Interior Dove Cottage

It is October.

The landscaper is mowing at the warehouse. It seems like I just smelled the first cut green grass of spring only a couple of weeks ago. Soon there will be no more mowing. The smell in the air will be dominated by wood smoke.

Oh! I gotta schedule the chimney cleaning.

December 12th is the first available?

I’m tired. This weekend was my first one at the warehouse in several weeks. I threw myself into the breach and made decisions about thousands of books.

There weren’t any real thrillers. Obama autograph. Paul Simon. But Madeline and Annika got a LOT of books to research.

I’m already anxious to get back to London.

Then my wacky nephew showed up. He was the only one I could find to go to the concert with me. He needed money and brought some The Wizard of Oz dolls to sell.

Groan. Yep, I am a serious bookseller.

He also brought this creepy thing in.

Imagine waking up and seeing this seated in your favorite chair when you go looking for the first coffee.

I’m glad he showed up. I’ve wasted a few tickets this year. I wouldn’t have gone by myself.

I wrote him a check, and we headed out. The traffic to DC was bad. Maybe people heading home on Sunday afternoon.

The show was at The Anthem on the Wharf riverside development in the toughest part of the city to get to.

Then we were there, and I was looking for a parking garage. There’s one in that alley. Down into the bowels of the earth. Weird. Thirty-eight bucks to park.

An elevator took us up to ground level. I was ready for a cocktail and something to eat. Directly across from the elevator was a small storefront with “La Vie” above the entrance.

It was a room or foyer or whatever. A woman standing at a podium was its sole occupant.

Was this a spa?

“Ummm… do you have a bar?”

“Yes. Level 4.6.”

We boarded the elevator and were presented with these options.

Bizarre. The building was only a few stories, I thought.

When we stepped out, we were faced with a gorgeous vast restaurant. How would anyone know it is here? Maybe that explains why there were two people at the bar and maybe only two of the 100 tables occupied.

“How does anyone know this place is here? The entrance is like a secret speakeasy thing.”

It is a stunningly beautiful space. I’m anxious to return. Maybe I’ll get a room and stay over though.

I ordered a martini, of course.

There are views of the Potomac along one entire wall. The menu was East Mediterranean with some Italian influences.

We shared a hummus, tzatziki/eggplant spread (not baba ghanoush.) I had a weird Caesar salad combating miniature heads of romaine.

It made for a happy landing, and we killed the hour before showtime there.

It was “An Evening with David Byrne.” There was no mention of Talking Heads.

He came out in a bright blue—would you call it a—jumper? Retro-Moderne? His group—singers, dancers, musicians—were all in the same blue. To say it was visually striking would be an understatement.

Everything was strictly choreographed. It was somewhere between a Broadway show (“Punk—The Musical”?) and a marching band. He’s originally from Baltimore but is a strict New Yorker now. He told stories of being locked down for 18 months in his apartment not seeing anyone.

He referred to “Punk” a number of times, but this show was in no way edgy. But I enjoyed it immensely.

Of course, I got another hoodie.

When it was over, we descended underground. I felt very like Dante going to Hades. I convinced myself to ask my nephew to drive. I was toast. It was after 10:30—which still feels 5 hours later—3:30 am. It was a close call, but I thought he’d be a better driver than I. I navigated us back to Frederick. It was after midnight before I fell into bed. But I first needed to give two dogs their meds.

Now it is Monday, September 29th. I had a doctor’s appointment on my way in. I’m feeling pretty good. (Is that a dire sign?)

Then Trevor drove us down to Gaithersburg. I wanted to see the newly erected rows. It looks great.

It is amazing that you can actually look from the front to the back.

There’s still a long way to go.

Sigh… a bookstore in disarray causes me distress. It is like the stars are out of alignment.

“PLEASE BEAR WITH US. DUE TO CIRCUMSTANCES BEYONG OUR CONTROL…”

Taking care of four dogs is an adventure. Three are over 14. Two require meds twice a day. Pip needs to be carried up stairs. He’s walking a little better. He can go down the four stairs from the porch onto the driveway. But he is still frail and stays alone in the pen inside during the day. Mitch has hip issues, and when he falters, I worry. “Don’t go down on my watch!” Mitch can’t have the scraps that my three dogs often get. But they are all jolly company.

