Blog Goes on Holiday

Tomorrow I'm off to Italy for two weeks! Dwight will be in the U.S. at about the same time, so our England phase is on a temporary hold. I will not have my laptop along, so there will be no postings until after November 7. When I return, it should be just a matter of days before we pack up for home. Surely there will be some final thoughts, so please check back later.

Piddles & Puddles

Anyone needing proof that Dorset folks have a sense of humor need look no further than a local map. There, you will find place names like Puddletown, Tolpuddle, Piddlehinton, Piddletrentide, Pratt's Bottom, Fipenny Hollow, and Fiddleford! There's also the occasional tongue-twister like Puncknowle (which is pronounced "Punnel") and Melplash as well as names with Roman ancestory like Canocorum and Ryme Intrinsica.

On Sunday, our hike started in Tolpuddle, home of the Tolpuddle Martyrs. In 1834, the regulated wages of farm laborers was cut from nine schillings a day to just seven, creating real hardship for many families. Six brave men met in secret to start what in our time would be called a labor union and were subsequently arrested and convicted on conspiracy charges. Their sentence included seven years' deportation to England's most remote colonies, where they worked on chain gangs under slavelike conditions. Public outrage ultimately resulted in their pardon, and they eventually returned to a heroes' welcome. A sculpture and a museum still stand in their memory.

From under a giant sycamore known as The Martyrs' Tree," our trail led us along the River Piddle over hill and dale across the Dorset countryside. We passed Southover Heath, Tincleton Hang, Clyffe Copse, and Cowpound Wood, eventually rejoining Southover Lane which led us back into town. There, we got in our car and drove home to plain old Weymouth.

Salisbury Cathedral

We took advantage of yet another sunny Saturday to visit Salisbury Cathedral, Britain's finest 13th Century Cathedral. Started in 1220, the cathedral took 38 years to build and is unique in being almost entirely in one architectural style, Early English Gothic. Its spire, at 404 feet, is Britain's tallest.

A choir with stringed instruments to accompany them were practicing the whole time we were inside, making the whole experience seem even more majestic. As always, the colors in the stained glass windows were what most attracted my attention, and they really sparkled on this clear autumn day.

Adjacent to the sanctuary is a room called the Chapter House. Built in the last half of the 13th Century, this was a meeting place for the cathedral's governing body. While the medieval friezes, windows, and floors have all been restored, its "bones," the stone columns and vaulting, are original. This room is home to the finest of only four surviving original (1215) Magna Carta, the document that represents the foundation of democracy and provides the basis for many Constitutions, including our own.

Leaving the cathedral, we walked a short distance to the Mompesson House, whose lovely enclosed garden also includes a tea shop. We sat in the sun and had a bowl of soup (carrot and coriander) and a pot of tea. An appropriate conclusion to a thoroughly civilized day!

Claire and Mimi

Meet Claire Youngman (left) and Mimi Walker. They are the ladies I met at Portland's Country Market who taught me about Dorset buttons and Dorset Feather Stitchery. They also took me to their craft day on Wednesday. They are the most delightful ladies! Clever and creative...and so very kind to me. Finally I had the chance to return some of that kindness.

While I was in Florida, I prepared the materials needed to make a little purse-size tissue holder that I learned from my quilting friends in Italy. I bought a variety of fabrics and cut pieces to make about a hundred of the holders. Half I gave to my Monday ladies for their guild to sell and the rest I saved for Mimi and Claire.

We sat at Mimi's table, where I walked them through the instructions. Then they made a couple completely on their own. The holder really is clever, and they were so pleased with their results. I left the remaining materials with them so they can teach their crafty ladies. Some of the holders may wind up in the Country Market, which is what I had in mind. But even if they only make one for personal use, that will be fine. I just wanted them to have something that would remind them that I passed this way and of my gratitude for their most generous welcome.

What can I say?

No use trying to hide it: I am conflicted!
Dwight came home tonight with word that we may be leaving here in three weeks.
I'm leaving for Italy next Wednesday, which means that as soon as I get back here, we're gone! Not sure I'm ready for that. More later...

Dorset Ladies on the March!

What a great week this has been! Have hardly been home for a minute!!

Yesterday I went with Claire Youngman and Mimi Walker (the country market ladies of Easton) to a craft club, where we made these lovely scissors fobs. The teacher came with an assortment of fabrics cut and ready to use, and everyone else brought their collection of beads. In less than two hours, we had hand stitched and embellished our project. They were all so different, but all very pretty. At the end of the session there was a brief business meeting and then a drawing for door prizes. I won a box of Cadbury chocolate! Can't beat that!!

On Tuesday, Quilting Jenny took me to another of her patchwork circles, her City & Guilds friends. This is a group of about a dozen ladies who had all taken a four year diploma course to prepare them for advanced careers in quilting...teaching, judging, designing. (Go to: http://www.cityandguilds.com/ and prepare to be amazed at this massive international initiative in adult education.) Even though they completed their course more than ten years ago, they continue to meet every two weeks...each one working on her own projects but with input from the others. One woman was working on a pink quilt of her own design. I wish I had taken a picture, as it was a marvel! Perhaps I will have a chance later on.

Monday has always been quilting day, but this week our group went on a road trip instead. Our destination was Sturminster Newton, where there is a warehouse full of fabric as well as knitting and other craft supplies. What pleased me most was finding so many fabrics that were made in England. It's more common for their quilting fabrics to come from the US, only at double the price we have to pay. At more than $15. per yard, I want something different!! I bought yard cuts of three lovely pieces and also added some new fat quarters to my William Morris collection and came away very satisfied.

After fabric shopping we went to a store called "Olives et al," a gourmet food store where they offered samples of almost everything. We could have made that our lunch but wound up going on to the charming village of Cerne Abbas. After a good pub lunch, we walked around the town's famous abbey and then along a shaded stream that led us back to town, where a few of their shops proved likewise interesting.

All this, and it's only Thursday morning! My calendar is clear for today, and that's not bad.

St. Catherine's Chapel

We have travelled the coast road many times and have always been intrigued by a lone chapel sitting high on a hill above Abbotsbury. We chose it as our destination for Saturday's hike.

Standing some 280 ft. above the sea, St. Catherine's Chapel has long served seafarers as a landmark on this dangerous coast. It was built around the beginning of the 15th century as a pilgrim's chapel for the nearby monestery and is constructed entirely of stone that had to be hauled up the hillside from the quarries below. It's in surprisingly good shape, and services are still held inside. They sometimes have night services where everyone carries a flashlight up the trail. That must be an amazing sight.

Partway up the terraced hillside we came to an enclosed field filled with pheasants. We had previously spotted a few pheasants (always a thrill) as we drove along remote roads, but this was clearly different. Not only were there hundreds of them, but they did not take flight when they spotted us. They just scurried away on foot! We concluded that this was a sort of pheasant farm and that they were being raised for the bespoke tables of London and Paris. I mentioned this to an English lady I was talking with yesterday, and she had another explanation. She said that pheasants are raised for sport shooting. They are kept indoors and fed by humans. Then, at about this time of year, they are released into pens to begin their transition from domesticated to wild birds. When hunting season begins in a few weeks, wealthy bird hunters will start arriving from all over the world. Personnel at the lodges where they stay will take them to strategically located hunting spots, where they will wait in hopes of bagging their prey. Just over the ridge, bird handlers will release a flock of pheasants, and Bam! I guess it's no different from walking among the lambies by day and then sitting down to a lamb shank at dinner, but somehow I didn't like the sounds of it.

