Sweet Lucia

After the 13-hour, window-seat trip from Chile, it felt good to walk around the airport in Madrid, while waiting for my flight to London.  At gate R6 in Terminal 4 (or 4S) I sat in the farthest row of unoccupied seats when I spotted a mother and little girl in conversation.  Too far away to hear the conversation, I smiled anyway and was delighted when the energetic, cute little girl ran over near  where I sat.  “I can run around,” she said, and then indeed she did run around in circles several times before parking her behind in a seat near me.  It turned out her mom was from Chile and that they had come in on the same flight as I had from Santiago and were headed home to London.  Lucia, two years old, mostly spoke English, but understood her mom’s Spanish perfectly and replied in kind when her mom spoke to her in Spanish.  For several minutes, we shared some friendly small talk.  When time came to board, they went ahead, as they had priority boarding.

Upon boarding myself, the two seats beside me remained empty for the longest, but I knew it wouldn’t last, as the crew had made several announcements about its being a full flight.  I quietly hoped that someone had missed their flight and that I might have some extra room to stretch my legs.  Finally, who came to fill the two empty seats but Lucia and her mom (whose name I never learned)?  From Madrid to London, Lucia and I came to be buddies, as she sat between her mom and me.  I watched as she played with her Dora sticker book, and with her chicken/spinach flatbread sandwich.  “I can do it myself!” she told her mom who was trying to fasten Lucia’s seatbelt.  Lucia let me know that she would soon be home having a cuddle with both dad and mom.

Upon landing at Heathrow apparently the jetway stopped short of the plane and we had to wait while some fix was identified.  The fix was stairs, so I helped Lucia and mom with their luggage down the stairs and back up to the terminal.  By that time Lucia had latched on to me.  She took her mom’s hand in one of hers and offered me the other, an honor I certainly could not refuse!  As we walked down toward immigration control, her mom laughed at how Lucia had latched on to me and said that when they were boarding the plane, Lucia had said, “I want to find that woman,” meaning me.  How interesting that she did just that:  find me!  By this time they almost felt like family and I considered giving them my email address.  I didn’t, though, thinking it might be too forward or too weird.  I wonder if I’ll always be sorry I didn’t, as it seemed so much like somehow we were meant to meet?  But then, if that is really the case, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucia doesn’t somehow find me again!

Much Missed Dart

Kitten Dart,

Shying away from the crowd

Letting no one find her

Guaranteeing she stays around.

Stealthy Dart,

Hiding away unseen

Hardly warming up

To anyone but me.

Tiger Dart,

Making finger a chew toy

Wresting it away

Takes a grand ship’s ahoy!

Panther Dart,

Pouncing on plastic mouse

Sneaks it upstairs, downstairs

And all around the house.

Travelling Dart,

With mom, Katie, flies over the sea

Braving big plane belly

To make new home with me.

Beggar Dart

Putting canine friends to shame.

Whatever I’m eating

To her is fair game.

Silly Dart,

Having begged a bite off me

Turns her nose up at the morsel

Scratches to cover over the treat.

Sweet Dart,

Snuggling on my lap,

The very best way

To take a cat nap.

Loving Dart,

Finding a cozy place

To nuzzle in a curve

To snooze the night away.

Baby Dart,

Cuddling on my chest,

Takes a belly tickle

With the best of the best.

Much missed Dart – now and always.

Train to Blackpool (23Nov13)

Holed up on a train
Amongst wood-fire
wool clothing,
Elbows in, careful
Paper turning.
Tiny moving space
Constraining, confining.
Sleeping strangers
Surrounding, defining
This journey.






 


Eyes focusing now

On frosty rolling hillsides

Grazing sheep
Villages whizzing by.
Post modern wind mills
Flank farmers flocks, sigh!
Poem and pictures replace
Sudoku failures.
Escape this quiet, closed-in
Ride with transcendent ecstasy.










Train stops, empties
Adjacent joint seats.
Willing seat companion
To move to vacant seat
Will she do it?
Remains to be seen.
Waiting...., waiting.....,
YES! There she goes!
I'm now free
To expand personal space
To escape claustrophobia,
To breathe!

