Windows . . .
our eyes on the world, looking in and looking out
Itinerary: Wednesday, February 27
Depart NYC: Concord bus,1:45 pm, which we manage by the skin of our teeth with 2 minutes to spare.
Never underestimate NYC traffic!
Landfall Port Clyde: 9:50 pm to our doorway with lights shining bright
(Thank you, Deborah!)
Action Items:
Unload car
Build fire
Mix drinks
Settle in . . . with gratitude for where we have been and where we find ourselves this night.
We are in love with being home — so many windows, so much light, sky and sea. The dusting of snow that fell as we slept, lays sparkling to greet us this new morning, with a fire crackling and plump ducks arriving in formation to graze the cold waters. We would never think of them on the plate . . .
A bed and its windows
After tying out every possible orientation over the years, our bed has finally come to rest in the place where it will remain. This is much to the relief of my beleaguered husband, who has the expectation that furniture, especially his bed, will remain stationary. He has suffered greatly over the years with my persistent need to move furniture around.
It unnerves and unsettles him, while for me it is an exhilarating exploration of space and energy that simply makes me happy. The year of settling in to the new addition and the very much altered space of the old house has been tough on him, and a delightful, three dimensional puzzle for me, as I find just the right place for the city pieces that have ended up here with us at the dead end of a long peninsular that holds back the Atlantic to the east the St. George River and a great bay to the west.
The ancient art/science of feng shi has a multitude of dictates regarding situating ones bed, most of which have been disregarded. We are head to the east, feet to the west, which isn’t make or brake it, but unfortunately the foot of the bed has ended up directly facing the door in what is known as the “coffin position.”
Feet first, it turns out, is neither the preferred way to enter this world or leave it. This huge feng shi deficit can be mitigated by placing a solid piece of furniture — a book shelf in our case — at the foot of the bed, which has been dutifully done. Apparently this will keep us from being swept out of bed in the night by energy coursing out the door and down the stairs. So far so good.
The overwhelming delight of this position, aside from the futile, but heartfelt promise of permanence to John, is rediscovering the particular angle of this high view of sea-sky- earth from the south window, and the play of light through the high east windows over the bed. Winter calls one to linger in bed, and linger we do. Wouldn’t you?
There are magnificent, sweeping views throughout the house, but there is much to be said for this intense and more narrowly focused one — more distilled and tightly framed. As we sit in our bed, the south window both frames and reveals an ever changing physical reality, as well as opens a more interior one of psyche and connectedness.
As the dawn comes, light suffuses, stealthily, seeping goldenly into the room from the east, awakening reflections of morning trees on the glass of framed pieces across the room, and spilling out into the hall beyond. All the while, through the seaside window, the sky, water and trees to the south west begin to glow, transforming out of the dark in subtle shades of dawn. It is a winter delight to lay in our warm bed tucked under the gables of the roof taking in the sweep of it. If only one could could ring for tea . . .
Bed is an equally choice spot to be at day’s end, perhaps for a late afternoon nap to watch the glorious, indescribable, un-photographable, light show over the iconic, “pointed fir,” island of Blubber Butt (seriously!) as it shifts in shape and size with the tides, and our neighbors’ wharfs with their spindly legs clinging to the sea bottom, archetypal gallows etched black against sea and sky, with an on shore fringe of old apple, birch and spruce, all of which have doubled in size over these 20 years. Slowly the sun has clocked round to the east, setting more than an hour later than it did at the Winter Solstice. One is thankful for such a thing . . .
The winter kitchen
is redolent with burbling pots of chicken or bean soups, and the stews John is perfecting.
We notice it appears to be impossible to actually complete the clean up of the kitchen these days — always one more thing to clear, wash or put away, one more counter to whip, the compost to take out, the sink strainer to empty, the floor to sweep etc. . . . We blame it on the ever present distraction of being drawn to look out the windows to watch the winter birds, or the sky or light, as well as a certain fuzzy focus and short attention span — the one that has us wondering why we are standing at the refrigerator with the doors open or finding ourselves striding purposely into the another room, only to find we have no idea why.We content ourselves with good enough most of the time, falling into the gentile, soft edged disorder — the new order of having retired from managing all the details of life with such intensity. This is a very good thing . . .
It was a bumper crop of Calendula last summer, which is still keeping me busy, with more of the sweet oil to make into fragrant, healing ointment. Place your orders now!
Be well and happy