Ireland: Two Hearts, One Land

Anita, at Castles Crowns and Cottages, is hosting a virtual travel party entitled:

(The blue print says "Europe: Simply Irresistible Link Party July 18-25, 2014")

It's a virtual party and travelogues may be imaginary or places one has visited. Last November I went to Ireland and, in several posts, you'll be introduced to my thoughts and photos. The series will end with an Irish gift giveaway...are you ready? 
These two lads evidently lost their heads over me...LAM! (laughing at myself)

The November day my plane touched down in the Republic of Ireland it was raining. 

Of course it was raining; it's Ireland, therefore it's raining. Fortunately, living on a farm, I'm used to weather and was prepared for chilly, rainy weather so wandering around the terminal, looking for transportation meant a minor inconvenience and not a tragedy. I opted to take the bus as opposed to a taxi; buses meant rubbing elbows with locals and that meant, possibly, good tips and advice. The older woman who sat next to me accepted, with a smile, my apology for my barely controlled suitcase as it skittered hither and thither. She asked if I was from the States and proceeded to tell me what she liked best about her home. For a city woman, she dressed country in sensible walking shoes, tweeds, a raincoat and carrying an umbrella; my kind of woman and we both enjoyed our short visit.

First Irish meal and first Guinness in Dublin.

~ Dublin statues, all alive, save dog ~

Dublin is a cozy city and a walkable one; I was never far from anywhere, especially as I'd opted to stay in a, more or less, central location. 
Not in the Temple Bar area because it's rowdy, busy, filled with neon lights, noise, pubs where drinkers spilled into the streets and more energy than I wanted to either expend or be around. I prefer cities in manageable bites; small portions where one partakes of the culture and the sentiment and where history can be smelled, tasted, touched and felt without being burdened by a crush of humanity.

~ The Long Room ~

At Trinity College, The Long Room was a must see. "Under the 1801 Copyright Act Trinity College was designated as an Irish legal deposit library entitled to a copy of every book published on the two islands. " The Long Room measures 63.7 metres long, 12.2 metres wide and 14.2 metres high and, in a word, is amazing!

At Trinity College, the Book of Kells was also a stop. I always visit as many churches, cathedrals and see as many important works as I can and have been blessed to stand at the alters of the Gutenberg Bible and the Magna Carta in London. To see the Book of Kells was as inspiring and tears were quietly shed; if you'd like to see digital copies, click here.

~ Go Slow and, I add...savor... ~

A couple of days in Dublin and I was ready to hit the road with Vagabond Tours, Discover Ireland tour. The first driver was having a bad day week life while the second driver should be on the "promote Ireland" poster. Day and night, chalk and cheese; the difference between them was unbelievable but both were very safe drivers and Vagabond Tours is recommended with this caveat...be aware with November ends tourist season. Prior to booking, I asked about visiting Inis Oirr, Aran Islands, a sheep farm and Skellig Michael but, upon arrival was told "closed for the season". Still, Vagabond Tours is recommended and kudos to them for a lovely trip with very comfortable lodgings chock full of charm and with breakfasts to die for. Out of 29 counties in the Republic of Ireland, we traveled through the majority and three of the four provinces: Leinster, Munster and Connacht although I later visited Ulster in Northern Ireland on my own.

~ Vagabond van ~

Going south, one of the first stops was the magnificent hill top setting of Rock of Cashel where the wind was beating a few tears from the clouds. 

It reminded me of home and I knew, better than most, what it would feel like in a few months. What was a chilly, blustery day would become bitterly cold, making the monks earlier decision to leave for warmer climes an understandable one. This group of 12th, 13th and 15th century medieval relic buildings keeps watch across the valley where an Abbey once nestled, protected from the worst of the wind. Even so, when the monks left, the nuns followed.

