A Room of One’s Own Day

Today is A Room of One’s Own Day…aka Virginia Woolf’s birthday. If you’ve been reading my writing around here for a while, you already know that the phrase “A room of my own” is something that I say a lot. It’s not that I have a one track mind but it is a phrase that sums up my feelings about my life, my world, my goals, and needs for growth. I need a room of my own.

Do I mean an actual physical room? Well, yes and no. Since we moved into this house, my “studio” has been half of an 8 by 10 foot room, the other half being occupied by my boyfriend’s office area. It doesn’t work for me. The only thing I have ever used the studio for so far is storage and even in that regard, it fails miserably. I felt guilty about wanting to have it all to myself for quite some time. And then, one day, I realized that I had nothing to feel guilty about. My boyfriend has an entire double car garage that has been converted into a workshop at his disposal. There is nothing out there that belongs to me and I never use that space for anything. He has it filled to the brim with tools, hardware, and computer parts and supplies.

I have realized that my wanting to have that small room all to myself was not selfish. It is to function as my studio and office. I need space for my art supplies, space to work on my art projects and to do my writing, space to store my art and writing books, and space for all of my teaching materials. I need space to hang things that inspire me – and those things are rarely something my boyfriend finds inspirational too. (Can I help that most of them are pink?) I need a space where I can nest, where I can completely embrace my own personality, where I can feel completely at home, completely in control, and completely at peace.

As I reflected on my need and desire, and yes even my right to a room of my own, I realized something important. While I do need a physical space in this home that I can call my own and only mine, I also realized that it is a metaphor for even more. It isn’t just a room of my own that I want in the physical sense…it’s a room of my own in my heart and in my soul. I need a room of my own in the form of a journal, where I can keep my innermost, honest thoughts, where I can record my journey through life. It’s a room of my own within my heart where I can feel free to look inward with pride and joy. It’s a room of my own in my soul where I can feel free to express myself, with my authentic self, without the censors who exist in order to try to present the picture of me that is meant solely to please others and to address their desires for me, instead of my desires for myself.

I found this blog post on the subject and thought the questions she raises were pretty interesting:

http://brocante-home.blogspot.com/2010/01/room-of-ones-own.html

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Published in: on January 26, 2010 at 2:52 am  Comments (7)  

Doors

This began with the following prompt:  http://www.dailywriting.net/Doors.htm  Clarissa Pinkola Estes said that “Women will draw doors where there are none, and open them and pass through into new ways and new lives.”

I awaken in my room at Riversleigh Manor. It’s early. So early that it’s still dark outside but sleep eludes me now. I pad quietly over to the small table and cozy wingback chair in front of the fireplace. Funny…Matron seems to have read my mind once again as there is a tray of freshly made scones still warm from the oven and a pot of hot tea. How did she know I would awaken so early today? No sense spending too much time pondering that – in Lemuria anything can happen! I stoke the fire and wrap a quilt around my shoulders, sinking into the chair. There’s fresh honey from the apiary behind the manor and I add some to my tea, along with a little squeeze of fresh lemon. For my scones, freshly churned butter. There’s even a bowl of the plumpest, juiciest, most delectable strawberries I have ever seen! I love how in Lemuria my allergy to strawberries is null and void. I enjoy a leisurely breakfast, content if still a little bleary-eyed from the early hour.

