Work and Leisure

I tucked my new brown robe and sandals under my arm and went to find the showers, Oreo trotting along at my side as if he were a dog. It was a good thing the Abbess had given me the map, I'd never seen so many doors in my life and none of them marked.

When I returned to my cell, I read her note again. It was obvious I should get straight to work, equally as obvious she didn't want me to get distracted, but those doors were driving me crazy. "Most of the doors you pass will be locked." Did that mean don't bother, keep out, or have a look? The map showed the small portion of the monastery open to me. So, if some of the doors were unlocked, was that part unrestricted? I had thought the Abbey would offer clear cut insight, rules, and specifics, and yet it was giving me exactly what ordinary life offered, choices, contradictory advice, and confusing signals.

"So, I guess we're back to the "free will" thing again, huh, Lord?" I resolved to work diligently until I thought I deserved a break and then investigate. I left my own door open, hoping to, at least, get a nod from whomever delivered the meals.

There was no point trying to write, my mind was bubbling like an alchemist's cauldron. I emptied my tote bag on the bed and spread out the various papers I'd brought, made piles of pencils, markers and other drawing supplies.

Since I had nothing but a few pictures on the Internet to go by, I was at a loss as to how to begin. I had brought some lovely neutral colors, egg shell, cream, cocoa, and a brown. The idea was to enclose several of the pages of an unwanted book, covering them completely, and turn the new pages into a modern day illuminated manuscript.

I decided to make some templates before I started cutting anything. I'd packed in a hurry and forgotten to bring scrap paper, but the manila envelope that had held the paper would do.

"I have everything I need to begin," I murmured, recalling the Abbess's words.

I soon ran into a glitch, my paper wasn't long enough to fit, but as often happens with art, what doesn't follow the plan leads to something even better. I extended a cream colored sheet with chocolate brown ( vanilla and chocolate--of course! Why hadn't I thought of that?) which gave me a two-inch strip of rich brown near the binding. This would make my initial letter really pop!

"Lord make me an instrument of thy peace," the opening line of the St. Francis prayer was to go on my first page. I worked for hours, it seemed, on the "L" trying different sizes, shapes, drawing tools, until I finally decided to cut two elongated "S" shapes out of shiny gold paper, fit them together, then added a similar shape at the back of the letter to give it more character. I thought it might be a simple enough alphabet for me to use throughout the project, since lettering wasn't exactly my strong suit in art.

Satisfied that I was off to a good start, I looked around my little cell and took in the fact that I'd just arrived the day before and already I'd begun a project I'd been longing to tackle for months. The room's gray stone walls and minimal furnishings were not particularly inviting, but the bed, little more than a cot, had been blissfully comfortable and the light from that strange window had been perfect for my project so far. My curiosity got the better of me; there was nothing visible but blue sky, but I pulled the chair closer to the wall and climbed on it. Even standing on my toes the window was still way above my head.

The exercise felt good. I had no idea how long I'd worked, but my shoulders and legs needed stretching. I walked into the hall and tested the first door I came to; it was locked up tight. And the next and the next. For some reason I thought it might work better if I started from the far end and worked my way back. I was right, the second door opened with a creak and looked down on a dark and dusty stairwell. The sides of the walls were moist to the touch and I watched as Oreo stretched forward to sniff the damp, musty air.

"Smells like rotting piers and sea water to me. What do you think?"
I asked.

He appeared to give it some thought, then sauntered back into the hall.

"Well, that's good enough for me, some other time, perhaps. I'm not supposed to go off adventuring yet, but maybe next week we'll check it out. It doesn't smell sinister, just stinky. I didn't know we were near the ocean, but I bet you'd like it."

White-tipped tail held high, he trotted ahead a few doors and stopped.

"That one, huh?" The door opened quietly and easily as though its antique hinges had been recently oiled. I heard the sparrows first and then felt the warmth of a summer breeze. Oreo was already padding silently over the slate floors and heading into the garden before I even crossed the threshold. I'd seen pictures of cloisters with herb gardens in books but this was the first time I'd ever seen one in person and its beauty took my breath away.

The garden was enclosed on all four sides by a series of gracefully columned archways that connected to each other at a height perfectly designed for sitting. In Mediaeval times, this was where the monks or nuns would meet each other, work, read, and meditate.

Herbs needed for healing, and seasoning food were grown here. I wondered what else they might be used for and suddenly longed for a laptop. The Abbey must have a library where I could learn about them, I thought, and perhaps someone who could explain their uses and tell me the legends associated with them. I walked the pathways slowly, grateful that the beds were labeled. Parsley, basil and chives were the only ones I could have identified on my own. There were four distinct sections at the corners and several divisions in the center of the garden, beds were marked off with low wattle fences. Two lovely fruit trees caught my eye, about as tall as a man and with twisted branches, they turned out to be quinces.

I lingered a little longer then turned to make my way back to my unadorned cell and the work that was waiting for me. I found my meal tray had arrived and with it an exquisite leather bound volume on herbs.