~ crosses, Rock of Cashel ~

BlarneyCastle was a delight. At least, I'm sure it would have been had I gone but, having no desire to press my lips where hundreds of thousands have pressed their flesh, I bypassed the Castle and had a Murphy's and lunch in

Muskerry Arms pub and also the first place I saw “my people” meaning a farming gent, sitting at the bar, Guinness in hand, barn coat spread open across his body, muddy boots resting on the fender and his newsboy hat pushed off his forehead. He was holding court and I could only imagine the exchange having to do with the weather (of course), harvest, autumn planting, the price of petrol and a dozen other topics peculiar to those living close to the earth and her seasons.

A walk up the road and a little retail therapy meant a wool vest and snood at the Blarney Woolen Mills which were, eventually put into use. In some of the outdoors photos of me, it looks like I'm as round as I am tall and that's due to the enormous number of clothes I have on. I took silk long johns, wool sweaters, Dave's Barrow, Alaska fleece jacket with hood, a rain hat and rainproof jacket and wore Patagonia waterproof boots all of which came in handy when a stop alongside the road meant a visit to the fairy glen. 

Mercy! I'm exhausted and it's just the first day or two and am hopeful you've enjoyed the travelogue and photos thus far and will return for more episodes. I am so grateful to Anita for hosting this little party; it's bringing back so many wonderful memories and I'm enjoying myself...all over again...

Blessings ~ Ireland ~ pubs ~ Guinness ~ Murphy's ~ Blarney Woolen Mills ~ Rock of Cashel, Vagabond Tours ~ Muskerry Arms Pub ~ Dublin ~ Trinity College ~ Book of Kells ~ Anita at Castles Crowns and Cottages ~

Rhythm or Arrhythmia...?

~ wise man, wise words ~

Rhythm or arrhythmia is the question of the day. I am most fortunate because my days are spent doing those things of my choosing. Granted, it's mostly work, in fact, the overwhelming majority of my day is spent in work but...it's work of my choosing, so I am blessed. I don't intend to ever retire and, when my time comes, want to die doing something useful in being of service to God.

Some days Rarely are my days spent thusly:

"I meant to do my work today ~ 

But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,

And a butterfly flitted across the field,

And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land,
   Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand—
   So what could I do but laugh and go?"

~ Richard Le Gallienne ~

Even when I'm outside, enjoying the bounty of God's nature, I'm working...chopping thistles, mucking the barn, repairing fence, water proofing the porches, sweeping, checking the livestock water troughs, but always, always enjoying the weather, scenery, voices of birds, horses, sheep (neighbor's), cattle and wind. There is a rhythm to my days and, like most, I am a creature of habit. The night before going to bed I check my lists, cross off that which was accomplished, write in what needs to be done the next day. My very early mornings are dedicated to needs of house animals, then coffee for me, followed by devotions and a walk to the barn to tend to farm animals. After, I check e-mail, various businesses and then begin my real work...whatever that is -smile-.

A few days ago, I began mowing the pasture between the house and the hay field. This pasture has some steepness to it and wasn't long before my nerve left me and I called Andy. He's my help from last year but, this year, has been helping the neighbor down the road. He said he'd be here one day after work and today was the day. He showed up while I was across the mountain buying diesel for the tractor; I didn't want him to run out! Andy drives like he was born in that tractor seat, as do I when on flat ground -smile- but on hills, I'm frightened of turning over. I've known, or heard of, a few farming accidents already this year and don't want to be yet another statistic.

This week's housework is limited to shampooing rugs. Faith shampooed 9 yesterday and another 4 today; tomorrow we're going to begin taking out the rest of the Persian rugs for cleaning. My brother said, "You know you're Appalachian when you have rugs hanging on the fence." Some might look askance (perhaps even Dave) but the sun both dries and disinfects while letting them dry inside on the floor means they'll take days to dry. That's stupid and I hadn't bothered to consider what the neighbors might think until my brother brought it up. I mean, surely the neighbors have better things to worry/wonder/talk about.

Remember the tomatoes of last week? I canned 39.5 quarts of tomatoes and 9 pints plus 1 quart of sauce. I gave away 7 quarts to the woman who gave me the tomatoes and still have plenty for winter. I've already dipped into the spaghetti sauce and, frankly, if I get tired of spaghetti, it'll make dandy Bloody Mary mix, with or without alcohol.

