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As I Was Going To St. Ives

Most children grow up with the English nursery rhyme shown below. I remembered it when I first heard about St. Ives, a well know holiday spot that is famous for the light which tends to look more blue than other places. This special light as well as the coastline has attracted artists to the area since the expansion of the Great Western Railway in 1877.

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By now you must have figured out where John took me on my overnight birthday trip. We left about midmorning on Thursday and headed south. There is only so far you can go before you run in to ocean in Cornwall so I had one or two ideas once we were on the A 30. I thought perhaps we might be going to Mousehole which is pronounced “Mowzel” and is pretty village near Penzance.  We’d been there briefly on a trip to Penzance and I had mentioned wanting to go back.  We had talked about going to St. Ives a few times, but it was usually during a school break for children which is not the best time unless you want to feel swept along in the sea of tourists and people on holiday. He did throw a twist into the drive to St. Ives when he pulled off the A 30 and began searching for turn that was difficult to find. I knew as we were turning into to Burncoose Nurseries that we must be there to pick up something for me.

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Right away, I knew what John had in mind. Earlier in the spring when we were out for a walk through the gardens at Lanhydrock, I spotted something very familiar to anyone who’s spent much time in Georgia. I know these types of trees grow in a variety of places, but I wasn’t prepared to see this one there.

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In case you couldn’t tell…we stopped so John could pick up a Dogwood tree for me. Earlier in the spring, I had talked about how I missed the blooming Dogwood trees in Georgia and John remembered and made arrangements to get one and plant it so I’ll be able see it through the window of my studio room while I’m writing at my desk. How sweet is that!  I told him that was a perfect gift for me. When we stopped for the tree, we had a look around the nursery which had an interesting history. As you can see from the picture below, it was used during WWII as a laundry  which was worked by women who were in what was called Womens Land Army. I had not heard of this before and found the personal stories of some women who were involved here.

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The pictures above show it before and after renovation in 1989, but I have a few pictures from our visit below.

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Me with my Dogwood Tree.

We left it there to pick up on the way home and then we were off back on the road for the rest of my birthday adventure. I still didn’t realize where we were going at this point and it took me a few more road signs before I worked it out. It was a perfect day for exploring St. Ives and it didn’t take me long to see the blue reflected light through my camera once we arrived.

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Notice the churchyard and grave stones on the hill.

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Surfers are very welcome here with many in from Australia.

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Sticky Toffee Pudding with Ice Cream and birthday candle.

I’ll be back with part two later to tell you about the sweet B & B we stayed in and our visit to an interesting church on the way home.

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Moorland Adventures

The moor was a wild place to be the other day. Ray and MIJ who you may remember from here came by for an overnight visit and a walk around Bodmin Moor. Most of our summer weather has been unpredictable and their visit here required a bit of wardrobe adjustments. It wasn’t cold once we began our walk, but it certainly felt chilly when we were heading for the door. This should explain the mix of clothing choices you see in a few of the photographs. We dressed for rain and nature didn’t make our efforts in vain. We did have a bit of excitement that Sarah and Suzanne might have enjoyed. I certainly thought of them when we walked up on what looked like a possible problem similar to what has been occurring with other walkers lately.

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We begin our walk and it’s pretty, although a bit wet.

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We stroll along pausing to look at changes to property…

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I take pictures of this….

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and that…

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And when the rain comes as it does here…

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….the cows seem to line up to watch us as we scramble looking for some…

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…of these to shelter us from the rain.

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Here’s where it begins to get interesting, we walk out onto the moor with Rough Tor in the background and we see these cute cows…a mother and baby passing by….awww sweet…right.

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Oh…look, they’re coming over to say hello.

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Hmm…something feels different here and about the same time I’m thinking this may not be just another social call by a curious cow…

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…I look beyond the big mother to her right and I see this…see the bright red in the center of the photo…

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…except to my eyes, it looks more like this….which reminds me of this….