This hike started in Abbotsbury along a stretch of Chesil Beach, the same Chesil Beach I have written of earlier. It begins on the Isle of Portland and extends to West Bay, some seventeen miles to the west. From an earlier picture, you may remember the size of the "pebbles" we saw in Portland: they were roughly the size of a fist. What is interesting about this beach is that the size of the pebbles decreases as you travel west. In Abbotsbury they're the size of the last joint of your thumb, and in West Bay they're no bigger than your thumb nail. It is said that smugglers coming ashore by night can tell exactly where they are by the size of the pebbles! Another interesting thing is that when huge storms blow through they can erode Portland's banks, carrying its pebbles miles down the beach. In time, however, the action of the waves and tides will sort the pebbles and return each to its proper location.

Hike to Hardy Monument

The credibility of our hiking guide took a massive hit on Saturday. Coming off a most successful hike to St. Catherine's Chapel above Abbotsbury, we decided to add the Hardy Monument to our day's conquests.

Dorset County has two native sons named Thomas Hardy. Anyone who was paying attention in high school will remember Thomas Hardy, the author of The Mayor of Casterbridge, Tess of the D'Ubervilles, Far from the Madding Crowd, Return of the Native, and others. But there was a second Thomas Hardy, born some seventy years earlier, and he found his niche in military, rather than literary, history.

As second son to a prosperous Dorset family, Hardy was not destined to inherit the family estate, so at age twelve he was sent to sea as a cabin boy. He progressed through the ranks and eventually served alongside Admiral Lord Nelson. It was this Thomas Hardy who cradled the head of the dying Admiral Lord Nelson as he lay mortally wounded on the HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar.

We might have known that the Hardy hike was doomed when we parked our car just three hundred feet from his monument but then turned away and proceeded to walk for six miles before eventually reaching it! We immediately missed the trail and went downhill for over a mile before discovering that nothing matched the description given in the book. Climbing back up to our starting point, we saw the obscure trail that we should have followed and started out once again.

The trail led us through pastures full of sheep, which was great fun. They are skittish creatures who wanted nothing to do with us, but we enjoyed being among them just the same. Passing through a fence later on, however, we entered a pasture filled with cows instead. Another pair of hikers approached from the opposite direction, each walking with two big sticks. "Have you encountered any aggressive cattle?" I asked. "Oh, you don't have to worry about these girls," one of them said. "It's only the young males that will challenge you. Just hold your ground, and you should be fine."

We came through that pasture unscathed and were farther along the trail when we entered another pasture. This one was home to what appeared to be families of cows. The first critter we came to didn't know quite what to make of us, and he let out a bleat. Hearing that voice, only one head looked up, and it belonged to a huge brown cow who locked us permanently in her gaze. We immediately struck the most nonthreatening pose we could think of...looking away, walking in the opposite direction, waiting for her young son to get far enough ahead so that we could proceed to the gate that would let us out of that field. Still not sure that she wanted us there, we began to look for alternate ways out. The only escape route we could see was over a wire fence that was clearly marked with a bright yellow sign with a lightning bolt across it: "Keep Away! Danger of Death."

If you'll look again at the picture above, you will see the fence that was our only exit -- one guarded by a half dozen young male cows! That's when we decided to burn our hiking guide book! We had to do something! Slowly, we approached the gate, calling out calmly to the cows in our path. "Hi, guys. Move aside. We need to get out. Scoot, will ya?" Slowly, they all ambled out of our way, and we were through that fence in no time flat!

The rest of the hike was uneventful by comparison. Once back at the car, we decided to travel on to Honiton, where an ice cream from the Honiton Dairy was a fitting reward. Dwight had two scoops of strawberry, while I opted for one of hazelnut toffee and one of raspberry ripple. (Next time I'll just get two raspberry ripple.)

Corfe Castle

Turning to one of the hikes in the "most challenging" section of our hiking guide, we set out on Sunday morning for Corfe Castle. Dense fog accompanied us for the ride over, but it miraculously lifted just as we set out on the trail.

The trip started at the train station, where we boarded an old time steam train for Harman's Cross. From there, we followed the guide as it led us across countryside and through pastures...sometimes passing through people's property, which felt weird. Even though a marked trail, we felt like intruders.

One thing the guide could not have known was that Farmer Brown had chosen that very day to harvest his corn. Unable to cross his land, we retraced our steps and found an alternate route to the top of the Purbeck Ridge, a glacial formation that affords incredible harbor views to the right and the imposing Corfe Castle to the left. We tallied about five miles that day and felt no guilt at all as we enjoyed afternoon refreshment in the garden of a pub in town. Dwight chose a pint of ale while I opted for pear and apple crumble and a pot of tea.

We made our way back to Weymouth and, after dinner, watched Strictly Come Dancing (England's version of Dancing with the Stars) followed by Mystery Theater, as episode of "A Touch of Frost." Another great day in "Old Blighty!"

BT to the Rescue!

This is a happy day! Our broadband service through British Telephone (BT) is finally set up. I can download pictures from our digital camera in record time, and there is a big smile on my face! Connected at last!!

To Pop One's Clogs

You may remember that I have a lovely collection of Jennys over here. There is Quilting Jenny, then, from our hotel days there is Upstairs Jenny and Downstairs Jenny. Yesterday I was invited for tea at Upstairs Jenny's.

When Dwight and I used to take our walks around Portland, we would often pass by a house that had several cobalt blue planters across the front; the one I remember most had an orange tree growing in it, laden with small fruit. When I reached Jenny's address yesterday, I found that this is her house!

Jenny's mother-in-law, Win, who is a quilter, was visiting from Suffolk. I was invited so that Win and I could talk quilts...always a pleasure. What I didn't know was that Jenny is also an accomplished needlewoman. Turns out she has made wedding dresses and other fancy clothes for her daughters as they were growing up. Granddaughter Neave, who stopped by while I was there, is making a quilt of her own out of the leftover satins and other fabrics that Jenny had in her stash.

Win's current project is a whole cloth quilt that she is hand quilting for another of her granddaughters. The granddaughter is drawing the motifs (very complicated ones by the sound) and Win is quilting away. It's a large quilt, and Win's comment was that she hoped to have it done before she popped her clogs. I had to ask what it means to pop one's clogs and learned that it's the same as buying the farm or pushing up daisies. Win is an extremely fit octogenarian (who had walked up the hill to Easton!), so I feel sure her clogs will be occupied for a long time to come!

Other things I want to remember from this visit are that Jenny's daughter Jo was there with her one-year-old son Will. Precious Will is the baby who had the naming ceremony about which I had previously written. I also met Malcolm, Jenny's husband, who is a very proud Granddad. Neave's birthday is just one day after mine, and she is almost the exact same age as Izzy, my Florida quilting friend and student. Also want to remember Jenny's frosted ginger cake, which was dense and delicious.

Today I am going back up to Portland to the Country Market. I want to see Mimi Walker, the Dorset Feather Stitchery lady, and show her my practice piece. If I get there in time to buy one of Claire Youngman's Tangy Lemon Cakes, I'll invite Jenny to come for tea!

Food, Glorious Food!

During our time here in July and August, we stayed in a hotel and thus ate in restaurants every night, which was great. This time we have our own place, which is even better! While it would be nice to have someone come in to run the vacuum and clean the bathrooms, I am really glad to be in charge of dinner once again.

Just look at this plate that I put on the table the other night: slow cooked lamb shanks in a red wine/red currant/balsamic sauce with roasted potatoes, carrots, and parsnips. And it was effortless! Aside from washing and trimming the Brussels sprouts, which I added, everything else came in an aluminum pan which I just popped into a hot oven for 45 minutes! The lamb was as tender as a mother's love and full of flavor. Everything was. And it had no artificial colors, flavors, or perservatives. It's from Marks & Spencer, my new favorite grocer.

