Little things mean a lot...

Our kitchen faucet had frozen in place and could not be moved from side to side to rinse the sink without Herculean effort; effort of a magnitude that might wrench the faucet from its moorings altogether and result in a full-scale shower in the kitchen. We finally bought a faucet last week. It has languished on the hearth in the family room for over a week, awaiting installation.

Today a friend (and independent contractor) installed it for us. I have been marveling ever since: it SWINGS from side to side! I don't have to haul on the handle to turn it from cold to hot! The sprayer pulls out! It WORKS!!! I've been making do with the old one for so long that I forgot how faucets are supposed to function. What an epiphany...it has brightened my entire day.

Now this is hardly worth commentary. We all have endured small inconveniences while waiting for the right time or place or bank balance to fix them. Drafty windows, leaky gutters, peeling paint, carpeting that we've grown to hate...Sometimes we have waited until the point at which we are about to sell a house before fixing all the nuisance issues we've lived with, and then, we go all out and wonder why we didn't do it sooner so that we could enjoy the new and improved version.

Consider this, then, to be the voice in the wilderness, shouting "Do it NOW!!!" in your ear. I love my new faucet. I will adore the patio gate that we have contracted for: the one that won't warp or sag, that won't rot, that will be lockable--as opposed to the warped, sagging, rotting one we now have that we fasten shut with bungee straps when we enter or leave. I love my fountain that was repaired last year. I love the patio light that is motion-sensitive and keeps me from fumbling with the lock in the dark. What were we waiting for? A miraculous cure from the appliance gods for all the ailments of our household? An angel with a tool belt? A Billy Sunday revival for inanimate objects? Let me tell you--if it were going to come, it would have happened by now.  I'm moving into the camp of "God helps those who help themselves.."

But for the time being, I'm going to walk into the kitchen and rinse my sink.

Ted Kooser, and today's effort

As is always the way with Poetry Month poems, here is one that is sort of a first draft, which I may or may not get back to. Looking for poems to read this evening, I ran across some Ted Kooser works. He apparently was diagnosed with cancer and just stopped writing. During his recuperation he was advised to walk each morning, and a friend and fellow-poet asked him to write him postcards each day after his walk. Kooser did, and those postcards eventually turned into a book of poems...Anyway, here goes...

Beneath the Carnival

I understand Ted Kooser

coming off a cancer diagnosis,

not writing.

Poetry demands

an inward /outward contortion:

difficult when your own body

is screaming insults in your ear. 

Bloated with the trivia of day,

wordless in this physical discord,

the required acrobatics fail.

Withdraw.

Stop. Beneath the carnival

tent of chaos, carefully swing  

in remembered arcs; cast off

the appurtenance of  the sick,

the body undependable;

swing gracefully above its demands,

suspended between clamorous earth

and indeterminate heaven;

swing again in your accustomed way,

catching inspiration by its heels,

and learn again to fly.

Final words: the list

You know you are finally decompressed from vacation when you can't quite remember the order in which you visited places--and even lose track of a few of the highlights. So, just to wrap things up, here's my abbreviated list (and comments thereon) of our UK experience, not necessarily in sequence:

• Trafalgar Square--where the buskers reign, along with those dressed-up figures that appeared to be floating. Best one of these was the guy who impersonated Magritte's painting of the headless man in suit and derby.
• National Portrait Gallery--Shakespeare, Jonson, Fletcher, Queen Elizabeth..
• Churchill's War Rooms--WWII experience
• St. James Park--lovely
• Pall Mall area--the ultimate shopping experience
• Courtald Gallery--best Impressionist experience, in a lovely, small (and unadvertised) museum.
• London Transportation Museum--guaranteed to amuse children indefinitely
• Covent Garden Market--ditto for adults; tea and music
• St. Paul's--history, religion and a beautiful church
• Westminster Abbey-- Poet's Corner. And as if that were not enough, Elizabeth and Mary Tudor, (and Mary, Queen of Scots nearby), together for eternity.
• Millennium Bridge--views up and down the Thames
• The Globe Theater--an icon; visual reinforcement of all you thought you knew about Shakespeare's theater
• Thames Cruise--best way to see the city and many of its landmarks: Tower Bridge, Sir Francis Drake's Golden Hind, the Globe, the London Eye
• Fortnum & Mason's--not to buy or have tea, but just to look at the goods available at outrageous prices.
• The Banqueting Hall--Rubens on the ceiling, stirring story of Charles I
• The College of Arms--who knew there was an office (and a court!) for heraldry disputes and questions? Since 1555..and it's open to the public.
• the British Museum--innumerable fun things to do and see, and I didn't even get to the Egyptian artifacts or the Elgin Marbles!
• the British Library--from the cool iron graphic at the entrance, to the wonder-full (literally) room with the treasures of the library--a joy to visit. 

