Village Life

House bound once again. Six inches of snow on Monday, (Feb. 3) followed by more snow Tuesday night and sleet on Wednesday. Life outside of these four walls is cancelled. Tonight the temperatures will drop; the slush will freeze, making roads and sidewalks truly dangerous.

I am yearning for chocolate!

Meanwhile, in another country, in a small village on the southern coast of Cornwall, England, a wild storm of hurricane force winds and unusually high tides has been raging. The streets are running rivers of water carrying floating debris. The village looks like “a war zone,” I’m told.

The Idle Rocks Hotel, located along the front, has water rushing through the bar, floating tall bar stools and cushioned chairs. Windows are broken and the boiler room is flooded. They have cancelled their guests for the next two months.

Up Church Hill, above the harbor, there is a small, white, attached cottage with shutters, which is mine. By 6:00 this morning I had phone calls and emails from friends to tell me that a large piece—“the size of a fridge door”---of the flashing of my roof had been torn off by the gales and was hanging perilously from the roof edge. One couple had already called my house minder for me. Others were emailing and calling here to make sure I knew what had happened. Still another email came from the son of a neighbor who had managed to set the ripped-off flashing safely on the ground.

I have spent twenty-four summers in this Cornish village by the sea and over and over again I am deeply moved by how friends there reach out to me when something is up: someone is ill, or died, or a piece of my roof is dangling. Reaching swiftly across “The Pond” they volunteer information, consolation and assistance.

My house minder and contractor, both village people, will see to it, I know.

I am much blessed.