MeliGoesRogue

Author: melissamoncada

  • Return to you…Return to me

    Return to you…Return to me

    I’m not supposed to be here today. I’m meant to be somewhere else now. There is nowhere to go where you are not and yet this air and these roads make my throat swollen and unable to swallow the truth of your absence. The passing of time has made nothing easier. It has only made my silence louder than trains that should be passing me by.

    I’ve been consumed recently with the things of our youth. The moments when we are Christopher Robin playing in the hundred acre wood to us leaving it behind. Yet more times than not I find myself seeing more of Pooh reflecting back at me. How often my hand has joined another for their journey only to be left behind in the wood as they move on in the world. I think of the last time your hand was in mine.

    There was this small little island in Ireland that was filled flowers and trees from all over the world, somehow they were surviving in these environments that were not akin to those that they are meant to thrive on. Somewhere hidden in the trees was a round stone building that in times of war was used as a lookout. So much of me is that island. There are things that are living in me, some of them beautiful, some of them coarse and cold and yet they all co exist within the soil of my soul. I remember most how quiet it was, I remember the tears that it brought forth to hear nothing more than my own heartbeat and the air overflowing from the breaths pulled in so deep into my lungs. I think it was on those mountain tops and in the forest of trees that I finally forgave myself…I will return and even though I carry you with me, there is a part of you I left hidden in the hillside forcing me to return and reclaim you.

    I don’t know how to finish this. My thoughts are not coherent, I have no poetry for you. Everything in my heart must remain there and I remember why I seek solace in other lands.

    Je’taime mi vida.

  • Where grief abounds so also Joy

    I sit quietly as I hear them reminisce of days long since past. How their tones ebb and flow, accommodating the intonations provided by the other. I sit amongst these selves that are so distinct from one another and yet the cement that brings them together lies just a few feet away, your spirit filling the crevasses of this home and of their lives.  My how varied your children are. Only such a multi-faceted woman could lovingly and carefully raise up such children. They whose personalities would be strong and all hallmarked by the pillars of your spirit; wisdom, care, strength, empathy, gentleness, and modesty. Every breath you no longer take are now drawn in by each action your children take moving forward with your indelible mark left on each of their souls. The unity of who you are is evident in the tether that binds them together. Each of them carrying their memories, their quiet moments with you all in the pocket of their heart reserved only for you. 

    Your departure has left us silent and yet laughter and joy fill the air. You have brought them together once again, you have given each of them strength to carry the other.

    Tears involuntarily and quite quietly begin to stream from my eyes. I am so sorry Abuela, sorry that I allowed the locust in to eat away the years we had been given. I look to my mother and there is so much of you in there, how could I not have sought out more moments garnering wisdom at your feet.

    “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

    John 3:8

  • Journey to the Past

    Journey to the Past

    I’m taking a walk in a garden, you are here. The grass is green and wet from the mornings’ rain. I’m a little girl again, wearing a dress of faces, my hair braided and my eyes peering thru my bangs which have grown past the top of my brows, which now tend to get caught in my lashes as I blink. I’m holding your hand as I skip over rocks and dips in the mud. I can’t see where we are going and yet I feel safe and filled with purpose.

    The trees and birds play a harmony with the river that is running alongside us. I can hear you speaking and yet the words are not for me. Each step I take my vision begins to change as I grow taller and the garden around us begins to change as I ascend to a higher point of view. There have been so many times I have let go and run off to follow the butterflies, or jump into the fast running river that has called my attention so many times. Yet as many times as I have run from you, your pace has remained allowing me to return to that hand.  That hand that has stayed the same, the smell and the sound of your voice have also remained constant. Suddenly I see a bridge in sight, yet I cannot see what lies on the other side of it. As soon as it appears, I feel the hand that held me so tight begin to loosen, your pace has quickened and mine has somehow slowed. You turn to me and your hand’s cup my face and I am a little girl again and so are you. Your hands have changed and I no longer see the trail of blue and purple veins beneath your skin. Your hair is longer now and your breath is soft and easy. My mouth moves and while no sound is emitted I can see the recognition of my words in your eyes.