Scotland:

• Dundee--Discovery, Verdant Works, Broughty Ferry, pubs, bakeries, butcher shops, the McManus, the Unicorn, the University, the art...
• Stirling Castle--incomparable! even in the rain.
• St. Andrew's--the ruins, the views, the beach, the old course...
• the distillery: how they actually make Scotch
• sheep--everywhere
• haggis--much better than you might imagine

I am sure I've omitted any number of things, and if I remember a particular favorite, I may expound on it later, but...for now, I am closing the door and moving on. It was a great trip.

***Can't believe I forgot the Children's Museum in Dundee: a great little museum with lots of interesting (and educational) stuff for kids to do. And Battersea Park in London (tho that might be a more 'kid-friendly' item than it is for adults.) 

St. Andrew's

When anyone mentions St. Andrew's, the immediate response is "golf" (unless of course, you are a Roman Catholic, and immediately conjure up an X-shaped cross for that martyred apostle..) And that would be the right answer, though not the complete one. St. Andrew's is a university town, and also the site of a ruined cathedral and castle. Given the weather (though the avid golfers did not seem to be bothered by it one whit) our exploration was devoted to the latter aspects, rather than the most obvious. In addition, the beach at St. Andrew's is the site of the famous running scene in "Chariots of Fire", and I dare you to walk across that sand and NOT hear (at least in your head) "Da-da-da-da-DA-da! Da-da-da-da-DAH!"

Carrying on in the tradition established at Stirling, I quickly bought a woolen hat before we explored the grounds. We wandered among the tombstones and the remains of old stone walls, chasing Claire who was determined to climb to the top of every one. Better people than I am even climbed the tower for some great views..my iPad climbed with JC and brought back some nice pictures of the view. I did not get off scot-free (pun there) however. Audrey was determined to go through the mine/countermine passage. I didn't get to read the placard as I was dragged along in her wake into a tunnel that forced adults to bend double and to climb down a ladder through a hole in solid rock that you could feel at your back. But I kept going, waiting for the big reveal at the end of the tunnel. Which turned out to be a blank wall at the end of the tunnel. So we turned around and repeated the trip in reverse. I still haven't figured out exactly what its charm was, but perhaps that is something only 5-year-olds can understand.

Cold, Colder, Coldest

Cold. Wet. Windy. Not Dundee--the Antarctic. Although Dundee was doing its best imitation thereof on the day we visited Discovery, Scott's ship built in Dundee for his expedition to the Antarctic. If you like ships, if you like science, if you wonder what it might be like to be trapped in the ice with
limited supplies until the spring thaw...well, this is the museum for you. I did learn that it's better to be in a wooden ship under these circumstances because they have more 'give' under the pressure of the ice and are less likely to be crushed. Good to know. I think. Also that the one fatality of this trip was a sailor who climbed to the crow's nest to wave goodbye to the farewell throng on the dock...and fell off. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

A couple of our other local jaunts, in no particular order: Broughty Ferry (the town) and Broughty Castle--near enough to qualify as suburban Dundee. The castle comes equipped with a great playground, so naturally, it was a popular stop, in spite of the wind, rain, and cold. We even stepped out onto the beach near the castle--briefly--and saw someone actually hip-deep in the water, fishing. Hardy folk, those Scotsmen.