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…making this ….the next thing my camera snaps as I move out of what appears to be the path of a protective mama cow moving her family away from the dogs that are rooming free with the human mother (who clearly hasn’t been following the news) and her children.

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This is the look on her face as I quickly explain that we are passing though and are in no way affiliated with those rowdies with the dogs crashing up behind her.  After a few heated exchanges…okay, so I was really the only one talking…

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…a peaceful solution is reached and they move on without incident all except for this little guy below…

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…who seemed to be watching without comment until I noticed this…

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…he’s decided to have a poo just as I go for a photograph…so I try again and…

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What’s this…now he needs a wee too. Hmm…do you think he’s trying to tell me something?

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Tell Me A Story Tuesdays – The Return

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Ahhhhh, home!

Rounding the bend near the end of the lane, Joyce saw at once that the cars were still there sitting like a permanent part of the landscape in the place she’d remembered. When she was a child she had gone missing for an afternoon after she had crawled in through a broken window. She’d brushed the tiny pieces of glass off the seat and onto floor of the car after slipping a few pieces of what looked more like diamonds than broken glass into the center pocket her blue jean overalls. Always a petite child, she’d dropped easily into place behind a steering wheel that would seem huge compared with those found in modern cars today, but back then even sitting up as big and tall as she could, she had barely been able to see over the wheel. Tilting her head back so that her nose pointed up she’d struggled to see over the cracked dashboard of the abandoned car. After a while her neck had begun to ache and she diverted her attention to what was easy to see and close enough to reach. Picking at the peeling strips of interior paint, she tried to tug a piece loose scratching at it gently the way she might pick at the scabby places she always seemed to have on her knees.

Joyce had disappeared that day, lost for what her foster family would say seemed like most of the afternoon and evening. Sitting in the remains of someone else’s dreams, she been lulled to sleep by the heat of the afternoon sun which even in late summer was still baking hot and only bearable because of the cars position under a leafy canopy of trees. Walking through the tall grasses was easier at her age now as she made her way over to the shell of what had been her first mode of transportation. This old wreck of a car had never actually moved from its present location not with Joyce in it anyway, but looking back she remembered the places she’d traveled in her mind while sitting on its worn front seat using her imagination as a roadmap to all the places she would go.

Seeing the tireless rims of what had been her spaceship to the moon and an airplane built for one, she thought about the times when she had pretended that this old car had special powers that could protect her from the evil outside forces that threatened her daily life. Outside evil forces was the name she given what she couldn’t understand and it was the comic books that taught her about superheroes and their powers. She’d found them stuffed inside an old cardboard suitcase almost too small to contain them all. One day while hiding in an old shed behind the barn, she had made herself as small as she could and pushed in behind a dusty tarp. Backing up against a wall, she’d bumped into the suitcase that held what she would come to think of as her handbooks for survival.

Joyce shifted a bit, restless with the discomfort caused by old memories and the weight of the box she held in her hands. It had been so long since she was last here that she wasn’t sure where the path was anymore. As overgrown as it was now, she couldn’t quite see it and tried to remember with her feet instead of looking with her eyes. She knew that the last member of the foster “family” had died not long ago. The old man had held on to his miserable life long after she wished him dead for the first time and now years after she’d left this place which was never a home, she finally felt safe enough to return.

The air was so hot that she could barely move feeling like it took too much effort to even walk, but she was on a mission to return what she’d taken years ago even though it meant going back to the place where she’d found it. A friend that she’d confided in had suggested she sell the contents of the box, after all there was a huge market for old comic books. Joyce had explained as patiently as she could that these well-read worn out pages had no value to a collector in their condition and that selling them would be like selling off the stuffed Pooh bear her friend had treasured since childhood. ” These Masters of the Universe belong to another world ” she’d said, while thinking quietly to herself…a world that I am finally done doing battle with.