The old dog rises slowly
He hobbles to the door
Out to the mountain he once ruled
Now just a few steps into the darkness
Wee, turn and limp back to the door
I lift him up the few steps
Which he can no longer climb
My age is reflected in his brittle bones
My decline mirrors his failing
We remember our triumphs
Behind eyes now clouded gray
We ran, we chased, we caught and killed
We were victors; lords atop the mountain
Now we stare into the dark
Unseeing but in the minds’ eyes
Which do not measure time
He looks to me for leadership
The master can guide me.
I must be strong enough for both
The end’s coming quickly and soon
For the both of us
But we will run and fight again
On fields which never fade
Oh, my prince, my athlete,
my hunter and victor too
Rest now upon soft cushions
Dream in the warm sun
Which pours through the window
We will see this through together
my friend, my paragon, my brother

Thursday. It is 48 degrees up here. I closed the windows last night against the cold.

When will the first fire be?

The first viewable sunrise was yesterday.

It has been cloudy every morning since my return a week ago.

I haven’t written all about the UK trip yet. Much is missing.

I’ll rush through some this week and finish next.

Day 2! September 16th. We left Windsor for Oxford. Imagine half a day to see Oxford! It was ok for me. I spent a week there three years ago for a rare book “Congress.” That was magical. Full of truly rare books and manuscripts and fairy tale “colleges.” We were led on a quick walk before being released on our own. I headed for The Eagle and the Child first. It was “permanently closed” in 2022 when I peered in the windows. I’d read somewhere about renovations going on. Indeed. The facade was covered in scaffolding and a plastic rendering of what will be. It looks like it will no longer be the cozy pub where the Inklings met and Tolkien read his masterpiece to fellow writers and Oxford dons—like C. S. Lewis. I wonder what the American billionaire Ellison plans for it. From there, I hurried to the Ashmolean Museum and made my way through its marvelous galleries. From ancient artifacts to late-19th and early-20th century painting. Oddly, the small room holding the Sickert gallery doubles as a children’s play craft space. Sickert was thought to possibly have been Jack the Ripper.

From Oxford, we went to Blenheim Palace. It is a sprawling building. The largest non-royal palace in the UK. Though a portion was under scaffolding, it was still beautiful. There was a fancy horse show setting up on the vast lawns where we pulled in. (They have jousting tournaments there too.) There’s history enough from the Duke of Marlborough to Churchill to Lady Diana Spencer.

Walking through the vast maze of the family’s apartments and staterooms was like being in a great art and artifact gallery.

The library went on forever.

There wasn’t enough time to see everything, but I wandered through as many of the gardens as I could.

Then it was on to Stratford-Upon-Avon. I covered Stratford and the excursion into the Cotswolds already.

Thursday, it was on to Levens Hall. That was most noteworthy for the vast gardens of topiary.

Trimming is apparently a constant activity here. Walking among the giant boxwood and the plant sculptures was a green delight. It wasn’t just topiary. There were plant walls and tunnels, fountains and paths, sundials and beds…

The Hall was great fun. Full of family art and artifacts going back centuries.

There was time to kill, so I checked out the cafe. I couldn’t resist the Black Currant and Lemon Drizzle. The frosting was delightfully crunchy. I paired it with their own “Clipped Bush” craft beer.

From there, it was on to the Lake District. We had an appointment at Rydal Mount, the last home of Dorothy and William Wordsworth.

The house is virtually unchanged since they passed away there. We were met by a young woman who has a fellowship there working on a PhD on the Wordsworths with a focus on Dorothy and her writing (the Journals and her poetry) and how much of a team the two were. She gave us a tour and then turned us loose. I had tingles going into his study and their bedrooms and the dining room and drawing room, where so many iconic visitors made pilgrimages to be with the great poet.

We had the place to ourselves. Then we were summoned to the dining room for Grasmere Gingerbread, wine and readings by our guide. She read not only William’s words but also Dorothy’s.

“Thoughts on My Sick-bed” by Dorothy Wordsworth.

Dorothy was an avid hiker and walked thousands of miles around the lakes. She became ill and bedridden during her final years.

It was a magical time up on the Wordsworths’ “mountain” among their terraces and gardens that in the spring are abloom with, of course, daffodils.

The mood was enhanced by the light fog and drippy rain. I thought of my mountain and gardens and the terraces I’ve built, the poetry and writing I’ve attempted up there.