Needless to say, the nearby pub was a welcome change from the windy beach, and we had dinner there in an upstairs dining room. (Now is a good time to say something about the food in Scotland: it is fresh, and freshly-prepared. Chips are just-fried and piping hot. Main dishes appear to be cooked to order. Nowhere did we have anything that tasted like it had been under a heat lamp or had been languishing in a refrigerator till it was popped into a microwave. The food was good.)

Another day, we explored Verdant Works: a museum of the jute industry. Many of you may be unaware of the fact that Dundee was the jute capital of the UK, and possibly, the world--and that there is a museum devoted to it right there in Dundee. There you can see the machinery involved in jute production, see jute in all its phases, learn about the workers who processed the fiber, and read the history and see exhibits on the many and varied uses of jute. File under "Things You Never Knew You Wanted to Know." It was actually rather interesting as it covered the waterfront (literally and figuratively) between the agricultural aspect in India, the shipping of the raw plant material back to the UK, the processing plant in Dundee, and the onslaught of the industrial revolution, and its inevitable effect on health and mortality of the workers. At one time, we were told, 80% of Dundee children died before the age of 6, and the life expectancy of the average worker here hovered in the low 30s. Living in other cities or in rural areas almost doubled your survival chances. Grim history, indeed.

Of personal note, one of the displays on the use of jute fiber for fabric (sort of a cross between linen and burlap, sometimes called 'hessian') showed a sample of decorative stitchery that I recognized as 'hardanger work'--something that my grandparents did, according to my mother. Using a fabric with a definite weave, warp and weft threads are basically tied off into patterns that provided a fancy edging or border for items as various as towels and handkerchiefs or skirts or other fabric creations.

We covered the exhibits in rather a mad dash, as Audrey was determined to complete the proffered 'Treasure Hunt"  proposed by the keeper of the museum store. We were all enlisted to locate an entire list of things to be found in the museum, and then, to hotfoot it back to the store to obtain her certificate. Many a placard was left unread in the process.

However, I daresay we will find a few more to read before the trip is done.

Next stop: "Aliens Love Underpants"????

Dundee, Stirling, History and Scottish Heroes

Today here in Alexandria, the temperature is dropping, and the wind is inversely proportional to it, and directly proportional to the intensity of the rain. In short, we are saying, "What? Are we back in Scotland?"

I am certain that there are lovely, sunny days in Dundee, but except for the personal sunshine of our little granddaughters, we did not see much of it. In fact, I think we had 15 minutes of cloud-parting, bright sun in the week we were there. It was there when we woke up and lasted about as long as my morning shower, only to disappear for the rest of the day. Our mantra became "At least it's not raining." But even that was not something we could chant every day.

Weather aside, however, Scotland was wonderful. The people were universally friendly and cheery, whether at the hotel (where they are paid to be) or driving taxis, or answering stupid tourist questions.  We had conversations with everyone on everything from the upcoming separatist vote to the Crimea to the relative merits of toyshops (Dundee Disney store, no; Hamley's in London, yes)--the rebuilding of the Dundee waterfront, local restaurants, American cities, and, of course, the weather.

But that was not why we came. We came for the non-stop entertainment provided by the grandgirls, and we were not disappointed. We came to hear "Let It Go" sung approximately 454 times in as many locations, to see spontaneous dance recitals, the occasional meltdown, and countless numbers of physical exploits that would leave us in the dust. God bless the energy of small children, and the parents who can keep pace with them.

We also kept moving. First came exploration of Dundee proper--the High Street, Kay's workplace, the DCA for lunch, the library (endowed by our own Andrew Carnegie), the butcher shop, the bakery for tea, the McManus (museum), the bronze penguins waddling along a wall downtown, Desperate Dan and his cohort (also bronze) striding along the square, and, of course, the dragon (for which I missed the explanation) and the monkey on the 'information' board. Cool. Dundee is not an overwhelming city, but it has a lot going for it. What it lacks in physical warmth, it makes up for in personal charm--in spades.