Just as I am finishing up my morning repast, I hear a sound. The noise is coming from the wall behind me. A mechanical sound that sort of whirs and hums and then stops with a loud “ding”! I turn around and am shocked to see, where there used to be a beautiful window overlooking the glorious gardens and ponds outside the manor, that there is now a set of elevator doors. The doors are nearly open by the time I look and as they slide apart, I see a white gloved hand pulling apart the inner doors – you know the kind I mean? The old fashioned metal ones that resemble a cage? The hand is attached to an equally old fashioned elevator operator – the type who looks like a hotel bellboy out of some old story like Madeline or Eloise in the red jacket and black pants with gold trim and brass buttons and that little black cap with the chin strap that reminds me of those monkeys that accompany organ grinders in the movies. “Going down!” he calls out to me. I blink. I blink again this time keeping my eyes closed just a little longer. The elevator and its operator were still there. “Going down,” he calls out again. I glance down, taking note of the dressing gown I am still wearing, the big fuzzy bunny slippers on my feet. “Uhhh,” I begin. “’Tis no problem,” he says brightly, wide knowing grin on his face. “It’s Lemuria. We take you as you are.” I step into the elevator and as I watch him pull the gate closed, followed by the solid elevator doors, I find myself wondering what I (or perhaps E) has gotten me into this time.

Published in: on January 16, 2010 at 4:00 pm  Leave a Comment  

My word is…

So, apparently one of the “trends” making the rounds for 2010 is for people to pick one word that sums up what they want to manifest for themselves.  I first heard about it on Twitter but since then have seen many bloggers and crafters sharing their words as well.  Some people are even taking their words and incorporating them into a piece of art as a visual reminder of what they have chosen for themselves.  I am not a big fan of resolutions – I don’t get the whole waiting until January 1st to set goals.  What about the rest of the year?  Plus, I find that because people tend to only make resolutions once a year, they then try to make them so all-encompassing and so extensive that they are broken by the end of January.  I prefer to set goals all year long and I try to make them something reasonable and to break them down into achievable steps.  I did, however, like this idea of choosing a word for the year.  It would give me some focus for what I want to do and I could base any goals I set throughout the year around this word.  When someone on Twitter asked me to choose a word, there was no hesitation, no thinking needed.  It popped into my head instantly.  Serenity.  Now, what’s YOUR word?

Published in: on January 15, 2010 at 12:12 am  Comments (5)  

Defying Gravity

Ok, I admit it.  I’ve never seen Wicked (although I would really like to) and I am a GLEEk (for those not in the know, that’s a fan of the TV show Glee).  This song is from Wicked but was covered (in a slightly different version) by two cast members on Glee.  I adore this song – it’s my current favourite.  It’s beautiful but more than that I think the lyrics sum up my current state of mind. 

Here are part of the lyrics:

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I’m through with playing by the rules
Of someone else’s game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It’s time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap!

It’s time to try
Defying gravity
I think I’ll try
Defying gravity
And you can’t bring me down!

I think that to truly create a room of your own, you have to start by “defying gravity”.  What do you think?

Published in: on January 13, 2010 at 11:27 pm  Comments (2)  

Plough Monday

For some, particularly in years gone by in England, Plough Monday was the official end to the Christmas Season. It was somewhat of an extension of the 12 Days of Christmas and Epiphany. Plough Monday is the Monday immediately following Epiphany. Historically this is the day to put away the remains of the Yule log, storing it in a dry place to use as kindling for the following year’s log. The ashes that are left from the Yule log being burnt over the 12 days of Xmas are gathered up and sprinkled on the fields to bless them and make them more fertile in preparation for ploughing to begin again. This is the time when the priest blesses the plough as well. It is considered the traditional beginning of the farming season but this day was not considered a day for work. Instead, the ploughs were decorated for the celebration and then they were dragged through the streets and the owners would "beg" for money. Anyone who refused to participate was in danger of having their garden ploughed up. Money that was collected was used to pay for a large candle that was placed on the altar at church which was then blessed by the priest to ensure good weather for ploughing and an abundant harvest.