Coming home I saw several deer, including this one being chased by the other. Not sure what that was all about, territory I suppose, but they were serious.

Eventually, the one being chased dropped over the hill and began wading in the creek. It was only there safety was found.

About a quarter mile away, this doe and her fawn grazed along the fence line. When she heard my car stop, she turned and watched me until they walked deeper into the grass.

There's a rhythm to my days that Dave would have called, "full of ennui" but I prefer to call "full of languor", that pleasant feeling of tiredness that comes from doing work I love. The children are no longer staying here and that's a good thing...for all of us. The time opened up by them leaving took as long as putting my hand in a pail of water and seeing the resulting space empty then fill...iow, not very long at all. There's always work.

I live a slow life; I am pleased to live a slow life and it's by choice. Dave and I lived slowly; we savored what we were able to do here on this farm. When we traveled, we traveled slowly and rented apartments or condos where locals lives. Hardly ever did we stay in a hotel...except for that memorable time when we stayed in the Hotel George in Kensington (his favorite section to stay), London. We'd been on a trip to Morocco, camped in the desert with the Bedouins and Blue Men or Tuareg people , visited a Berber village and Dave wanted civilization, with a capital C. So, he booked us at Hotel George and it was fabulous! What I remember most were the breakfasts...lush, extravagant, hot tea, scones, fruit, omelets made to order...ahhhhh... Breakfast has always been my favorite meal and I've always enjoyed a huge breakfast. When I've had a good breakfast, I can go the rest of the day, until supper, and not flag; well, not flag too much. Dave wanted to sleep in good beds with clean sheets, have a hot shower of indeterminate length, go to theatre (we saw Wicked) and, in general, have too much of a very good thing.

Einstein was a smart man but he never knew Dave.

Yes, I am a blessed woman; my life has been full of love, laughter, travel, good food and all those things that make memories worth remembering. Lately, grief has visited and it's been difficult but remembering good times and praying, a lot, has made it easier. I even dreamed about Dave; we were in an airport, somewhere, and he was trying to figure out our flights. Usually dreams are strange, disjointed and this was no exception. In the dream he went ahead, leaving me in the terminal while he "sorted this out, wait here for me". 

I'm still waiting, Dave.

Blessings ~ travel ~ interesting countries ~ K&K Hotel George ~ Kensington ~ London ~ Morocco ~ Dave, always Dave ~

A Melodious Small Collection

Some years ago, ML, a dear friend of decades, traveled to London. While there, she bought this small bell, designed to be worn by a sheep or goat. When she returned home, she presented me with this little treasure and said, “I wasn't sure if you had an animal bell...”. No, I didn't but she started me on the way to a small, melodious collection of, mostly, animal bells.

Not for me the beautiful yet fragile, glass, tinkly bells. No, I have always desired the sturdy, time tested, time worn and, preferably, hand made of whatever venue. This now includes bells. A lot of my bells are handmade or, in this day and age, the word is “handcrafted” and all are sturdy and produce sounds ranging from a deep clanging of a cow bell worn to the tinnier sound of the bells worn by horse, sheep or goat.

When Dave and I traveled in Eastern Europe, we were both always on the lookout for animal bells. These, and the one on the right, as evidenced by its tag, were found in Romania and all designed for a horse. Frankly, I cannot imagine having such a clanging going on aside my head but humans, as mostly always, do what they do without considering the animal. Or, perhaps, the humans did what they did and considered all animals...as in notifying folks ahead there was a horse and wagon approaching. During all our travels, I only once saw a human riding a horse and that was for the benefit of tourists; it was invariably always a horse pushing a wagon. As an aside, the horse collar is designed so the horse pushes against it and the wagon has no choice but to follow...ingenious design!