There are lots of other offerings as well...things like chicken breast with mushrooms and garlic butter, pork steaks with granny Smith apples and sage, pork shoulder stuffed with prosciutto, oak smoked salmon, leg of lamb with rosemary and garlic, even quiches and party foods. None of it is frozen but rather fresh for baking at home or freshly baked to be reheated at home. And everything we're tried has been delicious! Each item has the day it was prepared as well as the use by date clearly marked, so you know it's fresh. I tell you, these English girls have it made, and I'm so happy to be one of them!

Journey to the Jurassic

Our Sunday hike took us west of here, just past Abbotsbury where we parked the car and made for Langdon Hill. (Just to record yet another kindness, we were surprised to discover that even in a woodsy car park well off the beaten track, there was a machine where visitors must insert a pound coin and get a ticket to display in their car window. We had bills with us, but no coins. A young couple, aware of our predicament, offered to pay our fee, but it turned out they were able to change our ten pound note, thus saving our day.)

Halfway around Langdon Hill, the trail made a right leading us to Golden Cap, the highest point along the Channel Coast at 626 feet of elevation. It is named for its warm yellow sandstone, but the cliffs below are composed of a blue-gray clay that is crumbling into the sea at a rate of about three feet per year. This clay is rich in fossils from the Jurassic Age, and many were down on the beach with their small picks and shovels, poking through the soft clay. Another time we'll go back prepared to do the same. (Our trail guide says that in 1986, a 35-ft ichthyosaur was unearthed at that location.)

On the way home, we detoured to the village of West Bay, stopping for tea and cake at a cafe that overlooks the harbor.

At Abbotsbury we abandoned the Coast Road, opting instead for one of the narrow back roads that Jenny and I had driven last week. It took us through farmland where we got up close and personal with countless sheep and saw a number of pheasants as well. There is a stretch of the South West Coast Path that leads right through those fields of sheep. I'd like to hike that some day...maybe getting to nuzzle one of those lambies. Dwight says they don't smell as good as they look, but that is something for me to discover for myself.

Blackberries!

As you can see, I needn't have worried about missing blackberry season. I think it will be ongoing for some time yet. In fact, someone told me that the picking is best right after the first frost.

Our walk yesterday took us up a narrow trail that apparently few have traveled, as the brambles were loaded with fruit. We just couldn't stop eating them! In addition to this photo, Dwight took a closeup of my outstretched tongue...a vision in hues of dark blue and purple. Lucky for you, that shot was out of focus!

The Gestation of a Quilt

Just as we were leaving England in August, I met Mimi Walker, the woman who said she would teach me to do Dorset Feather Stitchery on my Winter Wonderland quilt. Today I went back up to Easton on the Isle of Portland to see her once again.

I took the quilt with me (the center part anyway, which is all I have completed), and Mimi really liked it. Several of the other women at the country market stopped by to admire it, which made me feel good. Mimi agrees that the feather stitch would be an ideal enhancement to the already embroidered central panels, and we hope to get together one day next week for my lesson.

As I've mentioned before, the walk from Portland back down to Weymouth takes about an hour and a half. I was past the last bus stop and on the Rodwell Trail when it started to rain...just a light sprinkle at first, but increasing steadily. My quilt was in a fabric tote bag slung over my shoulder. Not wanting it to get wet, I turned my back to the rain, unzipped my Goretex jacket, and slipped that tote bag over my head, letting it hang down my chest, and then zipped the jacket around it.

There weren't too many walkers on the trail this morning, but eventually one young man appeared in the distance. We exchanged smiles from afar, acknowledging a fellow traveler caught in a sudden shower. As he approached me, however, his friendly smile changed to a look I did not understand...not exactly horrified, but definitely more than puzzled. After a moment's thought, it came to me: "He thinks I'm pregnant!" That bulge under my jacket must indeed have made me look like I'm in my third trimester, and my sixty-year-old face definitely did not fit the image! I laughed out loud.

Walking along, I imagined this scenario: What if he had permitted himself to comment on my "condition". He might have pointed to my belly and said something like, "Aren't you a little old to still be doing this?"

Patting my bulge lovingly on one side, I would have responded, "Why, no, I couldn't possibly stop now! Why, I'm just getting good at it!"

"How many others do you have?" he might have asked.

"Oh, mercy," I'd have to say, "I don't really know. I guess I've lost count!"

"Lost count!" he would gasp in horror. "How could you possibly lose count?"

"Well it's easy," I'd say, "since I give so many of them away."

"You give them away?" he would shriek in disbelief.

"Yes, many of them I do...to friends and family, mostly," I would say. "They always seem so pleased to have one. They're very pretty, you know."

Sensing his disappointment, I would then add, "I've been working on this one for nine months now, and I think it's going to turn out nice. I believe I'll be keeping this one."

Indian Summer

The weather has been amazing since our return! While there aren't as many people on the beach, the seafront continues to be busy with tourists milling about. Pubs with tables outside do a brisk business on these lovely evenings. Sunny weather has lasted longer than anyone imagined it would...a real bonus. Taking advantage of a lovely Saturday, we went exploring.

The Coast Road links Weymouth to the village of Abbotsbury to the west. It's quite a high road, and there are lovely views along the way. Abbotsbury is a perfect English village with carefully manicured thatched roofs and window boxes, and plenty of tea rooms to accommodate the crowds who flock there to visit its famous swannery and sub-tropical garden. From there, we continued on through equally lovely Burton Bradstock and then hopped on the A35 to Honiton, our first destination.

I had been in Honiton the day before with quilting friends Jenny, Del, and Sheila. The four of us had gone to Exeter, where there was an amazing crafters' market...not just for quilters but for everyone who likes to create things with their hands. (I especially thought of sister-in-law Sue Moore, whose greeting card creations are legendary in our family. She would have swooned, for sure.) Anyway, on the way home, we stopped in Honiton at an ice cream shop that the ladies knew. Even if you haven't been to England, it's likely you have heard of Devonshire cream, and when churned into ice cream, especially at The Honiton Dairy, it's pretty legendary, too.

Our objective was to go back to Honiton, not only to sample a couple more of their forty-three flavors, but also to visit the wine shop across the street. Sheila had double parked in front of the wine shop, so we had to grab our cones and go...giving Jenny no time to investigate a sign out front advertizing a special on Australian Shiraz. She recognized the label and knew it to be a really good deal, so Dwight and I went back to get a case for us and one for Jenny as well.

With both of those missions accomplished, we headed east to Sherborne. As our neighbor Lynne would say, we hit a trifecta there: three really memorable experiences in that one little town. When we got out of our car, we immediately heard music playing and followed it into the park, where an orchestra in a gazebo was playing "Autumn Leaves." The music, the flowers, the sunshine, the music...the moment simply could not have been more magical! We lingered in that lovely park for a while before making our way to Sherborne Castle.

Built in 1594 by Sir Walter Raleigh, the castle was originally called "Sherborne Lodge" to distinguish it from an older castle, now in ruins, on the hill across the river. When Sir Walter lost his head, literally, for crimes of treason, his glorious property was forfeited to the crown, who sold it in 1617 to Sir John Digby. While owned to this day by Digby descendants, the castle has served other purposes. In WWI, it was a Red Cross hospital, and in WWII it was Commando HQ for the D-Day landings. The current owners live in a modern farmhouse elsewhere on the property, but the castle remains fully furnished and is used by the family for parties and ceremonies. Otherwise, it is open to the public for tours and serves as a popular wedding site for well-heeled brides.

