In the morning, Pamela was surprised by our lentil soup breakfast. I guess that it might have been uncommon, but it seemed normal enough to me. I should clarify however, that these were not left-overs, but especially prepared as breakfast. That was actually the second surprise which Pamela had; the first was when she went to the bathroom in the morning. The lock was something neither of us has ever seen anywhere else. It was clear though, to lock it, one only had to slide the bolt into the wall. The problem for Pamela came after that: How does one get the bolt out? My lovely, darling, dear and wonderful Pamela spent over fifteen minutes, trying this way and that. Pulling it? Twisting it? Pushing it? Nothing worked. After five minutes, she lost her calm, and really began a struggle with it. After another five, she started looking around for something to take the lock, (or the whole door,) apart with. -by this time convinced that the lock was broken, and could not open normally. Pamela is clever though, and took the big clip from her hair, which she dismantled, hoping to get a piece from it which she could use to force, pry, unscrew, or in any other way, get the lock open.

It was about then, that I walked by in the hall, and asked if she was OK. She said that the lock would not open. -So I told her to push the knob in, (a knob, that Pamela Insists looks like it's meant to be slid to one side.)

So, the lock sprung open.

And Pamela, my dear, poor Pamela felt rather silly. And embarrassed, and she had a giant blister on her thumb, from trying with all her might, to open the "stuck" lock. Oh dear, my sweet little dear.

Surprise number three came about an hour after breakfast. Ruta really wanted to go to a place nearby in the country, to see a friend, as they hadn't met for years. Ruta assured both of us that it was just lovely there, and we could enjoy it too. So, Pamela, I, Ruta and Uku, (Silver had some things to do in town,) took the car, and off we went into the countryside. As Pamela was driving, she started to feel a bit silly, having washed the car just the night before, and the first place it was going after that, was on this dusty, dirty gravel road. I felt that the car stayed comparatively clean though.

And there we were. And what was it like? That... is so, SO, hard for me to describe. I guess that part of my problem is that I don't understand many... things... of that place. The best way I could describe it, is to go through the whole place, just as I saw it.

First thing I noticed? A couple of children, in bare feet. Then some adults in bare feet, some of them sitting on the wooden terrace, and some drinking tea. The way they were sitting was... liberated? I mean free. Each one looked like they were sitting in the manner and attitude which they found best suited to the comfort of their bodies.

We were then welcomed by someone with a free, open smile, who suggested a corner to leave our bags, and invited us to go inside and make ourselves tea. -After taking off our shoes. No shoes allowed in the house. Pamela didn't understand why it was so though; what's the difference of walking in shoes, and then into the house with them, as compared to walking in bare feet, and going directly into the house with them?

It was a large Communal Kitchen, with that feeling, (which I love,) that very much food can be prepared there. Sitting at the head of the table, was a man pointed out to me as the "Teacher" of this place. (I'm pretty sure the term was Teacher, but it could have been something else.) I didn't know what language he could speak, what he was a teacher of, what the concept of the whole place was, or if he was in the middle of a discussion, with the others seated at the table. So, I didn't do any more than glance at him, prepared to make a greeting if he should take note of me, (which he didn't.)

I now realise, while writing this, that I surely could have met him anyhow. If I'd just approached him at any point, with an open mind, (and perhaps a translator,) I highly doubt that he would have been anything other than kind and open. Now though, where was I? Ah yes: the Tea.

Many many kinds there. Perhaps a whole third of them from the surrounding gardens. Both Pamela and I selected ones very pleasing to our tastes. These we drank sitting on the edge of the patio, by ourselves, but not in any exclusive way. (One person came up and offered to show us around the place, once we'd finished our tea.) It was lovely weather, and peaceful nature, and although Pamela felt uncertain what the whole place was, (I had stopped thinking about it; it was simply some place reminiscent of this one element of my childhood.) We both enjoyed the tranquility of it, and the perfect atmosphere.

Ruta had all this time been walking with this best friend of hers, whom she hadn't seen for years. When she eventualy returned, she suggested that we all go together for a walk around the place. How do I tell of that? What did we see? Grass, both short and tall. Some berry bushes, and large vegetable gardens. We walked on a cold, somewhat painful (for bare feet) stone path about a minute or two into the forest, (proper forest with undergrowth and overhanging boughs,) to see the little one-room temple built there. Then back by the Gardens, where a rather large circles-within-circles garden design is under construction. I think it's being laid out in such a way as to channel engergy, harmonize with the sun, (or moon? or stars?) and other things I don't know enough to write about.

