The Art of Maintaining Victorian Correspondence

Good morning, my darlings,

Did you make a cup of tea? I made my very first Victoria Sponge Cake. I cleaned out a pretty ol' flower tin and lined it with wax paper for the leftover bits of cake, as, according to the chef for The Queen, that is what one does with the uneaten bits.

I thoroughly love the art of letter writing. As early as I can recall, being a young girl capable of holding a writing instrument (pencil), I diligently worked to master not only my penmanship but also letter writing. The art of letter writing has kept me in good stead for life as my soul led me quite early on once captured. Once, whilst in my thirties, I made the New Year's resolution to write five letters to friends weekly for an entire year. I never missed it once. Of all five ladies, with the exclusion of one friend, correspondence was not reciprocated. To this day, I still cherish those letters from my friend Debby. I have letters and cards stored away in my father's smithy saved from childhood.
My darling, dear reader and friend, as you know, I created {Raquel's Letterbox in-the-Hedge}, which you can find here and write to me. Feel free to write whatever you'd like to your heart's content. You can ask me questions if you'd like or send me whatever you feel inspired to. I constructed this particular notion as another way to reflect on times gone by. I look upon the Victorian era as best as I can and strive to impart my thoughts and findings to you, dear heart. I believe quite strongly there are many women similar to me (perhaps not as daring and adventurous) regarding the Victorian way of life in general but with particular subjects like letter writing, most definitely. I have been fascinated with the Victorian era since childhood. I love imparting my knowledge and discoveries. My concept of hearkening baxk to the good ol' days of letter writing will attract my kind of woman, a like-minded sort. I have been working most diligently these last several years to embark on my way of life as a Victorian, through living as much as i can daily as a Victorian. Many challenges arise.

One of those things is that it is relatively rare for many to share the same obsession with Victorian living as I do. I am not upset or disillusioned by this notion; far be it, i have concluded that it sets me apart from others. Conceivably, my silver lining, darling. Do not be under the impression I am putting on airs and that I do not understand that everything is never what it seems. The dynamics of one's life are full of mystery, is it not? We are in a constant state of growth. We as women are so full of possibility and wonderment, and I immensely admire that about us; we are individually so very unique. Whereas i am making great strides to learn historically all i can and then to incorporate those bits into my real life, it is an ongoing voyage and always will be.

This concept of letter writing is in hopes that it will attract my kind of folks. Throughout these past few years, i have endeavoured to create a little Victorian society of a bygone era where women and young women alike can bond over old-fashioned notions. In 2019, when my dear boy transitioned, I decided to dive even more deeply into living as Victorian as possible. That began with my clothing and wearing a corset. Now, mind you, it was not an overnight process once I decided to embark on this ongoing venture. Even more so, my findings have been that there aren't too many other souls that I have met or learned of that are quite so smitten to the degree I am. I do understand that many folks like the idea of an old-fashioned life; however, when it truly comes to the bits and bobs of such a life (with exceptions, of course), I have found they like to decorate and, on occasion, wear some collected Victorian period clothing to a tea party for example. Other than that, they turn their nose to the notion of actually attempting to live like a Victorian.

Now, as I have shared previously, if you were to pop in to visit me at my little Scarlette Rose cottage, the illusion may break your heart. I say this because as much as i do have an old icebox and lanterns for lighting, i currently have to use a hot plate, as i haven't saved enough financially yet to afford my 19th-century wood-burning stove. The one I've been eyeing is well over 6000 dollars. Nor have I yet to save the funds for the exterior stone or thatching to envelop the cottage, and the outhouse requires a 3000-dollar commode. I have to follow a specific code for an outhouse configuration. I will get there eventually, though, don’t you worry? All is well, and when i do, i will invite you to tea. However, i do not allow any of those sorts of drawbacks to waiver me in my desires, for what would the fun of life be if we had everything at a moment's notice? In truth, we would be as bored as one could be.
Our world is based on gravitational pull. Furthermore, our dear little hearts couldn't take things in an instantaneous manner.