    Your hand releases and for the first time, I am behind you as you walk toward the bridge. I follow your footsteps until the sunlight envelopes you and all that is left is the memory of your hand in mine. I look beside myself to where you once stood and there she is…my mother. She had been on the other side of you all this time. Our eyes meet and soon so do our hands. We look up and now the bridge is no longer feet away but its miles and miles away. Only a small speck of red in the distance. The river has now turned and lies before us with some stones offering us passage over its waters. I can see the sadness in her eyes and yet her breathing is even and her grip firm and resolute. She swings my arm as we move on.

    My sweet Abuela- may you be resting peacefully in the arms of a merciful Savior. Thank you for the lessons I have learned by your side and the harder ones I have learned upon my return. I see now the years the locust ate and I stand on the promise that he will restore them. Your departure has shown me how precious love is and how much grace we have within us to give, a bountiful supply, never-ending and somehow filling me more as I pour it out on others. I thank you for the strength of your daughters that has taught me so much about the need for vulnerability and trust. I thank you for the mother you have given me. The suffering you endured to bring her forth and the faithfulness you had when once you trusted the prayers offered on your knees. There are those things that are passed on to our children not from teaching but from living. What might have been persistence in you is faithfulness in her. I can see myself in all your children and so I see myself in you.

    Forgive the failings and the unwillingness to forgive of a young girl. Take heart that you have been used by my Father to show me now my errors and help straighten my path.

     

     

  • Retorno a Cancún

    Retorno a Cancún

    I did not consider the weight of those words as I hovered over the book now button and yet the words printed on the freshly green aluminum over our heads as the car drives are stinging and causing my breathe to catch in my chest.

    The clear blue water rushes the rocks and heads for me as I sit upon it wondering what has been done and what there is left to do.

    Therapy she says, perhaps closure. Each kilometer a suture threading my skin, my face contouring with each pull on the taut skin of my very soul.

    I loved her so much. She was for such a time the sun and the moon. I was her puppy, depending on her for sustenance love and encouragement. Forgetting her wrongs as quickly as they came by simply not knowing any better.

    When we become adults we begin to assign blame for this mis steps in our lives that so often lead to terrible consequences. The only evidence we have are the memories we imprinted all that time ago. Except now the lens we use to view those memories have the rest of our experiences fogging the view. Understanding now the ramifications of what those moments were flood our conscious mind and we begin to shiver at the awakening.

    I once heard that our lives our like a recording on a cassette, we cannot simply erase, instead we must rewind and re-record. As the shuttle departed the airport that was once big and now seems a small footprint, the feelings begin to well up within me.

    I remembered this road so long ago, so much smaller was I in the front seat barely able to look over the dashboard to see the road beneath our frame.

    For so long those memories have had such a hazy film over them. Some part of me has missed them. I have held on to my anger because it was the only way I could reconcile in my heart how those moments which no longer exist would not bury me in sadness.

    Traveling has taken and given so much to me and I have realized that all the different grounds which my feet tread are memorialized in my mind with neurological pathways. It is not my sentimentality that brings tears to my eyes as we pass the Cancun sign it is my brain remembering a path it took so many times even if it was so long ago.

    I could feel the weight of his little head falling slowly on my arm as his eyes gave way to the rocking of the van and the warmth of his Madina safe at his side. The innocence and dependence in his action reminded me of my vulnerable state as a child coming to this country with my Madina. The tears bursted thru the vault I had locked them in and began to pour down my face. The noise behind me beginning to oscillate as I moved in and out of my memories. Vivid flashbacks of me in that green Volkswagen. Remembering that same trust I had laid bare in that four poster bed for my nap.

    Damn this hurts. My memories have gone into sepsis and the only way out is thru, so I wipe the tears as the driver tries to reach for my hand but pulls away before our skin touches. I’m glad he stopped. I don’t want to be touched right now.