Thanks to Karen Caterson for her suggestion that I used for this week’s TMAST. Judy Harper joined me again in writing a story for TMAST and her story can be found on her blog here. Please take a look at the pictures for next week’s TMAST and offer up suggestions for topic sentences based on the photographs. Thanks for reading and commenting and please consider writing along with me next week.

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Feeling LandLocked

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Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some they come in with the tide.  For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. – Zora Neale Hurston


Karen Walrond from Chookooloonks is sharing some interesting insight and technique for her Love Thursday post. If you are feeling a bit landlocked today you might enjoy seeing what she did to make her dreams come true.

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If Cows Could Talk

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I spend a fair amount of my time in the company of these great beasts when I’m walking with John on the moor or cutting through a farmers field while out on a run. It never caused me one minute of concern even when they had horns as sharp and pointy as these at least not until I received a comment from Sarah. If you remember, Sarah read this post after searching for information about a coast path walk she was interested in doing in Cornwall. If you scroll down to the last comment on that post, (from Sarah C-S) you can see the comment that marked the beginning of our friendship.

After a series of emails back and forth, along with this post designed to talk more about potential safety issues on the coast path, we arranged a meeting. Being able to meet people in person that you enjoy talking with is one of the best benefits of blogging.  Sarah who lives north of London, came down to camp near here with her sister Suzanne who is so funny she really should consider doing standup comedy. Between the two of them I laughed and smiled so much my jaw actually felt a bit sore by the end of our visit. I spent a delightful afternoon acting as tour guide showing them the area around the village where we live. I took them around to some of my favorite places..we even posed for a picture on a footbridge you may recognize. It’s one where several pictures of both me and John have been taken near the buttercup field.

It’s been about a month or so since they were here and I have to say that whenever I see a cow or bullock that might look as if they’re sizing me up, I think of Sarah and remember that occasionally these gentle animals may charge and trample people passing through their space.  As I said before, it’s usually when a walker has a dog with them that is not on a leash (or lead) and the cows are really after the dog.

Still, I’m not sure Sarah would like to know that whenever I see a cow now, I think of her. It’s kind of funny, but I do appreciate the increased awareness and so far the only direction the cows seem to be running is …away.

"Look Out Bessie, Here Comes That Woman Again."

"Look Out Bessie, Here Comes That Woman Again."

" Shush...Just Pretend You Don't See Her."

" Shush...Just Pretend You Don't See Her."

" Oh Good Grief...Is She Following Us Now!"

" Oh Good Grief...Is She Following Us Now!"

Here is a picture of us near the buttercup field.

Suzanne, Sarah, & Elizabeth

Suzanne, Sarah, & Elizabeth

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Tell Me A Story Tuesdays – Lemons Into Lemonade

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“This’d be a great place to set up our lemonade stand.”

Madeline said, turning her head in the direction of the row of military trucks. “I just know my daddy’s here somewhere and we’re going to find him,” she said more to herself than the ratty old Pooh Bear she had wedged in her backpack. “Maddie my girl,” said Pooh, “if anyone can find him, I believe you can.”  Pooh tended to call Madeline Maddie in same way her mother did and it wouldn’t be until she was much older that she would look back and think of all the advice she’d attributed to her bear when she was little and wonder if it had really been the voice of her mother all along. Leaving Mrs. Ulster behind in the house just before daylight, she’d packed up the things she remembered her mother used when making lemonade last summer. Mrs. Ulster was staying in the house with her until they could find what she had heard her say was, “Her next of kin.” She’d  heard Mrs. Ulster say this while talking softly to someone on the kitchen phone unaware that Maddie could hear her while sitting in her secret spot in the hallway upstairs.