From Dundee, we traveled to Stirling Castle (where I bought woolen gloves) and took the tour. Somehow, a castle looks more of a castle in the rain: brooding and forbidding, rather than the Camelot-merry-month-of-May variety. There's something to be said for standing on old stone, hearing about the goings-on of 5 centuries ago, looking at your feet and wondering who else stood here and what they thought and did.  There are dark passages and tiny rooms and steps scooped out by hundreds of years' worth of footsteps. There are magnificent tapestries and brilliant paint and guides who point out where and when history happened. This castle is not IN a history book; it IS a history book, fueled by the imagination of those who visit.

From the castle, one can see in the distance the monument to William Wallace, which has a certain significance for me. I was named after a William Wallace: my step-uncle who died in WWII. I have not a drop of Scottish blood, to my knowledge, and never heard of William Wallace till I was in college and worked for a Brit in a lab at Johns Hopkins. However, I figure that anyone who went through years of being called 'Mary Wallace' (largely by my grandmother) deserves a good story, and William Wallace delivers. So, I got to see (albeit at a distance) his monument;  and there I stood, at Stirling Castle, wearing the diamond that MY William Wallace bought for his mother, my grandmother, years ago. Full circle. Sort of.

Trains

I'm not sure what it is about European trains. They are altogether much more: pleasant, cost-effective,  understandable, efficient, dependable, comprehensive....(I could go on) than American trains. Perhaps our reliance on automobiles, our long distances, and the romance of the open road have beguiled us into thinking railway travel unnecessary. Whatever the cause, Americans do road trips. The British do trains.

King's Cross Station in London serves the lines traveling north, so our train departed from there. The station itself was cavernous and cold. After getting our tickets from the kiosk (so easy!) we huddled on the second level with cups of coffee and tea until JC discovered the 1st class lounge. (Note to self: go 1st class if at all possible. Nice lounge with food and beverages available, and it was warm!) On our way to the lounge, we saw the Harry Potter-famous Platform 9-3/4, now a money-making venture where you can have your picture taken running with a luggage cart toward an apparent brick wall. If that' is insufficient, there is a convenient Potter store nearby where one can purchase wands and other Gryffindor/ Slytherin/etc. memorabilia.

Sheep. Small town. More sheep. Gray skies, occasional rain, and more sheep. I am confident that, in summer, the scenery is breathtaking, but fog and cloudy skies drove us to our reading material. The train change in Edinburgh was a bit close for our taste (and inexperience) but a friendly fellow-passenger (everyone was friendly!) guided us along to the right track and the right car for Dundee. We barreled along, taking on passengers at each milk-run stop, at one point inundated with beer- and wine-swilling boys and a gaggle of noisy women..but they left a few stops before Dundee.

At last. A welcome face at the Dundee station: Kay. In the rush of everyday, I sometimes forget how much I miss her, but every time we visit (or she does) it hits me anew.  She is my missing piece and I am whole again when I see her.  I am sure every mom feels exactly the same way about her distant children, but this night, Sarah and Kay are both here. Happy Mothers' Day a month or so early.

On that warm note (the last in the next several days, weather-wise) we begin our days in Dundee.

 

Landed in London

We took the easy way over this trip: JC and I booked the flight that left from Washington in the morning and arrived at 10 PM London time. We stayed overnight at an airport Marriott. So I guess you have to say that our U.K. experience did not begin till the next day, when a sleepless Sarah joined us after our full night's sleep.

Taxi! (For three people, it's about the same as the Heathrow Express, and much easier to wrangle luggage.) Boodles found and checked in. This had created some concern, as Boodles is the very British, very proper, reciprocal club to JC's Metropolitan Club here in D.C. Boodles (and yes, that's where the gin got its name) has hall porters in cutaway coats! No electronics allowed! Coat and tie for men! Trousers TOLERATED for women, who are permitted in certain select areas of the club only...the Ladies' Dining Room and the Ladies' Lounge, which are totally separate from the main body of the Robert Adam-designed building. Humph!--or should I say "Har-rumph!" in the fine British tradition of gentlemen's clubs? At Boodles, it's the gentleman who rules. Ladies' menus in the dining room don't even list prices, as ladies are (no doubt) ordered FOR, being incapable of such vital decisions. (Seriously, prices are missing, but I was allowed to place my own order..) In any case, we debated whether we'd be quite 'dressed' enough for entry and exit. We were okay, save for the fact that we dressed more elegantly for breakfast than we did for any other part of our day. Why did we stay there? Simple economics: the Boodles price and location together were too good not to take advantage of. We were a five-minute walk from Pall Mall, from St. James' Park, from Fortnum & Mason's, from Brown's Hotel, from the Ritz--and from the Green Park Underground station.

