Oxford on the way to Charney Manor - 2/14

From London, I took the train to Oxford, on the way to a retreat I signed up for at a place called Charney Manor. I had a little time in between when my train arrived from Paddington, and when I had to catch the 66 bus to Southmoor (where someone was going to pick me up).

Thinking getting a postcard of Oxford would be a good idea, since I would need a postcard anyway - and thinking that I might find a map of the center of town in the same place - I went to a little shop at the train station. One postcard in particular caught my attention: it said 'Oxford Botanic Garden.' That sounded like someplace that I wanted to see.


The nice woman behind the counter was kind enough to tell me what she could (it was near 'Magdalen Bridge' and there was a bus line that went by there), and let me take a look at a map without buying it. I had a plan, and I figured, enough time. I set off, with my big backpack on my back, and my rolling suitcase in tow...

Someone did tell me what bus I could take, and in the end, opted for that, as it would save quite a bit of time. The bus driver told me what stop to depart the bus, and it was an easy walk from there. The gardens were just lovely.















Spring was arriving there already...


















And the ducks came over for a chat.








Ahhh.... What a lovely way to bide my time.









Then I caught the bus, and got my ride, and arrived at Charney Manor in the late afternoon. The light was breaking through some clouds, and was really something magical. What a great day. (What a nice place to end up, with a cup of tea and friendly conversation waiting.)

Charney Manor - Art & Prayer Retreat 2/14-2/16

Charney Manor is a Quaker retreat center in Charney Bassett, Oxfordshire, England. Near the "Vale of the White Horse" where there is a lot of ancient human history, the oldest part of the building dates from the mid-1200's and was originally used by monks of the Abbey of Abingdon; the rest of the main Manor house is Elizabethan. It was given to the Quakers by the Gilletts during the 20th century, and now it is used to run study and retreat programs.

I went for a retreat focused on 'Art and Prayer.' This was a fantastic experience. I will not say overly much about it... I think the pictures will do some justice to the quality of the light (and Light), and the place itself. The peacefulness, and quiet; the gentle way we were led into exploring our artistic sides by way of creating a prayerful space. In the hope of sharing something of the atmosphere of the program, and the place, I will share a poem (or two?) that I wrote while there.

The people were lovely, and respectful, and willing to try out exercises the leader had prepared for us. And the food (the food!) was wonderful. Hearty, home-made traditional fare - and typically followed by at least three kinds of 'pudding' (dessert)! - served up in the 'undercroft' of the 13th century hall. I was told the food was excellent - and I was not disappointed! Plus, there were plentiful opportunities for tea (and coffee, and hot chocolate - Cadbury's, of course, originally started by Quakers).

(Written after drawing each other with charcoal by candlelight:)


Daliance...

shadow plays
across the faces
facing candlelight
with grace --
we capture what we can
with strokes and smudges,
charcoal dusted,
and focused in:
on that indelible mark
of the Light
reflected


(ˆnormally formatting would look like the silhouette of a face, but that's apparently too fancy for the blog)





















'The barn' where we did our drawings (my room is on the right...)
The view from the sitting room, sipping tea...

The view from outside the sitting room (once the sun came out)...





:-)

Remember to take some time to be still, and pay attention to the light... it is always there. We only need disperse what distractions, noise - darkness makers - obscure it, to see...

Feb.13th, 2011 - International Inner Puppy Day (5th)

Five years ago (February 13th, 2006), I met up with my friend Anthony McCann in Sheffield, England, where he was working at a University. He was a lecturer there, and was not happy with the way that people in his kind of post were being treated. It was a very discouraging situation. He had also recently had his heart broken, and the approach of Valentine's Day was not a happy prospect. I, too, was recovering from a difficult time - and so we very quickly decided to pronounce the 13th of February "International Inner Puppy Day." Why not? (Why 'Inner Puppy's? I will tell you... but first, a bit about Anthony).

Anthony is a scholar, songwriter, watcher and interpreter of good popular tv shows, lifetime student of the paranormal, social theorist, and all-around encourager of gentleness in the way we live and treat one another. In fact, he is making this last bit his life's work now (see Crafting Gentleness). He hails from Northern Ireland, and has been teaching at the University in Derry. When at his best (which is most of the time), he is always quick with a smile, a quip, an encouraging word (or 20), and full of enthusiasm and creative energy - especially for do-gooding (and some silliness). He has been a friend for some time, from the days where we played music amidst the musical community that gathered in the living room at my old house in Takoma Park. It was a gathering of great talent, generosity, and kindness.