The house is still owned by a descendant, and there’s furniture, books, manuscripts and other personal stuff throughout the house.

Entering his study and their bedrooms caused tingles.

Back on the bus, we slid (nearly) down the narrow woodland roads to our hotel. The Daffodil (of course) on the shore of Lake Grasmere.

Thursday, October 2nd

Fall has started out as though it was designed by central casting. 65 degrees just before noon.

Andrew is driving us to the Gaithersburg store. I need to meet with the contractor. We need his help getting more bookcases aligned correctly. Our regular shelver—for decades—is too busy.

It has been a rough spell since I got back. My head is spinning about the “Big Deal” (which I can’t give specifics on.) Meeting after meeting after meeting… often rehashing the same issues. I don’t care if it falls through at this point. It is a huge diversion, and I’m not sure if we can make the customer happy. When I’m not meeting or emailing about it, it occupies my mind like a never-ending storm—a brainstorm.

Then there are the dogs. I love them. They’re my best friends, and sometimes they seem to be the only friends I actually see and talk to. When I got home last evening, I had mulch and transplant plans. I let the three out of the pen outdoors. They love to get into the house as fast as possible for some reason. One reason is they act like the “day old” water in the bowls inside tastes better than the fresh water I pour in the steel bowl in the pen. Then I let Pip out of the indoor pen. He’s in there because I’m concerned one of the big dogs will step on his fragile hip. Pip happily hobbled out.

“Something stinks! Merry, did you pass gas?”

It was Mitch—my son’s family dog. His hindquarters were covered in loose stool. Poor guy. He has a fragile digestive system as well as fragile hips himself. I put a leash on him and gently led him out.

What to do? I couldn’t wash him outside. The well water is freezing. It might shock the old guy. I finally decided to take him in for a warm shower. I would have to join him. There’s no other way.

YUCK!

He took it pretty well. So did I. He has the sweetest disposition in the world. I don’t.

I let him outside to dry off.

After I cleaned up, it was getting too dark to work outside.

I “deserved” a martini.

I put some pasta leftovers in the oven to reheat.

I made food for Mitch. 1/2 can. 1 cup dry.

I made food for Giles and Merry.

(I baked an 8-pound pork loin a couple of days before. It was $2.00 a pound from Costco. I’ve been cutting off chunks for all the dogs but Mitch.)

I made a separate bowl for Pip so he wouldn’t have to muscle in with the healthier dogs.

Sigh… just what I needed after a crazy stressful workday.

When my food was ready, I took it into the “Great Room.” I ate while watching The Rings of Power Season 2. Again. There’s so much in it that I still see things and get understandings I hadn’t had before. (Maybe I’ve fallen asleep sometimes, and the show kept on running.)

Bedtime was after 9. About 1 a.m. I sensed him standing beside my bed.

“Maybe he needs to go out.”

Too late. He’d left poop puddles in numerous places. This time he hadn’t messed himself. He went outside. No yelling or anything on my part. The poor old guy was likely unaware of what he’d done. Fortunately, Oriental rugs are pretty easy to clean.

At some point, he was back inside, and I was back in bed.

Up at 5, and he’d done it again! Another cleanup. Meds. Foods. And off to work.

We are on our way back from Gaithersburg. The contractor didn’t show. We called, and he thought I’d confirm first. It’s ok. Patrick, the store manager, and I worked on a shelving layout. I made marks on the concrete floor. (It’ll be painted over anyway.)

When we get back, I’ll see if there are any developments with the Deal. Then I need to hit a lot of carts. They are multiplying like bunnies at Easter time.

Suddenly, I’m just so tired. SO tired. Maybe the dog duty (or doody) took more out of me than I thought. I’m not sure how much I slept.

I shouldn’t have all this stress. I don’t need it. We don’t need the “BD” either.

I’d rather be in London…

No such luck. Back into the breach.

But at least I can go back to writing about England.

Grasmere

It was raining pretty hard, but I still went out to look at the lake in the hotel’s yard. It was serene. Evocative. Moody. Beautiful. Forested low mountains rose on the other side. The dripping fog added to the moodiness. Back inside the Daffodil.

The next morning, we had a train ride scheduled. The bus took us through drippy narrow forest-surrounded roads to a mid-19th century train station. There was time to look around. A big pile of coal was off to the side.