    In the movies there is this moment where a montage of memories plays for the audience to see. I have that montage running thru my mind. Wandering the Omni hotel by myself and somehow always finding myself at the omelet station~ “Jamon y Queso” I would say in the biggest voice I could muster. Or the summer camp where I learned how good I was at swimming, and remembering how angry the boys were when I would beat them…more I remember were the names they would call me. The Chinese food in Kulkulcan or the stage I strutted down in the gallery below. Fresh squeezed orange juice and questions. All these incredible and painful memories are raveled up and super glued together.

    I hope no one is reading this anymore. I hope everyone (aka three people) stopped once they realized this wasn’t about my vacation in Mexico but rather the reprogramming of my mind with Cancun in my view.

    I thought I wanted to re-record. But I can’t. I am this woman because of those experiences. I was grown up and old. I was young and innocent.

    I am the result of love and obsession of possession and of abandonment.

    I hate her because I miss her and I miss the love that was once my sustenance. Where I could have been lost she shined the light on me. But when I grew she couldn’t grow with me and I couldn’t have stayed the 7 year old in awe of every breath she took.

    Our relationship left the road that was paved and descended down the road of rocks and sand. Curving and dipping with no warning, the sunlight blocking our view from the danger ahead.

    Nearly 15 years since the last time my feet touched that sand. Who is the girl that stood before the expanse of that ocean, what did she see in the big blue that day. I remember that day perfectly, the sound of the ocean, the smell of the sunblock she made me put on before we left the house. The warm embrace of the breeze against my skin.

    As I wrote these words my mind wandered to that spot on the very dusty bookshelf and I quickly caught the blue and green. This is what I found within its bookmarks.

    I have held Isla Dorada tight to my chest. There are still moments I wonder if that tree I planted as a tiny girl still sits near the lagoon. Does it remember my hands pressing the dirt upon it. I can’t keep going..my eyes are tired and my heart is pleading for rest. I place the album back to collect dust and I cuddle my Tricolor girl and settle for the rising and falling of her chest.

  • To She Whom ​it Concerns​

    To She Whom ​it Concerns​

    As a young girl, I lost my faith in people, but mostly women. Faith that they could love me unconditionally, that they could be trusted with my hurts and my fears. I allowed the mistakes of a few rob me of so many moments of happiness, freedom to fall and of safe places to sleep. Many years later when the roaring water boiled over and all those unsaid truths caused more harm than a thousand lies I knew I had to open the door and allow someone in. I had waited so long that all my desires and longing were now placed on this one person, inevitably they tumbled from the pedestal I had so precariously placed them upon. That boulder crushed me and yet it created a determination within for me to try again. Only now, after a few “safe” years of friendship have I come to know that there is too much of me for one woman (except my sweet mama, her shoulders are strong). I had to find different people to share different parts of me with, different paths we could take together.

    On my very first day along the west coast of a little island called Ireland, I took this photo. The red arrow marked the path of an experienced “rambler” and the other a more leisurely walk for those who just got off a 12-hour plane ride. Both paths would eventually lead us to the same lighthouse, the same cliff with only the ocean below our feet. Yet we would arrive at different times with one of us struggling more to descend into the valleys and persist to climb.

    There is a line from a movie that says ” I’d rather fight with you than make love with anyone else” In the platonic sense I feel that way with you. I want to “ramble” thru Craggs and hollows with you, pulling each other up when our boots get stuck in the mud. Pausing to revel in how far we have gone, and what we have accomplished together. Something feels safe with you, I can’t explain it, much like I could never explain the rip current that pulled me to Éire.

    This journey is beginning, and while it is full of excitement it is also filled with questions. Some that may take a lifetime or a season to answer. I’m game…are you?

