The Hippies and me

Let me introduce myself...

I am Callie, short for my hippie-given name, Chamomile. Yes- as in the flower ...and Chamomile tea. I live in a commune in the middle of nowhere and discuss on a regular day how my chakras are feeling, what my tarots said this month and lately, whether or not our rescue chickens need jumpers knitting for them. Before I tell you more about the delightful life of Callie Rowlands lets get a few things straight. 

1. Communes are those things associated with flower power and recreational drugs- but ours is just full of families who are still trying to live by the hippie flow. 

2. Just because we live in a commune does not mean that there is any more weird sex stuff that there would be in the 'normal' world.

3. We do not get naked and dance in the moonlight. Well not every week anyway- joking!

4. It is definitely not as free as you think or as fun- my snooty science teacher also lives here. 

5. We all have our own rooms and 'family space' it is not some huge room where we all have to get changed in front of each other an subject ourselves to Derek's colossal snoring- but more about the families later.

Okay, now that we have cleared up some of the top questions asked when you have to admit to being one of the kids from Dalglan, I can continue with stuff about me.

 I am pretty far convinced that my parents have attempted to limit any possibility I may have of romance.  Being the loving and accepting hippies they are, they have had to be super sneaky about this and couldn't outright say 'Callie you cannot have any love life what so ever.' Instead they have ensured that I am number one weirdo in all social situations and have absolutely nothing in common with anyone who does not live in our commune. Firstly, there is the whole no TV situation. Yeah I know- see how you are already thinking WEIRDO... well now you can see why I think my parents' master plan is to completely alienate me from all of society. It isn't a complete ban on TV just on a huge percentage of the things one might enjoy watching on TV with a donut in hand (which are also banned) including, but not limited to, soaps of all varieties, reality TV, talk shows, shopping channels, music channels, basically I can watch documentaries about volcanoes or shows about canals.

 Okay, number two: no social media- yup not even a teeny tweet is allowed to emanate from my room. Not a smidging 'like' not a 'lol' comment on a photo not a silly photo that I have drawn on to make it look like I have elephant scale boobs, no filter adorned selfies. Not a single profile or bio. Social Media is totally off the cards for me. Are you starting to build up a picture of why I may be struggling ever so slightly with attracting a SINGLE  member of the opposite sex? In case you are still thinking 'hey Callie you sound super date-able and every guy's dream' I will continue with some of the other ways I am sure my tie-dye loving parents are out to ruin my chances of romance.

I have never tried an energy drink, a pot noodle, microwave meal, cheese string, lunch-able or corner yogurt. I am not allowed to wear spray deodorant being given a 'crystal' version instead, which has literally no effect. Now are you ready for the big one, this is the one that really gets people waving the 'help there is a weirdo talking to me' flag. I have never seen a single Disney film. Nope. Not a one. I do not know what happens at the end of Cinderella, I have not seen Pocahontas, I do not know who Simba is and cannot understand half of costumes that appear at fancy dress parties.  So in short an im a smelly, sheltered, freak.

You may say 'hey these things aren't important in finding a boyfriend' but let me explain why you would be utterly wrong. When you make eye contact with the hot new boy in school , lets for example call him Max- Max from America (swoon). And say you and Max get paired together in music and manage to bond over the DJ setting on the keyboards which is 'totally rad' in his eyes, he will probably say (or most definitely in my case) 'I'll add you' if things go well. You would probably skip home and wait for this huge monument in the start of your life-long love affair with hunky Max. I however, just had to start rambling about how my parents aren't cool with Facebook or online social media at all what with their belief that the government use it as a tool for espionage. Then I had to deal with Max's FREAK ALERT face, an awkward silence for ten minutes and no life-long love affair with hunky Max. 

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Untwisting my headphones from each other I whistle and smack my thigh to move the dogs on into the woods. I have the best job of the commune this week. It is really just dreaming about Max, about situations where I could look really cool in front of Max, or planning our future together once we have cleared up the whole no-tv thing really.  My current favorite features me as a pro-skateboarder slaying the ramps (or whatever they are called) as Max just happens to be walking past with his friends. Who will all be like 'Oh My God that Callie is so awesome/ dateable /epic' and Max will see just how amazing I could be as his girlfriend/lover/wife. Granted I can't skateboard beyond sitting on it and scooting abound with my feet (less that flattering- I checked in the mirror) but I can dream!

Panting breaths from Kev, Bob, Lloyd and Serenity seem to make the woods further dense and warm. Three of the dogs belong to Derek, and Serenity belongs to Jules. Jules thought it would be a great idea for us all to share dog walking duty each week. But Derek said her refused to  call out 'Serenity' through the woods. As a  65 year old gay man who has recently learnt to knit and wears a lot of tie dye, he just thought that shouting 'Serenity' through the woods was too much. Eventually we agreed through one of our weekly meetings that we would add dog walking to the weekly rota again as long as Jules agreed that we could call her dog 'Seren' when we walked her. I usually end up with a dull weekly chore but I love the dogs. I run along side them once I secure my headphones in my ears. Charging through the woods with three waist high dogs is like therapy. 

I whistle to the dogs and pull them in by the stream, my toes feel the coldness through my wellies as I wade through it to the island. From it I can look back over Dalglan and the 17 acres around it that make up our commune. I plonk down on the Island, that is barely big enough for me and the dogs, but that seemed vast in the Summers when I first arrived here at seven years old. We all catch our breath and Kev drinks from the lake. In April it isn't much of a lake especially when it hasn't rained all week. But when a storm comes in the lake can get to be as high as my navel. 

I can just spot the round loaf shape of Sita's dreadlocks wound around her temple and she shifts her position. Sita is one of Evan's mums, he calls them both by their first names so there is no confusion on the whole Mum/ Mum thing. Sita is a very traditional hippie and my personal favourite for advice. Every Tuesday Sita tries to catch up with her self in some for of relfection or relaxation. Today is appears to be a strange form of yoga. I don't think Sita has actually ever taken a class in yoga and so frolics around on a blanket in dungarees instead. She swears by it so it seems to be working for her. Anyway, if you catch her on a Tuesday afternoon after her reflection she is beyond queenly in her advice. Fran on the other hand, Evan's other Mum is completely different to Sita, he is unbelieveble highly strung. She works as an assistant for the Lord Major in a near by town and is addicted to her phone.