The Brilliant Bits

January 23, 2008

I'm not a religious person. I choose very deliberately to avoid worshipping any person or place or thing to the point of blinding myself to its faults. But… I can't declare myself completely devoid of such adoration. London certainly feeds my soul in a way nothing else quite can. I suppose there is the good fortune that my dalliance there is always too brief to ever grow disharmonious – even with the little annoyances that might color it were it my day to day. But so much of it makes me want to remember every precious moment in the soot ridden, damp air. It releases from me spontaneous smiles, when so often in my life those are hidden away.

I do regret that I didn't get to visit and see all the places I had hoped to revisit – or see for the first time. BBC kind of lost its opportunity right away, as did Kew and the glorious Hampstead Heath. I also somewhat begrudge the tourist-like quality of rushing about from place to place, snapping photographs playing the cliché American visitor. But all in all, it was a week to be treasured.

Some highlights:

Walking. We had lots to see. The tube is an experience in and of itself, with its history and the creepy ominous air of the subway. Not to mention a day pass (no weekly passes) was ten bucks. And to get one's money's worth, making use of that pass would have been cost effective. But to spend the time underground is just… ridiculous. All the architecture, hearing the accents as you pass by the sidewalk – and the chance to stumble upon something random or forgotten along the journey. I thank Gabbie for her patience with me trying to remember my familiar paths through the West End and along the Thames. Most of the time I got it right – but there were some times (with luggage in hand) that I got it not so right. Although… I was able to give someone directions which made me oh so happy. The walks were hurried to get to a destination before closing – or in time for curtain. Feet and backs ached to prove their idleness in recent months… but it did provide a guilt free consumption of pints and banoffie pie. Yes indeed!

The Imperial War Museum. That was a revisit. I love it. I made it a determined location after Atonement. The exhibits make my soul ache. It doesn't celebrate war, but makes a point to celebrate those who fought and survived. The Blitz Experience wasn't what I remembered – a nearly terrifying comprehension of being bombed in the dark. Now it's a little more like Henri II crying out about his eye slot. But the trench was nauseating and haunting. The 1940's house took up memory on my camera to steal ideas for sets. And, of course, the gift shop was a glorious chance to get some booty for my Dad. It was also something to hear the skies open up and pelt down the rain on the high glass ceiling of the former Bethlehem Mental Hospital. Oh – and I found a new play for future possibilities, My Boy Jack.

The National Theater. The only theater we actually went to. We went twice though and saw two excellent plays, Happy Now with Olivia Williams and Much Ado About Nothing with Simon Russell Beale and a whole army of brilliant actors. Phenomenal. Can recite that play but it made me cry with the love confession scene and striking up of pipers. Oh – and we saw Voldemort himself in the bookshop. Shorter than I thought – but his eyes are… dreamy.

Tesco. Our last stop before returning to Heathrow. I actually wanted to cry when I went there – and then again today when I went to an American grocery. It wasn't until then that I regretted not living there, that I missed the little day to day things – the ability to buy scones for 59p. Or the weird sandwiches. The produce. Wheatabix and Mueslix. Marzipan in the baking section. Cheese… which brings me to…

Dairy. I don't drink as much any more. It has soured my stomach for it. But this whole week was full of mochas and lattes (yes, mostly at Starbucks, bad girl - but they are pretty hard to avoid!). The cream on the banoffie pie. The cheese. The milk in my tea. So much better. I don't know exactly what the hell we do to our dairy over here – but I was very sad that bringing any of that back was completely forbidden. Reason 1456 to go back.

And finally… perspective. I hated the fact I was being a cheesy American tourist. Mostly because it made the pictures look so dorky. But I really noticed it when this guy from Amnesty International stopped us in Covent Garden and immediately changed his manner when he heard the accents and our confession we were from Boston. It's been six years since I was there, six years during which we started a big mess in Iraq and helped Tony Blair sell his soul. It really is an interesting thing to see outside of the US – outside of New England – and get a grasp of the fact that we aren't really that… special. We have money… but… they think we're a bunch of Bible thumping idiots. A general stereotype… but it's not entirely without merit or truth.

There are lots more. Lots more. The Odeon in Leicester Square. Soho. The lights in Piccadilly. The fountain in Trafalgar. Jury's in Nottingham. British men. The clothes worn by British men. The parks we never got to see, really. Tea. Scones. Robin Hood action figures… British men.

So, yeah, it was a great trip. So great I've already begun plotting the return next January. Hampstead Heath, here I come!

lights will guide you home and ignite your bones

January 15, 2008

Christmas was a little more stress than joy this year… and so I missed it. Forgot it, even. That sense of spontaneous joy that ekes through one's being in spite of, well, stress and the logic that requires keeping one's feet on the ground.