What is it about Plough Monday that got me to thinking about this room of my own? The two topics don’t really seem to go together do they? And yet, as I recalled the fact that this coming Monday was Plough Monday, it triggered something inside and got me reflecting on having a room of my own once again. Or perhaps I should say still. I think maybe it was the ashes and the blessings that struck me. I began to reflect on the idea of the ashes – burnt remains from the Yule log, something reflective of the joy of the season but now past being then used to provide fertility for what’s yet to come. And, what’s yet to come is new life, change for the better, growth. This all, then, sent my thoughts turning to something very familiar to me – something I have long identified with. The Phoenix. Several years ago I chose the Phoenix as sort of a personal symbol for myself. In a spiritual group I belong to, we are encouraged to pick new, symbolic names for ourselves and I have always known that mine would be based on and partly comprised of Phoenix. I even have a tattoo design that I created incorporating the Phoenix as the major component.

mythical-creatures-5 from Karen's Whimsy

Phoenix Image from http://karenswhimsy.com/public-domain-images/

Why do I identify so strongly with the Phoenix? A Phoenix is a mythical firebird. They are said to live 500-1000 years and when they come close to the end of their lives, they build a nest that ignites. The nest and the Phoenix are consumed by the fire but from the ashes, rises a new young Phoenix, reborn to live again. I first latched onto this symbol shortly after the car accident I was in. Although my injuries weren’t life-threatening, I knew that I was going to be living with their effects permanently. I also knew that this was a situation where I could either wallow in what used to be or I could choose to move forward as a person who was somewhat different, yet the same. In other words, I could choose to wallow in the ashes or I could move forward and become reborn – still a Phoenix, yet not the Phoenix I once was. Certainly, some of what was left in the ashes were things I would like back – more energy and stamina, pain-free days, better freedom of movement, but much of what was reborn in me was so much for the better. When we are given the opportunity for a new beginning, so many of us focus on what we are leaving behind, forgetting about the possibilities that lie before us.

We don’t have to wait for a traumatic event to consume us in fire in order to rise up again from the ashes. Each and every day there are opportunities for rebirth standing right before us. We can choose our Plough Monday, our first day of Spring, our New Year’s Day…we can choose to rise out of the ashes like a Phoenix, to break out of a cocoon like a butterfly at any time. That’s what I want from having a room of my own.

"Out of the ashes the phoenix rises, reborn in boundless grace to fly again." (quote from the TV show, Joan of Arcadia)

Published in: on January 11, 2010 at 6:05 pm  Comments (5)  

A Room of my Own

http://www.dailywriting.net/WritingRoom.htm

A Room of My Own

It’s funny. Today is the first time I have noticed the post at the Soul Food Cafe entitled A Room of Your Own. Yet, when I embarked on the voyage on the SS Vulcania, it was the first thing that popped into my mind…the need for a room of my own. I began a journey into finding one…then shortly thereafter abandoned it. At the time, I felt it was unintentional. I got too busy, I was too ill, I had more pressing things on my mind but when I reflect back on it, I realize something very important. I gave up. The journey became hitting on some sensitive areas in my heart and soul and I decided to run in the opposite direction. Since that time, however, I have come to another realization. This journey may have frightened me a bit..ok more than a bit, but still, it is a journey I desperately need to make.

In 1998, I, along with my mother and daughter, was in a car accident. According to our rescuers, the police, and those at the auto shop, we were lucky to be alive. They listed off to us the many, many ways we "should" have died that day. If the vehicle that hit us had been one inch more to the passenger side, my daughter would have been crushed. If our vehicle had been one model year younger than the one we had, our gas tank would have blown up on impact. If traffic coming towards hadn’t cleared at the EXACT second that we were hit, we would have been involved in a 5 car pileup. If my seat hadn’t broken and fallen backwards (which ironically caused the majority of my injuries), my chest would have been crushed between the seat and the steering wheel which I hit with full force. When we went to take photographs and try to salvage our remains from our car at the auto shop, even given what DID happen, they were shocked to see us still walking. They felt that if anyone who had been in that car had lived, they surely must have ended up in intensive care. And they were even more shocked to find out anyone (my daughter) had been in the back seat and had survived at all. The list goes on and on. Our lives changed in that instant.