Maddie had discovered it a few years ago when she was five or six and it was the best place to hear what was going on downstairs in the kitchen especially on the nights when her Aunt Judy stayed over with her mom. Her mom would say they were staying up for some girl talk as she kissed Maddie goodnight and then go back to the kitchen where she could hear them talking and laughing long after she should have been asleep. Sometimes when she was feeling restless, Maddie would creep out to the landing and tuck herself on the far side of the hall table out of sight of the kitchen, but still within hearing range and it was on one of those nights she first heard her mother telling Aunt Judy about her daddy. Aunt Judy asked a lot of questions that night and her mother’s answers had left Maddie confused. She had not considered that a daddy was something everyone had before hearing her mom’s explanation. Maddie was still was young enough then to think that Mommy was a name like her name was Maddie and that the man living in her friend Lucy’s house across the street was named Daddy.  She didn’t realize back then that everybody had a daddy because she didn’t seem to have one….at least not until she heard her mother telling tell Aunt Judy what happened to hers.

Maddie wished she could talk to Aunt Judy now because she was more like a second mommy  than an aunt often staying with her when mom had to go away on business trips. This time though was different, Mommy and Aunt Judy had gone off together on a trip and Mrs. Ulster had come to watch over her. It was only now though that she was beginning to understand that they were not coming back, not next week like they’d planned, not ever. Mrs. Ulster had sort of fallen down on the old sofa when the policeman came in to talk to her a few days ago and even from upstairs, Maddie had heard the sound the cushions made when someone plopped, as her mommy would say, too hard when sitting down. Peeking over the railing she could see Mrs Ulster’s face and heard the policeman say, ” It looks as if they both went instantly.”  Went instantly…Maddie had wondered what he meant then…”went where?” she thought to herself.  It wasn’t until later that Mrs Ulster explained that they’d gone to heaven, snatched out of the car by the hand of God because he needed them with him more than they were needed on earth. Maddie had been confused by this as she remembered more than a time or two hearing her mom say that people blamed a great many things on God that had nothing to do with what she called, ” An act of God.” Besides, how could they be needed more in heaven when she needed them here.

All this talk about next of kin and what to do now with Maddie made her remember what she’d heard her mom tell Aunt Judy when they’d had what she thought of as the daddy talk. She heard her mother as she said, ” Maybe I should have told Jim about her…I don’t know, it’s just he didn’t seem ready for fatherhood and I sure didn’t want to be the wife of a soldier.” Sitting in the hall that night she’d listened as her mother talked about this daddy fellow whose name was really Jim. Aunt Judy had asked her mom if she knew what had happened to him and she’d told her that she saw in the newspaper where he’d been accused of something he hadn’t done and managed to prove it to the military police before being tossed out of the army. She heard her say that after all the drama, he’d landed on his feet receiving a promotion and a cushy job at the military post in Fairfield, the next town over where so many soldier’s families lived.

Laughing softly, she’d heard her mother say, ” That man always could turn life’s lemons into lemonade.”  Maddie remembered this when she’d heard Mrs. Ulster on the phone talking with someone about not wanting to put her in the system just yet. She wasn’t sure what the system was, but it didn’t sound too good and Maddie decided she was going to have find this soldier Jim who her mom had said was her daddy. She wasn’t sure how to do it just like she wasn’t quite sure how to make lemonade, but she had the sugar and she had the lemons and maybe if she set up a little stand like she did last summer when her mom had helped her, she might be able to find her daddy and he could help her with the rest.

Remember it’s practice writing not perfect…still hoping someone will join me on a Tuesday with a story of their own posted on their blog. Go on over to Tell Me A Story Tuesdays to leave a topic sentence for next week or see what I’ve posted. Thanks this week to Karen for her opening sentence suggestion in bold at the top of this page and you can go here to check out her blog.


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Things That Make Your Heart Feel Tender

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We all know that things don’t matter as much as people, but sometimes when the people you love are far away there are some things you just don’t want to be without. Yesterday, after 78 days and trip that began back in America, some of my special things finally arrived from Georgia. It was a bit surreal seeing the things I had pared down to as the most essential from my American life taken off a truck in the tiny village in England I now call home.

I had to open some boxes right away to ensure there was no damage and my art pieces were the first ones I tore into. I was opening at a good pace with an excitement similar to a child on Christmas morning when the watercolor piece above stopped my excited frenzy of paper tearing with an audible ooooooh… followed by a loud ,”John, come look at this one….”