This bell was purchased on our trip to 2004 Russia. It was this trip that necessitated my first passport and, come to think of it, the first bell ever in my collection. It now reminds me of wonderful memories of foreign travel. Dave and I were in Yaroslavl, Russia at a museum where a bell maker had a nice collection of his hand poured bells. Our translator, a former ABC guy (which is what I called the no-neck former KGB man) pressured Dave into buying the bell. Dave was furious but we were alone in a country where we didn't speak the language and the translator had been arranged by the man who had arranged the trip (and would arrive much later) so Dave purchased the bell. Frankly, I'm glad he did as it's a wonderful reminder of a fabulous trip where we did so many exciting things and met so many incredible people. Even so, Dave had many awful things to say about the ABC guy and none were complementary!

This bell was purchased in Ukraine, at a flea market. Ah me, I could have spent a small fortune at that flea market but came home with this bell, some textiles and carried home a hand made from wood pieces room divider to give to my sister. That dratted thing weighed a small ton and I'm not sure my back has ever recovered from carrying it around until I got to the airport and boxed it. Back to the bell...the leather collar is held in place by a hand carved wooden clasp; both leather and wood are well worn, the leather somewhat stiff with age but still a thing of beauty.

This bell is Polish, or rather, was purchased in Poland. That's about all that can be said as it's unknown where the bells were made or by whom. Especially the hand made bells because it's impossible to know the history but the well worn patina from both being hand crafted and worn by many animals, handled by many hands is still a sweet mystery. 

It embarrasses me I cannot remember where I purchased this bell, above. Perhaps my memory will surprise me one day...or not.

This bell still has its leather collar which is in, surprisingly, good shape and could be used today with no other preparation.  This one and the one below were purchased in Southport, NC at an antique shop. The shop owner said the, now deceased, bell owner traveled a good deal in Europe and she thought the bells might be European. It pleases me to know another woman found delight and mystery in such simple, hand made goods. Another woman saw the beauty in the everyday, hand made and found these bells worthy of being bought, carried home and admired.

 

This one is a cow bell, pounded out on some farmer's anvil and has a deep, melodious sound that brings to mind a placid cow, walking across an alpine pasture with nothing more serious on her mind than good grass, sweet water and being milked come evening. 

That's what comes of getting ready to move; no, the farm hasn't sold yet but like Noah ben Shea said, "Be patient. Patience is also preparation. It is the action before the act." Like I've always said, "Wait is a verb."  While waiting, I'm giving away, packing, tossing and wondering at a life well lived here on Thistle Cove Farm. Dave and I made it a good great life, one full of memories, good times, mementos and, it seems, every little thing has a history, a story and I can recall almost each one. I've begun using a small white tag to write where something was purchased or why it's special. I'm told the provenance of something, when written down or proven, makes the item more valuable. I know it makes the item more valuable in that when I read that small tag, memories, precious memories, flood over, around, through me and I'm transported to that time and place. It's part of the healing process, a good part, and I'm grateful.

Blessings ~ ML ~ a melodious small collection of bells ~ Willie Nelson ~ Precious Memories ~ Noah ben Shea ~ Dave ~ 

TGIF and Random 5 Friday

~ American Curly horses ~

Today, a gentleman from Virginia Currents e-mailed me and asked for  farm photos to use in a television news magazine segment featuring Virginia farms. He asked for four photos and I sent eight; yes, I can count, but having no understanding of what he needed, I sent him twice as many photos so he can cull fifty percent. Whenever possible, I like to make other folks' jobs' easier. 

~ chestnuts, ready for roasting ~

Another gent, from across the mountain, likes to hunt ground hogs in our valley and I like for him to hunt ground hogs on this farm.  They are pesky rodents who dig huge holes that are a safety hazard for my horses, sheep and alpacas. Me too, remembering now the huge hole I stepped into in mid-summer. Anyway, the hunter brought me a coffee can of chestnuts and I plan on X'ing them and roasting them tonight and all weekend. I've never found a nut I didn't like and chestnuts are a favorite. 

