Last night I dreamed I was walking down the gum tree lane that leads to our Ming Dynasty Beach House in Flinders, Australia.
The two Chinese carved doors still stood sentinel at the entrance, and I was greeted by the sound of temple bells, and the rustling of the young bamboo trees we had just planted.
Inside the door, on an altar table, I found a small wooden shrine with a smiling Buddha, surrounded by green glazed ginger jars.
On the kitchen counter, a ferocious Chinese ceramic dragon, which once decorated a Peking roof, stood guard over our home.
"Shanghai Lil", our vintage VJ sailboat, was safe in its berth high above the lounge room.
Souvenirs of beach-combing, op-shopping and flea-market forays filled the shelves of the antique French curio cabinet.
High above the master bed, a simple bamboo screen floated Zen-like.
A bedside tableau just as I had left it, with a vintage magnolia print, and a red lacquer box.
On the wall in the guest bath, a shell-encrusted mirror by artist, William Walker.
A robe, once worn by a pilgrim in one of the far-flung reaches of China, (only to be bought by another pilgrim (me) at Beijing’s dirt market), adorned the dining room wall.
Light filtered through the shades, and it felt like walking in a bamboo forest.
There, in my office space, was my inspiration board still covered with visual reminders of my many unfinished projects and ideas.
Vintage Chinese tea tins were stacked on top of the Chinoiserie chest in my office.
I traced the names and autographs that our guests had left on the blackboard door of the secret wine cellar. Inside, I found the racks stocked with every fine wine we had ever sampled.
When I awoke, it was a year later, and a world away.
It was a "Dream House". Good fortune smiled on us everyday of the six years that we lived there.
Lucky indeed!
Marjorie