Inherently, our lives are achieved by softly falling into place with ease and delight. The ticket is to learn to embrace this notion, which is not as easy to acquire for most folks. I am creating a sweet bequest of a Victorian english cottage. I am an American, although I moved to Europe when I was six weeks old. My father was in the war. I always think that living in Europe at such a young age significantly impacted my psyche. Call me mad; however, my mum is right mad for English too and has always been since I can remember drawing breath.

I am currently sitting in my parlour (makeshift sewing area) with kerosene light all aglow. All the world is quiet. I have a hot cup of Fortnum and Mason tea as I write to you. I enjoy handwriting the post for the blog and then transcribing it onto the computer. It suits me well, and there's something about (and scientific proof it relates to the brain of connection) when we physically write. I think the actual writing of the hand and stringing words together sounds lovelier than merely typing onto a screen anyway.
Many hearts have stood broken upon visiting Tasha Tudor Little Corgi Cottage. I have heard many women declare they lost the fantasy of illusion upon discovering that Tasha Tudor had a little modern kitchen off the back of her home for appliances. First, one must understand that the art of becoming a Victorian woman is not instantaneous, just as in real life; there are seasons and gestational periods; nothing happens overnight. In this manner, I look very forward to daily visits to the post-awaiting keenly. I am faintly dissatisfied with the modern envelopes these days; hence, when I send you letters in return, I must ask the post to hand cancel each letter as thee' ol' wax and seal will not go through the machine. Have a lovely day, and i look forward to hearing from you.

Most affably yours til my next swim, Razz

Connecting The Dots

"One cannot connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So, you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something—your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down and has made all the difference in my life." ~Steve Jobs

I reviewed my royalty sales records at the weekend and realised I had worked as an official author and illustrator for six years.

Today, I've decided to focus on my books and my blog writing with intense clarity. I have been doing well in remaining consistent, but I realise my passion and consistency have not been up to par, and I should hone my craft more than ever. I've spent so many years wanting to have a beautiful home, my "Cottage of Belonging," to feel like I can write and do my best work, not realising I AM doing my best work now. I am very proud of myself regardless of what others would ever say. I am a New York Times best-selling author because I decided that several years ago. Let them call us delusional, for it's the delusional ones who change the world. Hell or high water, my spirit is determined. I have beat the odds; no more looking to the future of "then I'll be happy." I am resetting myself to remain firmly focused and aligned. My greatest passion and most profound love is my writing. It is how I make sense of the world. 

Most importantly, i must remain focused on my writing at all costs. Until a few days ago, the excuse was that because I am a Pisces constantly all over the place, that was acceptable, and I couldn't change it, but that is a silly ol' belief. I am changing that belief as it serves me not an ounce of value. Furthermore, many successful folks are Pisces. That's not to say it has ever been a bad thing. Still, after several days of hypnosis, I think my subconscious mind is guiding me to my most authentic self. At the heart of who I am, yes, an artist and many other things, but a writer is who I am at my core. My writing has never betrayed me. Letters and words have literally saved my life. Quite honestly, when Sawyer died, the first thing I did was write a little storybook to heal my heart. That book then took four years to release into the world because as beautiful as it was to write, I couldn't bring myself to illustrate it. To illustrate, I had to reread my manuscript, and the words hurt me deeply. The little scenarios in the book were actual events that occurred in life. I had to take a tragedy and turn it into a triumph of never-ending happiness. Therefore, the manuscript went into a cupboard for years until I could come to terms with the death. In addition, the book represented my child, so in essence, i felt as long as i held onto that book, i was keeping my boy with me, and no one could take him from me, but once I let go, I was in my heart letting him go. Dear friend, I could not do it straight away. It tore my heart out, so I sat with those feelings and allowed myself permission to feel the pain. I had to allow myself to grow, walk through all the steps, and know it was all okay.

My mum (well-intentioned and wanting to help) said to me, "You just need to understand that he's in a better place and that I needed to stop using the "F" word so much." Don't ever tell a mother that. That was the day I let Hell's fury on her because no one has the right to say to a mother how to heal the death of their child. I know my mum meant well, so mum, if you’re reading this, you know i adore you.

