the spires of Oxford as we went by (I would not have noticed them otherwise; they were pretty far off in the distance).  The English countryside is beautiful; it reminded me so much of home…all that green!  Eventually, Chris’ stop arrived; but before he left, he gave me his business card and asked me to stay in contact and that perhaps the next time I visit England (oh, and believe me, there WILL be a next time!), he and his wife would love to show me around.

Claire

As the train finally pulled into Moreton-in-Marsh, it passed by a field full of sheep and lambs.  I got off the train and went into the station to inquire where I might catch the bus to Blockley.  The man at the window, well, he was a bit curt: “Just round the car park, right?”  Um, okay.  That was helpful.  So I went to the parking lot and finally spotted the bus stop across the street.  Relieved, I headed over and joined a mother with her two teen daughters who were waiting for a bus to another village.  I didn’t talk with them as I had others; I was beginning to feel the effects of all the traveling.  On top of that, I was dying for another Coke (yes, I know!).  So I asked the woman if there was a little store nearby where I might get one and she gave me some pretty vague directions: “Round that corner, love, up the street to the left, go straight on, you’ll find it”.  Um, okay.  But my desire, nay, NEED for the Coke won the day between venturing off or staying put.  The woman assured me that I could catch the same bus at the Corn Exchange which was near the Tesco where the Cokes were to be found.  So off I went and…got lost.  And that’s when I met Claire.  She was walking into town from her home and when I asked her for directions to the Tesco, she said, “I’m heading that way, let’s walk together”.  Claire is a hairdresser who works in a neighboring village, Stow-on-the-Wold.  She’s spent her entire life in Moreton-in-Marsh, however.  She was very helpful when it came to crossing the street.  In the States, we are taught, “left-right-left”; well, in England, it is more like, “right-left-right-right-right” because I think that drivers don’t care if they run someone over.  It took forever to cross the street!  We finally did and went into the Tesco together.  I found a bottle of Coke and checked out the sandwiches (thinking that it might be a good idea to get something for dinner later).  I finally found a smoked ham and white cheddar on malted brown bread sandwich, paid for it and the Coke; then Claire and I went outside.  She commented on my pink hair.  Yes.  Pink.  I had it colored before I left al-Taji and the red I wanted is much more pink than red; especially in the sunlight.  She said if I wanted to do anything with it to come and see her.  I told her I’d definitely think about it.  We shook hands and then she headed off to her next errand and I had to face crossing the street again to the Corn Exchange where my bus stop was located.  Crossing a street isn’t so bad but when you’re lugging a suitcase behind you, it makes it a lot more challenging.    

Jerry

Having crossed the street and living to tell about it, I went and stood under the bus stop sign.  A man was already standing there waiting and we introduced ourselves.  His name is Jerry and he has spent most of his life in the Cotswolds.  I can’t remember if he told me what he does for a living or not because we started talking about Alzheimer’s disease; he lost both of his parents to it, just a few months apart.  I can appreciate how difficult that must have been for him; my grandmother had it as well and I hated seeing how it affected her in her declining years.  Alzheimer’s is the reason why I do puzzles of all sorts every chance I get.  Now if I could only take the same approach to other health-related issues!  But puzzles are interesting and dieting is NOT.  I’m just sayin’.  It’s not.  Jerry seemed to be a very nice man, but he had the same rheumy eyes that my ex-husband had/has; whether it is from age or excessive alcohol use, I can’t say for sure and I didn’t want to make a snap judgment.  He did tell me that if I want good meat, I need to go to the market on Tuesday.  I already knew this because the Great Western Arms pub in Blockley has a Steak Night every Tuesday for this very reason.  I thanked him for the information anyway and then his bus arrived.

Jan and Frank

I still had about twenty minutes for my bus to arrive.  I won’t mind telling you that I was seriously flagging at this point.  While I was waiting a man arrived and then three teens strolled up.  I just stood quietly and observed my surroundings.  Moreton-in-Marsh is a bustling village filled with tourists, locals and the buildings are amazing.  If I hadn’t been so tired and hadn’t been loaded down with a suitcase, etc, I would have caught a later bus and gone exploring.  The bus arrived and everyone boarded.  I was relieved that it was a flat-entry bus (no steps to climb).  I paid the fare (1.85 GBP) and found a seat.  One of the girls sat in the seat behind me and the others went to the back of the bus.  But in order to do so, they had to walk around Frank.  Frank is a four-year-old German Shepard mix (so you know right there that I fell in love with Frank).  He was lying on the floor of the bus and looked zonked out.  His owner, Jan, had taken him for a very long walk that morning and they decided to take the bus back to their village, Bourton-on-the-Water.  We had a lovely chat until her stop came up.

Alice

Alice was the girl sitting behind me on the bus.  She is seventeen and has lived in Blockley for the past fifteen years (her family moved from Oxford when she was two years old).  She’s a very nice girl, wonderful manners.  She asked where I was staying in Blockley and I told her that I was staying in the Silk Cottage.  She looked a little puzzled at that and asked me if there was postal address for it.  There was, but it was buried in my suitcase, oddly enough.    I told her I’m sure I’d find it once we arrived.  As the bus entered the village, I was completely charmed.  It has narrow, winding roads and beautiful gardens.  The buildings are all very old.  The bus dropped us off at the lower village green and Alice told me that if I needed any assistance, to take the road to the left which led to the shops, post office, etc and that anyone there would be happy to help.  I thanked her and she walked off.  I decided that before I dragged myself all around the village, I’d better find the actual address.  Having dug through the suitcase, I finally found it.  Not that it helped me out any, mind you, in terms of knowing where to head to.  A man was across the street, working in his garden, and so I headed over to ask him if he knew where I might find the address.  He was so kind in telling me to go “up to the brow of the hill, turn right and walk to the old silk mill”.  Okie dokie!  So I went up the hill, saw a street to the right, and went down another hill which switch-backed and there was the old silk mill.  Honestly, it looked like something out of a movie!  There was an archway between the mill itself and a row of cottages.  I saw someone at the window of the cottage looking out at me but didn’t peer back as I didn’t want to be rude.  Well, once I walked through the arch, here came Alice!  She saw me walking down towards the mill and didn’t realize that the cottage I was looking for was at the end of her row of cottages.  A young man was with her and then she called her “mum” outdoors to meet me.  I didn’t catch either of their names (I will later, though!); we just laughed about Alice not knowing that Silk Cottage was a neighboring property.  The young man offered to carry my bag for me, but I thanked him and told him it wasn’t necessary.  I wanted nothing more than to get into my cottage and flop down. 

Tomorrow: Silk Cottage and the village of Blockley.