Leaving the castle, we walked to the center of town, which is dominated by Sherborne Abbey. Built of golden stone, parts of the abbey date back to the first century AD. While it has been damaged, rebuilt, and expanded over the centuries, today's abbey stands in breathtaking beauty, both inside and out. Most notable are the ways in which subsequent additions have been integrated into the existing structure...always beautiful even if not exactly matching. The ceiling's elaborately carved and intricate fan vaulting is also memorable.

From Sherborne, we headed for home via the A352, making the compulsory stop at Cerne Abbas to see The Giant. Carved into the chalk hillside, the giant (the outline of a man carrying a club) is 180 feet tall and is considered a fertility figure. Exact dating is unknown, and there is debate as to whether it is from Roman times or perhaps much more recent.

Rereading this all now, I would say we packed quite a bit into our first Saturday. Looking forward to several more!

We're Back! (Well, sort of...)

Just a word to let you know we've safely arrived back in England. Our long silence is, as usual, due to connectivity problems, as yet unresolved. Having tried a number of potential solutions, we have found only one that gets us fairly reliable Internet access, but it refuses to work with pictures! We are still investigating further options. In the meantime, I will add posts as connectivity allows and insert pictures once that becomes possible. Needless to say, this has been a source of major frustration for both of us. But we're still glad to be here and to continue this great adventure. So, again, off we go!

Dorset Buttons and Dorset Feather Stitchery

What an awesome last day this has been! Regular readers of this blog already know how warmly I have been welcomed by so many people here. Today provided more evidence of the kindness that abides in Dorset hearts.

Through the Monday quilt group, I learned about Dorset buttons, an art that supported thousands of local people from the late 1600's onward. These buttons, handmade and intricately woven, (some on rings of bone or brass) were much sought after not only in Europe but also in New York, Boston, and Quebec. It was the invention in 1860 of Ashton's Button Machine that put an immediate end to this industry. The art of making many of the designs has been lost forever, but the Dorset Crosswheel button survives. Local needlewomen still make them in the old way and use them to decorate clothing, costumes, and other needlework projects.

My Monday quilting friends also told me about Dorset Feather Stitchery. I had shown them my "Winter Wonderland" project, an embroidery that will be sewn together with other embroidered panels to make the center of a quilt, and they suggested that I embellish the seams with Dorset Feather Stitchery. There's a book, they told me, published by the Women's Institute, that teaches how to do the stitchery and also the buttons. I've been looking for it in museums, bookstores, and libraries, but without success.

The lady who owns a card shop in the nearby village of Easton suggested I look for it in the Country Market. This event is held every Friday morning in the village and gives local people an opportunity to sell their handicrafts, baked goods, preserves, produce, etc. There would be members of the Women's Institute there, she said, and maybe one of them could help me. So I walked down to Easton this morning, not knowing that I was about to hit the jackpot!

Soon after arriving at the market, I felt a hand on my arm and heard a voice say, "Are you looking for information about Dorset buttons?" That voice belonged to Claire Youngman, who had heard from the card shop lady that I might show up on Friday. Claire had come prepared with a folder full of information and even had a small card with some of those original buttons sewn on it. They were amazing: no bigger than a shirt button but so intricately woven from fine white thread into various shapes...some conical, some domed. Showing me the rest of the information in the folder, Claire discovered that she had two copies of an instructional leaflet and insisted that I take one.

When our discussion turned to the Dorset Feather stitch, Claire called another woman over... Mimi Walker, the recognized authority on the subject in these parts. After just a few moments of talking with Mimi, she asked me if I could wait there for five minutes so she could go home and get some of her work to show me. What she brought back was a cushion she had made...richly and meticulously embroidered with a variety of stitches in a palette of tourquoise, gold, and white. It was truly a work of art. She also brought me the book put out by the Women's Institute, the one I had been looking for. She insisted that it be her gift to me, and with a beholden heart I accepted it.

Mimi told me that her chapter of the WI meets each month to practice their art and invited me to join them, which I shall. My new goal is to finish embroidering the last of my Winter Wonderland quilt panels and have them sewn together in time for our return in the fall. Then, under Mimi's supervision, I will add to it this lovely stitchery. I'll also put some Dorset buttons among the snowflakes that are already part of the design. Won't this be a perfect souvenir!

I never want to forget the kindness of these women.

Winding Down

Tomorrow night after work, Dwight and I will drive to London so we can catch our flights to America early Saturday morning. The time has gone so quickly! I've been here six weeks! Incredible! Since we will be returning at the end of September, we have had some special organizing to do. Our maps and tour books, along with some of our clothes, hiking boots and raincoats will go into a suitcase and get stashed in Dwight's office. My quilt will go into a closet at Marilyn's house for safekeeping. The rest will somehow need to fit into our luggage for the trip home.

We've also been saying our good-byes here at the hotel. People have been so kind to us and, after such a long stay, we have formed friendships with several of them. There have been a couple of envelopes slipped under my door this morning: a lovely note from Margaret giving me her mailing address, and a collection of post cards of the island to take home as souvenirs. The ladies who serve our breakfast have stopped by the table to wish us a safe journey and to say that they'll miss us. Needless to say, we'll be missing them as well.

Then there is this island. When we return, we'll be living down in Weymouth, and Portland will be that hill way in the distance. While we can, and will, come back to our favorite shops and restaurants, the everyday sights and sounds of our lives will be different. I wonder about the people who will become our neighbors. I wonder if, with the summer tourists gone, the people who work in restaurants down there will want to know who we are and what we're doing there. I wonder if the ladies at the launderette will be as friendly. I'm already feeling a little bit homesick for this place!

I think today I'll walk down to Chesil Beach once again. I want to hear the surf and the tumbling rocks...and eat an ice cream.

Quilt Festival, Birmingham, England

The Quilt Festival was great fun! There were a thousand quilts on display including a number of special collections. Lots of them were what I call "art quilts," but there were some incredible traditional ones as well. I took 146 pictures! Several ladies from the local guild were there, and I joined them for dinner both evenings. Jenny I already knew from the Monday group, but I also met Mary, Mante, Sheila, Desera (she has pink hair!) and Liz.

On the first day, my new friend Rona came up from King's Sutton to see the show with me. Rona is not a quilter but is an artist, and she added a lot to my understanding of some of those art quilts. I was delighted to have someone with me, as the quilts reflected so much creativity; I needed to talk about them!

On the second day, I found Liz Dieppe. I had written earlier about Liz, having met her via E-mail last fall while we were both doing an Internet search on a French quilting technique called Boutis Provencale. Liz was there helping her friend Sandie Lush, a quilt designer and one of the show's teachers. Sandie was among the hundreds of vendors at the show and had a booth where she did demonstrations and sold her patterns. While Liz took a break from the booth, we had tea and then looked at quilts for a while. She's a fun gal and seems to like the same kind of quilts that I do. (I think she's better at it than I am, so I look forward to getting back together with her once we return in the fall.)

Most of the vendors were selling fabrics and accessories that are available in the U.S. at half the local prices, so I looked more than bought. I did find one line of fabrics made in England that included some lovely William Morris prints, so I treated myself to a few fat quarters. I also bought a kit to make an appliqued wreath of roses, designed by an English woman. She had beautiful work displayed in her booth...lovely and graceful designs that I would call Victorian.

How lucky for me that our stay in England coincided with this show! I'm glad I found out about it in time; it would have been such a shame to miss it.