If I want to angrily scream at the top of my lungs or use profanities, then that is what a mother gets to do. Do not ever think one must be appropriate. If I am not hurting anyone, I can grieve how I choose, and I'll not stand for any of that nonsense on stilts from folks who haven't a clue of such pain. 

If I have to write for decades undiscovered, that is what I'll do; although, I do not believe that will happen. I have a mission and a life purpose. My work is bigger than me, and I am built for this. 

Do you know a woman said to me in an email once when I released Sawyer's book "The Tale of Sawyer Lamb" last year on his birthday, and I quote, "Who cares you wrote a stupid children's book? Anyone can write a dumb children's book? It doesn't take much to string a sentence or two together. You're not special or smart."

So when anyone wonders about the things done to me by others and Sawyer's father specifically (because he should've been a person there for me as i am the mother of his children) when my boy passed, you will understand after reading my book, "The Little Mermaid's Transformational Tale why i struggled so deeply." I have consistently beat the odds. After spending decades, my sanity tested, endeavouring to drive me to madness, I almost took my own life. No, and that wasn't even enough; I then endured heinous things behind the scenes to make me appear crazy to those who knew me. This kind of tactic from a narcissist is what I am also writing in my book. This kind of abuse must be brought to the open, because perhaps if i had known what was happening it wouldn't have taken me almost three decades to leave a marriage. The viper-tongued person never bargained for my resilience, nor that I would expose him, which is me using my voice for the many women who can't or, should I say, feel they can't. At least not right now, but i believe, given the permission, more women will come forward. 

 I love my work and myself; and im not going to feel bad in saying that. The only way to do great work is to love what I do. I will write for myself and for you. 

Have a happy day, my friends.

Most affably yours til my next swim, Razz

The Haunting (The Art of Creating a Historical English Cottage)

"Does one ever see any ghost that is not oneself?"—Marjorie Bowen

Good day, my dear mermaid hearts,

My darlings, have you ever considered that women grapple with 'letting go', which is why we adore ghost stories?

When I left my ex-mate on an adventure to find myself and live that swelled dream of being an author and artist, not one more day of being stuck would keep me. It was, of course, a difficult decision, but one I was hell or high water going to do, and no one would stop me. It was either that (because my thoughts were increasingly becoming assorted ways of how i may take a passport) or something else that would result in terrible blows. I was absolutely beyond miserable in my marriage for over two decades. I hid it well. I thought anyway.

However, it is not so tricky as now when it has come time for me to reevaluate my unconscious catch-alls. Last summer, I realised that upon moving into my folk's cottage (in 2019 when Sawyer transitioned) and then creating Scarlette Rose Cottage, I had squirrelled away from a scary space of storage an alarming amount of "stuff." I justified that the storing of items is innocuous. Yet, I do know that vibrational energy invariably surrounds and attaches itself to every object in our houses, transforming them into discernible positive and negative memories. When i have felt depressed and struggle to identify the source of my anguish, it is me looking for something I've hidden quite well. I have recognised this trait in myself, and that is when good housekeeping and decluttering occur, only to once again be back at ground zero with piles of more things I've convinced myself I 'needed' from a charity shoppe or boot sale. The ailing of my soul lies just directly beneath the water's surface of my life.

Storage equals Sorrow
Buying Equals Burying

As of late, I've realised that to create my little 'Cottage of Belonging' (regardless of where that ends up being), it is imperative that i get ahold of that harmful self-inflicted philosophy, and so I plan to organise the cottage completely. I become weary and sigh when blundering past so that i can work and be efficient. I spent ridiculous amounts of time and energy on moving this to that room and that to this room. Arrange, put up, take down, box up, then donate, buy more, justify with additional shopping excursions. Do i truly 'need' another Victorian sofa? I currently have three. What about that ninth Victorian chair for my future settee or library? Why? Because storing 'things' and feeling safe are things I had to examine. I justified an entire year (in the process, they destroyed every piece of antique furniture I had) my kitten's blatant desire to want to be outside. I refused to see my issues of abandonment. As long as I could hold onto the control of keeping my kittens inside the cottage with me, there was no abandonment occurring. My kittens represented everyone who has ever left me.