This sweet little watercolor is a tender connection to my daughter’s childhood and to her every time I see it. She brought it home one day very early in her school career somewhat rumpled as large project can be when carried by small hands. I loved it from the beginning and after claiming a space on the side of the refrigerator reserved for special things, I eventually took it down and rolled it up intending to have it framed. It took about five years before I could make up my mind how I wanted to frame it which occurred right about the time my daughter would have preferred that her middle school age friends not see the art work of her early years. She called this little bunny, “Cerit Body” or “Carrot Body”  as she told me when I mispronounced it the first time based on her written words at the top of the painting and if you look closely at the bottom, you can just make out the young artist’s signature too.

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I felt a bit tearful seeing this little watercolor painting and held it so closely that John picked up the camera to capture my emotional moment. I am so glad to have it with me and I’m already thinking about the best place to hang it when the dust settles around here.

Some things will have to stay boxed until my new space is finished and since our master bedroom is going through a renovation and extension too with the addition on an en-suite bath, nothing can be unpacked for that room yet either. Yesterday afternoon, John and I moved boxes of clothes and linens & towels up to the attic while creating a temporary holding space in the living room corner for the 9 boxes of books I shipped over along with a section for art and other collectables. The kitchen is overflowing with dishes and china, along with bowls and cooking things my grandmother once used on a regular basis. The wooden bread bowl carved by my great grandfather quickly replaced the basket that John kept fruit in and will have a place on the table once it’s cleared of all the pieces I placed there while unpacking yesterday.

Last night when all the lights were out and I was heading for bed, I followed my nightly routine of checking all the doors to be sure the house was locked up tight for the night. This habit is one I inherited from my father who always made this a part of his bedtime ritual. He called it shutting down the house. That I do it now reminds me of my father on a more frequent and personal level than seeing his photograph on my shelf…proving that sometimes a memory or tradition can be as valuable in some ways as our possessions. Last night however, as I lingered at the kitchen door and looked back into the messy room, I was more than happy and content to see the physical examples of my family and my story waiting to find a place in this new home.

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A Word From The Bird

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About a year ago, just before I began blogging, I sent a piece I’d written about my daughter to Leon, my brother-in-law. Until very recently, Leon worked as an editor and writer for several large newspapers and while I’d been somewhat reluctant to show him anything I’d written, on some level I think I needed a little feedback as to whether my writing might appeal or be good enough to interest anyone other than myself.  I must admit that I was a bit worried about my punctuation and grammar when I sent my essay off to him. I tend to get what MJ O’Shea, one of my writing instructors at Oswego State University referred to as “comma happy” when I write and I was a bit concerned this might be the only thing he would notice when reading my words.

I cannot tell you how delighted I was by the magic of his words when he wrote back and said, ” Elizabeth, that’s REALLY good. That’s Bird by Bird good. It’s the kind of writing I strive for.”  With words of encouragement like that to boost me, I pressed publish for the first time on June 27, 2008 and never looked back.

In Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life she addresses the fears and frustrations of would be writers and acts as a guide for those of us who are intent on having our say. With her direction and encouragement, she teaches you how to break down the storytelling process into manageable parts by focusing on what is honest and real about the story rather than the results.

Delivering good readable writing that touches the reader in some way is part of my goal in writing what I do. To have someone I respect tell me what Leon did that day about a story I wrote totally from my heart…well that’s almost as good as standing in front of America with my Oscar in hand saying, “I’d like to thank….”

I was extremely delighted a few weeks ago, when I received an email from Diane Hayman, who is Editor-in-Chief of Powder Room Graffiti.  It seems after leaving a comment on a post there by Expat Mum, Toni Summers Hargis, a blogger and author that I read regularly, Diane noticed my comment and popped over to Gifts Of The Journey for a look around. The result of which led to her kind request asking if I might like to be interviewed for Powder Room Graffiti.

