DS fanfic ch. 1 cont...8/12/67
Sep. 2nd, 2009 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
river_kateAugust 12, 1967
Last night with the help of friends, I finished boxing up my belongings to be put into storage. I’ve reserved a suite of rooms for two weeks at the Collinsport Inn and have easily found someone who’s more than happy to rent my place and take care of it here. It’s a small log cabin that sits near a creek in a Colorado mountain town. It will make a wonderful vacation retreat in years to come and a part of me will always be here. It’s easier to communicate with nature spirits in a place like this than in a city where the thoughts and emotions of people are so overbearing. Not only am I to travel a long distance in miles but also in altitude, from high on this mountain to the sea level of Collinsport.
I’d like to fly to Boston to see my parents and have my things mailed to me, but I have too many cooking utensils and then there are my herbs and potions and all the paraphernalia that goes with working with them. So I’m packing my VW bus with all that it can carry and am going to drive east. I’ll need a vehicle in Maine anyway and there are so many great memories associated with this van. Actually, I could sleep in it when I get to Collinsport; I’ve slept in it before, but I’m aware of the impression that I want to make in the community. Staying at the Inn will better serve my purposes.
My herbal recipes and knowledge came from my mother Elise, who is a descendent of gypsies. Working with potions and remedies is like any relationship, it needs to be carefully attended to and nurtured for the bond to remain strong. I am looking forward to meeting the plants, trees, birds and small creatures around Collinwood as much as I am the people.
August 13, 1967
My mother, Elise, is the descendent of a long line of Collinsport fishermen on her father’s side. Her grandmother was a half-gypsy orphan who was born in the area. As an infant, the orphan was cared for by a local woman. A gentle, elderly couple from the Bedford area adopted her when she was seven years old. She was told very little about where she came from. Her father was a local gentleman and could only offer financial support and her dead mother was a gypsy singer named Jenny. She’d always felt she had a twin brother somewhere but was told it was her imagination. She didn’t know where her mother was buried or why her adoptive parents were so secretive about her father. Perhaps they didn’t know who he was. As a happy child, she didn’t question much and so the facts have been lost to history.
My mother has few relatives. There is a rare genetic disease that affects the males in the family which results in insanity, violence and death. My mother has told me the little she knows about it and that is why I’ve chosen not to have children, which is one of several reasons my marriage to Evan didn’t last.
The inherited disease was attributed to a gypsy curse. It was tragic for the women in the family as well and as a result they tried many remedies to alleviate it. That may be why my grandmother married a banker named Trask who was from an old, established, New England family. My grandfather Trask was a handsome man but was unattractive because of his coldness and perpetual scowling.
Raph tells me that much of what is hidden in darkness cries out to be healed and that true healing cannot occur by blanketing the pain with a more socially acceptable form of darkness. I cannot judge my grandmother for her choice of a husband. Trask appeared to come from a respectable family but they had their own brand of darkness and dysfunction. It was a disaster, of course. Elise was ten when my grandmother left her husband. She took Elise to Vancouver where she opened an apothecary shop which she still runs today.
Believing that children should know their grandparents, my mother took me to see Trask a few times. The last time was when I was twelve and beginning to experiment with make-up. My grandfather kept squinting at me and finally told me that he could see the devil in me. That didn’t insult or flatter me; I merely found it interesting. Having been raised to freely speak my truth, I told him that his perceiving the devil in me must mean that it was my inheritance from him. My mother and I left shortly after the visit began to deteriorate.
He’s still in the area and there’s a chance we will meet with recognition but I don’t intend to seek him out.
August 14, 1967
I’ve been on the road for about a day now and am enjoying the trip. There’s an 8-Track player in my van and I’ve been listening to Aretha Franklin, The Doors, The Jefferson Airplane, The Supremes and The Rolling Stones. Also, I picked up a hitch-hiker who’s going to Ames, Iowa.
Just before I got on the road, I called my father from a diner’s pay phone. I learned that my mother had left Boston for a trip to Mexico to search for a special kind of clay with a particular mineral content. He said she sent her love and would visit when I got settled in Collinsport. Not everyone has a mother who would just take off to a foreign country in search of some dirt.
My great-great Aunt Magda had shared some of her gypsy wisdom with her niece, my great-grandmother. It took awhile for the adoptive parents to trust Magda. They were afraid she’d snatch the child away. They began to trust her after they saw how much the child enjoyed her company and after Magda had told their fortunes for free. The gypsy told them with heart-break in her voice and manner that she’d already ruined the child’s life enough and promised she would leave the girl in her new home. The couple had no idea what she meant by that but felt it was sincere.
Not all of Magda’s knowledge was shared, of course, just what she deemed necessary for the girl to live the best life possible. This knowledge has been passed down through the matriarchal line and I have learned much from my mother.