I was, likewise, forcing control. The kittens represented my children. I relegated Molly to psychologically representing Sawyer. I kept close tabs on the other three. When I divorced their father (yes, you read that correctly despite what you've heard, I divorced him), they all were out of the home except for my daughter, and she downright refused to leave Oklahoma as she stated she had spent her life moving and wanted to settle. I couldn't blame her for that either. I do blame her father for his participation in the alienation between me and my children. I am learning forgiveness, though there were times i wanted to scream. She, the Dark Goddess—She, The Destroyer of Worlds, wanted to blow fury across the angry sea and unleash absolutely everything at him, but I will never unfurl anything. Rather, I have learned to allow myself to feel the emotions and then release them into the cosmos, for that is where healing takes place: in the letting go. For that matter, I love myself more than I dislike anyone in this world. My cancer scare is probably the dissonance I once had for my ex-mate and some other folks. The cells are currently stored; however, they are unhurriedly vacating my ovaries.

"Objects have ghostly emanations, too, that attach themselves to their solidity. Things with drawers—chest, armoires, night tables, trunks—seem to be most populated pieces of furniture."—Dominque Browning

I have simplified my life, focusing my time and attention on writing, researching, painting, and living a slow portrayal of Victorian life and learning to embrace my daily musings with happiness and simplicity by following my bliss and Taking Joy. When a person is very contented, there is no need to blast the results to the world. I tend to believe one of the reasons folks share so much on social media is that there is a need to feel validated.

I have been bringing order to nearly every cottage corner in preparation for loads of creating. Again, my dear heart, if you missed my last post, I made a place where you can write to me through the post. I am inspired to keep the notion of the old-fashioned vision alive, a sort of red-letter day.
I look forward to hearing from you.
  
Raquel's Letterbox-in-the-Hedge
P.O. Box 12071
Brooksville, Florida
34603 

Raquel's Letterbox-In-The-Hedge

Hello dear friends, 

I truly believe that a blog can be a kind of post-office-in-the-hedge. Think of it such as this dear friend. There is a line in the 1993 film version of Little Women when Laurie says, 

"In token of my gratitude and as a means of promoting communication between adjoining nations, shouting from windows being forbidden, I shall provide a post office in our hedge to further encourage the baring of our souls and the telling of our most appalling secrets. I do pledge never to reveal what I receive in confidence here."

Therefore, from this day forward, besides Stillwater ~A Petticoat Society (our little club), I am creating "Raquel's Letterbox-in-the-Hedge." it sounds very English too, doesn't it? Oh, I love it so! Don't you, dear friend? An actual letterbox in the hedge where you can write to me. I wanted to create this because just as i am an introvert, there are moments I've received letters (emails) explaining that many times a comment is warranted. Still, many of my dear readers are like myself, a bit leery about displaying their feelings for the big blue marble to read. Therefore, i wanted to create a safe place for our friendship. I am the constancy of clinging to the old ways of simple and slow life, and one of those specialities is letter writing. I love this little blog, and i will always write it as long as my hands can wield a pen and ink.

However, I believe a place where you can write to me confidently is a niche that remains very much needed in our world—a return of sorts by selecting the best parts of history and reviving them. 

Raquel's Letterbox-In-The-Hedge

P.O. Box 12071

Brooksville, Florida 34603

As of late, I have been undergoing another metamorphosis in my life and feeling the gentle nudge of embodying a slower, more peaceful way of living in terms of media platforms. I have always been an introvert, and yet, the numerous times i have attempted to embrace the world, recently, I have found it more difficult with each passing month. I also have always found it such ease to 'bare my soul' on this ol' blog. I feel at home here, and dare i say out loud, quite safe. That may sound odd, but it's quite true for me. I am leaving little notions for you to find, and conversely. I am most happy you've been drawn here, and perhaps it can be as good and interesting as the description in Chapter 10 of the book Little Women. I feel as tho' i identify my blog and career to Jo gardening her bed, 'never alike for two seasons, always trying experiments.'