My New Favorite Thing

Back on July 23, I wrote about a delightful French tea room, Time for Tea. Since that first visit, I have returned several times to try other desserts from their sideboard of afternoon treats. Today's was the best by far, Tarte Tatin. Ruth and John Kaye introduced us years ago to this ultimate French dessert and even gave me a very special pan for making it at home. Although mine is pretty amazing, this one is absolutely perfect! The apples were baked to the exact point of doneness, the caramelized sugar was the richest golden brown with just a hint of crunch around the edges, and the pastry underneath was tender as a mother's love. That scoop of Dorset's finest real ice cream on top added the crown jewel. Dwight and I have started talking about which of the places we've tried in these first few weeks will become part of our routine once we return next month and settle into our townhouse. Time for Tea always gets my vote; there has got to be more Tarte Tatin in my future!

Portland Harbor and the 2012 Summer Olympics

While the rest of the world is focused on Beijing, folks around here are gearing up for 2012, when the sailing and related events of the Summer Olympic Games will take place in our very own Portland Harbor, pictured here. Take a moment to watch the video and you will see why it was chosen...yes, we've got wind!

L&O's Bistro

We've been having dinner in restaurants every night for over a month now, and I have to admit that we are not tired of it! There are certain ones that have become part of our budding routine. I have written already about The Blue Fish Cafe and its Moules and Frites night. I also want to remember L&O's Bistro.

Like most of our favorite spots, this one was a Peter and Marilyn recommendation. It is located in an inconspicuous part of a residential neighborhood in Weston, here on the Isle of Portland. The "L" is Lynn and the "O" is Ozzie; he's the chef, and she oversees the dining room. There is so much to like about them and their restaurant! First of all, almost everything on the menu is locally produced. They even tell you the name of the boat that catches their fish, and Ozzie himself grows many of their vegetables. From our very first visit, they've remembered that I like beets and find a way to include some in every meal. We have never ordered anything that wasn't both delicious and beautifully presented.

But most of all, we like them! Lynn is unvariably upbeat and cheerful. Ozzie always comes out of the kitchen to greet us, and in a weak moment he even recommended a few of the restaurants where he and Lynn go on their night off. (We've since gone to all of them, all winners!)

We're a long way from home and have been gone for over a month already. We miss home, of course, but these experiences and new friendships are what make such a long absence doable.

Blackberries

[Once again, our Internet connection at the hotel has been unavailable for a few days, which explains the long silence.]

It is impossible to state...or to overstate...the number of blackberry bushes on this island. Except for its three small villages, the upper part of Portland is open countryside, and nearly all of it is covered in brambles. They line every road, climb every stone wall, and fill nearly every field.

When we arrived four weeks ago, the petals were just starting to drop from the blossom end to reveal the tiny berries forming below. As weeks have passed, we've watched the tiny fruits grow larger, and now their color is starting to turn from green to pink. A few, the ones growing on warm stone walls especially, have even started to turn black. We've picked a few of these, and they are deliciously sweet and good.

We leave for home on August 23 and expect to return to England by September 20. My dread fear is that blackberry season will come and go during our absence. What a cruel twist of fate that would be! I've already bonded with the image of me standing in one spot and filling a whole bucket full of these fat and juicy beauties. I know how good they're going to taste on our cereal in the morning and on our ice cream at night. I've saved room for them in a freezer that's not even ours yet! You can bet that our first walk once we've returned will be a blackberry check. Like sailors returning from the sea, we'll be hoping that our loved ones have waited for us.

Twisted Thread

Just now spotted an envelope that had been slipped under our door: my entrance tickets to the Festival of Quilts in Birmingham, England next week! Before leaving the US, I had been in touch with Bernina's UK representative, and she mentioned the show. A bit of online sleuthing led to the organizers' website (http://www.twistedthread.com/), where I happily discovered that the show is taking place while we're here. Over a thousand quilts will be on display plus vendors, classes, demos, and did I mention vendors?! That very day I made a hotel reservation and have been looking forward to it ever since. Got my train tickets last week (with my Senior Rail Card discount) and am ready to go!

If you remember my trip to visit Bev in King's Sutton last month, you saw the photo of the ladies who came to lunch that day. In talking with Rona (far right) I discovered that she is fascinated by the idea of quilting, so I mentioned that she might enjoy seeing the show as well. I knew I had a live one when she followed up immediately with an email; we are now set to meet at the entrance on opening day. I am so pleased to have Rona coming, as she is delightful company, and a show like this is too wonderful not to share. I just cannot imagine keeping all that excitement to myself!

There's one other person I will meet at the show. Last fall I was in touch via email with Liz Dieppe, an English lady whom I met in cyberspace while we were both tracking down information about a quilting technique called Boutis Provencale. When this trip to England came up, I got back in touch with Liz and learned that she will be helping a friend who will be one of the vendors at the show. I have their booth number and will go by to say hello while I'm there.

I'm reminded of something my mother used to say, "Keep having ideas; sooner or later you'll have a good one." I think my expression is going to be, "Keep sowing seeds; sooner or later something will come up."

Moules and Frites

Well, there's a tradition in the making! Last night was our second "Moules and Frites" night, and we decided that as long as the mussels last we'll be there, too! The Blue Fish Bistro in Chiswell introduced this Wednesday night special a while back, and it has proved to be wildly popular. A great bowl of steamed mussels arrives for each person along with a huge bowl of hot French fries to share. Included is a glass of good house wine all for ten pounds (twenty dollars) which is an excellent price for restaurants here. Two young men provide entertainment on their twelve string guitars, making a really nice evening even better! Tables book early, so we just make ours each week for the following one. I had my camera with me last night and had intended to take a picture of that gorgeous bowl of moules, but I was so excited when they finally arrived that I forgot all about the picture! I'll add it later.

Mussels are seasonal, so we asked what would take their place once the season is over. We found out that after the crush of summer tourists leave, the restaurants in the area pretty well shut down except for the weekends. Dinner on Thursday until the Sunday noon meal seems to be pretty standard. Luckily, we will be in our townhouse by then and able to eat at home once again. But I think the Blue Fish will remain a part of our week. The people are friendly, the location is cozy, and the food is delicious! And I haven't even told you yet about the summer pudding!

A Trip to Bath

The City of Bath, a World Heritage Site, is among the "must see" destinations in England. It is famous for its ancient Roman baths (1C-5C AD), its abbey, its architecture and (for its day) its innovative urban planning. We spent a beautiful sunny day there on Saturday and are happy to file the following report. Quite by accident, we found the very best parking lot for our visit...within walking distance of all the action. Our first stop was the Royal Crescent, thirty stone houses joined together in a giant arc that faces onto a great semicircular lawn with gardens beyond. Just down from that was The Circus, more stone houses but these joined in four curved sections that form a circle around a central lawn with massive trees. From there we passed by Queen Square on our way to the Roman baths. Our path took us through a busy shopping district where the streets were jammed with weekend shoppers. Bath Abbey dominates the square occupied by the baths, and its stained glass windows on such a sunny day called us inside. The thing that struck us about this church's interior was how light-filled it was. The stone itself was a creamy white, and only some of the glass was colored. The upper windows were translucent and cast much more light on the area below. From there we walked along the Avon River and across Pulteney Bridge, pictured here. Constructed in the fashion of Florence, Italy's Ponte Vecchio, the Pulteney, it was hoped, would revitalize urban shopping in its day. I don't know how it did in the late 1700's, but it sure was attracting a crowd in the early 2000's! After an afternoon stop for tea and a light meal, we made our way back to the car and home. Our neice Sara Varney has an English friend who, like her, works in the travel business. Chez had sent us, by way of Sara, a list of places to see while we're here. This trip, like the one last weekend to Portsmouth, checks off another entry from Chez's list. So far, she is batting a thousand...although a baseball reference is probably not the best given our location. At any rate, we are grateful to both Sara and Chez for helping to animate our weekends. This one was definitely a winner!