What I DO know, is that in the middle of one of the sub-circles was a big teepee, after the plains-indian style. We went in there, and sat on the wooden ring of floor inside, while Uku played in the sand which made up the rest of the floor, (and discovered he enjoyed our surprised, and extreme reactions, when he threw sand at us. Hmm... better to ignore it, because it was our reactions he seeks, or to be stern with him, so that he doesn't want these reactions? This was one of a number of parenting dilemmas I pondered durring my time with him.) We had one more look at the Vegetable garden, after that, and that, and shortly later, left.

So, what can I say about the place then? It is certainly a place of spirituality, and of meditation. I think something was said about yoga, but I'd guess it certainly goes well beyond the physical things which I know only a little about. It also had the feeling of a commune, (I mean the alternative lifestyle, north-American one; where people go to live together in a large group, work the land, and have much, much less to do with the impersonal, busy, corrupt, ect. mess that civilization has become to them.) But... I don't know how many of the people stay there all the time, or could really live off the land.

I guess the thing that impressed me the most, was the open acceptance there. Ruta was so happy to see her friend, she disappeared immediately, so we were not introduced; No one knew who we were, and it didn't seem to bother anyone. It was just "Hi. welcome. Would you like some tea?" And only two hours later was it "Oh, you're friends of Ruta? I hadn't known that." It's a... pretty good thing. Very nice.

We dropped Ruta and Uku off at their house, and then headed into town, with one person from the yoga center, who needed to go to the bus station, (which was directly on our way.) It was already after three in the afternoon, so we headed off towards the Fischer's place. The Fischers? Have I not mentioned them yet? Margarethe Fischer was my girlfriend for about four months, when I lived in Tallinn (four years ago.) I would spend at least three days each week out there at their house in the country back then, so I knew her parents very well, and enjoyed my time greatly. Things ended rather badly though, and when I went to Tartu, we didn't speak at all for two years. Since then, there have been a couple of letters, and a few e-mails as well. I was quite pleased that all was forgiven and let by in the end, and I started thinking it would be very interesting to see that family again, when I went to Estonia for the summer, (And they thought it would be nice too.) So... we had arranged weeks ago, to have a little fire and dinner on this Sunday.

Unfortunately, in our e-mails arranging this, I didn't note down what telephone numbers they could be reached at, so we decided to go there at about four or five in the evening. Also, I didn't get directions, firstly, because the roads there don't have names, their address is simply "Maple Hill farm, in such-and-such a district," and secondly, because I was sure that being there so many times myself, I would find the way.

Well... this all turned it into a bit of an adventure. I knew the town on the highway that we needed to turn off at, and when we got near that town, we stopped in Laagri, and had some borscht (soup,) as it was still a little early in the afternoon, and we hadn't had lunch yet. I even asked the waitress there if there was internet access somewhere near, or a phone book there, so I could keep trying to find directions. But no luck at all. There was a shop however, and we went and selected a wine to take as a gift to them, (I had intended to bring chocolates, but they'd all quite melted by the middle of the week, if not earlier.) And... well, we drove up and down the little country gravel roads, some points looking familiar to me, and some looking totally foreign. We tried getting there from the South, (Laagri,) as well as from the North, (the other route that we'd used to take going there,) but they both proved troublesome. Eventually, it was from the North that worked out. (I remembered turning off the main street just after an overgrown, ruined stone house. So, it was just a matter of selecting the RIGHT ruined stone house at the road-side.) I don't think we did TOO, too bad, and we got there at about six; The perfect time to arrive for an evening supper-party.

All of the grounds were nearly as I remembered them, just a little more overgrown in places, and I think a stone wall had moved. True, there were a couple more flower-beds, and a couple fruit trees were gone, but the general feeling was... the same. And Pamela liked that feeling, and found it a very beautiful spot. (I couldn't tell if it was beautiful... to me, it was still... RIGHT. That's all.) We got a little tour of it, and Pamela picked out the romantic style roses as just... so, so beautiful. I didn't have much of a clue about everything being discussed about it, but one of the breeds of roses was a very old, uncommon one from Russia. (Did I write that just to show that I was paying attention at the time? Hmmm... perhaps. But someone might find it an interesting point too. Really! These Russian Roses smelt nice. I can say that much.)

