Steps, a 60-foot window and sleeping in sheets

Building our Killington Dream Lodge, part 22

Vermont was the best healing balm for Dad’s cancer and my Argentine trauma. Our spirits were truly at home in our Dream Lodge where my parents had just moved upstairs!

I ran up the real steps (the slanted ladder was long gone) and let out a cheer when I arrived in the great room. Although not quite finished, and still sparsely furnished, I was in awe of its magnificence. A 60-foot expanse of glass framed by wood revealed enchanting mountain views of Pico Peak straight ahead and Killington to the left through the treetops. We were inside our Killington Dream lodge but it felt as if we were outdoors.

Mom was reupholstering a bulky sofa-day bed with fabric we’d bought at a New Jersey outlet. An over-stuffed burgundy antique chair and Italian side table completed Mom’s vignette. A game table topped with a Venetian jigsaw puzzle waited for us to put it together. (Our puzzle table was on our wishlist for decades). A dining set was near the kitchen and more furniture would be hauled north. To sleep upstairs in sheets (not my sleeping bag) was an extreme luxury. We had running water, even hot and cold, in the kitchen and nearly-done bathrooms where repurposed sinks and vanities had been hooked up.

My brother Billie helped Dad from afar, sending shipments of 2-4-1 tongue and groove plywood for the roof decking all the way from Oregon. He supplied WoodCraft for the ceiling from his own company, K-D Wood Products. Billie helped source the beams from a demolition in New York City. Dad adorned the ceiling by placing them in an attractive contiguous pattern between the 15 beams. The wall in the middle divided front and back where two small halls, four bedrooms, and two baths were. Most every wall was clad in lovely lumber. It was thrilling to admire Dad’s handiwork and the heavenly views out vast picture windows and even the bedrooms in the back.

I left Vermont once again, most reluctantly, to continue my work at Pace Memorial United Methodist Church for our Mission Intern Program, Phase 2. All of us had served in human rights hot spots (where governments didn’t want us to be, documenting their abuses). Speaking engagements throughout the state about what I’d learned living under Argentina’s military dictatorship was an important message to convey, especially with the role the U.S. was playing. But I relived my terror and sadness whenever I related my experiences. I cried easily and often. I was broken and wondered if I’d ever be me again.

I began counseling to overcome shock and depression from two years in an unbearable situation. I was suffering from cognitive dissonance and felt responsible, as an American, for the people’s suffering and oppression.

My counselor advised I do something I love, so I painted to lift my spirits. I took my first plein air landscape class at the Virginia Museum. Nature became my nurturer and muse. Inspiration surrounded me everywhere. Plein air painting was my healing art and a Divine form of creative mediation and prayer.

My minister introduced me to a man named Chad at a Virginians Against the Death Penalty rally. I assumed we had similar world outlooks, but when he shared his thoughts, I couldn’t believe my ears. “I must be misunderstanding your English since I’ve been speaking Spanish a lot,” I muttered.

Soon, I realized Chad was a one-issue liberal and a serious Libertarian. I wasn’t certain what that meant but our values and perspectives were diametrically opposed.

He invited me to attend the first Chinese Embassy reception in Washington, D.C. to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China on Oct. 1, 1949. Kissinger, Bush Sr., dignitaries, and other diplomats attended the momentous event that signaled the opening of China to the world. I met several fascinating people from China and the U.S. Our conversations were dynamic about changes in China, our U.S. policy, and how vital friendship and understanding are for world peace. I felt encouraged about China’s future. The Cultural Revolution was in the past.

Back in Richmond, it was time for a break up. When I broached the subject, Chad threatened to kill himself. I raced to his apartment, fearing what he might do. He wasn’t there. His rifle was missing. I was in a panic. After hours of distress, it turned out he was safe. Chad wanted to scare me to change my mind. He definitely did. I most certainly didn’t.

“No,” I told myself, “Enough of this craziness and instability. Most of my boyfriends have been unsuitable. I am ready for a serious relationship with an honest, caring, ethical, intelligent man I’ll admire and be inspired by his commitment to humanity.”

I didn’t realize my plea had been heard. The Universe had introduced me to my life’s one true love at the Chinese Embassy reception that night. I didn’t recognize him when we met, but it was our fate. What a magical Cosmic plot!

Marguerite Jill Dye is an artist and writer who divides her time between Killington and Bradenton, Florida. She loves to hear from her readers at jilldyestudio@aol.com.