     

  • Abandon

    There are those of us who know the meaning of the word lonely. It is not this superficial thing that is said to indicate sadness or a desire for company, but rather it is the howl of our soul on a moonless night. In recent times there is this sheet that has gone from hovering above me to laying gently yet securely upon me- I am the beginning and end of my own family. This is the depth of loneliness, this is the understanding that your movements, emotions and needs are out in the wilderness with no one knowing your even there. I think there is a freedom that comes with accepting this, or at least as someone in it is hoping there is. These moments of awareness of true despair are never more magnified than in a group of friends. My needs, do not bear in the minds of others, there hearts can be with me but their own needs and desires seem to always trump mine. I long to be equal, to be the one whose needs are primary. It is their mind I desire, for there lies their action while in their heart only their sympathy.

    There are those who call my heart dramatic, yet there are others who can read the words as the razor pierces their fragile skin. Needing to be marked by something even if that is pain. To understand that these emotions are not dictated by the jobs we hold or the family we do or do not have. It is marked by the absence of care, the cold side of the bed so to speak.

    There is this film I love, which plays on repeat in my head. There is this moment where one of the characters speaks on the fragility of marriage and relationship. When he recalls the woman of his youth, the girl he used to “lull” around on endless Sunday nights. The finality that these moments have. It is in these moments where the past which we have grown accustomed too collides with the unknown albeit inevitable future, that we become reckless. When we see the abandon as a curse instead of secure gift. ” Some of us try to regain our consciousness, some of us blow up our homes and some of us take up piano…I’m taking up piano”

    This is my piano- I fiddle with the keys in the hopes of regaining consciousness to this life I am leading that has no relation to who I am or what I want. I think this is why people get dogs- someone waiting for you, someone to be excited when the lock clicks and the door opens. The one who patiently waits while you take your “lesson”.

    I wish sleep was my solace and I could power off and recharge, but the night only holds sorrow and dreams of which I do not have and some I even fear. I’ve said too much, and yet to me not quite enough. But my finger tips grow cold and my back weary. I retreat once again in the hope that what lies is hope not fear.

  • Controlled Burn

    It has arrived. The water drifts down from above me, pouring over me. It is meant to cleanse and instead it beats. My capillaries burst beneath it and my eyes begin to contribute to the downpour. I have descended from the mountain tops and what lies below is the rocky valley. I do not trust the feet beneath me nor each step they take. I can see the road before me, though the curves it takes makes my stomach quiver at the thought. I cautiously move forward for fear of what standing still will cause me to miss, and yet the fear of what lies ahead or what doesn’t shakes my knees and breeds distrust within me.

    We truly are each our own worlds. No matter the parts that we share there are pieces of us that remain only ours. I fear those pieces have become too numerous for me. It is when this moon rises on this day this year that they have begun to topple me. Those things I have seen, those things I have yet to feel become a tether to the silence my soul sinks deeper into each passing year. This sadness is safety, it is the halls of a dark home I know too well. I do not lose my way but rather find the cold dark corners familiar. I ease my back against it like a castle against the loch, safe from invaders.

    Sleep has returned to me and has even brought with it pleasant dreams, dreams I could only wish for. But are they just dreams. It seems a cruel joke to offer me the sleep I have long desired and the dreams I have patiently awaited only to have the morning light steal them from my sight. Patience I have found is not something that is needed or asked for, true patience does not ask it simply waits. Each year brings more patience and unopened boxes. I do not wait because I expect, I wait because there is nothing else left to do, the choice has never been mine. Those who walk beside me do not lay beside me, do not comfort me, they do not guide me. How difficult it is to explain, this is not ingratitude, this is longing, this is emptiness that no landscape can fulfill.

    I heard a pastor talk once about Controlled Burns. In the forest with storms branches break, trees fall and debris begins to form, this debris will dry and become kindling, that which sparks an easy flame. So these firefighters set a perimeter and they light it up. It is in this controlled burn that they are able to clear this debris and avoid a dangerous flame by lighting a fire. Perhaps the timing is bad considering this is the day chosen to celebrate my life, but in many ways this is my controlled burn. I need to burn these things here, with all of you watching within the confines of this screen. This has always been the way I get things out, I simply have witnesses now. You have all in many ways become my accountability.

