New Plan: Communes. Everywhere.

Last month, I traveled

And traveled.

And traveled.

With you.

Or maybe not specifically with YOU-you.

But with humans who are fun, and funny, and fully unapologetically themselves, and willing to be real and have vulnerable convos, and break bread and clink glasses, and make inappropriate jokes, and welcome others in.

So PRACTICALLY with you, yes? Which is probably not much consolation when others got to eat the fresh Italian pasta, but I have an idea to fix that, and it’s this:

COMMUNES.

EVERYWHERE.

Communes for the wary and weary, please.

And the quirky and queer.

Communes for the lonely.

And communes for the lost.

And communes for the humans who aren’t either — just wondering and wandering as they find their way, please.

Communes for the faithful. And for those who feel their faith was betrayed.

And communes with tables…

and tables…

and tables…

and tables…

and tables. For days.

So there’s always room for one more. And another. And one more after that.

With simple food for the belly and the soul.

And silly simple pleasures to laugh and connect.

Every retreat, I feel the same — deep gratitude that I get to share time with such stunning humans and deep sadness that it’s not with EVERYONE. All of you who, like me, wave in the dark, waiting for dawn to come.  And who need the reminder that you don’t wait alone. And who need a safe space. And maybe a nap and a glass of something bubbly. 

Communes. Everywhere.

Although I’m open to other ideas while we wait to be given the treasure trove to fund it all. Seriously. OPEN TO ALL IDEAS that facilitate human connection and full inclusion of all comers. HOW DO WE DO THIS, FRIENDS? I’m convinced it’s Step One for Healing Our World. Step One for Love Your Neighbors as Yourselves. Step One for I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke and Teach It How to Sing. 

I’m just so… tired. And tired of being tired. And ready to do the Opposite of participating in the xenophobia and exclusionary politics and religion that are gripping our country and our globe.

Communes. Everywhere. Or at least bus stops where we can go to hug strangers in need. Or an event tent that hands out DingDongs? Or an Enormous Arena full of cots for naps, stocked with squishy pillows and fuzzy blankets and fluffy reading material and someone kind to tuck you in and pat your head and say, “There, there, Sweet Bunny; it’s all going to be OK.” How about one of those? Pretty please? I’m free on Tuesday to help set up the event tent. DingDongs are one sale, BOGO, at my local supermarket. 

Communes. Everywhere. 

Yeah, I know it’s unrealistic. But shouldn’t we at least TRY? I mean, come on.

Waving in the dark, and waving, and waving some more,

 

 

 

P.S. I could’ve written a blog post about Italy. It was rad. Even when I had to drive our Humongous Van up the Narrowest Ancient Road with an inch to spare on each side — a LITERAL INCH, bless Siri’s darling, darling heart. And, really, it would’ve been better to time an Italy Blog Post around whenever we announce our International Retreat for 2020, but I’m bad at marketing, and I wanted to talk about communes, instead. Sorry. I’ll market better later. 

P.P.S. About Italy, tho.

This is Brent.

And this is Greg. 

And this is Greg fixing a flat tire with Brent’s blood all over the ground. 

Because sometimes sacrifices must be made, and Brent’s blood was the sacrifice to the Tire Gods this time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Wasn’t that a fun Italy story?

IKR?

I give and I give. 

P.P.P.S. I meant to write to you sooner, but I was distracted this week because the doe we got from a goat breeding farm due to her sterility GAVE BIRTH TO A BABY GOAT…

and so, instead of writing, I’ve been running iodine for umbilical cord soaking to our farm and alternately oohing and aahing over Baby Goat and giving Mama Goat high fives for THAT bad ass surprise. You can read more at Cairns Farm, including baby’s new name. Here’s a hint, though…

BEST. NAME. EVER.

P.P.P.P.S. In the vein of Communes Everywhere, we ARE hoping to do some day retreats and additional outdoor adventures … eventually … via Cairns Farm. I’d love to hear what else you’d hope to see happening at our farm. (IDEAS, please!) But for now, I only have two things officially on my schedule —  1. a Parent/Youth trip to London in the Fall. End of October, specifically, via Cairns Farm, and 2. an Oregon Coast retreat in November which is filling rapidly. If you want in on either, I’d adore having you attend. And I hope this final P.S. proves, once and for all, I can, TOO, market. In a P.P.P.P.S. At the end of a blog post. Where no one’s still reading. #BlessMyHeart #ItStillCountsRight??

 

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ABOUT BETH WOOLSEY I'm a writer. And a mess. And mouthy, brave, and strong. I believe we all belong to each other. I believe in the long way 'round. And I believe, always, in grace in the grime and wonder in the wild of a life lived off course from what was, once, a perfectly good plan.
5 comments
  1. Love the familiar faces in the Italy pictures (and, yes, the food and wine and tables in those pictures too). And way to go, Penny The Goat!

    I hope the communes have lots of nooks and crannies for quiet reading, and that you can wander into the kitchens and make everyone cookies whenever the mood strikes.

  2. Of course it still counts! I always hope there’ll be a P more in front of the S, because it means MORE Beth-fuel for my waving arm and thoughts and dreams.
    Hug and well-wishes

  3. With you to the bitter end, baby! #TotallyStillCounts #MarketingMastermind

  4. I always read all the way to the end. The very end. Of all the pppps’s. So good job on the marketing.

  5. Dear Beth, yes communes for us baby boomers too, yes please. (Didn’t we invent them in the misty past when everything was better?) Instead of the “Home” or the assisted living where you’re assisted by strangers who aren’t paid enough anyway. Friends living together and helping each other. Believe me, the elders are doing some of the most vigorous waving in the darkest dark.

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