Inner puppies? Well, a few years before the occasion of the first International Inner Puppy Day, I was telling Anthony about a dream I had. In my dream I had a puppy, and somehow had left it in the car when I went about some other things, and woke with a start when I realized that I had forgotten to feed it! I felt terrible, as I woke up. After my retelling, Anthony promptly said - "I know what that dream means, Katy!" I said "what?" He told me I needed to feed my inner puppy. He was right. I had let myself get too stressed out (preparing for grad school, dealing with my Mom, who was starting to have difficulty), and wasn't doing enough to recharge the playful, lovable, happy-go-lucky part(s) of who I am.

It became a kind of way to check in with each other as friends: Are you feeding your inner puppy? How's your inner puppy doing? So on that bleak day in Sheffield, we needed to do something big - and in the typical fashion of Anthony McCann, something encompassing a wider range of people than just ourselves. International Inner Puppy Day is intended for everyone who doesn't have a sweetheart for Valentine's Day; but also, more importantly, an occasion to remember and enjoy all of the friends and fun we all do have in our lives. A holiday for all.

This year, we had arranged to both be in London, to celebrate the holiday together once again. The first time since its founding. He is the one with a new sweetheart (mentioned in the previous post), this year in time for Valentine's Day...but I can't hold it against him! She seems to be doing a good job of helping him feed his inner puppy, from what I can tell. :-) And seeing him, and meeting her, has indeed fed mine.

So when going forth and being creative, everyone - remember to feed your inner puppy while you're at it! And next year,

on February 13th, when the world seems drear and gray,
and spring's bright cheerfulness so far away -
remember to celebrate International Inner Puppy Day!

Across the Pond; gardening adventures begin!

Friday I made it to London Heathrow, early in the morning - and despite having plenty of time, managed to spend far more money than necessary...to arrive late to my first rendez-vous here in England. It wasn't entirely my fault; my friend had said simply that we'd meet up 'in Central London'...but then, I hadn't thought to ask for further details until that morning (! - and his mobile phone wasn't working properly for some reason). At any rate, I was humbled and ready to take a load off by the time I made it into London to meet up.

Refreshed with a spot of good pub brunch/lunch, amid much good cheer (including meeting his lovely new sweetheart), I made my way to meet up with my sister-in-law in High Barnet and to the rounds of picking my niece and nephews up from their respective schools. It was very good to see them all - and I was indoctrinated into the important sport of foosball (sp?? - table-top soccer with spinning rods of attached 'players') after arriving at the house. My brother Will arrived not long afterwards, and after a good dinner, cleaning up, and watching a show on the telly, I was ready to drop into a profound slumber, which I did promptly when my head hit the pillow. I did not wake up until the next morning, when everyone was sitting down to breakfast. (After nine hours of sleep).

Happily, the weather was on the warm side, if a little damp and cloudy. As far as I was concerned, this was all right. Especially since that next morning (Saturday) I got to have a somewhat unexpected early start on my gardening adventures(!). It turns out that my brother and his wife had just had a number of trees removed from their back garden (newly acquired with their newly purchased house in August), and the remaining brush pile from this operation was impressive - taking up an entire corner of their future garden space. I was a timely extra pair of hands, and we all set to work that morning breaking down as much as we could into manageable bits to fit it into the bins. Much of it was holly, and prickly, and because of the dampness in England - fairly mossy, too. It was fairly monotonous work, but we fell into a rhythm, and managed to put a big dent into it. I was quite happy to help get the garden down to more of a 'clean slate' state - and will feel good about that contribution when it starts to take shape, and grow into their outdoor retreat in suburban London. (My sister-in-law - who is fairly new to garden design and gardening on this scale - is in good hands with this project, as she has joined the local gardening club that gives support, advice, and encouragement.)

In the midst of this enterprise, my 4-year old nephew started talking to us about how boring it was doing what we were doing. So then I began to tell him how things that can be monotonous (but are necessary) are easier and take less time the more people there are doing them. I mentioned how talking with people can help to pass the time, too, and makes it that much more fun. Then I realized that talking to him had helped the time pass more pleasantly, and when I mentioned that, I think he may have understood what I meant (...maybe? :-).

