Politics spoils my trip

Most of the people I meet ask where I'm from.  Some then ask my views of Trump. I usually say I'm traveling now before he alienates everyone and closes borders for me, or before he starts a war with North Korea.  Of course, I should be traveling in the US, enjoying the National Parks before he turns them over to industries for fracking or other destructive "development."  However, for the most part I stay away from politics, even with like-minded folks. 

When I was in Taos, L was talking about her approach.  She tries to focus on the good that has come out of this mess:  the revitalization of the women's movement, the way certain communities have pulled together.  She thinks that a "resistance" way of thinking will just create the reality we want to avoid, so she focuses on love. 

Since I cannot love Drumpf or the hateful people who support him, I tend to fall into ostrich mode.  When I was visiting in SC,  I sat in a corner with my stomach churning (as my ulcer-prone father used to say) and didn't call my brother and brother-in-law on the racist anti-democrat anti-liberal statements.  They knew they were being offensive, and there was no point in giving them further grist for their hateful mills.  48 hours of ranting.  I took drugs for my back pain and went to bed early. I do love them, but their approach is so vicious I cannot be around it, much less discuss our differences.  Resistance is indeed futile.

I feel like my family is a microcosm of the US in general, and that we are inches away from civil war.  I see no way to bridge the huge gap in our not-so-civil discourse. Political issues could be discussed, but the emotional content of the rants makes that impossible.  And I really hate the personal attacks on Obama and his supporters. So, I get emotional too. Still, while I love the man and his policies, I do understand that there can be different viewpoints.  In my view, he addressed issues that needed to be addressed, and we made some huge progress, both fiscally and socially.  Others see some long-term damage.  That may be so, but I do not think that Drumpf's policy of trying to cancel out everything Obama accomplished is the way to address that perception.

In a way, L agrees with the Obama critics:  she says a kind, civil, literate leader is not what we need to grow and progress.  We need a psychopath to get us on our feet and moving.  Well, this is one ostrich who is not positively affected by this.  I miss our handsome 44th president.

Forever saying goodbye

My slow travel guru is always so contemplative. She recently sent me the following:

"Who am I now? How have my values changed?"
Do you ask yourself those questions when you are leaving a place?

One has to be fairly self-aware to  even ask those questions, much less come up with an answer.  I don't know who I was when I started this journey, how could I know who I am on each leg of i?  Can I see any change?  Not really. My values seem to be fairly constant, although my plans necessarily change, and sometimes I think wistfully about older aspirations.

For example, I recently found myself revisiting an old dream to study in Oxford, but it was more about snobbery than scholarship. I want to be able to go into the Bodleian reading rooms and READ! And to be able to enter colleges as one with the right, not as a tourist.  But study?  No.  I no longer have an idea about what I want to learn, and the idea of being a scholar no longer resonates.  I'm too slapdash in my approach to ideas. I've been infected by the soundbite, by the quick and facile connections. Not only am I currently unable to think  deeply about my experiences, I no longer have the urge to do so.  The idea of turning my blog into one of slow journalism does not resonate.  Nor do I want to write a book about my travels.  Do I really want to research the places I visit?  Do I want to know the crime rate of Macclesfield?  Or its history?  Do I want the daily pressure of recording impressions?  Do I want to focus and analyze?  A resounding no to all of that.

So, I am clearly not thinking about growth or change or lack thereof.  I do think about the fact that this gig has me constantly falling in love (with a dog or with a view or an activity), and then saying goodbye. Right now  I miss Lolli and Pop, my Oxford companions: they curled up so sweetly against me and made little whiffling snores.  And Lolli had the sweetest expression, looking up at me and then bounding forward to sniff at the verge of the footpath.  Yes, I miss her, and I have that feeling every time I leave a sit.  The annoyances go away, and I just see those faces looking at me sadly as I wave goodbye.

However, there’s still that lure of constant discovery. I find myself creating micro-homes and establishing temporary routines, and then I abandon my creation. The act of exploration is about exploring my hosts’ lifestyles, not their locations. It reminds me of Andy Goldsworthy or the builders of the Icehotel in Sweden; for the artists it’s all about the act of creation. They love the transitory nature of the product. But it’s rather presumptuous to compare myself to them. My creations are so involuntary, so small, so unplanned. I don’t know if I’m an artist of domesticity or a peeping Tom. 