~ London travel journal, right ~

Dave and I began traveling overseas in 2008 when I was asked to teach Agri-tourism in Russia. the program was through the U. S. State Department and run by a West Virginia Bluefield State professor. That was the beginning of a entirely new set of adventures for Dave and I. In January 2010, Dave sent me to London because, "I want you to learn to travel by yourself. I'll be here, at home, for a safety net, but you'll be on your own." I planned that trip...airline, hotel, sights, etc....and, yes, it was frightening but also exhilarating! When my plane landed, my transportation to town wasn't there and never arrived. I finally took the Tube into London and my Earls Court stop where I wandered for an hour looking for my hotel. All this at midnight, in the cold, snow and worst winter London had in twenty-five years...exhilarating!  The memory of the red fox and I, crossing on opposite street corners, remains a favorite memory. 

~ July - August 2011 travel journal ~

I'm getting to my point, please forgive a tired, slow woman...in the summer of 2011, Dave sent me to Eastern Europe, amazing because, at that time, Dave was recovering from cancer treatment and, needless to say, I didn't want to leave him. He insisted and gave me the same reason he'd given when he sent me to London the year before. So, that fabulous trip was to Hungary, were I met Timi and her family and Jane and Lance, then went to Serbia, Romania, Ukraine, Czech Republic and Austria. 

I'm going to submit, for possible publication, my journals to Stampington Public. I haven't a clue they'll accept them but I'm pretty sure the answer is no if I don't ask. This is a huge step for me; when I was in elementary school, my "art" teacher (using the term most loosely!) told me, "You have absolutely no talent whatsoever; I have no idea why you even try." 

My answer after all these decades is, "Life is risky and the answer is always "no" when the question isn't asked."

Through no work of their own, the dogs are ready for cold weather. Their sweaters were washed and line dried this week and bought a smile to my face. 

We had a jail break today; the alpacas found a gate I'd left open and made their way into the yard. They were so funny, looking like they were tiptoeing around the yard. The dogs don't even bark anymore when the animals go where they aren't really supposed to go. Eventually, I got them all back in the same pasture and all is well on the farmstead.

This post is linked up with Nancy's Random 5 Friday at A Rural Journal. Please visit her and see the other participants.

Blessings ~ clean sweaters ~ animals in their correct places ~ chestnuts ~ American Curly horses ~ travel journals ~  alpacas ~

Searching for London

 ~ somewhere over England ~

Give-aways are suspended until tomorrow; Dave has been hankering for me to do another post on London and I've learned to pack a bag in an hour so here goes. After all, when you've spent two plus weeks wandering around Romania, Hungary, Austria and the Czech Republic with naught but the clothes on your back and one -I want to say crummy but that sounds so ungrateful!- white tee shirt given to me by the airlines because they misplaced our bags yet sent us on our way- now both Dave and I pack in one...ONE...carry-on each. And his isn't all that large a carry-on! Sometimes I'll have a purse but, usually, we both have travel vests and yes, as a matter of fact, we do look like the Bobsey twins but it works for us.

WHEW! I'm bushed after that run-on sentence.

In London, we stayed in the Knightsbridge and Kensington areas only a few blocks from Harrods and a lovely shopping district. A lovely Extremely High End shopping district and nothing much was purchased there except for food and pints at our local, A Bunch of Grapes. I felt like Granny Sandy come to town as I watched the "fancy ladies" mince and prance from shop to shop to shop. And yet, it would not surprise me, at all, if I were the happiest of the lot. I know my place, am over the moon happy in love with my place and am a loved woman. Everyone should be so blessed!

~ Diana and Dodi memorial at Harrods ~

While we never had a bad day, thank God, some of our best days were spent being tourists. There are those, perhaps we were "those" when we were younger, who decry boarding buses and sightseeing but, now that we've got a few years on our heads, we enjoyed riding the double decker bus and seeing far more of London than we could have on foot. Dave reconnoitered by riding the bus around London while a friend and I wandered around on foot and by tube. Then, after the friend left London, Dave and I rode the bus and hopped on/hopped off as we pleased and saw things of interest.

~ Cheshire Cheese Pub ~

Please note, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street was rebuilt in 1667, following the Great Fire of London in 1666, and a favorite haunt of Samuel Johnson, Charles Dickens, Francois-Marie Arouet, also known as Voltaire and now, Dave and Sandra.