"The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she liked. Hannah used to say, "I'd know which each of them gardens belonged to, ef I see 'em in Chiny," and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg's had roses, heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange tree. Jo's bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying experiments. This year, it was to be a plantation of sunflowers, the seeds of which cheerful and aspiring plants were to feed Aunt Cockle-top and her family of chicks. Beth had old-fashioned fragrant flowers in her garden, sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the birds and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers, rather small and earwiggy but very pretty to look at, with honeysuckle and morning glories hanging their coloured horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it, tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blossom there."-Little Women, Chapter 10

My friend, I have grown weary and tired of trying experiments, yet here i am again, making another attempt. My hope is that 'The Great Creator' sends me the friends i so long to have. I feel tho' that coming home is necessary for me at this juncture in my life. I have always been successful in my writing and painting, and as of late, I've recalled "the Great Creator" nudging me many times with the saying," Why fix something that's not broken." We, as women, mothers, and nurturers' tend to do this. I believe it is in our nature to heal or at least conjure ways of wanting to heal. Therefore, i have also decided the next few months forthcoming to give away three of my bespoke "Little Women" paintings for free.

If you would like to follow me on Instagram, i would love to have you there. I am trying one last time to live according to my little project, thirty days of following my bliss, letting my spirit lead me and Taking Joy. I am reminiscing of the success i previously had with my "Little Women" bespoke paintings and blog writing. I am, in a sense, returning home to my Cottage of Belonging. 

Perhaps the world has displayed too much attention, and I have fallen prey to the pandering snare. The hamster wheel is quite nauseous, and I would like off the ride. Therefore, i am stepping away from so much noise and remaining still by observing and adjusting my social sails. I'm not going anywhere in regards to my blog (and i will remain active on Instagram. Actually, i plan to get back to my writing again with consistency. I must admit the lack of my ability to put together the new blog had me in sorts. It is in the background. However, i have grappled since February with it, and that to me is a sign that i am shoving a square peg into a round hole, and it is not meant to fit. Therefore, for the moment, I have surrendered.

Your kindness has given me the surety to continue speaking of

"The post office box was a capital little institution and flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, invitations, scoldings and puppies." -Louisa May Alcott

I love Louisa May Alcott; she has been my lifelong friend since the sweet age of eleven when I first read Little Women. If you've ever wondered where the naming of my little custom paintings came from, it is that of Little Women. From the time i was born, my father called me "Little Woman", and knowing that, i have felt it quite endearing and chose to believe it was in reference to such a good book. Is that not what good books do? They change our lives. Books and writing have saved my life many times over. I can be very ill and still must put pen to paper. I can't not write. I've never had a day in my life of writer's block. I will endeavour to touch upon,  chronicle, and reflect upon your comments. I so hope you will love this little mode of communication. I love our little online community. 

Outside, it is cloudy, muggy, and rainy. My common shoe of choice has been my Le Chameau wellies, and several times, i have spoken to Jeffrey Shawn, sounding off that if the weather were a bit cooler, it would be a reminder of England. It is as if I have lived there my whole life. Have you ever felt that you belong somewhere in particular and long to be there but have no solidification as to why the longing is there? I tend to believe it is in our soul. Our higher self draws us back to the place where we belong. 

My flowers are in need of constant water, and equally, tears seem to fall without my knowing why. My finding is that I am expanding, growing, and aligning even more with my inner self. The release of emotions and anger is emptying from my soul and replacing sentiments of forgiveness.

Here at the cottage, we all feel somewhat bruised as we try to get well. My beloved father had a tragic tumble and should soon be on the mend. In addition, Ive had some alarming female health issues. I hope to hear good news soon. Until then, there has been a hole in the fabric of our home life. Everything pertaining to my business and career feels a bit muddled at the moment, and the cottage still requires loads more of uncluttering, and i haven't the vitality to attend to it. The enforced slow pace of the past week has been just the right thing for my frame of mind, and i will continue onwards and upwards, seeking "Take Joy" moments and as a reminder that life is quite precious. I keep pointing in the direction of gratitude and appreciation for all that has been rewarded me.