Well, today is Christmas morning for me. Kind of apropos with the landscape outside my window. A brilliant winter wonderland that has whitewashed the world for a few brief hours. So breathtaking in its serene, pure beauty. I relished it when I stopped for an allowance of 'crack' a few hours ago. I felt that surge of bliss when I breathed in the clean, quiet cold air in Newton's Picadilly Square. It was so beautiful, with the pinkish, purple of the sunrise coloring the sky. Even more beautiful, of course, because I will be in the REAL Picadilly Square so soon.

No need to overstate the obvious. Anyone who knows me understands my Christmas morning mood today. But, like my favorite Byron says, all who win joy must share it. So, friends, have a little. Cheers.

The Year for God, for Harry, for England...

January 2, 2008

Resolutions oft seem like a good idea. A good idea without the practicality of the means to achieve them. And while I heaved a huge sigh of relief at the close 0f 2007 last night … lamenting the things that did not occur… or did occur to my chagrin… I have to say I enter this new year with lots of hope.

I resolved at the turn of last year to get myself back to London. The plan was to forsake my crack addiction (that would be Starbucks to the unknowing of my affectionate terminology) and pile away my pennies to hop the pond. I started off the year with good determination. Then I let my frantic planning of Mardi Gras and my first Banned in Boston excuse the lapse in attention to fiscal responsibility and soy latte restraint. I also, sadly, stopped running with the regularity I carved into habit in 2006. Then the whole frustrating end at my beloved home, the stress of a wedding, and other minor angst continued to tempt me away from that determined path. But sometime after my birthday I found the devotion yet again. I have regulated the crack habit, as well as the wraps from Purple Cactus.

Two weeks from now I will be over the Atlantic, hopefully snoozing to abate the jet lag.

I can't wait to revisit some of my old haunts, to rediscover them or find how six years has altered them. I look forward to sharing my appreciation of Golden Square and Cornish pasties with Mahthah. I'm excited to visit new places, like the BBC tour and Nottingham to salivate over cheesy black leather. It will be a grand time, a really wonderful way to begin 2008.

The best part though, is that it is indeed the pudding in which the proof lies. That if one actually directs a deliberate thought or two towards change, one can actually find those ominous means to complete a resolution. Maybe not as originally envisioned (though it would have been great to see Toby act in Pinter), there is oft a beauty in the unanticipated alteration to determination.

So…here's hoping the intention for the new year finds its reward in some manner, shape, or form. I'm optimistic.

Maybe I'll finally meet William - and of course his brother, Alistair.

Bonfire Night Excerpt

November 4, 2007

Nostalgia has often hit me on this weekend over the past six years. It is a favorite weekend, etched into my memory. So many things I remember vividly… although a reread of this writing prompted more memories. It is why I remember, remember the fifth of November in the most ridiculous way every year.

4 November, 2001

In my typical fashion, I got off and blindly headed down the road. My walk wasn't as brisk. I brought myself to a sports ground, which after consulting A to Z turned out to be on the opposite side of Richmond as the park. In fact, I was rather close to the Kew Gardens. I walked to the end of the field, which turned out to be the Thames River. There was a shady walkway, bustling with families and cyclists. The sun was bright - almost too bright to allow for good photos. It was a great walk, with the river on one side and estate like homes on the other. Some people were kayacking on the river, reminding me of Hans B. There was also a place where one could rent boats to … can't remember what it's called - the typical Edwardian British bit with the long poles. The walkway went through a park and down to a farm. At that point I went along with no entrance but more trees, until it was all woods. I was delighted with the clean, crisp air. I could see traces of my breath and felt a surge of joy in the realization of the perfect fall weather.

I found a leafy path in the woods and followed it in the hopes of being in the park. It turned out that it wasn't. It was a gorgeous abandoned piece of nature, with ivy winding round the trees. It was mystical and historic and a thrill for me. L… came into my head as I followed the path, which ended too soon at another road. I walked down the road, feeling a bit light-headed for want of food. The road led to a military home/hospital… and a gate to Richmond Park. But I needed food. So I went down another road in search of a store or bakery. I walked and walked, retracing my steps at one point. I finally came upon a shopping complex with a Home Depot type store and a massive Sainsbury's. I decided I would get some food and bring it back to the park. I was so impressed by the size I spent more time than necessary in the store. After changing my mind about a sandwich, I decided on hummus, a package of garlic pita, a Diet Coke, and crisps flavoured with Worcestershire sauce. I took my spoils back up the road and decided to cut through a back road that had a sign for Richmond Cemetery and Sheen Common, which was connected to the park - or so I told myself. The Sheen Common had more leaf covered paths with patches of squishy mud. There were bushes of holly from which I took a branch. It was cold under the trees, but I really enjoyed the setting. It ended up in a neighbourhood. I looked at A to Z and guessed my way until I found another gate, Sheen Gate. I followed a foot path along the edge of the park and settled on a fallen log where I had my feast. It was a good, calm meal ~ thoughts & inspirations running through my brain. As I walked, I worked out details for both L… and my WWII story - depending where I was. The wooded areas were more conducive to L…