Quilt Status

My quilting friends know that I brought my basket quilt to England. This is a major project, one that has been on my list for at least a couple of years; I've lost count. The top is done and the three layers all basted together...ready for me to hand quilt. The truth is, however, that other projects have found their way to the head of the list, and the basket quilt has stood waiting. This trip provides the perfect opportunity to change all that. I don't have a sewing machine here, and the cooler weather in England makes sitting under a quilt much more pleasant than it would be in the Sunny South. So I have added an item to the left side of the blog and labeled it "Quilt Status". There, my sister quilters can keep track of my progress, and I (having to own up to whatever progress is or is not made) may find motivation to keep me stitching! To establish a baseline, none of the thirty-two basket blocks had been quilted when I arrived.

Blog Woes

Sorry for the extended silence. The hotel's WiFi has been on the fritz and only this noontime is back up and running. This was a mere inconvenience for me but a serious difficulty for Dwight. Owing to the difference in time zones, he needs to stay in contact with his East Coast colleagues well into the night, and e-mail service is essential. To make matters even worse, his Blackberry chose the same time to crump! Major crisis in the making! Blackberry is due to be back in service tomorrow; until then he is limping along on his laptop alone. I am finally able to update our blog, so here goes...

The Chiswell Walled Garden

I have written about Chesil Beach before...that thirty-five foot high wall of rocks that protects the causeway connecting the Isle of Portland to the mainland. That protection, however, is not infallible. When Mother Nature is having a really bad day, she is capable of sending waves over the top of that bank. Modern day engineers have constructed massive retaining walls made of wire, rock-filled cages and channels designed to divert the water away from homes and roadways. But the history of the Chiswell Walled Garden goes back to a time before the engineers showed up.

Since the 1600's, stone quarrying has supported the families of Portland. In 1804, one of those most prosperous families built a fine stone house, Jacobean in style, there in the village of Chesilton with only Chesil Beach to protect it from the Atlantic Ocean. Just twenty years later, the Great Gale of 1824 swept over the Chesil Bank, taking the lives of twenty-six residents and making 180 homes uninhabitable. Some of the homes were eventually rebuilt, but the 1804 Jacobean was not. For years it sat in ruins, right in the middle of the village that grew up around it. Part of it was demolished to widen the main road through town. In the 1940's, it was converted into a concrete air-raid shelter. In the 1960's, it became a public urinal.

Today, however, thanks to community efforts, it stands as a lovely garden. The exterior walls have been rebuilt while vestiges of the original interior walls still stand, as does a fireplace. The roof is open. Volunteers maintain the garden for the enjoyment of the public...a place of remembrance and reflection.

Moments like this make me glad to be keeping a journal. Without it, the ten minutes I spent exploring this garden would soon have slipped from memory. (Perhaps it was the possibility of a good blog post that led me in there in the first place!) But years from now when I reread these entries, I'll be grateful to revisit this garden and to remember the citizens who created it.

The Naming Ceremony

We have been in this hotel for going on three weeks now, and when you see the same people day after day, it's only natural that some kind of relationship develops. I am friends now with two Jennies; one Jenny usually does up our room, and the other works breakfast. It's breakfast Jenny that I want to write about today.

We were hoping for a lovely day on Sunday, as that was the day of her new grandson's naming ceremony. It was to be held outdoors, down on one of the terraced lawns overlooking Chesil Beach. The day turned out perfect...sunny and warm. Today Jenny brought pictures and other mementos of the event to show me, and I was delighted to see them. First of all, I had never heard of a naming ceremony. Reading the printed program, I decided that it was sort of like a christening but less formal...perhaps a bit less ecclesiastical. The chaplain who conducted the ceremony made references to God, but readings took the place of prayers. Instead of godparents, young William got mentors, a couple who committed to staying involved in his life and helping to steer him down the straight and narrow. The friends and family who gathered as witnesses were likewise charged with similar responsibility.

Following the ceremony, lunch was served. Jenny had prepared for each guest a white paper bag (the fold-up kind with a paper handle) and attached William's hand and foot prints, printed in blue ink, to the sides of the bags. Sandwiches, crisps, fruit, sweets, and a beverage were all in there...a proper Sunday picnic. Everyone sat on blankets spread out on the grass and enjoyed a lovely day together.

Some day those pictures, that white paper bag with his hand and foot prints on it, and the program that his grandmother saved for him should be very meaningful for William.

Monday Quilt Group

Today I had the pleasure of sitting and stitching with three English ladies...a group that has been meeting in each other's homes every Monday for more than twenty years! Pam, today's hostess, was hand quilting a Project Linus quilt that will be given to someone in need of such a special gift. Jenny was doing a bit of applique on a block with flowers, ribbons, and a butterfly. Pat was doing some English paper piecing, a very labor intensive method but with dazzling results. I took my basket quilt and did some hand quilting. We all brought our sandwiches, and once our lunch break was over we went for a walk in Pam's lovely garden. She has perennials mostly and quite a variety of them. She also has a greenhouse where a bumper crop of grape tomatoes is starting to produce. The fish pond was covered by a layer of lily pads and their beautiful purple blossoms. I stayed until about two-thirty and then ran to catch the #5 bus back into town. I was delighted to be invited to join them again next week at Jenny's...looking forward to that.

A Trip to Portsmouth

Portsmouth is the home of the Royal Navy and final resting place of three of England's most famous battle ships. On Sunday we drove over to have a look. Pictured here is the HMS Victory, launched in 1765, and still the flagship of the Royal Navy. Among the most notable names from her illustrious past are Admiral Lord Nelson and the Battle of Trafalgar. We also boarded the HMS Warrior, whose design and steam engine power were considered leading edge technology in 1860. The Mary Rose, who sank on her maiden voyage, lay at sea for 437 years awaiting the technology needed to raise her. Still to this day she is kept wet with a continuous spray of special preservative liquid until restoration can begin in 2009. In addition to the ships, there are several museums devoted to British naval history. It is an impressive site in a lovely city, one that merits another visit.

On the way home, we made a stop at the seaside village of Poole, where we walked along the waterfront and saw some incredible speed boats...Sunseeker Yachts...proof that naval architecture is still alive and well in this country!

Portland Walks

We continue to enjoy our daily walks around Portland. Limestone quarries are still in operation around the island, and there are several historic displays showing how quarrying was done years ago. A creature whom history has not treated too kindly in these parts is the poor rabbit, considered a symbol of bad luck. Even saying the "R" word is considered a tempt of fate. The island is blanketed in brambles and, like Br'er Rabbit of Uncle Remus fame, that species' preferred habitat. The only time rabbits are seen outside the brambles is when they sense the earth moving, usually associated with the collapse of a quarrying operation. While we often see evidence of their presence, yesterday we saw our first actual rabbits...five of them. No catastrophe to report...yet!

Our Townhouse

On Saturday we were able to have a look at the townhouse in Weymouth. It is booked by the week during the busy summer season, but starting late in September we can rent it for the rest of our stay. It's in a great location: a short drive to Dwight's office and an easy walk to everything for me. Kellaway Court is part of the restored Brewer's Quay complex, right in the middle of Weymouth's historic harbor district with its scenic walks and great restaurants. The train station and major retail areas are within a mile.