My interview can be found here…revealing a few more secrets you may not have known about me. Thanks to Diane and the folks at PRG for their interest and thanks to those of you who keep coming back to Gifts Of The Journey.


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Walking The Coast Path With Cows And Caution-No Bullies Allowed

The title for this post takes its name in part from an email I received from a coast path walker who found my blog through some of my previous posts about walking the Cornish coast path. I hope she won’t mind my ” borrowing” a part of her email subject heading for my post today.

Yesterday John and I headed out to find a bit of adventure along with some fresh air and exercise. I’ve been doing a lot of computer work lately (editing wedding pictures) and the weather was too nice to stay inside. Additionally, even though I’ve been back since May 25, it was our first walk along the coast since I’d gone back to America in late April. John suggested a short walk from Port Quin to Port Isaac both of which are about ten miles from where we live. After packing up a P B & J for me and some fruit for him…we were off. 

It was beautiful as it always is and I promise I’ll include a few pictures near the water, but my main reason for this post is to have a little talk about the cows and bullocks we encountered so walk with me now….

 

Sometimes on our walks we have to walk through fields that are already occupied.

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Me saying hello…this one was quite happy to let me touch him on the nose before moving along with his buddies.

The question came up from one of my readers as to the safety in crossing though these places where the public footpath herds (sorry, I couldn’t help myself) you right in with the big animals.  I told her I’d never encountered any problems and then she recounted how she and her family had a bunch of cows come charging across the field startling her, her husband, and their children. In the past I naively thought cows and bullocks were just happy to see me whenever I saw a herd of them shift direction and move in mass at a clip towards me.

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John said if they ever look scary to just say boo and throw your arms out at them.  He demonstrated this technique below without warning me so you can’t see the hand motions. ( I missed it)

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A couple of guys trying to look tough…”Whadaya mean you want to pass through us?”

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John approaching the bad boy brothers just moments before saying BOO!

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After they’d scattered …giving him some sulky looks.

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This one did not look amused either.

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This brown one was pretty interested in me however… deciding that I might be worth investigating further.

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Right!  Now I’m usually okay with a nudge but I think I really must draw the line when it comes to taste testing.  John was getting his camera out here while I was trying to capture this beastie licking my arm.

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For the record…cow tongues are rough, slimy and strong.  

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All joking aside, when I mentioned to John what my reader Sarah had said in an email to me about cows and safety on the path he said…people are usually quite safe and that cows are more curious as you can see above than dangerous. He did go on to say that they will get angry when dogs are around especially if they have calves with them.  An incident was in the news here recently that illustrated this when David Blunkett, a prominent politician in the UK who is blind was out walking with his guide dog and was trampled by a cow who was trying to get to the dog. So I’d say caution is key when passing by these gentle seeming two ton Toms and Tessies. ( Okay maybe one ton not two, but it worked better).

Wrapping up the walk from yesterday…as I was taking this picture.

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John was climbing up and over here.

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Then while I was trying to get a decent closeup of these drying flower heads below….

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John slipped back and stuck his head through a gap in the wall and began to make woo woo scary moaning sounds as I approached the fence and started to climb over.  Going back I saw this….

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On  the other side…you can actually walk down to the water…no one’s stopping you.

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Back on the path

Port Isaac

Port Isaac from above.   We had a little pub stop for a pint and a coffee and walked back to Port Quin totally ignored by the cows who’d lost all interest in us by late afternoon.  

NEXT TIME: Celebrity spotting in Cornwall.

I’ll be back with my experience with celebrity spotting yesterday in the supermarket. We were actually side by side scanning the parking lot for our cars after stepping out of the store at the same time. 

Here’s a hint…there’s a TV show that uses Port Isaac as its location, but with a name change. The man I almost  bumped  into is a regular character on the show although not the male lead. He’s associated with a trade profession in the show…anybody want to venture a guess?