The Horn Tavern stood on this same site although in 1538, but a 13th century Carmelite Monastery guest house stood there long before The Horn Tavern. The vaulted cellars in the pub are thought to belong to the Monastery guest house.

~ leaded glass windows ~

 ~ Dr. Samuel Johnson's chair ~

 Dr. Samuel Johnson's home is around the corner from the Cheshire Cheese and we visited but, alas, it was closed. Whilst he and James Boswell were discussing whether Boswell would tire of London should he move there, Johnson said, "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." Dr. Johnson is every word geek's master and mentor and it was he, you'll recall, who, on April 15, 1755, published A Dictionary of the English Language which is sometimes called Samuel Johnson's Dictionary. For this herculean task, which took almost nine years, he was paid, approximately, 1,500 pounds which is now about $1,000.

~ a partial list of patrons ~

 ~ my delicious lunch ~

 There are people who would not be thrilled with my, fairly, simple lunch. I am not one as I enjoy food from the plainest, most plebeian fair to the gastronomic delights of The Georgian Room. I was tickled with my meat pie, chips, peas and carrots. It was washed down with a pint of local whose name now escapes me but I recall it was hard cider. There's nothing like hard cider and although this was processed, it was still delicious and made more delightful by eating in such a heralded establishment.

 ~ the London Eye ~

 From Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese to the London Eye, a trip of a few hundred years! We didn't ride the Eye this trip but had ridden it a few years prior. After spending time in Morocco in Marrakesh and with the Berbers in the Atlas Mountains and the Bedouins in the Sahara Desert, we stopped off in London to regroup. It was a serious head twister, from living in tents only God knows how old and having no running water...unless you call a five gallon bucket and a cut off plastic soda bottle running water... to living in the lap of luxury in a London hotel and taking a turn in the Eye. However, that's another story for another time; now it's time for me to stop burning daylight and get back to work. The day is no longer young and there are still miles to go before I sleep.

Blessings ~ travel ~ London ~ adventure ~ Morocco ~ Atlas Mountain ~ Sahara Desert ~ London Eye ~ pubs ~ double decker buses ~

Dei Gratia,
Sandra

It's Past Time...

 ~ Big Ben ~

for a blog update and there's lots to tell...just as soon as jet lag is over and house work has been caught up, just a tad. Frankly, housework is just about all I'm good for right now; I may think I'm fine but my head is still cloudy. Not only, but in that petri dish called aeroplane, I caught a cold; the worst one I've had in a long while. Actually, I think it's the first one I've had in over a year, but, considering the "cloudy issue" mentioned earlier, memory could be an awful servant. Anyway, it's a small price to pay for the privilege of travel. Thank you, God.

Slowly, I'm working my way through e-mails and catching up on your blogs, please, bear with me.

Blessings ~ safe travels ~ only a cold ~ family ~ friends ~ London ~ God speed ~
 
Dei Gratia,
Sandra

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog...

~ Periwinkle Colored Bowls ~

Do you remember the old Mother Goose nursery rhyme "To market, to market..."? It goes:

"To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,
Home again, home again, dancing a jig;
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog;
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done."

I've been to market, several actually, and loved them all. Petticoat Lane, Old Spitalfields, Borough Market,  Old Truman Brewery Market and others. That's when I wasn't wandering around museums or getting lost on foot -smile-. One place I found myself was Covent Garden and spent a pleasurable hour at a small tea shop before venturing, again, into the "unknown".

Londoner's are mad for "vintage" and I couldn't believe the prices! Wool coats from the 1960's were $100 and better. A long, champagne colored Victorian petticoat was $80 but "just for me" the price was reduced to $70. Shoes that had seen far, far better days bore rather precious prices as well. Now, I don't mind wearing thrift store clothes...after all, there's the washer and dryer...but I draw the line at OPS's...other people's shoes. That makes me a trifle squeamish and I've had my arm up to the shoulder in the rear end of a ewe, helping out with the birthing process.

