RockWall Cottage Chronicles
A newsy, sometimes amusing, usually interesting fly-on-the-RockWall view of my life as an author with updates from my Substack adventures.
The small cottage where I live and write has been affectionally named RockWall Cottage because of the rock wall that divides our side of the property from the side of the property where our friends, the owners of the cottage, live. (Learn More)
What Has Been Happening at RockWall Cottage?
Since the rain stopped for a few days, I have been able to accomplish tasks that have been piling up for the last month. I needed to move this there, so I could move that somewhere else, and then store, organize, give away, and toss. There should really be a word that describes the feeling of accomplishment one has when things get sorted.
It was a week in which I was grateful for people who reached out and cared for us—specifically me. We are thankful to have this lovely cottage during Scott’s illness. These are the quiet slow times that he needs but a bit challenging for me!
Our son drove across Seattle to visit us!
Our neighbor helped me move storage tubs from the back porch to the shed.
There were over-the-fence conversations in the warmer weather.
My yoga instructor asked me to go for coffee and donuts after class.
Our two-doors-down neighbor arrived at the door with delicious soup!
A therapist appointment was and important part of the week.
I was able to have a long-awaited conversation with an individual who not only encouraged me but also answered some important questions.
My Scottish and Canadian friends reached out across the miles to encourage their American friend.
Other friends checked on me and gave me an outlet for my weekly allotment of excessive words that can easily overwhelm my convalescing husband!
Finally, the chicken who insists on jumping the fence into our yard now knows that when I step out the back door and yell, “You know the drill!” it is time to get back over the fence before I let Weber, the chicken-killer outside.
Speaking of Chickens, this showed up in a local Facebook group. I am not the only one with rogue chickens but AI is ready to solve the problem. (And I love that AI asks for other questions. The comments are open!)
News, Highlights from Previous Weeks, What’s Coming, and Other Stuff
I might eventually move The Green Door Antique Store: What’s That Secret You’ve Been Keeping? to its own section, but for now, the story continues. (Chapter One can be read here.)
Chapter Two: The Café
To my surprise, the first booth was completely empty. The shelves were all there, but they contained nothing. Was this a store of invisible antiques? This really made no sense. Maybe someone had just emptied their booth and it hadn’t been rented out again.
Feeling satisfied with my answer, I moved on. I could see a few other women walking ahead of me as I turned the corner to the next booth. To my surprise, this booth was also completely empty. I could now see the three booths that lined the right side of the building. All of them were empty. The only difference was that each booth was painted a different color. The first booth had been a pale yellow and now these three were muted shades of green, blue, and lavender.
I quickly walked through the three rooms and stepped into the first booth at the back of the store. By this time, I was not surprised that it was empty. It was a lovely shade of pink. I could hear voices in the next room and stepping through the door, I found myself in a cozy café. There were already several other women sitting around the tables chatting while partaking of scones and tea. I seemed to have arrived at a tea party.
The grandmotherly voice startled me once again, “Have a seat at that table and I will serve you.”
It was unnerving for this grandmotherly shopkeeper to keep appearing behind me. I managed a smile and head toward the empty seat she had indicated. She was close behind me, set a plate of scones at the table, and began pouring tea.
Smiling at the grandmotherly shopkeeper and now tea server, I said, “Since we have met twice now, let me introduce myself. My name is Agytha.”
The woman said her name and I wasn’t sure I heard correctly. “Did you say Time?”
She laughed and said, “Yes, but it is spelled Thyme—you know like the spice. Sometimes names aren’t spelled the way people expect.”
“No, they aren’t. My name sounds like Agatha but is spelled with the letter ‘y’ in the middle.”
“Names are interesting that way, aren’t they?” I had the strange sense that she already knew my name; that possibility caused me some discomfort but I dismissed the idea and picked up a scone.
The woman already seated at the table smiled and said, “My name sounds like Jane but is spelled J-a-y-n-e. That is just so strange that we all have ‘y’s in our names. Do you know why all the booths were empty?”
I shook my head ‘no’ and she continued, “I don’t know either. I also don’t know why my daughter suggested I come here.”
My surprise at this odd coincidence sent my sip of tea down my throat in the wrong direction and I dissolved into a coughing fit.
Finally, after regaining my composure, I replied, “Me too, my daughter suggested I come here also.”
Before Jayne could respond, a woman at the next table said, “Did you say your daughters told you to come here?”
It wasn’t long before every woman in the room shared a similar story. Try as they might, no one could find any other connection with anyone else in the room.
Just as the room was settling into a rather uncomfortable silence, Thyme appeared at the door. “You should all keep moving, you have just a few minutes left.”
Glancing at an entire wall of clocks perfectly set to the exact same time, I realized that quite a bit of time had been spent in the café. While I took my last sip of tea and gathered my purse, I wondered if the rest of the booths would also be empty.
To Be Continued . . .
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All these coincidences!