Today I came across the following:
Our lives are like islands in the sea, or like trees in the forest. The maple and the pine may whisper to each other with their leaves ... But the trees also commingle their roots in the darkness underground, and the islands also hang together through the ocean's bottom. -William James, psychologist and philosopher (11 Jan 1842-1910) 

James is talking like a psychologist, of course. The root connections are dark unconsciousness, and our lives are the whispering leaves.  But it's a metaphor that may help me answer my friend's question. Each home is like a island or a tree, connected deep down, inside me, whispering through my letters and pictures.   Who am I now?  I'm a collection of trees on an archipelago of islands.  Each journey adds another tree, or maybe just another branch......or maybe a rock on the beach.  Yes maybe I'm just that rock, traveling from beach to beach.  Now that I come to think out the psychological metaphor,  I think that is so:  I'm not quite as rooted and connected as the first image implies.  And I doubt that I contain those dark depths. 

In fact, I'm a simple soul, one who never puts down roots, who is forever saying goodbye.  But then again, I'm also forever saying hello.  Which is the yin and which the yang, I do not know.

Living in the Dark

A friend checks the latitude of my current home and worries about my psychological state.  How am I handling the dark? she asks.  My reply is both soothing and true: I like living in a cave. I'm taking Vitamin D again to keep the bones happy, but emotionally I love the quality of the light during the day and the excuse it gives me to hibernate at night.

E, my Macclesfield tour guide,  concurs.  Her teaching schedule starts around 3:30, and she likes the fact that it's already dark when she has to go to work of an evening.  In addition,  the sun is always low on the horizon, which means that all daylight is slanted like late afternoon light, and photography is a joy.  Of course, there are fewer hours to exploit, but all 8 of those hours are splendid....when it's not cloudy. 

Macclesfield is at the 53th parallel.  I remember from John Dos Passos that the US is centered on the 42nd parallel.  So, yes, I'm significantly further north.   That means shorter days and brilliant nights. Glasgow will be at 56 degrees, just 10 degrees shy of the Arctic Circle and the northern lights.  Gjoevik will be at the 60th parallel, and since it's in the mountains it will be colder, but again, not in northern lights district. Still, the stars will be awesome (when it's not cloudy!)  And it is just possible, according to my astronomer friend E, that the magnetic storms will show up, even south of the Arctic Circle.  It's all luck and guesswork, as Paul Hollywood discovered when he filmed in Iceland for City Bakes.  He missed out, at least when he was on camera.

The interesting thing to me is how the locals react to all of it. My Glasgow host hates the dark, but she's an ex-pat.  For the rest, the darkness is just what happens in the winter.  A tendency towards alcoholism is not limited to the northern climes, and as for the northern lights, only the astronomers and tourists seem to care.  Paul asked a host, and the host said, well, it's common enough that we just tend to ignore it.  IGNORE IT?!  Ignore the sky weaving skeins of color and light?  It's incomprehensible, but then again, it's also incomprehensible that one can live in Portland and never go hiking in the Gorge.   I guess it's a matter of priorities and lifestyle. Every place has its unique beauties, but most of us have to focus on making a living.  Even a nomad  like me cannot spend every day reveling in wonders.  With repetition the wonderful becomes commonplace, and the human brain tends to focus on the small irritations or great traumas anyway. 

In fact, one cannot spend every moment having one's breath taken away.  Physiologically, that's death.  Emotionally, it might be too.  A capacity for wonder is all very well, but it's also good to trust the autonomic systems and just live.  Even as I type, I'm surrounded by miracles.  I have the capacity to feel the cold.   My fingers are just the slightest bit clumsy on the keyboard and the tip of my nose is chilled. I am listening to jazz with the miracle that is my auditory nervous system, through the man-made miracle that is electronic sound.   But focusing on these things means that I am not writing or thinking (and the capacity to do those two things is also a miracle.) 

Common wisdom says it's all about choice, about living in the moment, but I'm not so sure.  Do I really choose to notice the cold?  I think I choose to go outside and look at the stars, and I believe I choose to travel, but do I really?  Or does the cold say "notice me!" and do the stars call to me? and does travel sweep me away as I step through my life?  I don't know.

I'm actually ambivalent about the dark. I say that I like it, but I also know it has negative affects. I do recognize that Seasonal Affective Disorder is a thing in our society, probably because our culture doesn't allow for hibernation.  I like to hibernate, so I don't think I have SAD.  On the other hand, I do revel in the light of New Mexico.  I think my tendency to lethargy and depression was curbed when I lived there.  Right now I'm counting up my antidepressants, as well as taking Vitamin D.  I was unable to replenish them in the States, so I'm down to 28 to last me for 90 days or so.  We'll see if I can manage by taking them every three days.  This is where I'll find out if I really DO like to live in the dark.

Entropy or Art?