When I stood up after my lunch, I realized my feet were already starting to ache. I was also running short on daylight & time. I pressed on, wanting to at least see some deer. Lots of people were about. I found some amazing, gnarly, old hollow trees. There were patches of dying ferns and open spaces of grass. The park was worth the effort of getting there. Just the same, I had to head back. I wanted to get a train and be home by six. I had plans to meet Rachel & Ali & Jessie at seven. I took a path parallel to a road, knowing it would lead me back to the gate. Then I came upon a field of deer. One stag was separated, grazing. I wanted to get close and take a photo. I heard a father cautioning his child and held myself back. I started walking again but decided to cut through the field when I saw others do it. I needed to go, but I paused to watch their movements. Some watched me. It was a sight. I even saw some stags butting heads. I realized another group (herd) was in the field on the other side of the road. Every once and a while one would cross. Some cars slowed down prepared. Other cars slammed on their brakes. One deer approached the side of the road, stopped traffic, then bowed its head to graze a few seconds before crossing.

But I had to leave them and headed to the gate. I walked through neighborhoods - lovely pieces of property that I admired. Haphazardly I made my way to a main strip with many shops. I was in search of the tube and an ATM. I finally came to the tube and got on the train, glad to be off my feet. I shamefully didn't offer up that seat to an older woman. My feet really hurt when I got off. I went to the ATM and came back here for a quick meal of spaghetti and tomato sauce. At seven I went up to meet Rachel. It was cold! We waited for Ali & Jessie to get home and then another ten minutes for them to grab a sandwich.

We walked straight down to the Thames and over to The Albert Bridge. I've never seen it at night. It was all lit up, like a giant Christmas tree. As we walked, we heard the booms and saw the glows of fireworks in various parts of the city. We followed the massive crowd over the Albert Bridge, closed to traffic. We paid the entrance fee to the park - after Rachel & Jessie got glow in the dark bands. The bonfire surged bright. We pushed our way to the front, feeling its heat. Not much later, the fireworks began against perfectly timed music. It was quite a show, against a clear sky and nearly full moon. Then it was over. The bonfire was a pile of embers. The crowd slowly moved out and back across the bridge. Ali & Jessie headed home. Rachel & I went in search of a pub, settling on the Anglesea Arms, which we had noticed on our way to the park. I had two pints of Grolsch and got quite drunk and silly. Rachel and I sat outside in the cold, kept warm by the alcohol in our blood. My exhaustion and small meals put me in quite a state so that I came home, drank a bottle of water, and went to bed - for nearly twelve hours...

Mahtha, I can't wait for January!!!!

Remember, remember the fifth of November

November 6, 2006

Sometimes my Anglophilia is obnoxious… or at least a little contrived. It's been five years since I lived there, riding the tube to work, taking weekend hikes through Hampstead Heath, or finding new pubs from which I could acquire a souvenir. It remains one of my fondest memories – every day lived to its utmost and participating in every moment with relish.

This particular week brings it all into vivid recollection. I remember remember the fifth of November and the bonfires, fireworks, and beer. I remember walking back across the Albert Bridge after the best fireworks display I've ever seen, and then sitting in the cold outside the Anglesea Arms in Chelsea with one of my most treasured Stella glasses.

I also remember the days after, walking through London as the country remembered something other than a botched plan to blow up Parliament. Wreaths of blood red flowers were laid in front of monuments by which I previously passed in oblivion. I saw single flowers on lapels and jackets of individuals throughout the city, eventually realizing they were poppies worn for Remembrance Day.

I have since discovered that was once a custom in the US, wearing a poppy to remember lives lost in the World Wars. It lost its appeal after Vietnam… and disappeared into bygone traditions. And while there is definitely a lot of 'support our troops' yellow ribbons out there these days, there is something different about the allegiance of those red poppies.

There are so many differences that I adore… the sharp melody of the accent, the extra 'u' in several words, the door handles, windows that open vertically and horizontally, the fact that a pint does constitute lunch… but this difference is one that I respect. The poppies did not strike me as pretentious, or some theatrical demonstration of jingoism. It wasn't used as a political maneuver to propagate a belief system. It was an honest intention to not forget the lives of men who fought and died in wars too horrible to allow to slip to the distance of the past.

I have a poppy. I will wear it because I choose to remember.