To Old Homes and Buildings

The house I am staying in right now is actually an older home divided up into several. The first floor is two little shops and there are three flats upstairs. Beth and Jonathan’s looks out onto a main road in town, or around town as it were. I don’t think it’s the High Street but it’s where the buses run so I could be wrong. They have two windows in the front, one in the living room/dining room area, and the second in their bedroom. They are single paned so street noise filters in with hardly a buffer. The top middle section is stained glass. Little squares of purple and green, perfect for Beth and her love of lavender. In the center is a flower with a rather large blue center. The sunlight shines in with mottled hues. Outside, just around the corner from the main street is a sign that explains why the floors are a bit uneven and why the wardrobe door randomly squeaks open. This house was built in 1741.

I am sleeping in a house that is older than my state. John Welsey might have seen this house when he traveled through Cantebury and preached at the church where Beth now works. I could be living in a museum, except that Jonathan is testing out his new hi-def tele by watching a few scenes from Lord of the Rings. Theodin shouting a viking chant to urge the Riders of Rohan onward to a day of glorious war isn’t exactly in line with 1741 lifestyles…

Today we went to the ruins of a church by the seaside. It was quite lovely walking along the shore of the North Sea, wading in almost up to our knees and giggling as we slipped in our flip flops through salty sand. And we found our way down to Reculver which is mostly gone, but the front towers remain. They’ve been kept up as a sign to ships. Far out in the distant waves was a great wind farm. The massive white pilars with their rotating turbines are anchored by huge cement pylons. The group of about 30 windmills supplies 100,000 homes in Kent with their electrical needs. It was amazing to be on a seashore, our hair blown wildly by the stiff breeze, feeling very much like I should be in a Jane Austen novel, wearing a white dress–and yet there were windmills floating in the Northern Sea beyond the old church.

And tomorrow I come home to more wide open spaces (but lacking a seaside). Mm. Let’s hope my smuggling goes smoothly and the recylced plane air isn’t too dry.


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