Around Winchester

Here are a few images summing up our visit to Winchester and the surrounding countryside...

WELCOME TO WINCHESTER

Kingsmere Meadow- home for the first week.

We began our journey three miles outside of the cathedral city of Winchester, in the hamlet of Shawford.  Along an old towpath of the Itchen River sits a beautiful home belonging to my mum's friend Catherine and her husband David.  For the first week this is where we adjusted to the new time zone and cooler weather.  It turns there is a 10 degree difference in longitude between England and Oregon.

Each day Dave and I found ourselves out and about the countryside, whether it was around Shawford, Winchester or out a bit further, the wide open areas, the hills and fields and all the new critters we saw were all around us. AND with all this fresh air came fresh mud.  So one of the first things purchased was a pair of wellies (rubber boots) to trapse through the puddles and blend in with the locals.  The history in these parts is like nothing we have back in the States, Dave is continually touching stones and mortar, knocking on a post or pillar and finding flint in places never imagined. We are constantly going back in time to the Norman invasion, William the Conquorer, and King John.  While in Winchester we used our National Trust membership to visit one of the oldest grain mills in England, AND it is still producing and selling flour.  

At one time Winchester was the capital of England, before London took that position and it is here that Kings ruled and a castle was built and a moat dug. Not much remains of the castle, but what does we climbed under, spied from the top and walked through. The Great Hall is one building from the castle that is still intact and inside the stone walls hold the round table, with King Arthur's face and all the names of the Knights, on the wall over the place the King would hold his court. The table was actually designed during a much later period and it is believed that a young Henry VIII had the painting of Arthur done in his image. It is here that the mini series Wolf Hall was filmed, and at several other locations around Winchester, some of which we visited. Now I want to watch the series all over again and see where I have been.

As a trip up north to the Lake District was not going to work out a trip just east of us to Jane Austen country did, and on beautiful clear Saturday we took a drive to Chawton, where Jane lived with her mother and sister. It is in the Chawton cottage that she wrote most of her novels, including Emma (which the museum was celebrating 200 years in publication). In 1817 Jane died in Winchester, at a house which is now a private residence, it is here that her sister brought her to see a specialist. Sitting in the public space across the way eating an apple and watching the simple yellow house of brick and plaster I wonder what other stories might have been written if she had not gotten I'll and died while still in her 40s. Seeing the tiny table she sat at and wrote her novels is inspiring. It is said that where ever she was in the house, if she became inspired or thought of a line or a piece of dialogue she would run to her writing table and jot it down before she forgot. After we left the house and were on the way home Dave informed us that he had touched the table where the authoress had sat and composed. He said he touched history! Nobody could say otherwise.

I must take a moment and say that blogging in England was a wonderful idea, however I am finding that the Internet is quite hit and miss at friends and family. So the amount of online journaling I had imagined has not come about. However this will not become a deterrent and I will continue to send news, just not so often. Skyies are clear today and the weather will be at its warmest so it's time to get up and going and see What the day brings.

Good-Bye Vancouver Hello London!

Leaving Portland for Vancouver BC the reality that this trip was truly happening began to sink in.  The blades on the planes propellers whirled round and round, faster and faster sounding a lot like my stackable washing machine and dryer, shuttering against the wind. Mt. Hood flashed by, then Mt. Saint Helens, then others in the long chain of Cascadia. Our transportation north sat 50 passengers and would only take an hour from gate to gate.

Flying into Vancouver Dave's first reaction was the amount of skyscrapers the city has, mine was the mountains and how new they looked with their fine points and mantles of white. Walking across the tarmac with mom, it wasn't until we were half-way to our destination we realized there had been no wheelchair waiting for us at this end. We made our way to the other end of the airport without hurrying and still had plenty of time for our connecting flight, even with a pit stop and border check along the way. The women at the Air Canada counter was shocked when told of mom's hike, delivering a chair right away. Our trio was then whisked on board like royalty, while the long line of fellow travelers snaked through the cue area of Gate D58.

That evening, flying east, in a great bird of metal with an engine large enough to swallow a Great White shark whole, I thought how plane travel had changed just in my lifetime. The fact that Dave was watching a new release movie on a ten inch screen attached to the head rest instead of a floor to ceiling screen and the head phones were now ear buds and not something that looked like a doctor's stethoscope. Mom reminisced a time when dinner was served on plates and tea not served in paper cups, and the pillows were bigger. The food this trip was surprisingly good. Sleep came in bits and when I finally awoke for the last time the sun was up and were were nearing the northern islands off Scotland.