Although the accident didn’t cause broken bones or life-threatening injuries, it did cause many life-changing injuries – some for the worse, but some were actually gifts that changed our lives for the better. My life, my priorities took a turn after that day. I began to reassess what was truly important. I can’t say that I changed overnight. I can’t say that I still don’t have changes that I would like to make. In fact, I think that life should be a lifelong journey of growth so I suppose I wouldn’t even want to become “my ideal self” all at once. What would I strive for then? No, I want to savour the journey. And I don’t want to completely decide right now just what it is that I want to be “when I grow up”. I want to be open to change and growth, to new opportunities, to new learning opportunities.

How does this all relate to having a room of my own? Since the time of the accident some other traumatic events have happened in my life. I have survived. But for a time, it took its toll. I lost myself a little bit. I shut myself away from the outside world to an extent and I started sinking into a bit of a depression. And then, one day, I made a decision. I decided to be happy. It sounds simple doesn’t it? In some ways it is…just as simple as saying “I’m going to be happy.” In some ways, it can be oh so difficult. In the process of heading towards happiness, I have come to realize more and more the need for a room of my own…a safe haven where I can be me, where I can hold onto what’s dear to me and learn to let go of what isn’t, where I can keep my heart and soul safe, a place where I can embrace serenity.

Published in: on January 4, 2010 at 5:07 am  Comments (3)  

Currently away on adventure!!

Not currently in my room here at the manor…which you already know if you have read the entries here….but then I realized that I didn’t do a very good job of leaving bread crumbs to find me now….I am cruising on an ocean voyage aboard the SS Vulcania….here is my cabin….http://cynsquarters.wordpress.com…come aboard!

Published in: on February 6, 2009 at 7:05 am  Leave a Comment  

Upon Awakening at Riversleigh

I awaken slowly, my eyes trying to adjust to the light streaming through an opening in the curtains. I prop myself up on my elbows, realizing that I am no longer in the chair by the fireplace. Somehow, someone has placed me gently in my bed back in my old room at Riversleigh. I take a deep breath and slump back into my pillows, sinking deeper into the featherbed. Pulling my lovely faded old patchwork quilt up to my chin, I take a look around. My room is still the same as I left it, a fact that brings an even bigger smile to my face. Yes, I have literally awakened with a smile on my face. Of course, that always happens when I am in the manor. There is just something about it here that makes me smile, knowing that I am loved, respected, and oh so well-cared for here. Sibyl and her staff always seem to know exactly what I want and need, sometimes even before I do myself!

Continuing to look around, I see that, Colleen has indeed placed vases of freesia around my room. In fact, she has clearly been hard at work in my room for it does not look nor smell like a room that has been uninhabited for the last year. There is no dust covering everything as I might have expected; no musty smell lingering in the linens or the curtains. No, my room feels as fresh as it did the day I left it. There is a soft knock at the door and I open it to find Matron standing there, tray in hand. “I’ve brought your breakfast,”she says. “You’ll not want to dawdle. The ship won’t wait for you forever.” “The ship?” I ask. “I think you must be mixing me up with someone else Matron. I have come home to Riversleigh and Riversleigh is where I intend to stay. I’ll not be getting on any ships.” Colleen had slipped quietly into my room while we were talking, and she began bustling about, clearing away some invisible cobwebs and dust. A knowing smile passes between Matron and Colleen upon hearing my declaration that there is not to be an ocean voyage in my immediate future. “What do you two know? Am I to be let in on the secret?” I ask. “You will have the knowledge you seek,” Matron states. “when the time is right.” With that, she deftly opens up its folding rack and places the tray on it in one smooth movement. Another knowing smile passes between Matron and Colleen, and then they join arms and quickly head for the door. As they reach the threshold, they both pause and glance back at me over their shoulders. The two of them, in unison, burst into laughter and skip away down the hall.