The main entrance is a few steps up from our parking space and has an outside table on a small walled terrace. The first floor has a large and well-appointed kitchen and the dining room. The second floor has the lounge (we would call it a living room) with fireplace and balcony as well as a full bath and a small bedroom. The third floor has two more bedrooms and another full bath. (Lots of steps to help cancel out those slices of French cake from right across the square!) We will be very comfortable in our English home and look forward to getting settled in when we return in September.

Fascinators

Any men readers have permission to skip this post, as it will most likely be of no interest whatsoever. I do want to document, however, a fashion item I have never seen in America, the "fascinator". A fascinator is worn in or on the hair, but it's less than a hat. The picture here just shows three of them, as I wanted a close-up, but in a store, a whole section of the accessories department would be devoted to them. There would be a variety of colors and styles to match most any ensemble. While they are all dramatic in some way, some are more "froufrou" than others, with the top of the scale being those with the longest and most plumes. When I was in Debenham's today (Weymouth's version of Dillard's) there was a pair of pre-teen girls mesmerized by them and picking out their favorites. Our friend Marilyn, whose daughter is being married next month, will wear one to the wedding. Their appeal here seems to be universal. I wonder whether they will show up on the American fashion scene.

This just in: My "fashionista" friend Connie says that the character played by Sarah Jessica Parker in "Sex and the City" wore a fascinator, a bright teal one, in the wedding scene. Be watching for them at a store near you!

More just in: Cousin Gina reports that Red Hatters are also into fascinators. She had not heard them called by that name however.

Victoria Sponge

Well, I did it: I went back to Time for Tea and had a slice of cake...the Victoria Sponge. That was the one with the double filling of both cream and raspberry. Dreamy! And I walked to Weymouth! The first twenty minutes were all downhill, of course, but the rest was a steady hike that took an hour and a half, door to door. And after my cake and tea, I walked most of the way back!! It was only at the base of Portland's three-hundred foot cliff that I looked up at our hotel, looked down at the bus stop, and caved. Best investment I ever made!

My New Favorite Place

This was today's find, a place called "Time for Tea." It sits on Hope Square, right outside the door of the malting houses where we hope to rent an apartment starting in September. There are several pubs, cafes, and tea houses in that area, but for some reason this one called my name. When I went in, the first thing I noticed was the music; it was Charles Trenet, a famous French crooner to whom my friend Ruth Kaye had introduced me years ago. Then, looking at the menu, I found that everything was written in French first, with the English translations below. It's a small place with a simple menu. They're only open from 9:30 in the morning until 5:30 in the afternoon, so the offerings are on the light side. Looking around the room, I spotted a sideboard where a half dozen cakes were on display: tall, double layer cakes sitting high on pedestals. One had two layers of filling, one creamy, one raspberry. Another was mocha with walnuts on top. Another was the deepest, darkest chocolate. I asked my server which was her favorite and without hesitation she said the Dorset apple cake. Now, I've been really trying not to go overboard on the sweets while we're here, so I chose the salmon and leek tart with a side of lightly dressed salad and a pot of Earl Gray tea. But while I sat there enjoying it, I could not help noticing that everybody else was having cake or maybe scones with clotted cream. So here's the plan: When Dwight and I move to that neighborhood, we'll go to Time for Tea every Saturday afternoon. Each of us will choose a different dessert and we'll share bites. Then we'll walk all the way around to the far end of the promenade and come home the long way. And anyone who has clotted cream has to go around twice.

Monday Quilt Group

Just got off the phone with Jenny Feltham, the lady I was referred to by the quilt shop. She belongs to a circle of quilters who meet in each other's homes every Monday to stitch, chat, and eat lunch. I belong to just such a Monday group back home and was delighted to be invited to sit with our English counterparts this coming Monday. She said I can get there on the #5 bus, so I need to study the route map and figure that out. Dwight and I will go by car and "do a visual" this weekend. I am so eager to meet these ladies and to see what they are doing! I'll take my basket quilt, which I am hand quilting, and also some redwork to stitch on. Will report back.

Beach Glass

Just three weeks ago we were in Maine, sitting on Back Beach taking in the sun and the view. I remembered the jar of beach glass that my Mom kept on the kitchen windowsill... colorful little pieces of glass that had been tumbled in the surf for so long that they were no longer shiny with sharp edges but rounded off and satiny. That jar was like a stained glass window of greens, whites, browns and blues, and most of them she had gathered on Back Beach. The stones on Chesil Beach are likewise rounded and smooth from a lifetime of rolling against each other, so it occurred to me that there might be beach glass down there as well. Today I went looking.

As I wrote earlier, Chesil Beach is a thirty-five foot high wedge of smooth rocks that form a barrier along the shore between here and Abbotsbury. The slope of that wedge is not consistent but rather a series of slope and shelf combinations. It is on the lowest of these shelves that the tide drops its daily cargo, so that is where I started my search.

Lots had been deposited there: sea weed, lengths of rope, fragments of netting, plastic bottles, chunks of wood, empty lobster claws. There was glass, but it was a newcomer to this surf riding business; it was still transparent, its edges still jagged. In an hour's time, I didn't see even a sliver of beach glass. I would have settled for a nicely polished chip from a tea cup, but it was not to be had.

As I made my way back, two fisherman crossed my path, and I stopped them to ask if they fish that beach often. When they allowed that they do, I asked them if they ever see any beach glass. They didn't even know what I was talking about. They told me that the locals call it "Dead Man's Beach" because the conflicting currents just off shore make for hazardous sailing. They listed all kinds of grizzly things that get washed ashore down there, none of which would be pretty sitting in a jar on a kitchen windowsill.

So I headed back up the hill empty handed...if not for that seaside kiosk where I stopped for a double dip cone of toffee fudge ice cream. Maybe I'll resume my search tomorrow.

Weekend in London

We were up and out early on Friday morning to catch a train to London. Dwight had business meetings there, and I was along for the ride! We got there at about the time of the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, and the cab taking us to our hotel was about the last vehicle allowed to pass before the road was closed off. What a sensation it was to have all those hundreds (maybe thousands?) of people roped off and filling every sidewalk while we drove through. It was as if they had all come to see our taxi pass by!

The Royal Air Force Club was perfect: great location, great room, great price! Dwight's contact was there to meet him, so they got right down to work while I hopped on the Victoria Line and made my way to the William Morris Gallery. William Morris was a nineteenth century English artist, poet, and publisher but is perhaps best known for his fabric designs. While his patterns have never gone out of style, he seems to be getting more attention lately, at least among quilters who are drawn to his classic floral motifs and pleasing color palette. The gallery is located in the building that was his boyhood home, and it provides a well documented, chronological account of his life and his development as an artist. The docent on duty was kind enough to allow me to take pictures. I think some day I will do a program at my quilt guild about his work. After leaving the museum I made my way back to the hotel, stopping en route at Liberty House, Fortnum & Mason, and some of the other Oxford, Regent, and Bond Street shopping Meccas.

After breakfast on Saturday, Dwight and I hit Harrod's, which was having one of its biggest sales of the year. The place was absolutely mobbed, but we stayed for a look around. It is impossible to resist some of the temptations to be found in their food halls, and I made a few small purchases. From there we did a bit of museum, church, and park hopping until time to pick up our tickets for the afternoon performance of Mamma Mia!. What a show! What a SHOW!! For years I have heard people rave about Mamma Mia!, so I knew we would enjoy it. I wasn't prepared, however, to be so totally overwhelmed by it. All I can say is that you should never, ever pass up the opportunity to see it if you haven't already. It's out as a movie now, and I suppose we will go see it, too, but I don't see how it can even approach the impact of seeing it on stage.