    I drop these tethers or communication buoys with each land I visit. I left a part of my fear in Scotland. She’s an iceberg and I was only able to leave part of what was above the water. This burn is reaching its end as the piano reaches its crescendo and finds its way down to meet the violin before quietly sending me to the land where the things I desire await me when my eyes close and my body paralyzes.

    Today is my new day but before I could see the forest for the trees I had to clear the debris that has long been blocking my view. I pray my eyes adjust to the new light this cleared path will bring. I pray that patience no longer becomes the enemy always awaiting me when I slip between the sheets, I pray she be the path to the things I dream of; the farm on the mountaintop, the smell of bread early in the morning, arms wrapped tight around my waist, the gentle kick in my belly.

    Farewell…

  • Piece of Sky

    Once again we are going off schedule for an emotional blog post. This one will most likely be two parts. The excitement of going home to my loved ones today and the sadness of the ending of a new adventure as the plane ascends to its home in the sky.

    Today was my day in London. I arrived last night but was absolutely exhausted and slightly disappointed, you’ll learn why when I get to that day (si Dios quiere). It was only upon waking in my blue Russian room that i realized how much I really missed home. Perhaps it was because the journey had already ended for me. This day was and is a kind of a layover. I laid in the bed for quite awhile, recounting the last two weeks. There was so much left to see and do. I needed days of nothing but the sun and the sky, sitting on a terrace overlooking my loch.

    Love it seems for landscape comes easily for me. There have been moments although I would never admit them to my siblings, that I wonder what life would have been like for us if we had stayed in Colombia. The pains I would have avoided but the nightmares that would always remain, but I would have been in the country among the animals and the mountains. Those moments don’t last long, the realization which I would however happily share with my siblings is, that would probably be the only corner of the world I would ever see. I would have never been able to afford the life that goes to all these incredible countries and experiences these new scents and flavors and sounds oh my god the sounds of silence, of waters streaming of lovers whispering. The moment passes over and I remain grateful for even the circumstances that brought us to this place. I have truly learned you can not regret anything, even the bad things were tools used to bring you to this moment and to make you the person you are now and the person you have yet to become. I love my mother deeply, and as I always say not because she is perfect but because she has revealed her flaws and her fallibility. She has endeared herself to my heart and her decisions however painful for her most likely (almost surely) saved me from greater pain, even if she didn’t know it. She has remained ever present on this trip with me.

    As usual the red wine is swirling in the glass beside me and as it nears its end I realize so must I, and yet there is still left to say.

    I don’t ask a lot of those of you who stop by my corner but in this case I feel its rather important. At least its important for me to ask and for you to decide to do. Would you listen to this song-
    just replace papa with mama and your get the point.

    There has been this overwhelming theme in this trip. “A Piece of Sky”.
    I think of that caged feeling and being surrounded by those who accept their little piece of sky when you’ll only settle for the whole thing. thank my lucky stars that we left so that one day as adults with means and desire we could return to the country life even if for some of us its the homeland and for others where the whisky runs and the pints await. While Yentl and I might be from different times, the truth is we are both women unsatisfied with what we have, but willing to do what is necessary to get what we do want. “Each mile I travel only means the more I have to go”. This travel is not only about pleasure although it is bound to happen, each flight and stamp in my passport is a statement of independence and perseverance. For me a woman who wants nothing more than a husband and children and a place to make a home I believe this is vital to me not becoming lost in those other things. To be able to find meaning in my own life without them will allow me to appreciate them when I have them.

    I have this strong feeling that when I do have children the lot of them will be girls. Part of it I’m sure will be so I can see what my mother had to deal with, but I hope if God so allows that my life can be a landscape to them, that they can see the mountains and the valleys, the streams of tears and the rivers of life and hopefully they themselves will get that little blue booklet and fly and soar…”with all there is, why settle for just a piece of sky. Here are the windows with the pieces of sky I found. How can the same sky be so different?