From 35,000 feet in the sky the clouds look like waves of frothy foam floating high above the sea, or strange fantastical cities created out of oxygen and hydrogen that are constantly changing shape and then mysteriously gone. As we draw closer to civilization farms and irrigated patches of earth are surrounded by streams and hedgerows, communities pop up along inlets and bays. The captain announces we will have a delay in landing due to the weather, buckle up. I go to put my clogs on and discover my feet have swollen a bit. Thank goodness the tea cart comes by, a nice hot cup of tea always solves everything! Soon we are on British soil, the brakes of the plane squealing to a stop at one of the largest airports in the world. Mom has tears in her eyes as the plane as we depart, you may take the girl out of England but you can't take England out of the girl.

Pre-Packing Count Down

With only a little over a week before leaving for England I thought it would be a good idea to blow the cobwebs off my blog and start fresh for the new adventure.  Over the next month my goal is to post several times each week with stories of our misadventures in the land where queens rule long, Hobbits were born, and paths follow hedgeways to pubs not serving microbrew.

However before leaving it is necessary to make sure the carry-on closes with nothing major missing. So today I spent the good portion of the morning packing and repacking.  The carry-on measurements, allowed by our airline, is smaller then the cooler we take camping.  How does one fit everything into a box 9"x15.5"x21.5".  That was my test, having already over the past month planned my outfits through that old fashioned format of "garanimals".

I must divert for a moment and explain this phenomenon of my childhood.  Garanimals were started in 1972 and was a system devised for kids to pick out their own clothes and have them match no matter the mix; pants, shirts, skirts etc.  The singles were all tagged with an image of an animal- lions, tigers, and bears Oh My, penguins and zebras too.  When clothes were paired from the same animal family of tags the separates created an outfit that was stylin and fun to wear.

Using the same formula my wardrobe, of limited palate, took shape and as you can see from the pictures I will be able to create a number of casual/dressy outfits for any occasion I may encounter.

A combination of short & long sleeves with button ups.

Light sweaters for those rainy, chilly days

Combination of skirt, tights and quick dry fabrics.

Add a few accessories and I have a month's wardrobe at my fingertips. Note that out of this will be my flight attire, and the blue fleece vest zips into my raincoat. Who said a girl needs a closet full of shoes! I'm only bringing two pair. All this in one little carry-on, amazing! I should mention the flight does allow two carry-ones, which will be the topic of my next post.

Well here is where I head into the wild blue yonder of London fog and heather greys, of cobble streets and pints in pubs, and fish rolled in paper. How wonderful to think you'll be following along. Now where did I place my passport?

In January, realizing getting a yurt wasn't going to happen for quite awhile,  Dave gave me a big hug and said, "you need your own space in your own house to do the stuff you love now not later"  and then he proceeded to move his office and the entertainment center into the front room leaving me with the den.  

Over the next month I cleaned the carpet and moved my writing and art into this beautifully large area. 

Now I can spread out and make messes not share the space with the refrigerator or washing machine, or worry about having an ongoing project out and in the way of family and friends. I have the ability to shut the french doors turn on my music and have sanctuary.  

And then I did this....

Inspired by these...

Rico, CO

Rico, CO

... taken during our trip while visiting family and friends in Colorado.

Grand Mesa, CO letterboxing

And after I painted the trees the space seemed more enchanting and it brought to mind one of my favorite stories.

"That very night in Max's room a forest grew-

and grew-

and grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around..."

Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

BLANK THOUGHT...

While rummaging through a box of stuff I'd put aside and forgotten I came across this bit of pros I'd written years ago. Reading through it, it seemed appropriate for some of the stuff I've been dealing with this year. I had written it after reading Ursula LeGuin's short story The Compass Rose. My copy of her book, by the same name, is yellowed and dog eared, and still one of my favorites.

Complete and utter darkness filled the little room. The blackness, thick and heavy, hung in the room's corners, like pitch on a pole. In the north corner of the 12 foot by 12 foot room sat an over sized chair. Lost in it's floral pattern slouched a woman. With feet dangling over the edge of the cushion, not quite able to touch the floor, her feeble frame suffocated against the furniture's high back, and overstuffed wings and arms.

