I feel grateful for the peace.
I feel grateful for the sound of the clock and the rustling of the bean bag as my feet find a cozy niche.
I feel grateful for the steam from my coffee that floats into stress-free air.
I feel terrified that Harriet will somehow find this blog before I leave at 7:40 on Wednesday morning. I've done something rather unprecedented whilst being here -- in that just as my host says exactly what she feels about me, I write exactly how she treats me. I'm tired of sugar-coating. I'm tired of feeling like I'm giving my readers an unrealistic idea of how hunky-dory the life of a nomad is.
It isn't all hunky-dory. We run into Harriets all the time, and when we do, we often feel trapped by the reference system to stay in unsavory situations. If I were to leave Aetherius House this afternoon and hitchhike to my friend in Buckinghamshire (who's already told me that I'm welcome to come early), it would probably/certainly result in a negative review on my helpx profile. I would respond in kind, but for some reason or other, Harriet's profile has ten five star reviews. My helpx profile is new, so the only reference on my page would from Aetherius House -- which would slam shut other potential helpx doors before I had the chance to explain myself.
No. Just buckle in and flow through. Only five more days. The lessons you're learning here are worth learning. Remember that.
Tess joined me in the girls' dorm room on Tuesday night. She had just escaped from an abusive Helpx host in Scotland and taken the National Express all the way to Southern England to spend her last month in the UK with Harriet.
Why? I looked at the young Australian incredulously. Why would anyone in their right mind willingly choose to come back to a place like this? What did they DO to you in Scotland to make you think that here was better?
But Tess came back, as did Amber, so we had a house meeting on Wednesday morning to discuss the vitally important new meal plan.
"We are a community here," Katherine's eyes flitted between Tess, Amber, Michael and me. "When we cook, we cook for the group -- and we need to make sure that everyone is happy. I view this as an opportunity. After everything that happened yesterday, today we have the chance to be like a phoenix rising from the ashes!" Katherine gave me a meaningful glance.
I gave her a blank one.
Then she went on to explain about rice, lentils and soup (again) and how Michael and my arrival made everything go all pear-shaped.
"I'm used to catering to vegans, vegetarians and gluten-free -- but no carbs? Can you see how this is new for me?"
"Yes," I agreed. "But it doesn't have to be hard. Just let us have cauliflower when you have rice. Sweet potatoes when you have potatoes. You don't have to worry about it. I'm used to fending for myself when it comes to food."
"But we are a community here," she repeated. "I want to make sure everyone is feeling good."
Then let me take care of myself, I thought resentfully. All I need is a damn sweet potato.
"Amber, what can you eat?"
Amber doesn't eat nightshades, dairy or anything sweeter than a grapefruit.
"Michael, what can you eat?"
Michael doesn't eat grains or legumes.
"Aimee, what can you eat?"
Aimee doesn't eat grains or legumes.
"Do you see how that's hard for us? I mean, we can do it. We want everyone to be healthy, but it's a new way of catering. Now, I don't eat cheese or milk. And I prefer not to eat eggs. And no raw onions. And I have to eat soup for dinner because anything heavier than soup makes it impossible for me to sleep. Tess, what do you eat?"
Tess doesn't eat bread. Crackers are okay, though.
"So," Harriet looked at her filled out page. "Whoever is doing the cooking has to take all of this into consideration."
No dairy. No nightshades. No meat. No eggs. No grains or legumes. No raw onions. Nothing sweeter than a grapefruit. Maybe we should all live off of cauliflower leaves. Jesus.
I'm at a place wherein I'm finished trying to find a good fit. I'll fit wherever Harriet wants me to fit until I leave on the National Express Wednesday morning at 7:40. Instead of suggesting a dish for lunch, I'll just ask,
"What exactly do you want me to make?"
I feel blessed that the surrounding countryside is so exquisite and that Michael appreciates it even more than I do. We take our time to notice every beautiful thing we pass by. We don't merely stop to smell the flowers. We pluck them and stick them into our hats. We don't merely look at trees. We throw our packs at the roots and shimmy on up into the branches (I'm a faster shimmier than Michael). We don't merely stop to look at the view. We bring a giant canteen of rooibos tea, find a fence post and allow ourselves several minutes to soak in the beauty of Devon.
Yesterday was one of our two days off. We started the morning with tea and yoga pictures on the beach.
We spent the early afternoon walking through fields, climbing trees, smelling flowers, drinking tea, painting our feet and having a picnic near a flock of very dignified ducks.
I don't want to go back, I thought as I ran my fingers through the grass. It's not that I'm lazy and don't want to scrub toilets. It's that I feel so unwanted. Burdensome. Trying. Like what I have to offer isn't good enough and she's putting up with my presence out of the goodness of her heart.
Blurgh. Only a few more days.
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