I was much sadder than I showed, when I heard that Mumu, their giant, friendly, frightening looking dog, (who'd accepted me, and was fond of me,) had died, and there were two new, younger ones now, of a smaller breed. But not too small, and very playful. Too playful, and one of their favorite games was to jump up onto people, (which often resulted in painful scratches.) I learned, by the end of that evening, that they saw an outstretched hand, palm towards them, in a classical "No. Stay!" position... to be something to jump At. It only excited them that much More. Ah dear... their hearts were in the right place.

In contrast to the dogs though, I think that there were no changes in the cats. This surprised me, as I knew that Klaftia, the old matriarch, was getting on in years. Despite this, I think she was the first one I saw, (Oh, you know me: a cat person.) She's so sweet, and good, and nice, and fluffy... etc. Ah, one other thing that didn't change there, (which the family was a little conscious about,) was the little pond. When I was there four years ago, I spend a number of days making a smallish hole in the ground into a larger fish-pond. -A fish-pond to be, because the ground was too porous, (or something,) so all the water which collected, would leak away, except in the winter, (when it would be frozen.) So, they were going to put a plastic lining of some sort into it, so that it would Stay full of water. Well... not yet. It's still just a wet hole, (although the pile of clay I'd dug out of it is gone away now, and there's grass growing in the hole.)

Does it seem odd that I've not mentioned the people yet? I'm surprised at myself for... my difficulty in just letting things be, and accepting however things are. (This is something I can accomplish to extreme degrees without even thinking about it normally. It's one of the things that comes most natural to me.) But nearly the whole time there... I hadn't a clue what to say, or think. (And then, I surely made it worse, by trying to figure out exactly what I "Should" say, or think about. What a stupid thing to try.) Thankfully though, (Ever so thankfully,) no one else seemed to feel that way, and although I felt very quiet, and uncertain that evening, everyone else seemed natural, open, and comfortable.

The fire itself was perfect, and we had some nice saplings cut down and sharpened to stick our sausages on over the fire. There were some sausages for the dogs too, of course, because the Fischer family is always fair that way. There was also "Fladenbrot", which Ina (the mother) had made that afternoon, and olives, and tomatoes, and all manner of good things. Ina has always made great meals, that have a certain feeling of Rightness to them. And while we were eating, standing at this wooden table, and being warmed by the fire, and watching the sun set, we were talking, (although, as I've said, I didn't feel like I was doing much of it. But much conversation was still going on.) We spoke of ways of living, literature, music, (hee hee hee... there's an old, Old disagreement about Orff between Ina and myself,) traveling, and so on. It was, certainly, a lovely, peaceful evening, with old friends. Yes.

Pamela was shown some other things from long ago, like the tree I climbed high into, to fasten a bird-house into it, (It still amuses me that people can be impressed by my ability to climb trees. I guess we're just a talented bunch of people, us West-coast Canadians.) And also a huge wooden trunk, which I carried up the stairs by myself, (because the stairs were too windy and narrow to make it possible with two people, so I just turned the trunk over, got inside it, and went up the stairs like a turtle. -In both senses: having a big shell on my back, And going very slowly.) After the sun set, which was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, (and my picture of it sort of turned out right,) we went inside for dessert. The Kitchen was a little changed, and quite nice. It's a kitchen that suits my tastes of Style, and practicality. Needless to say, Ina's blueberry trifle was ... perfect. And before we had to go, (as it was midnight,) we discussed Saint Petersburg.

Margarethe had studied there some time, and Joost, (the father,) went there on occasions with his work, so they both knew much about it. I'm quite glad we did talk with them, because they could give us a feel about how much would be good to see, considering that we had only three days.

It was, indeed, a nice evening, and I feel properly ridiculous now, that I wasn't relaxed enough to enjoy every moment of it fully. Pamela found it to be an extremely enjoyable evening, with a very hospitable family. (It's true you know? I knew them long enough that I didn't notice that any more, but they really are quite hospitable. I was always so welcome there, and then Pamela too.) Pamela also found Margarethe very pretty and intelligent, and the house there, in the country, was the first place in Estonia that Pamela wouldn't mind living in. I can see the truth in that. There were a pair of other places I'd been to during my years in Estonia, which had as nice a feeling as the Fischer's place, but none of them would actually be as nice to live in. (Due to having no running water, or being even further out of town.) I think... I think, that it would be nice to meet them all again, some time in the future.

Anyhow, we had an easy, direct route back, and ... once again, woke Ruta up, to let us in.