  • A new day a new mountain

    Day 4-
    I had every intention of waking this morning with the sun…it was a great intention but my sleep proved to be a worthy contender. I was leaving Stonehaven today and all that was left was Dunnottar. I finished my breakfast which Anne called pathetic, as it was missing sausage, tomatoes and a bit of black pudding. I bid my far wells and promised to return even if I didn't know when that day would be. I headed to the cliff which house my first castle and its ruins. Out of the car park I could feel the familiar mist of the ocean welcoming me here to her side. I took the scarf from my neck and wrapped it around my head. I moved down the gravel path keeping close to the sides and allowing all those families to float past me. Of course as you know I of course spotted the stream running down one of the sides. Was a side note Scotland is full of these, these incredible mountains that seem like just grass and rock have these wonderful cracks all over that allow the water to find its way down. Its one of my favorite things to seen in a landscape. I love how the earth was made to do all these things that we as men try to recreate.

    Once I lifted my eyes she revealed herself to me. The day was dark and cloudy but just like mountains open up for the water to flow the sky opened up a just a bit to allow the sun to shine over this small piece of land that I had come so far to see. The lingered there on the mainland watching over her for a little bit, the path below that led to her was steep and full of those families, besides she was best from up here…for now.

    Now of course Jamie who had followed the trail with me nestled up against the wild daisies while I stood still in the silent high above. He looked so cute resting down there and truthfully I had to send his soon to be mother photos showing he was still alive.

    Soon it was time to go, sooner than I wanted but so many other places laid on the road ahead. I returned to my car fighting all the late sleepers who were just arriving. For the most part I had planned every bit of this trip before I stepped one foot outside of my house, but I had learned in Ireland that sometimes plans change and I needed to be ok with that. This time they changed for the better, I made the right hand turn up that typical one way road towards Drum Castle. It wasn't on my original itinerary but it was a welcome addition. I went up the long winding road until just from behind the cover of the trees she appeared.
    Entryways are for me the most important part of a home or castle if your so lucky. Even thought the dark clouds had followed me she still welcomed me in.

    There was no tour of the castle so visitors were left to their own paths and assumptions. So I made my way over the side of the castle under the watchful eye of the large pine tree.I followed the path till its end and found the cows roaming quietly in the distance. Jamie insisted on a picture…this literally happened every where on this trip. I swear I should have gotten him a selfie stick. After I snapped his pic he decided to stay on the lawn while I explored.

    To the left of the castle there was a beautiful wooded area which is where I headed. As I neared it I could see the wide stone steps leading to what seemed to be a little outhouse. As I got closer I saw the cross on its roof.

    We sat on the bench in front of the church for a bit, being the contemplative nostalgic that I am known to be. The quiet that this country life afford me is a genuine luxury I take advantage of each chance I get. We moved into the woods and found a moss covered tree branch that had been weighed down and was low enough to sit upon. The darkness afforded me cover for the tears that involuntarily flowed from my eyes. Every moment that I allowed my mind to clear it was filled with the realization that I was here..leaving a dream. It was time for my fairy tale to continue, and it certainly did…

    Once upon a time there was a girl, a girl who dreamed of traveling the world and being a writer. Once upon a time this girl's dreams came true. I found myself in the middle of a country I had longed to see standing in front of the castle that inspired my favorite fairy tale. No I will say that the old adage that "Dreams come true" I feel its not entirely an accurate statement, they don't just come to be they are typically the result of labor and great sacrifice.

    In my young age I have lived quite a bit of life, I've worked in many different places, known many different people, loved and lost just more than is fair. The dream to travel sprouted in a moment of incredible darkness. Could this life really be the same every where. I had assumed that just as time can change experience surely environment would be as crucial as circumstance. But I was too young to go as far as I wanted so I settled for being a mother to someone else's children in a different state far from my own. That life experience altered so much of me in more ways than I prefer to admit. There are very few things I blame on ML, there are more things I reluctantly learned but that have helped me accepting the faults in others. Below some pics of Jamie and I with our favorite castle and yup it is pink!