The room was a black hole of nothingness, where light and sound escaped away from. The woman sat trying to think of only the blackness, the emptiness, the silence. In this way she figured she could shift old thoughts downward, to make room for new. She found it hard to focus on nothing, as even the smallest idea would slip inside her head and germinate. How was she to stop her brain from filling to the brim?

"What would happen if my brain filled completely up with thoughts, old and new? Would the brain explode, expand, shut down, stop all together?" Staring comatose into the black void of space she attempted to control her thinking. STOP THE INPUT! However after hours, days, months, she could not stop the thoughts.

"If I cannot stop the input, the stimuli, can I instead reorganize their placement? Can I create a place for new ideas? Can I rid myself of the old and useless information to make room for the new vibrant concepts that have been so recently collected? Yet how do I define 'old'; is it hours, minutes, seconds? Or are they days, weeks, months, years? It is a conundrum. How do I decide what has value, for what appears useless now, may surely have worth one day? Once gone what will I do?

The brain was too immense for her to comprehend. The main center for sorting and compartmentalizing information, both eternal and internal, this organ operated as the body's mainframe. A giant muscle in charge of processing all thoughts, ideas, concepts, and stimuli. It held trivia gathered from the many hundreds of books she'd read, memories from the places she had visited, conversations with people she had encountered. How was it all stored? How was it organized and cataloged? As chaos scattered about, or orderly in files and shoe boxes? Was it alphabetical, numerical, or by subject? She could not stop thinking.

Then her original question surfaced again, "What happens when my brain is full? When you're full do you start forgetting, do you begin going backwards replacing old thoughts with new? Or does the recent input leave first, the old input last? Is this what leads to senility? Dementia? Death?"

She slumped in the blackness trying to concentrate on the darkness, on the vacant void of space. Stopping the input, filling her mind with NOTHINGNESS. Her old thoughts sifted to the bottom, somewhere making room for the new thoughts that would come. Thoughts she could not stop from being collected and stored somewhere inside her head.

Daffodowndilly

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,

She wore her greenest gown;

She turned to the south wind

And curtsied up and down.

She turned to the sunlight

Snd shook her yellow head,

And whispered to her neighbour:

"Winter is dead."

from When We Were Very Young

A.A. Milne

From winter to spring, how quickly time passes.

Today I took advantage of a little quiet time, Ty's at her boyfriend and Dave's working. I grabbed my shovel and pruners, new gardening gloves and a bit of bird seed, and headed to the yard. I'm reorganizing the yard. While Dave and I were away the yard was not high on the priority list, so this year I am treating it like a blank palate, begin again FRESH. The first step is moving the raised beds from the east side of the yard to the west and closer to the house. I want a true kitchen garden. I thought why not dig down a bit and make the boxes a little deeper, I did not anticipate the number of rocks I'd encounter on this venture. At first I attacked each rock head on getting frustrated as I went. Each rock not wishing to give up its spot in the yard. If this was an animated movie the rock would grow tendrils through the soil and these tendrils would turn into limbs hugging the earth to to its mineralized composition. Or maybe the rocks would link their arm like tendrils together in a tug of war display... It doesn't matter all I know was trying to dig them out wasn't working. So trying for a new tactic I found a smaller shovel and began clearing the smaller rocks around them, and then for some unfathomed notion the larger rocks began breaking apart. As I dug around getting the rocks smaller counterparts I began to realize this isn't much different to attacking life's issues. It occurred to me that problems always seem to be huge and unsurmountable when attacking them head on. However, when I work at the smaller issues surrounding the bigger problem the one issue that seemed unyielding simply begins to break into smaller more manageable pieces. WOW life's lessons learned while gardening, very Zen.

I look forward to the reawakening that spring and soon summer will reveal to me. It reminds me of when I first moved into my house eleven years ago. The yard was a tangled crazy mass of chaos then as well, but over time, listening carefully, it told me what to do, showed me things hidden in the unruliness and it will again. Only this time I'm not a rookie, so let's hope it doesn't take another eight years for the plan to come together.

Best to you and yours,

and may your weeds be blessings in disguise.

Vanessa