I close the door behind them, shaking my head in confusion. I hear a tap-tap-tap. I look at the door, puzzled, for the sound does not seem to be coming from that direction. I remain still, silent, confused for what feels like several hours, but is truly only several seconds. Giving my head a firm shake (hoping to shake loose the cobwebs), I look around the room. Nothing appears to be out of place. Everything is still the same as ever….except for the addition of the tray Matron left behind for me. I go to the tray and lift away the protective covers over the food. There is a lovely fresh fruit salad (no strawberries though – thank you Ebony for remembering my allergy!), some moist, tasty looking muffins (lemon cranberry – my favourite), fresh squeezed tangerine juice (oh my! it has been years since I had any! such an indulgence!), and a perfectly soft-boiled egg with a slice of whole wheat toast. The only other thing on the tray is a copy of the Lemurian Times. I take a sip of the juice (not able to resist any longer!) and reach for the newspaper, having momentarily forgotten about the tapping sound.

As I pick up the Times, another, louder, more insistent tapping sound begins, “TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” Startled, I drop the newspaper to the floor and look about frantically, searching for the source of the sound. My stomach does a flip-flop as I realize the sound is coming from the window. “How could that be?” I wonder. “My room is on the top floor of Riversleigh Manor. No person could ever reach my window. At least, no living person could.” My stomach is now a mixture of earthquakes, volcanoes, tidal waves, and tornadoes! I take a step towards the window. The tapping stops. I turn my back to the window and begin to walk away from it. The tapping begins again, even louder still. I put my hands over my ears in an attempt to shut out the noise but it is no use. It is like the sound is coming from right inside of me. I know there is only one way to make it stop. I take a step towards the window again. Pausing, I take a deep breath and make short distance of the rest of the way to the window. Steeling myself, I fling open the curtains and there, staring me right in the eye, is the blackest raven I have ever seen. She tips her head and motions toward the latch on the window. Obediently, I unlock the latch and swing open the window. I can see now, upon closer look, that the raven has a scroll grasped in her talons. She nods her head at me again. I take the scroll from her grip, untying the black silk ribbon and breaking the wax seal bearing L’Enchanteur’s insignia. The scroll contains an invitation, more a command performance actually, insisting that I join L’Enchanteur on her latest adventure, a TransLemurian voyage aboard the SS Vulcania. I am already protesting in my mind; after all, I just arrived back at Riversleigh and I was so looking forward to cocooning in my room, just hanging around the manor, writing, working on my art, and basically just living a nice quiet, gentle life. Surely, none of that will come about if I set off on a trip with L’Enchanteur! Then I notice a message, a “p.s.” really, below the engraved calligraphy, in L’Enchanteur’s own hand: “SHE” arrived on board yesterday. Five small words. That’s all it took. Behind me, I hear Matron’s voice saying with a chuckle, “I suppose it’s a good thing Colleen and I haven’t had the opportunity to unpack for you yet eh?” I smile knowingly at her.

Suddenly, I remember the newspaper. I had it in my hands and…..now what happened to it? Ah, that’s right. I dropped it when I heard the raven at the window, so it must be right here on the floor. I look around and spy this morning’s copy of the Lemurian Times lying on the floor, right where I had dropped it. The paper has fallen open and there she is, staring at me from its pages, her dark hair flowing out wildly behind her. Looking closer, I can see the corner of another piece of paper peeking out from underneath the newspaper. I reach for it. It is a small worn slip of paper, about 1 inch by 2 inches. It looks like one of those “fortunes” you receive from those old-fashioned gypsy fortune telling machines. I turn the piece of paper over in my hands and read the faded writing it contains. It says, “Playing with fire is bad for those who burn themselves. For the rest of us, it is a very great pleasure.”

Published in: on January 6, 2009 at 2:10 am  Comments (6)  
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Return to Riversleigh

b21sallie_richardson075

I step out of the forest into a clearing. Riversleigh Manor lies just ahead. I take a deep breath and inhale the fresh clean air. I have been away from Riversleigh for far too long. But, if there’s one thing I know about Riversleigh Manor and its mistress Sibyl Riversleigh, it’s that I will be welcomed back with open arms. I take in the view and feel a sense of calm washing over me. Riversleigh. It may not be my family home but it is home nonetheless. It has always been a place that I could depend on for comfort, for support, for inspiration. I smile.

