Dreams in the Dusk

Dreams in the dusk,
Only dreams closing the day



The rest of Carl Sandberg's poem is
lovely, but mournful.



I felt only peace and contentment at finding
such beauty outside my window.



DREAMS in the dusk,
Only dreams closing the day
And with the day's close going back
To the gray things, the dark things,
The far, deep things of dreamland.

Dreams, only dreams in the dusk,
Only the old remembered pictures
Of lost days when the day's loss
Wrote in tears the heart's loss.

Tears and loss and broken dreams
May find your heart at dusk.

Featherstone Castle - Part III

The next morning, after a really good sleep in the 30-year-old down sleeping bag Bill brought for me, I looked out the window to find that all the sheep had magically turned into cows. And (oh, my) it was still raining.

The breakfast crowd was slightly thinner than the previous night, in part because some people chose to pack up first. As it turned out, we were supposed to have had 15 people, but a couple couldn't make it because one of the major roads was closed due to flooding. Fortunately, no one seemed concerned that we wouldn't be able to get home (not that I cared, I wasn't going to work the next day). I had a last wander around the castle snapping pictures before setting off on a walk. A big group went off on a bike ride and were were all to meet up at the pub around noon.

I found a wonderful kitchen garden to one side of the castle, though I didn't actually see any food plants that I recognised. I was just impressed by the hedges and paths and the sheer size of it.

I meandered over the river, though crossing the bridge with all that water rushing past made me a bit dizzy (so I quit looking down).

There were some rather pictureque stairs and trails, but suddenly I realised (a) I didn't have a watch; (b) it was very muddy and slippery; (c) I was now on the opposite side of a potentially rising river from the car; (d) no one knew where I was. So I made my way back, drove to the pub and sat in the car, knitting and listening to the rain. The others arrived before too long.

When they did, some of us had a lovely pub lunch, others had dessert only or a snack of some sort. Before everyone headed off, we divvied up the groceries that were left. Bill's little Citroen was already loaded down with bikes and baggage, but we managed to add some onions, tomatoes, coffee and bottled water. Bob had already snapped up the Brie cheese, the swine.

Featherstone Castle - Part II

As I said, we had to walk UP the HILL to get to the pub, which to 4 extremely fit people was no problem at all....well, not much anyhow. (Actually, Bob is training for the Marine Corp Marathon in Washington DC next month).


On the way I noticed this string of dead moles. This is apparently a farming tradition, hanging up dead moles. I'm not sure if it's meant to serve as a warning to other moles or a warning to horse riders that there may be holes in the grounds or perhaps there is a nationwide competition for 'murdered most moles of the month'. Anyhow, I've spared you the close up version.



British pubs are such cosy places. Most are full of dark wood and stone fireplaces and intimate little corners where you gather with your friends. The Wallace Arms was no exception.



I particularly liked their view about the smoking area...


And they turned out to be a doggy pub with a resident dog -- a greyhound, I think; whatever she was it was certain she was a runner. We all remarked on the amazing muscles she had in her shoulders. Like many of the former running dogs she was quite diffident, but clearly interested in affection. We petted her until she'd had enough and went off to a quiet corner for herself.





The (human) runners waved at us in the window on their return and I just caught them out the door as they made their way back to the castle. They will have no doubt enjoyed cleaning up in the slightly-less-than-modern facilities.


We headed back then, too, as it was getting time to rustle up some grub. I couldn't remember what all I'd volunteered to do, so I just showed up in the kitchen and got assigned to chopping vegetables. I love cooking for big groups and I love cooking on my own, but cooking as part of a group is wonderfully sociable.




I think we each paid about £6.50 for dinner and breakfast and I think we got a great deal. Our evening meal was spaghetti (with and without meat in the sauces) and a variety of salads, not to mention some of Alice's cakes.


After dinner we all sat around in one of the halls where Bill had built the fire up.







At some point I was captivated by this coat -- I kept thinking it looked like a face.


Too much wine, no doubt, or the suggestion that the castle is haunted?


That was when I decided it was time for bed...

Featherstone Castle - Part I

Featherstone Castle is a strange place, but having just read that it is an "activity centre for the use of young people and students"...well, I understand it better now. Dave, one of the guys in our running club who is also an avid cyclist suggested it for a weekend trip around a one night stay. He described it as grand, but basic. I looked at the website and was captured as soon as I saw the pictures and read that wood was supplied for the fireplaces.