I'm home and settling into a familiar routine. When I got home, a week ago today almost to the hour, the temperatures were above freezing since the first of the month. We've had our share of fierce January winter weather and the warmer temperatures and rain have melted the snow. We're now seriously into mud season but that will change as temps drop again before true springs arrives.

Today is Vintage Thingie Thursday over at ColoradoLady and I've several offerings, beginning with the periwinkle bowls at top. The one on the right belonged to my MIL and we just purchased the left one at a recent auction. These are beautiful bowls and the left one has a "raw" lip where women would sharpen their kitchen knives. I've seen Grandmother Bennett do it time and again and always thought having a bowl serve more than one function was quite useful. These are my 'go-to' bowls for making cat head biscuits and they are "just right" for making six to eight biscuits. 

~ Hand made Scottish tea cozy ~

This lovely little tea cozy was hand sewn by...??? Someone's Gran, do you think? It has a bit of lace, some batting to keep the tea pot warm, an embroidered thistle and the words "Frae Scotland"; frae means from.

~ Thistle and "frae Scotland", embroidered all

~ Top handle ~

This is so clever; the center square where the thistle is located, has an opening and this little rectangle was stuffed inside. It's to hold the tea pot lid on whilst pouring tea; I love this! It shows someone actually meant for this tea cozy to be put into good use and so it shall.

Home Sweet Home and it's dear to me even with the rain and sleet that's absolutely pouring from the skies as I'm sitting in the sunroom updating my blog. It's below freezing and the wind chill is horrid, taking the temps to around 10 above so it's a good dayi to put the tea pot and cozy into good use. I'm headed to the studio and will play Loreena McKennitt while I work, perhaps an audio book later. I promised to catch up with everyone and I will, eventually. I want to visit your blogs and see what I've missed.My desktop computer crashed and the computer doc has been called and will arrive sometime today to take said computer to the shop. Hmmmm...didn't I just say that a few months ago? Seems like an all to recent happening but maybe it's my memory that's playing tricks, once again.

My studio time these past few days has been productive. I've finished one fleece throw, have two more to finish, a scarf for me and a couple of baby quilts pieced with batting and bottom and ready to be sewn. I am so blessed to be able to stay home and work on things that bring happiness so many times beginning when I purchase the fabric and begin to think of the project. Happiness is such a simple quality yet so necessary to our daily existence; so many people struggle to be happy and that is so sad. I find happiness in such simple things: a breath drawn deeply, a good body stretch, a baby's face when they see their quilt for the first time, an adult's face when they realize they were thought of and then action followed thought. Does that make me a simple person? Probably so but it also makes me a happy person.

Until next time,

Blessings ~ tea cozy ~ periwinkle bowls ~ home ~ warmth ~ happiness ~ simplicity ~

London III

~ Sumerian woman ~

This is, possibly, how a Sumerian woman of royal birth would have worn her jewellery in the City of Ur, located in now modern day Iraq. According to some, Sumerian writing is the oldest writing discovered by archaeologists.

The city of Ur of the Chaldees was the birthplace of Abraham, Father of Nations as later decreed by God. At age 75, Abram, his name not yet changed to Abraham, left Ur, taking his wife, Sarai, his nephew Lot, both families and all they owned, to, eventually, settle in his new home, the land of Caanan. Prior to settling in Caanan, they settled in Haran where God blessed both men greatly with  tremendous wealth and many possessions but soon the land couldn't support both of them. New grazing grounds were needed and Abram gave Lot first choice. Lot decided to pitch his tents on the plain of Jordan, near the city of Sodom while Abram moved on to Caanan. At this time, Abram and Sarai were childless and, in fact, beyond "normal" child bearing years, at least Sarai was too old, biologically, to bear children; her normal course had ceased. Bearing children was a woman's sole identity, especially the bearing of sons, and for Sarai not to have born her husband children, was considered a curse. She gave her handmaiden, Hagar, to Abram and Hagar became pregnant and bore Abram a son, Ishmael, when Abram was 75 years old. When Hagar knew she was pregnant, she began to despise Sarai and was mistreated by Sarai so Hagar ran away, to die in the desert. An angel of the Lord found her and told her to return to Sarai and Abram and to submit to Sarai. The angel of the Lord promised Hagar her yet unborn son would have too many descendants to count and "he will be a wild donkey of a man; his hand will be against everyone and everyone's hand against him, and he will live in hostility toward all his brothers".