And then…worry, insidious as it is, creeps in. What if the manor is full? What if there are no rooms available? What if no one is home? I had heard rumours that Sibyl was planning to embark on some new excursion (as is often her way…I bet L’Enchanteur is the impetus behind this latest venture. Something to do with a cruise? Sounds like her cup of tea for sure.) Another deep breath. “Stop that!” I tell myself. “You are getting ahead of yourself. Just go up to the door and knock!” I take one step forward. One more deep breath. I straighten my cape, adjust my gloves, and steel myself for what may come next. “Enough,” I say aloud, somewhat louder than I intended.

A voice, this time not my own, asks “Well, are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to come inside?” I look up to see Regina Stoby standing in the doorway to the manor. “Come come now,” she says. “We’ve been expecting you. Colleen has aired out your room and freshened things up a bit in there. She knows how much you love fresh flowers…freesia is your favourite is it not?”

I stand mute just staring into Regina’s (Matron as we call her) kind eyes. “I don’t understand,” I say, almost in a whisper. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. I didn’t even know it myself until there I was, duffle bag over my shoulder, headed down the path into the forest.” Matron simply laughed. “Come child,” she says. “Come inside and warm yourself by the fire. You are shivering and must be weary from your long journey back to us.” I am confused, but I obediently walk towards her.

She slips a cozy rug around my shoulders and embraces me. “You have been missed,” she tells me as she leads me into the house. “Come sit by the fire. Ebony has a pot of her famous chicken soup simmering on the stove for you.” She leads me to a large wing chair and I sink into it. Ahhhhh. The tension in my body begins to fade as Matron places a small tray on the table beside me. A bowl of Ebony’s chicken soup, a cup of warm milk and honey, and a small plate of delicious looking scones. “From the tea room?” I ask. Matron smiles and nods. “Bridgette made them fresh when she heard you were coming.” I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I saw the food she had placed before me. It tastes even better than I remember.

I feel my body sink deeper into the chair. My eyelids flutter as I unsuccessfully try to fight back sleep. I feel Matron’s gentle hands pull the rug up, tucking me in like a mother with her child. Her voice sounds far away. “Sleep child sleep.” My mind fights against sleep. I have so many questions to ask, starting with how did they all seem to know that I was coming? As if she could read my thoughts, Matron replies, “There will be plenty of time for questions later. Now you must rest.” Her voice sounds so far away and I realize that I cannot fight the sleep. “That’s it child,” she says. “Just let go.” As I drift away, it occurs to me that Matron has been calling me child. It’s been so long since anyone referred to me as a child. I think I like it.

Published in: on December 29, 2008 at 3:50 am  Comments (6)  
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Cyn’s Room

 

With a combination of trepidation and excitement, I entered my new room at Riversleigh manor. Excitement because this feels like the beginning of a new, wonderful adventure….trepidation because…..well…I will explain that anon. I turn the key in the lock and hear the sliding metal click and clank into place. I turn the knob slowly, cautiously, and step into my room….nay not just my room but my future. Perhaps that is where some of trepidation comes from. My future – fear of the unknown.

As I walked into the room, I realized I had closed my eyes and held my breath. Opening my eyes just a slit and peering through my lashes, I exhaled sharply. It was an exhale of deep relief and it was then that I realized the biggest reason for my previous worries about my room. I had this vision of the Manor house. I pictured elegant, sumptuous rooms, lavish, elaborate décor….silks, velvets, huge imposing furniture….all of that which comes to mind when you hear the word Manor. In particular, with the description I had been given of the beautiful Lady Riversleigh, I was sure that she and her surroundings would be lush and richly attired. To my great relief, my room was none of those.