Lively London Transporation (or Cars, Buses and Things that Go)

Lively London Locomotion

So many things (housework) I should be doing other than posting something on my blog (grocery shopping). But, as all good procrastinators know, one can always find something better to do than that dreaded “no fun” thing the "putteroffer" is trying to avoid.
Walking home from church today, I saw the Jack Daniels cab and actually had time to get my camera out and shoot! There’s a Nashville/Country Music cab I’m on the hunt for, but it knows when I have my camera out and has to date eluded me. I’ll get him yet! Having intended to wait until I got all the cab pics I wanted before posting them on here, I had a better idea today. I realized that I can keep the online pics in sync with the ones on my computer, so as I add more, they should automatically be added to the blog pics.
In addition to the colorful, interesting cabs there are very different cars and buses as well, so be looking out for them as I add to my collection.

American Church in London and Camden Market

American Church Camden Mkt

I’ve been wanting to visit Camden Market for a good while now.  Crowded, busy, off-beat, unique stuff, off-beat people.  So today my friends Stephanie and Susan and I paid this place a visit.  I should have taken pictures of the stuff.  Lots of quirky short skirts & dresses for a younger set.  To me the most interesting booth was the one where women’s skirts and jackets had been made from men’s suits with lots of oddly angled seams and gaps filled with lovely men’s ties. 

After scoring two rings and a number of interestingly patterned over-the-knee socks, we walked back down Camden High Street looking for the Blues Kitchen, a new restaurant/bar which was said to serve soul food and live jazz seven nights a week.  Too early for the jazz, my friends had Lynchburg Lemonade (the establishment is of their stock of bourbon) and I settled in to a Long Island Tea.  When we arrived the brunch menu was just finishing up and none of it looked particularly soulful – mainly just regular breakfast stuff – so we waited a few minutes until they started to serve their regular fare.  Disappointment!  No black-eyed peas!  The menu seemed more Cajun than soul, but it was very enjoyable just the same.  We ordered a bunch of appetizers, including corn fritters with mango salsa, blackened shrimp, seasoned sweet potato wedges, chili (more like pulled pork with beans) with tortilla chips and artichoke dip with tortilla chips.  Gotta have some more of those sweet potatoes!

Backing up to this morning, let me tell you about my new church.  Until about 6 weeks ago I had been attending a nearby Methodist church which I loved – wonderful people, ministers, and a lovely old pipe organ played beautifully by the organist, a student at the Royal Academy of Music.  But one thing was missing – no standing choir; only one that gathered for special occasions. 

I had known about the American Church in London ever since I came here, but wanted to go to a British church to meet and worship with the local people.  Well there are three fairly close churches in my area:  St Mary’s (the happy-clappy church), St Marylebone’s (choir is all professional singers), and Hinde Street Methodist.  Enjoyed visiting St Mary’s, but I’m happier in a non happy-clappy church.  Loved the gorgeous music and the service at St Marylebone’s, but don’t think I could talk them into paying me for my choir contributions.  So I settled in at Hinde Street where I found great friends and fellowship.

Then in googling to see if I was missing out on knowing about other local churches, I read some about the American Church.  The web site said that the choir was mostly volunteer with one paid professional for each of the four voice parts.  I reckoned that if they had professionals they must undertake some challenging music, so one Sunday I visited.  The choir director made a plea for more choir participation.  The music was lovely.  The hymns were familiar.  (Some of the Methodist hymns were familiar, but for those unfamiliar ones, following in the English hymnal can drive an American crazy; even when you get a hymnal with the music, the music is on one page and the words are on the other).  The service was familiar (except no communion every Sunday).  So I came to choir practice that Wednesday and started singing in their choir right away.  The hymns are traditional, but we often sing a couple of praise-type songs during the service.  The quality of the anthems the choir does is wonderful, some American, but much of it traditional English or classical.  Today we did a wonderful piece with the strange name, “Wash Me Throughly,” by Samuel Wesley, whose haunting melody and sorrowful lyrics I certainly hope to meet again.

Backing up even more, witness my walk to church.  Such a lovely, sunny morning with just the right amount of cool in the air.  Thinking I should take a picture of the lovely day, then thinking I don’t need to dawdle because I’ll be late for choir practice, I finally give in and decide it’s worth being late to take some pictures of my walk.  Fun store with gorgeous impractical dresses – the Diva Corset, and the sky, the sky, the sky!  And … that amazing BT tower, a skyline landmark.  And … the street flowers are out.  And the church, last rebuilt in the 50s I think, on a site where many churches have stood previously.  In fact it is said that when they were last rebuilding, they found the grave of the man who wrote the hymn, “Rock of Ages.” And that's as far back as I'm going on this day of church and Camden Market.