One night at dinner, we joked about how I was adding another kind of gardening exchange to my adventures. In the typical love-of-word-play fashion of my family, we came up with several possible acronyms for names (as opposed to 'WWOOF'). The favorite (and most appropriate to share here) being "BURP": 'Barren Urban Regeneration Program.' I'd say this new scheme went well, and is quite satisfying for both parties - any help there at this point makes a difference, and I'm sure is much appreciated! So, will there be another BURP in Katy's future, when she passes through London again on her way back at the end of March? What other outdoor and gardening adventures will she find along the way? Stay tuned, good readers, to find out... !

And....she's off!

Here I go... !

This morning I awoke to the first dusting of snow in Virginia (where I've been staying with family) that I've seen since arriving in early January. Pretty exciting... as I prepare myself to travel to the lands of winter rains. It has felt a bit surreal to finally be leaving, after preparing for so long.


I stayed up late to finish packing, and got up early, to run over and say goodbye to folks. The snow melted quickly...but left an invigorating nip in the sun-streamed air. I was ready.

On the way to the airport (flying out of Washington, DC, so we drove up from Richmond, VA) what was striking were the number of things strewn in the road. I'd never seen so many in one trip! First, there were the bits of rubber that usually mean someone's tire has blown out on the highway. Then, we saw some bits of wood - wood that looked like it had been broken, with some ragged edges, and the possible occasional nail (yikes!). Then, all of a sudden, there looked to be someone's vacation wardrobe tossed all over the highway (quite an obstacle course, that - good safe driving steering us through, Dad!). We saw someone pulled over with a large load of luggage on their car a short distance further on... And, finally, just before our exit (a good thing! I was getting a little concerned) we were passing a big truck that made a bang/bump sound, and expelled more than a little grey dust of some kind...and there was a burned rubber smell. Whew.

So, I was very happy when we made it to lunch, and then the airport, without any mishap of our own! I said my goodbyes, and wrote my first postcard(!) of 365 (see postcard gallery), and boarded the plane... aaahh.

:-)

Why postcards?

Why choose to write a postcard a day for a year? Well, as I said, I want to keep the art of hand-written correspondence alive - but I have also always loved postcards. Sending them - and receiving them. My Mom had the most clear and tidy handwriting, and she could fit an entire letter about whatever trip it was onto a single postcard. She would usually send postcards that were educational or exemplary of the places they were visiting. My brothers and I have an ongoing tradition (although it's slowed in recent years) of sending each other the most ridiculous (cheesy) postcard we could find from any place we visited. A friend from college, who knew of this, would try to outdo them - and sent me some of the best bad/strange postcards I've ever seen from her travels in Africa and Italy ('St. Catherine's Head in a Box' was a memorable one...).

What's fun about a postcard, too, is that it's kind of like poetry. You have limited space, and have to try to distill what you would want to say down into fewer lines. And the postage is cheaper (typically - and if things haven't changed since I was a more prolific postcard writer!) than letters. I have always picked up postcards where I go... some are just beautiful images, that you could put in a frame, or pin up on a board...and some have reminded me of good times and places that I've loved. Many make me laugh, or smile. A postcard says 'I'm thinking about you' - and has traveled some distance to deliver it's sentiment; it is a kind of snapshot that you get to hold in your hand.

I used to be a really good, consistent correspondent - I unearthed a box full of letters that my friends and I wrote to each other in the 80's when we were in high school, and starting college. It was a big part of our friendship, and we became closer through the things we shared in those letters. I have always felt that what you say in a hand-written letter, or even a postcard - is different than what you write in an email. More of your true sentiment, more of yourself, is present. It is personal and evocative - it has a kind of presence and soul that email lacks. I can't help but wonder what kind of a difference it makes to today's teenagers and college students, that they do not write letters, but email and text instead?

Because I have always been so excited to receive postcards, I decided that one way to receive more could be to follow through on my good intention to write them more myself!...and I know myself well enough to know that if I make it a daily ritual, a promise to myself, in this way - that is the best way to make it happen.

As sustainable living is becoming something I'm more and more interested in - I can't help but wonder what kind of environmental impact international mail services have? It seems a good question to ask - and one that could unearth some enlightening information.

So - long live the hand-written postcard! And long live our ability to connect to each other in meaningful ways...