In any case, checked in and settled in our rooms, we set out on foot across St. James' Park, teeming with Londoners on this gorgeous spring day. Trafalgar Square, with a new addition since our last visit: a big blue chicken. (We never did determine exactly why it was there. Perhaps I should google it.) Big Ben. Whitehall. A glimpse of the London Eye, also a new development. We headed for the Churchill War Rooms and did the tour. I have never been a great history buff, but history-on-the-spot has a much more riveting effect, particularly when these rooms were exactly as they'd been left (not including, of course, the mannequins who now man the phones and the maps on display.) Book accounts just don't measure up. Here, the war was real.

Soon after this, Sarah abandoned us for a nap back at the club.  We soldiered on and found the Portrait Gallery, and sought out the Tudor and Stuart portraits that we've grown to know and love through our work at the Folger. There was Elizabeth, just like in her 'sieve' portrait! There was Ben Jonson, and a portrait of John Fletcher! Old friends, all, and more besides. We wandered back toward the club, met Sarah and went to Brown's for an early dinner.

And no, I am not planning to walk through our trip, day by day and museum by museum. Our first London day, however, establishes our modus operandi. We are gawkers, like most tourists. We are also history-gawkers, and art-gawkers, and tend to walk farther than we should. We generally have an agenda (or at least JC does) and a hazy plan of what we want to see and do, but we are pretty flexible and will often step off our private tourmobile  to look at something that catches our mutual magpie eye. ("Ooh! Shiny! Let's go look!") I also (no surprise, folks) have a tendency to stop dead to snap a picture of something or other that may or may not make a good photo. The joy of electronics is that I can snap now and trash later without depleting my resources. There are an infinite number of pictures in my head. I am committed to putting at least some of them into my camera. And both of us should wear bumper stickers plastered on our backs that say "Caution! We brake for bookstores!"

 Trafalgar Square and the big blue chicken... 

JC in his natural habitat at the War Rooms

The Queen!

Phones!!

St. James' Park

So, here we all are: arrived, semi-rested, and ready to board the train early next day for Scotland. King's Cross Station, here we come. Dundee is next.

Vacation

Vacation is an anomaly. A sandwich of new experiences, slapped between dry slices of preparation and re-entry. As they say about London, however, when you are tired of it, you are tired of living.  I am not that tired yet, though some aspects of travel are becoming more of an effort. I can no longer sling a stuffed-to-the-point-of-explosion roll-aboard into the upper reaches of an airplane storage shelf without serious effort. I cannot step off the plane and put in a full day of sightseeing before crashing at our hotel. My feet and back no longer fall for that "You can do it; it's only a block more.." routine. I need more rests, more taxis, more sleep, and--dare I say it?--maybe I should check my bag.

All of this, however, is a small price to pay for the renewal of our stock of stories. That's what travel is all about, anyway: storytelling. We travel to hear new tales from different places and different people. We talk to taxi-drivers and visit museums and trade observations with everyone we meet. We eavesdrop on other people's lives, watch other people's television,  and eat different food on different schedules. For a short time, we are somebody else, doing many of the things we normally do, but in abnormal ways.

And then we come back and look at our lives in a slightly off-kilter way, seeing how strange we are when seen through other eyes. This leads to questions, both silly and serious: why is it so hard to find Coca Cola with any carbonation in the UK? Why do we have a zillion brands of candy bars when they have basically 3 or 4? Why do they eat baked beans on toast? Why are their trains so well-run and ours so poorly-managed? How did haggis get such a bad rep? The list goes on and on.

Every question from this trip has a story. I won't even attempt to answer all of them, but I will be reeling off some of the stories we managed to fit in our over-stuffed bags...stay tuned.