Last night with the help of friends, I finished boxing up my belongings to be put into storage. I’ve reserved a suite of rooms for two weeks at the Collinsport Inn and have easily found someone who’s more than happy to rent my place and take care of it here. It’s a small log cabin that sits near a creek in a Colorado mountain town. It will make a wonderful vacation retreat in years to come and a part of me will always be here. It’s easier to communicate with nature spirits in a place like this than in a city where the thoughts and emotions of people are so overbearing. Not only am I to travel a long distance in miles but also in altitude, from high on this mountain to the sea level of Collinsport.
I’d like to fly to Boston to see my parents and have my things mailed to me, but I have too many cooking utensils and then there are my herbs and potions and all the paraphernalia that goes with working with them. So I’m packing my VW bus with all that it can carry and am going to drive east. I’ll need a vehicle in Maine anyway and there are so many great memories associated with this van. Actually, I could sleep in it when I get to Collinsport; I’ve slept in it before, but I’m aware of the impression that I want to make in the community. Staying at the Inn will better serve my purposes.
My herbal recipes and knowledge came from my mother Elise, who is a descendent of gypsies. Working with potions and remedies is like any relationship, it needs to be carefully attended to and nurtured for the bond to remain strong. I am looking forward to meeting the plants, trees, birds and small creatures around Collinwood as much as I am the people.
August 13, 1967
My mother, Elise, is the descendent of a long line of Collinsport fishermen on her father’s side. Her grandmother was a half-gypsy orphan who was born in the area. As an infant, the orphan was cared for by a local woman. A gentle, elderly couple from the Bedford area adopted her when she was seven years old. She was told very little about where she came from. Her father was a local gentleman and could only offer financial support and her dead mother was a gypsy singer named Jenny. She’d always felt she had a twin brother somewhere but was told it was her imagination. She didn’t know where her mother was buried or why her adoptive parents were so secretive about her father. Perhaps they didn’t know who he was. As a happy child, she didn’t question much and so the facts have been lost to history.
My mother has few relatives. There is a rare genetic disease that affects the males in the family which results in insanity, violence and death. My mother has told me the little she knows about it and that is why I’ve chosen not to have children, which is one of several reasons my marriage to Evan didn’t last.
The inherited disease was attributed to a gypsy curse. It was tragic for the women in the family as well and as a result they tried many remedies to alleviate it. That may be why my grandmother married a banker named Trask who was from an old, established, New England family. My grandfather Trask was a handsome man but was unattractive because of his coldness and perpetual scowling.
Raph tells me that much of what is hidden in darkness cries out to be healed and that true healing cannot occur by blanketing the pain with a more socially acceptable form of darkness. I cannot judge my grandmother for her choice of a husband. Trask appeared to come from a respectable family but they had their own brand of darkness and dysfunction. It was a disaster, of course. Elise was ten when my grandmother left her husband. She took Elise to Vancouver where she opened an apothecary shop which she still runs today.
Believing that children should know their grandparents, my mother took me to see Trask a few times. The last time was when I was twelve and beginning to experiment with make-up. My grandfather kept squinting at me and finally told me that he could see the devil in me. That didn’t insult or flatter me; I merely found it interesting. Having been raised to freely speak my truth, I told him that his perceiving the devil in me must mean that it was my inheritance from him. My mother and I left shortly after the visit began to deteriorate.
He’s still in the area and there’s a chance we will meet with recognition but I don’t intend to seek him out.
August 14, 1967
I’ve been on the road for about a day now and am enjoying the trip. There’s an 8-Track player in my van and I’ve been listening to Aretha Franklin, The Doors, The Jefferson Airplane, The Supremes and The Rolling Stones. Also, I picked up a hitch-hiker who’s going to Ames, Iowa.
Just before I got on the road, I called my father from a diner’s pay phone. I learned that my mother had left Boston for a trip to Mexico to search for a special kind of clay with a particular mineral content. He said she sent her love and would visit when I got settled in Collinsport. Not everyone has a mother who would just take off to a foreign country in search of some dirt.
My great-great Aunt Magda had shared some of her gypsy wisdom with her niece, my great-grandmother. It took awhile for the adoptive parents to trust Magda. They were afraid she’d snatch the child away. They began to trust her after they saw how much the child enjoyed her company and after Magda had told their fortunes for free. The gypsy told them with heart-break in her voice and manner that she’d already ruined the child’s life enough and promised she would leave the girl in her new home. The couple had no idea what she meant by that but felt it was sincere.
Not all of Magda’s knowledge was shared, of course, just what she deemed necessary for the girl to live the best life possible. This knowledge has been passed down through the matriarchal line and I have learned much from my mother.