    After our moment of reflection gazing out into the fields of colors- Jamie and I set sail to our new home. Finally we would lay our head in the heart of the Highlands. Perhaps we would find some stones to fall through time but even if we didn't the air would be different. The journey would prove difficult for my 4 cylinder rental as we were forced to ascend some great heights. The road had been winding on the edge of a some cliffs for some time when soon before me I could see the road I was on going vertical.

    The fear of not making it up was the price I would have to pay for a highland life and I was a willing participant. On the way up the car would go past 32mph which meant the cars behind me grew impatient. However they are for the most part patient and kind so I received no honks or impatient gestures, Perhaps they had once struggled the way I was and felt sympathy. I finally made it up the hill. I stopped at the top to marvel at the great distance and heights I had reached. Finally the quiet found me as I the wind whipped my hair against my face. There was only a moment to spare so I returned to the roads looking only for the bed that would warm me and the bath that would release me. I arrived an hour later grateful to find a fire burning and a glass of wine calling. I said farewell to Isobel and quickly drew my attention to the white tub which has been the driving force after about 14:30 that afternoon.

    Well its about that time, as you can see sitting on that wooden log is the first drink of the night which means the things left are my own. I will say this though. One of the things truly interesting that I have seen on this trip is how many people actually hitch hike. I probably could have made this trip long ago if I didn't care about where I rested my head or how I would even get anywhere, but the truth is there is no adventure in that for me. It's not that I require luxury (although I kinda do) its more that the trip is not only about the places I see but the condition of my soul when I see them. Taking a bath and processing the day, a nice fire and arm chair to cuddle in after my feet have given all they have and finally a warm bed where maybe just maybe I can actually sleep for longer than 2 hours at a time, these are all part of how much I can and will appreciate the beauty that surrounds me. Anyway, this post took so much longer than some of the others, partly because it's days later and partly because a handsome stranger on the train to London today created the place for my mind to wander. Let's just say I can write my own 50 shades of grey, but I wont…mama wont let me.

    Good Night those who are still here, I might not know where you are when you read this or if they do anything to your soul, but the truth is this is about me finally pushing out instead of down.

  • Guided tours are for suckers…

    I awoke to the symphony of sea gulls. I had expected them in the evening when the fisherman threw the fish insides over for their pleasure but what could they be howling for this morning. It seemed as soon as I lifted my heavy body from the bed they ceased.

    It was my first full day in Stonehaven and I was determined to make the most of it. I headed down the breakfast table for the much needed fuel for the long day of driving and walking I had ahead of me.

    One of my favorite things about staying at B&B's, especially as a single women, is the owner typically turns into your mom for the day or two you share. Making sure you have enough to eat, wanting to know where your going and if you'll be back before dark. As Anne lovingly fried my egg, making sure it was a bit runny in the middle the way and the bacon was extra crispy the way I like. I know I'm paying her for it but the tenderness is still appreciated. Included in the attentiveness were the recommendations for the things I had planned, whittling down my large list to the must sees and the not realistic but nice if you can make it.

    Once my belly had been stuffed till my ears I grabbed my bag and headed to the car. I had a reorganized agenda and the energy to match. headed first to Braemar- a lovely little castle high above the street sat next to a quite loud sheep farm.
    My heart was set on the Balmoral so the Braemar got very little of my attention. Touring all these castles can get expensive and they almost never allow you to take photographs inside. I had this same experience in Ross Castle in Ireland- didn't make sense then either. I know in art museums its to keep the paintings in pristine condition as the flash can actually deteriorate the paintings but the inside of a castle is normally dark and really just stone walls, there doesn't seem much possibility to damage anything and nothing in there can be deemed proprietary and possibly stolen. Anyway sorry for the rant just gets annoying when I cant sure what I have seen. Jamie and I took a couple of pics outside which garnered some glances but we had a good ole time.