A spare engine waited on a siding. You could look into the open cab and see the firebox glowing yellow-orange. The engineer was watching the pressure gauges to be sure the steam was up enough.

I wouldn’t have done this on my own. Train rides are kids’ stuff. But then I got into it. This was the real thing. I climbed the footbridge to get a better view.

The biting smell of coal smoke filled the air as the plume rose from the chimney.

We had a wooden carriage reserved to ourselves. The train bell rang, and we crawled forward. The view wasn’t great as all the windows were dappled heavily with raindrops. It didn’t matter. The route was mostly through wet drippy forests.

The Lakeside & Haverthwaite Railway line isn’t very long. It took about an hour of rumbling and rattling and screeching rails til we got to its other end. We chatted over the coffee we’d carried on. It was like time travel. And I felt a little like a kid.

When my kids were little, Thomas the Tank Engine was a big deal to them. We had a wooden Brio train set with a lot of different engines and cars. Each had a name.

We disembarked at the Lakeside Station. That just so happens to be adjacent to the Windermere Cruise Company docks. There, we boarded a long yacht-like craft, The Tern. She was built in 1891. Was steam driven until 1956 when she was converted to diesel. She’s 145 feet in length.

From there, we cruised most of the length of Lake Windermere.

The weather had cleared some, and the views were spectacular.

Was it a couple of hours before we docked at Bowness? There, we were turned loose. It is a quaint old waterside village with the town rising on the slope away from the lake.

I wandered into the St Martin’s Church. It was lovely, peaceful, calm. I was the only one there. It has dozens of sayings painted on the walls and rafters.

Some are quite difficult to decipher.

Then I wandered about the town. I wasn’t hungry, but some tea would taste good. There were a lot to choose from. The town is home to The World of Beatrix Potter. I’m a real “tourist”, but I couldn’t bring myself to venture into that experience.

But across the cobbled street was The Peter Rabbit Cafe. I couldn’t resist. The very first book I ever read was Peter Rabbit. (My parents read it to me so many times that I knew it by rote. I could “read” it perfectly as the pages turned.) It was a cute place. Little rabbit statues and eggs and veggie sculptures abounded. An ancient Peter Rabbit cartoon was on a loop on a big screen on a stage at the front.

I was there mostly for tea (and a WC), but when I saw the menu, I couldn’t resist the rarebit (not rabbit.)

It was delightful and delicious. I’ll have to make some Welsh rarebit now I’m home.

I AM such a tourist.

At the appointed time, I headed for the rendezvous with the bus, and our little group was driven back to the Daffodil. It was raining again. I didn’t feel like walking in the wet to the village of Grasmere, and anyway, the other Wordsworth home was just across the street amongst other ancient cottages. Dove Cottage.

The Wordsworths lived at Dove Cottage for about eight years until his writing success allowed them to buy Rydal Mount. He wrote Intimations of Immortality, “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” and began “The Prelude” there. Dorothy began her Journals there as well.

There is a welcome center and museum about 50 yards from the 17th-century cottage.

You need to go there and pay and wait for the next tour. We were led by a young woman who got us oriented before turning us loose to explore the cottage.

With the day dimming into late afternoon and the drizzling rain continuing, the poorly lit cottage was very evocative. I felt a great intimacy as well as the thrill of being where such amazing things happened.

You exit at the back where there are gardens and trees. A path takes you back to the center where I explored the museum. It was filled with exhibits as well as books, manuscripts and other memorabilia.

From the roof of the building, I looked down on the cottage where the Wordsworths began their careers together. Brother and sister had been separated prior to that.

Then back to the hotel. I had a martini and looked out the window at Lake Grasmere and marveled at how lucky I’ve been.

It is Friday. 48 degrees. Giles is pushed up tight against me. Writing about the rest of the trip will have to wait til next week.

I need to feed and medicate the four dogs. Clean up a couple of messes. When I got home last night, I transplanted about 20 baby hellebores. At least the deer don’t eat those.

Maybe I should go into the hellebore business. A potted hellebore is about $25 at nurseries, I think. There are hundreds up here.

Will the workday be glorious and uplifting or frustrating dusty and full of despair?

The dust will be there, regardless.

And the weekend will be two days of intense book reviewing, sorting and designating their future.

Fall.