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Packing It Tighter Than OctoMom’s Uterus

DSCN4506As most of you who’ve been following my blog lately are aware, I’ve just completed the enormous task of downsizing 48 years of my physical life into a box measuring 200 cubic feet for shipping to England where I now live with my husband John. As you might imagine, 200 cubic feet is not a lot of space especially for a woman with a tendency to place value on the memory of a day or event and hold on to whatever object heightens the memory. Thank goodness my daughter Miranda was willing to take on some of the things that were too difficult to part with over the last few weeks.

I was fortunate to find a home for most of my furniture and big things last May when I came to England for my first long stretch. What I left behind in storage seemed in my mind to be a smaller amount to sort through than it turned out to be after I saw it all again. I wrote here about what it looked like when I began the weeding out process and below you’ll find a couple of pictures before I condensed it to a more manageable group of boxes.

 

Group One Of Boxes

Group One Of Boxes

Group Two Of Boxes

Group Two Of Boxes

As you can see, I had stuff in two places…one a basement room and one in the garage of my step-mom’s home.  She was so gracious about it all. As hard as I tried to keep it all contained to a few places, there were times when it spilled over briefly into other areas as I went through it.  Everything you see is the before image. All of these boxes had to be opened and sorted and repacked. I went through everything creating piles to re-box and take with me or packing them up to give to Miranda. What was left went into a section for my garage sale which netted enough to pay about half the cost of shipping my stuff over.

 

Day Two Of Sale

Day Two Of Sale

I had some telling signs up for my garage sale and between my Craigslist posting and a few signs, I did little else to alert the world that there was good stuff to be had out in Marietta. I did blog about it and three of my blogging buddies showed up  to say hello and help finance my move….thanks to Jules, Leslye and Taylor  along with some long time friends, Patrice and Scott. Additionally, two old boyfriends that I’m still friendly with from 25 and 30 years ago stopped by to say hello.  It was good to see each of them and I was pleased to see some things that were special to me go to people I know. Taylor bought a birdcage that I loved and I can’t wait to see what cool photographs she creates with it. You can see her first image of it if you go here.

A few more shots of stuff no longer mine from the sale…

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By the time the movers came to box up the breakables, I had packed the rest of it. I could pack the non-fragile items, but had to leave the boxes open for the movers to note before sealing. Here are a few images from that day.

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I shipped loads of art over as well as a chair that looks like the female version of one John has. I’ll post them side by side when it arrives.

Below are some of my boxes repacked and stacked to mimic the dimensions of the storage crate.

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The wooden crate you see above is what ALL of my stuff went into.  You’re going to see why I chose the title I did for this post in a minute.

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These men from Atlantic Relocation Systems did an excellent job packing the breakables up and numbering everything. They have a history of working with Rainier, the company I contacted to do the international move and everyone from Doug Wiviott at Rainier to Mike Orlin with Atlantic Relocation Systems and all of the guys who did the hard work of packing it up have been great to work with. I’ll update you in 45-65 days when my crate arrives as to the condition of things, but it’s been good experience so far.

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Remember what I said about OctoMom’s uterus….well….it wasn’t eight babies, but it was pretty tight!

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Going

Going

 

Going

Going

 

Gone!

Gone!

The next time you see the crate will be when we’re unloading it here in Cornwall. I wonder if it will seem strange to see my things in this setting. I have to say that as they were putting the very last thing into the crate, I got a little teary. The last two things were a large framed photograph of Miranda as a barely walking toddler sitting in my grandmother’s wicker rocking chair and the last minute addition of sewing box given to me many years ago by my Aunt Wylly, the children’s book author. There was something about seeing that old sewing box slip into a little opening to make the journey that caused me to feel something other than relief and exhaustion. I think it was the thought of Aunt Wylly and her sense of adventure that affected me in the moment. She was such a special woman and an inspiration to me in many ways…thinking of her and knowing how she lived her life…I think she’d approve of this new love and life in Blisland .