    I eagerly left Braemar knowing that Balmoral lied just a few minutes on the road ahead. I arrived at the car park and situated all my needs in my bag and slung it over my head and headed for the bridge. I stopped in the middle to listen to the rushing waters below. Every time I see a stream or river with its rocks I think of one of the last truly good times I had with my brother on our way to Falling Waters in PA. On our way there just talking in the car one of us spotted the stream running beside the highway and we stopped to see its beauty and hear its song.
    I saw the stream in my mind and missed him so much in just that moment. I'm trying to learn to remember these moments and then leave them there in the past without allowing them to influence my present. So I snapped a new picture of the new river and alleviated the memory.
    I arrived at the gates of the Balmoral estate, purchased my ticket and opted to take the journey to the main house on foot instead of via the trolley. As everyone else formed a line to wait I took the opportunity to walk these woods- the trees towered above me obscuring the sky from my view. I navigated the recently rained roads, following the directions of the guide who furrowed his brow when I insisted on walking up. I took the right at the fork as instructed and landed at the stables, I collected my audio guide and began the route prepared. As is the case with almost everything I do I decided to break the rules and skip some stops and stopping in certain places before time. I spotted this lovely bench which seemed so small sitting beneath a great tree.

    The tour walked me up a gentle hill only to reveal a lovely garden and conservatory. As some of you may know I have a slight obsession with doors, as mentioned before I blame my mother for this. As I approached the garden it was the first thing I saw.


    I did as instructed and remained on my side of the gate and lovingly admired the different flowers growing wild and chaotic and yet in perfect harmony.

    One of the groundskeepers noticed me I guess lingering in places others it seems pass over and decided to come over to talk to me about what I was seeing. I learned that the different greenhouses were necessary to grow fruits in vegetables out of season in order to be ready for the queens arrival. He was kind enough to actually let me sneak into one of the houses for just a minute to see the temperature and explain the different seasons each of the houses was. I thanked him for his time and left him to his work. He stood beside me for a few minutes as I snapped some pictures of his grounds, he asked if he could see his garden thru my eyes, so I should him. They weren't anything artistic I was simply documenting for the future but he smirked and said "Lovely"
    After finishing in the gardens the Castle came into full view taking up all my breath as this behemoth stood before me.
    The remainder of the grounds now seemed pointless and I now understood why they had planned the tour as they did. Once you have seen the estate everything pales in comparison. I headed back to the stables to hand in my audio tour, soon the sprinkle which had followed me around turned into a true Scottish rain storm. I waited reluctantly underneath the clock tower for the trolley that would take me back down to the entrance. I returned to the car and changed the soundtrack to my Claire de Lune. I would remain in silence for the hour long drive to my next destination. I allowed the curves of the road to match the notes of the violin.

    I arrived at Castle Fraser, tired but excited to see the grounds and do the trails that I had found. I went towards the front of the castle to take my obligatory photographs before wandering aimlessly (kinda) my mind would be aimless while my feet would follow the path. I was only able to get one or two before the rain storm I had left behind in Balmoral had found its way here to me and had gained in strength on its journey. The rain began to come down with violent intention. I hid beneath the trees hoping that it would pass as I had seen them do before. But they only gained in strength and to be honest I didn't want to get my hair wet. Lol I opened the large wooden gate and began to make my way back to the shelter at the entrance. The rain was faster than me and the ground beneath me turned into mud, I hid my camera in my jacket and began to whisper a prayer, I feared the lack of strength in my ankle as I climbed the muddy and rocky path uphill. I finally made it to the shelter but seemingly pointless as I was soaked. I waited till the clouds eventually passed (20 minutes later) and I made it to my car where I promptly removed my soaked jacket and dried my camera and prayed it would be fine. Disappointed I turned the engine over and entered home into the GPS and set off.

    An hour later I pulled into the Seaside haven and went to seek refuge and dry clothing before dinner. What happened after dinner….come one haven't you learned anything. Here's all you'll get…
    lets just say he didn't drink alone..this post took three drinks and dinner to write. The bathtub in my current residence is calling me and I feel much obliged to answer. I shall return to this table with this view and give you another day.