Don’t get me wrong. It is a beautiful room. In fact, I could picture no more beautiful room than this but it is tastefully decorated in a simple manner. The décor hints of a time gone by. It speaks of early pioneer days and yet hints at a past that was somewhat more elegant. I got the picture of someone leaving a well-to-do home in Europe, bringing with them their furniture and belongings to settle in Canada and begin a new life as an early pioneer. The furnishings were simple wooden structures but boasted small intricate details common to Victorian times. The dresser and wash stand had marble tops on them and over the mirrors, there were carved details of swirls, curves, and a few carefully placed small flowers. The drawer pulls also boasted the same small intricacies on them looking much like brass medallions with angels’ wings attached. The bed, matching the other furniture, had a very high head board to it, reaching right up to the ceiling and also sporting the same carved detail as the rest of the furniture.

The bed was made with piles of pillows and handmade quilts, faded with time, but beautiful pieces of art nonetheless. On the washstand there was a pitcher and bowl set handpainted with huge glorious cabbage roses and green leafy accents and had next to them, a small stack of bath linens. The linens were trimmed with exquisitely handstitched lace trim and were well worn into that lovely soft state that only the oldest, most well –used and well-loved fabrics can have. I picked one up and rubbed it gently against my cheek before continuing my survey of the room. At the foot of the bed there was an old “hope chest”, lined with cedar to keep away those pesky moths and filled with additional bed and bath linens as well as some of the loveliest dressing gowns I had ever seen. Again, they were simple; white, trimmed with handmade lace of the softest sort and made of a fabric that just begged to be touched. There were even warm fuzzy slippers in the trunk!

As I looked at my surroundings, I felt such a sense of calm and comfort come over me. Whoever had set this room up for me had clearly done their homework. This room spoke of me and to me like none I had ever seen even in my own home. In fact, the furnishings for the most part duplicated those in my own home with some additions that made the space simply perfect. Had I been put into the luxurious, fancy room I had envisioned, my stay might not have been a very long one. I couldn’t envision myself being comfortable in such a room no matter how gorgeous it would have been. And with the dark times I have been battling in my life, I so craved comfort just now. If there were such a thing as “comfort food” for the soul, this room clearly fit the bill. I am so grateful and appreciative of whomever arranged this for me. This is truly just what I need and I can feel the darkness lifting already.

I hear a knock at the door and open it to see Matron standing there bearing a tray of the marvellous chicken soup I have heard of and been so craving, along with freshly baked bread rolls that she informs me have just come out of the oven. She informs me proudly that her daughter Roberta is responsible for making these rolls and declares them better than any I will ever taste! They certainly smell delicious. For a “sweet treat” she has also included some small tea cakes also baked by her daughter. Also on the tray is a pot of tea and a vase of Colleen’s lovely roses. The aroma from them competes with that from the bread as being absolutely so beautiful that it’s entrancing. Matron tells me that she hears I have been feeling poorly and so the teapot contains a tea made of Loretta’s special herbal blend. She says it will have me feeling better in no time. I am already headed in that direction with all the hospitality I have felt since arriving at the Manor. I am further informed that Loretta has offered me her services as an acupuncturist (yum! I do love acupuncture and find it helps me to feel so much better when my bones and muscles are aching) and that the stables stand ready whenever I am prepared to begin my horseback riding lessons. Now how did Matron know I had been wanting such lessons?

I crawl into bed with my tray of goodies, outfitted in a lovely dressing gown and bedsocks to keep my toes toasty. A fire was started in the fireplace from me and it looks and feels heavenly. I am wrapped in the soft comfort of a quilt and with every breath I take I can feel the tension leaving my body. Riversleigh is clearly just what I have been needing and I look forward to what the following days here will bring.

Originally written and posted on Dec. 30, 2006

Published in: on December 21, 2008 at 2:30 am  Leave a Comment