Josephine and Armistice Day 2009

Paris 11Nov09

Around the first of October Jeannette got word of good Eurostar fares to Paris  (£59 two way).  Anyone interested in a day trip some Federal Holiday soon?  I was.  No waiting around!  We signed ourselves up!  As it happened several of us in the office had been reading a trilogy of historical novels based on the life of Josephine, first wife of Napoleon Bonaparte.  So . . . why not take a Josephine-themed trip?  Good idea! 

So on this past Wednesday, 11 November 2009, we started out from St Pancras, a beautiful, newly-renovated station here in London.  Good thing we started early because just as we got almost to the train station, I had one of those “Oh, shit!” moments.  Yes, I had forgotten the debit card with which I had purchased the tickets online, and yes, the instructions had said I needed that card to print our tickets.  Off the bus, onto a taxi, back to my house, grab the card & we’re off!  With plenty of time to spare, we grab a couple of sandwiches at a restaurant in the station and board the train with time to spare.

We’re off!  My chunnel baptism – not literally, thankfully!  Zip, zip, and we’re there in about 2 hours.

We deboard at Gare du Nord, take the RER (Paris city trains) to Chatelet les Halle, another RER to La Defense, look around La Defense a bit, then take Bus 258 to Rueil-Ville.  There we sought out the church where Josephine and her daughter, Hortense, were buried – L'église Saint-Pierre Saint- Paul (Church of St Peter and St Paul).  On our way to the church we ran across city hall which was decorated for Armistice Day.  We found we had just missed a celebration there in the square behind city hall named Place du 11 November 1918.  A charming patisserie provided lunch (goat cheese and smoked venison sandwich and quiche lorraine) which we ate on the lovely square in front of the church.  And yes, we did regret not buying the scrumptious-looking pastries for desserts.  Inside the quiet church were the tombs, beautiful stained glass windows, and one other person who had come there to pray.

Hopping back on the bus, we rode a couple of stops to “Le Chateau,” the stop that would eventually lead us to Josephine’s home.  First, we took an unintentional tourist detour, having turned right, rather than left when we got off the bus.  Soon enough we were back on track and spent most of the afternoon wandering the inside and grounds of Malmaison.  I had read that the home was very cozy, especially when compared with Versailles, the country home of French monarchs.  Although certainly much more fancy than the home of anyone I know, the Bonaparte dwelling did seem quite warm and inviting.  The ceilings weren’t as high as those of other mansions and neither were the rooms as large.  Since London still has roses blooming, we had hoped that the roses at Malmaison would have been blooming as well, but they weren’t.  Josephine was known for the roses she cultivated; it is said that many of the varieties in Europe today are a result of her intervention.

Retracing our steps we arrived back in the city at La Defense, which is quite the impressive commercial zone.  The crowing glory of La Defense is the Grande Arche which stands directly facing the Arc de Triomphe – the new meeting the old.  I’m not sure how many miles between the two, but it is quite a way.   Most of the photos I took were taken in the morning when it was quite cool and foggy.  You can barely make out the Arc de Triomphe in the distance.  We had to allow time to do a little shopping at the grocery store in the huge mall at La Defense – it seems my friends have developed a taste for Speculoos, a yummy topping that looks like peanut butter, but is, in fact, ground up Speculoos cookies – think very smooth ground up graham crackers whipped up with corn syrup and vegetable oil.   http://www.bienmanger.com/2F3383A3_Speculoos_Spread.html?ope=ggBaseUK&sope=p4410
Oh well, that doesn’t sound very appetizing, but you have to trust me, it’s mighty tasty.  This treat can only be bought in Belgium and France as far as we know, so Jeannette stocked up with a dozen jars for gifts and toted them in her backpack the rest of the journey.  We also bought soft cheeses, salad and a fresh baguette for supper on the train home. 

And I searched for the chunnel the rest of the way.  Possibly saw it – don’t really know!  All in all, one fine day trip, though!

Rainy Day at Home

Rainy Day at Home 8Nov09

It isn’t always raining in London, but when it does, and I am at home during the day, this is what it looks like. The views of the skylight are taken from my stairwell. Did I tell you that each room of my house is on a different floor? The stairwell goes all the way up and down the 4 stories of my house (basement, ground, first & second floors) at the rear left side or the northeast corner. Through the skylight, I see the back side of an office building that is 55 Baker St, a huge office complex where my landlord resides. The outside view is above the Rodmarton St. mews houses that parallel mine, rear side of Gloucester Pl. flats. This picture was taken from out my bedroom balcony door. I’m home today resting, medicating, and trying to avoid catching the crud that I seemed to have been coming down with on Thursday. So far, so good!