The most beautiful and nonjudgemental of names for God are "Untangler of Threads" & "The Great Creator." Since i was a wee little lass, i prayed to find common turns of phrases and beautiful words to describe things, and I've found them. In my writing, I've not always been so gentle-natured, more of a pointed person, a porcupine of sorts. I am leaning more toward a softness about me. It feels kinder to me, and i want to be kinder to Raquel.

Most affably yours til my next swim, Razzy 

Niggles

Good day, my dear darling mermaid hearts, 

I am so happy to be back to writing to you once again. My heart feels so light and so delighted.

 

"I cannot rest; I must draw, however poor the result, and when I have a bad time come over me, it is a stronger desire than ever and settles on the queerest things." -Beatrix Potter.

Jeffrey Shawn and I have done a tiny bit of gardening. Last evening, as we were watering the corn, we noticed the beautiful golden corn shooting its magical silk, and what a wonder. It is so rewarding growing a lovely garden of flowers and food. 

I have been repainting the cottage walls a pretty green (which I call a little English sweet pea), which reminds me of England and the lovely, quaint, cosy cottages in the countryside. I have it halfway completed. It has been quite busy here, as I have also been working on completing Mum and Dad's little guest room. I built some faux beams; however, those still need to be installed. 

However, I did finish the faux wood technique on all of the trim work, baseboards and crown moulding. I found this pretty light from the Facebook marketplace for $25. It looks as if the original owners turned it into a plug light by adding a lamp kit. However, I disembowelled the entire lamp and removed the kit. It may not look like much, but it is rather stunning and Victorian in its glory. I can't wait to place her in Scarlette Rose Cottage, as it will suit very well. 

I spent last week removing several pieces of furniture from the cottage; therefore, I don't feel so squeezed tightly like Scarlette Rose in the hole of a cypress tree. It was a much-needed pursuit as there was a little bit of a niggle where I thought I needed to release negative energy. I meditated and then sat and painted more on The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies. I have focused on keeping things in my life relatively simple and calming. I am devoted to a simple old way of slow living, and I've made it a purposeful pursuit.

Have a lovely evening. I will chat with you tomorrow. Toodle-Pip!

Most affably yours til my next swim, Razz

 

A Letter Home

My dear mermaid hearts, 

I have promised you, dear hearts, a letter. And yet, at times, i feel put upon. I am forever cheered with enthusiasm to share the feelings of my heart and, in so doing, often accosted.

 
I am one to put my emotions in the storefront window. This article is publicising and brings about desperate individuals believing me to be a polemist seeking attention, which I am not; in truth, it is quite the opposite. I am learning to give myself grace, acceptance, and unconditional love. Ye olde Instagram requires rationing. Indeed, my darlings, I have turned a corner and accept full responsibility for my actions and insecurities when I struggled deeply on Instagram. That, my dear hearts, is what an expanded woman does; she learns and grows.
A woman who becomes, over time, a porcupine in nature is most certainly from overexposure to feeling unsafe. Which of the many ladies on Instagram should think that sharing makes her vulnerable or prickly? I understand the prickly women who have become bitter; it is for the knowing they relented in defeatism. My hope is for these women to usher in their strength and return with honouring their truth and set forth the warrior nature that is required to build the earth's return of Christ Consciousness. This understanding is a beautiful notion to look forward to with confidence and delight.
I desire change in our world for ladies and the juxtaposition of remaining graceful, feminine, and safe, which are the considerable dimensions of who she is. There is a delicate cord betwixt the two, and I hope to discover the duality not only for myself but also for my unwavering desire to help others.

 
We all, in a singular fashion, have missions to accomplish. May your letter be often read long after we've left this beautiful world of cornflower skies?

 
May you have a great deal of happiness today in your heart, knowing you are a most exceptional individual. 

(I remain on dear ole’ Instagram, and if you'd like daily little storytime, I share what I am up to each morning. This old blog is still ticking beautifully, and the new blog remains in the works. It's been more toiling than i anticipated.)

Most affably, yours til my next swim, Raquel