NS November 17th, 2007

I was reading a post over at Yoga Gumbo about escapist fantasies when one feels like getting away from it all. I started to leave a comment about my own escapist fantasy but it quickly turned into a novella and I realised that it needed a blog post of its own.

My escapist dream is to go to a log cabin in the woods, high in the mountains, by myself in autumn or early winter. This cabin would contain a few modern amenities and be warm and inviting, but fairly simple. The dark wooden floorboards groaning with age would feel safe and secure yet fragile beneath my bare feet. Handmade quilts and crocheted blankets would drape every soft furnishing and the living areas contain the most comfortable sofas and chairs in the world. Lamps and oil-lit lanterns would be the main sources of light, no overhead flourescent bulbs in sight.

I would walk a mile or so into the nearby village to get fruit, veg, bread, cheese and milk every few days and chat to the local shopkeepers. In between these visits, a venture into the woods to chop firewood for my wood-burning stove and pick berries would keep me fit and limber. Every day I would sit in a window seat within the cabin, overlooking the tree tops, a dense fog clinging to their tips. Wrapped in a luxurious cashmere blanket and with a glass of red wine or mug of strong coffee in my hand, I would get down to the meat of my fantasy.

All around me would be books. Biographies, novels, non-fiction of all sorts…books would cover three of the four walls and I would need one of those sliding ladders to reach the upper shelves. Books with yellowing pages in spines separating from the binding and brand new editions of recent years’ bestsellers…every book I’ve ever wanted to read would appear like a welcome old friend, as if by magic. As soon as a book entered my head, its appearance in the library was immediate. As my appetite for books grew, the shelves and ladder would reach higher and higher until the uppermost stack equaled the mist covered boughs of the mountaintop pines.

In between long bouts of reading I would listen to music, write (hey, NaBloPoMo doesn’t stop for fantasies) and enjoy a daily visit from my husband and daughter. Various other family and friends would come for brief visits as well and to replenish my wine supply. Once a week a masseuse would come to pamper me with 90 minute rubdowns and facial treatments. A kindly old woman would bring me fruit pies straight out of the oven and covered with linen cloths in wicker baskets.

And now I have to stop before I either cry, become delusional or buy a plane ticket to somewhere far, far away.

• Home and Hearth , Miscellaneous Missives
• Comments(6)