Twenty-four years later, God appeared to Abram and told him he would now become a father for the second time. God made a covenant with Abram and promised, "you will be the father of many nations and your name will no longer be Abram but Abraham". This covenant also included all males, eight days or older being circumcised. God continued, telling Abraham his wife, Sarai, would also have a name change to Sarah and, through her son, "would be the mother of nations and kings of people would come from her". Both Sarah and Abraham found this too fantastic to be true; after all, Abraham and  Sarah were both aged and they laughed at this idea but the next year, Sarah did indeed bear a son, Isaac.

Many things happened prior to Isaac being born. According to God's decree, all males, eight days and older, were circumcised this when Abraham was 99 years old and Ishmael was 13 years old. Additionally, Abraham was visited by "three men" who came to tell Abraham Sodom was going to be destroyed due to the extreme wickedness of the citizens. Abraham knew his nephew, Lot, and Lot's family resided in Sodom so Abraham began to bargain with the Lord.

Note: those middle easterners have always been great hagglers, it seems -smile-.

In due course, after much bargaining, the Lord agreed if ten righteous people could be found in the city, the Lord would stay his hand from destroying Sodom. The men left Abraham and made their way to Sodom and Lot's home. It gets rather graphic, at least in my mind, because the men of Sodom or Sodomites as they were known, went to Lot's house and demanded Lot give up his guests for the purpose of sex with the Sodomites. Lot refused and went so far as to offer his two virgin daughters for that purpose but begged the Sodomites to leave the guests alone.

Perhaps you know the end of the story...? Ten righteous men could, in fact, not be found but Lot and his family were given the opportunity to flee Sodom. The wife was turned into a pillar of salt because she looked back after being told to only face forward. I've thought about that often and wondered how many blessings I've missed out on because I've neglected to look to my future because I was focused on my past. Only God knows.

The story of Ishmael and Isaac is the beginning of the "tension" between Jews and Muslims. Brothers, one illegitimate and the other legitimate, fought amongst themselves and their offspring continue to this day. They were both raised in the same household, one the son of a slave girl the other the son of the  mistress and both have many, many, many descendants. There is a lot more to the stories of Lot and Abraham and it's all interesting and relevant to modern day events but I've gotten off track.

~ In this same room at the British Museum, there were other mummies ~

 ~ Staffordshire dig ~

Move forward through history a few hundred years and we come to Great Britain and the Staffordshire Hoard. It's the largest Anglo-Saxon hoard ever found and the first pieces were found in July 2009. When the dig was finished, more than 1,500 pieces, totally more than five kilograms of gold were in Her Royal Majesty's collection.

~ Gold strip with Latin inscription ~

The Latin inscription reads, 'Rise up, Lord, and may Thy enemies be dispersed and those that hate thee be driven from thy face'. Numbers 10:35 The purpose of this strip is unknown and there are spelling errors in the Latin.

I've already shown the photo of the British Museum but wanted to show it again. There's something I missed telling you and I find it fascinating.

In this photo of the left section of the British Museum, do you see the lion in the lower left corner?

That is this lion, the Lion of Knidos, weighing seven tons! It comes from a Knidos tomb in a cemetery in south-west Turkey. It looks extremely large in the above photo but when placed in context in its position in the British Museum, it pales in comparison. Amazing how perception changes things, eh?

As one exits the British Museum, this apartment building is directly across the street. I've lived in NYC and Washington, DC and this brings back memories of "flat living". I'll take Thistle Cove Farm, ta very much! -smile-

Until next time,

Blessings ~ traveling safety ~ this fabulous trip ~ figuring out the Tube ~ making it all fit, history, that is ~