After the theater, we went for a pizza at Spacca Napoli on nearby Dean Street. Earlier in the day, we had stopped at an Italian gelateria for an ice cream cone to tide us over until dinner. The young man working there was Italian, so I asked him about an Italian restaurant I had seen not far from there. He said that if we wanted to eat good Italian food, the place to go was Spacca Napoli, and how right he was!! Best pizza we ever had outside of Italy, and even better than some we'd had in Italy! They even had my favorite Italian wine, prosecco, produced in my favorite prosecco town, Valdobbiadene. That plus a pizza, hot from a wood-burning oven, made the perfect end to our day on the town.

Back at the hotel, we checked email and found one from our neighbors alerting us that our irrigation system had stopped working. Luckily, our lawn man had been there and sized up the situation in time to override the power problem and save our dying grass. A couple of calls back to Florida and our minds were at ease once again. Where would we be without good neighbors?!

We continue to enjoy lovely July weather here on the Dorset Coast. The sun is out, the sky is blue, but the temperatures are in the sixties...delightfully cool. Dwight came home at lunchtime to go for a run and came back with this report: A woman walking her dog along the same path he was running had said to him, "I don't see how you can run in this heat!"

Trip to King's Sutton

The train ride up to Banbury went perfectly: a smooth ride over rolling countryside with pretty views all the way. Bev was there to meet my train and drive me to King's Sutton, the village she had moved from two years ago when her husband's work brought their family to our neighborhood. King's Sutton would not be an easy village to leave. Its stately manor houses and tidy cottages (some half timbered, some thatched roofed) had beautiful gardens -- billowing banks of hydrangeas, roses, and lots of begonias...big, lush ones. It's a complete village with every shop and service you could ever need, but its narrow and curvy streets made everything feel cozy. And then there were the girlfriends! Bev had invited four of them to come for lunch, and what a good time we had! Pictured above, from left to right, are: me, Vickie, Sarah, Bev, Barbara, and Rona. Lunch was delicious and the conversation was lively...punctuated by gales of laughter. These were women whom Bev had known for twenty years, and their fondness for one another was evident. What a joy to be in their midst! Way too early it was time to return to the station and catch my train back to Weymouth, but I came away feeling I knew Bev better, knew more of what she had left behind and better understood the longing she sometimes feels for a place called home.

Reality Sets In...It's Laundry Day!

After nearly two weeks in a hotel, Dwight finally ran out of underwear, so today was the day I went to an English launderette. I sorted our stuff into three loads, packed them into our largest suitcase, and stopped by reception to stock up on coins. (It took 3.5 pounds sterling per wash, or about $7...a bit less to dry.) Getting down to Fortune's Well, the village at the base of our cliff, was easy as I was pulled along by the rolling suitcase. Afterwards, I could have caught a bus back up the hill, but I decided on walking to atone for last night's clotted cream with raspberries dessert. It's a steep climb anyway, but hauling a suitcase behind made for quite a workout! The clothes that I took out of the dryer early are strewn on towels over every available surface here in the room, and the windows and door are open for circulation. While I am thus confined to quarters, I'll update our blog.

Brewers' Quay

This is the entrance to Brewers' Quay (say: "kee"), an area of Weymouth that was once home to a brewery. The tall, red brick buildings are still there, but they have been transformed into tea rooms, shops, pubs, and condos. It is here that we hope to reserve a furnished apartment as soon as the busy summer season is over. It will be just steps from this very pretty harbor and an easy walk to almost everything else in the city. While in town today, I picked up a bus schedule that covers all of Weymouth and also got a Senior Rail Pass, so I am ready to roll! My first excursion will be tomorrow when I travel to Banbury to spend the day with Bev. Then, on Friday, Dwight and I take the train to London, where he has a business meeting scheduled. His contact there was able to book us into the Royal Air Force's Officers' Club for two nights. It's located in the heart of the city, so we'll have a couple of days to poke around London before heading back to Portland on Sunday afternoon. Not a bad way to spend our first full weekend in England!

Victory!

Well, that was slick! The bus into Weymouth stops right outside our hotel, across the street. The driver sold me a ticket, and twenty-five minutes later I was within a five minute walk of the train station. I hit the info window at a quiet time and was able to get my ticket and all the transfer instructions I need for a smooth trip to Banbury on Thursday. Have already talked with Bev, who will meet my train at 10:52. I have needlework with me to help pass the three and a half hours spent in transit. I have a feeling, however, that most of the time will be spent looking out the window at the passing countryside.

Once finished at the train station, I continued yesterday's exploration of Weymouth. I was very surprised to discover that there is a small quilt shop in a shopping arcade that has taken up residence in a former brewery. Fabric is all from the U.S. and very expensive, but at least I know there are quilters in these parts. Will hunt them down later.

Tonight we ate "pub grub" at a place right on Chesil Beach that Peter had recommended. I had sea scallops and Dwight chose curry. We shared a slice of Dorset apple cake (with ice cream) for dessert. All yummy.

On that sweet note, I bid you a fond good night.

PG Tips

It's Monday morning, and Dwight has left for work. My first solo day. Every English hotel or B&B we have ever stayed in has had tea-making facilities in the room, including this one. I've brewed myself a lovely cup of PG Tips tea (with milk...the English way) and have settled in to update this blog.

Yesterday was another blue-sky day with temps probably in the high 60's. Fortified by our full English breakfast (eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, toast and a grilled tomato) we headed down the hill for a look at nearby Weymouth. We were amazed by how many people were out so early on a Sunday morning. ASDA ("A Member of the Wal-Mart Family"), where we had gone to find an adapter for my laptop, was jammed with shoppers at ten AM. Leaving our car in ASDA's parking lot, we struck out on foot.

Our first objective was to find the train station, which turned out to be central and very convenient. From there we made our way a couple of blocks to the seashore and found that it, too, was already quite animated. It was Seafood Festival weekend which may have accounted for the crowds, and all the ice cream kiosks, carousel rides, chair and umbrella rentals and even an outdoor Punch and Judy puppet theater were all doing a lively business. From there we wandered back to the car by way of the pedestrian shopping streets and the Sunday farmers' market, and were back at the hotel by early afternoon.

We changed into our hiking shoes and followed the Dorset Coast Path down to Chesil Beach (pictured above). From our hotel, which sits at over three hundred feet elevation, Chesil Beach looks like...a beach! I had heard it refered to as a "pebble beach," but once we got down there we found that the "pebbles" are smooth, round rocks as big as a fist, and they are piled thirty-five feet deep! Walking was sporty, a sort of step and slide combination that was fun as we headed toward the water but much less so as we struggled to regain elevation. The sound of the beach was interesting: the familiar sound of waves lapping against the shore was followed by a new sound...the wet rumble of rocks playing leap-frog back into the ocean. I want to remember that.

The highlight of our Sunday was afternoon tea at the home of Marilyn and Peter Gleave, colleagues of Dwight's. We sat in their lovely garden amidst an amazing collection of fuchsia plants (who ever knew they came in so many colors?) and enjoyed our tea with scones slathered in clotted English cream and fresh rasperries. Heavenly! Peter and Marilyn are a delightful couple who have already been so helpful at getting us settled in and making us feel welcome. I look forward to getting to know them better.

Now it is Monday, my first solo day. I think I will try to learn the local bus route and see how long it takes me to get to Weymouth's train station. My English friend Beverly from back home is here this month for her annual visit with family and friends up in the Cotswolds. We plan to get together one day, possibly this Thursday, so getting to Banbury is what I need to figure out. It would be a hoot to have a cup of tea with Bev in England! Will let you know how it goes.