Still, we had to take sleeping bags, so I was guessing it would be cold and damp. I was right about the latter, though the castle was relatively dry. That Saturday the heavens opened up like nothing before – well, OK it does this about once or twice a year...every few months...quite often, actually.



I thought the guys were nuts taking bikes, but that’s nothing new. Me? I took my knitting. We picked up Bob and boated along to the place. We were the first arrivals at about 3pm and set about exploring.



I had already been warned about it ‘being a rabbit warren’ – the stock British phrase for anyplace intricate – and so I just treated it like a fun house where I would deliberately get lost and of course it wasn't hard at all to misplace myself. The next day I found the floor plan for the fire escape. Truth be known, I think we would all have been toast.



Every room had 2 or 3 doors all leading to other similar rooms or rather all different sorts of rooms. There were a few bedrooms with 2 or 3 (naked) beds, many more rooms with rows of bunk beds, several big rooms (halls) with fireplaces,






more than a few kitchens stacked with cupboards full of mismatched dishes,



staircases at every turn, some up, some down, some twisting into the dark.




Also beautiful tall stone framed windows



overlooking the turbulent South Tyne River and fields of wet sheep eating wet green grass;




a startling mix of broken junky furniture



with beautiful carved antique (or at least very old) pieces, and cupboards full of dust and oddments in strange places like the walls along the stairwells or in corners between door frames.



One of the first rooms was a good sized kitchen with a huge old stove radiating heat. I learned that this was one of the famed Aga ranges I’ve read about for so long. I had no idea how one might cook on it, but since I wasn’t in charge of the vittles, I wasn’t worried about it.





A couple not in our group appeared in one of the halls I was exploring. He explained that he'd spent the night there 40 years ago and happened to be driving in the area and decided to show it to his girlfriend. They found the door open, and walked in...made me wonder who else might be around.

Another man brought his kids and his dog to check the place out, but he was a friend of Dave's and his dog was lovely.


They said it was a 'lurcher', something I've read about but not seen. She was smaller than I expected a lurcher to be, but with the wire-haired coat. I could go for a dog like this...


As soon as everyone arrived and chose their rooms, some of them decided to go for a run. Some of us decided to walk UP to the pub.

State Visit

I had such a delightful visit with Vickie, Steve and Olivia Ruth the other day. I’d invited them to lunch as I’d not yet seen the baby and she is now 2 months old. I didn’t want to just drop in on Vickie, as I’d not care for that myself. Two Rottweilers are also a good deterrent if you need help getting rid of unwanted visitors. Also, I just think it’s a good idea not to take your germs to a very new baby and any new mum probably needs time to get herself organized. (On that score, I wish her good luck; I’ve been working on that all my life and I don’t have a kid to confound the process).



I enlisted Bill’s help in tidying the place. There wasn’t that much to do, but I hate vacuuming. Also, I’ve been knee deep in sewing and knitting so there were little messes everywhere to pick up. Bill teased me that we must be having a State Visit to agitate so much over a simple lunch.

I’d planned to have a cold chicken and pasta salad for lunch, so if the baby was fussy it wouldn’t matter that the food was cold, but on the day the weather was so wet and miserable I thought something hot was required, so it got changed to chicken and rice soup. Salad from the garden; well, the lettuce anyhow, plus chopped fruit with yoghurt. Disgustingly healthy, I know.

I think most babies are frankly quite funny looking; many are positively homely and a few are cute. I think it’s rare to see a really pretty baby – isn’t that a terrible thing to say? I couldn’t get a good picture of her, having left it late and she was beginning to tire, but when she was up and alert – and she seems especially attentive and interested in things – she was very pretty. I think it was that white suited her pale complexion and it gave her face a distinctly feminine look.

I bought a couple of tops and an outfit for her. I also made them a CD with all the Tightwad Gazettes I’ve scanned, something any new parents could find useful, I think. I am looking forward to buying baby clothes and stuff again, and probably every one of their family members is thinking the same! They may need a bigger house; or they could just Ebay half the stuff instead of tripping all over it.

Steve left to return to work and Vickie stayed on another hour or so. We had a lovely visit about everything and nothing. It seems odd to see her with a baby, she’s not stereotypically maternal, but she was absorbed by Olivia and completely patient. She even mentioned wanting to re-home Harley, the newer of the dogs, and said she could see a time when they didn’t have dogs, as Buster is up in years. Talk about an about-face! Steve seems deeply contented in a way I’ve not seen him before. I think Olivia Ruth is a real blessing to them both, something I would wish for all babies -- and parents -- but especially babies.