One fine wintry day, I was walking along the Thames.  The water was still and reflective, and so was I. There was so much trash lining the path, so many derelict boats, so much graffiti.  I could not fathom it.  There were plenty of rubbish bins and trash receptacles, benches placed at regular intervals, and paths leading to city streets where even more receptacles waited.  Further, people were diligent about picking up dog waste.  On the one occasion I did not (the dog had chosen an inconveniently stickery place), I subsequently heard a woman exclaim behind me, "Oh someone didn't pick up their dog's poo!"  She wouldn't have known it was me, it was a lesson to her children.  But, she did not exclaim about the rubbish or the graffiti.  It was as if that was invisible to her, and indeed, to the rest of the populace.

In some cases, the rubbish reflects a homeless population:  among other common Oxford sights are blankets airing or drying on the railing, a bedraggled pack, and an encampment, including a tent.  In other cases, though, I'm not so sure.  The mossy umbrella hanging on the yew in Osney Cemetery could have literally been left there for a rainy day.  The numerous gloves and sweaters and scarves perched or entwined on railings could be awaiting retrieval (although it's hard to see how a sweater could have been dropped without the owner being aware.) The rest could go either way.

So, I took some pictures, but failed to capture the trashy nature of it.  And the graffiti is a mixed bag.  I'm not a fan of the tagging, which literally covers everything.  It was rare to find a sign or lifebuoy station without a tag. However I actually rather like some of the bridge graffiti.  There is obvious thought and design involved, both in color and choice of subject. And even the piled on tags, once they are accumulated, can have some appeal. 

So, that is always a question, in any urban setting:  when is it vandalism or trash, and when is it non-funded public art?  The trail of "P" that I followed in Leyton was likely the latter. The cans on the railing by the Thames path in Oxford were probably just trash, however creatively managed.

Finally, there is the omnipresent dirt and decay.  Should humans clean up their collective acts, or is it something to be accepted, or even celebrated? I have a friend who turns rusted objects into abstract photos, and another friend who loves to capture derelict barns and other almost sculptural ruins.  I'm not immune to that impulse:  moss growing over a sign, rusting bridge struts, cars covered in bumper stickers, and rotting boats are all represented in my almost daily photographs.

So the question remains:  is it entropy or art? Or both?

Literary Pilgrimages Meet Present Reality

So...I just finished 3 weeks at Oxford.  I touched greatness in every sense of the word:  Christmas concert at Christchurch, a tour of the Bodleian, and a host who just got knighted (Darcey Bussell, 20-year principal dancer at the Royal Ballet).  Daily walks down the Thames path.  etc etc. I loved it, but was disconcerted by the amount of trash and graffiti EVERYWHERE.  Now I'm in Macclesfield, which Wikipedia says is both the least cultured and the happiest town in the UK.  I wonder if there's a correlation?  

Here I am agreeably surprised to not see garbage or graffiti:  Oxford was ridiculously trashed, pretty much everywhere. I understood the bridges and side paths, but even in the heart of the University there were bottles in window wells, gloves perched on railing spikes, and crisp bags in the gutters.

There were homeless youth encamped in doorways or on top of grates, bundled in blankets and sleeping bags and surrounded by a litter of fast food bags and more cans and bottles.  All in all, there was a seedy side to Oxford that fit oddly with the shaven turf of the stately stone quadrangles, the bowler-hatted gate wardens, and the quarter-hour tolling of the bells.  

Macclesfield, on the other hand, is clean and organized.  The outdoor mall is clear of bums and trash, full of people going about their business.  When I stopped in at the Quilt Box to look at yarn, I met a dark-skinned young man with a leather bag full of quilting supplies and a swatch of Tunisian-style knitting hanging from a crochet hook.  He was voluble about the store and his new skill, and altogether unexpected. I can't think when I ever saw a young man in a knitting store.  Or an old one for that matter, other than the town drunk coming in for a candy bar in Los Ojos.

On the other hand, there is so much to do in Oxford, and all in walking distance. I'm in Macclesfield until Jan 14 and plan to take the bus to Manchester and to Buxton.  Probably not Liverpool.  I see listings for many P&P sites, but most are closed for the winter and not really accessible by public transport anyway.  Dammit.  And I'll miss the snowdrop season.  Still, it's a pretty town, and there's a canal to walk along.  I may sneak up to Alan Garner's house and look wistfully at it.  I had no idea he lived here.  I read The Owl Service when I was in junior high, and here my host has a signed copy of a Garner book with a 2012 first publishing date.  So, he's still writing! I devoured it (it's only 149 pages, but very a very complicated read), and I would love to explore the places he mentions, not least Jodrell Bank telescope. 

Actually, I might not want to see this area through Garner's eyes.  When I was in Oxford I was exploring Gaudy Night locations (and re-reading it at the same time).  Somehow the previous expectations both enhanced and detracted from the experience.  It was great to put a face on it, as it were, but that was then and this is now.  One must either experience the past or the present, and really the present is all that's possible.  One cannot have nostalgia for a time that was only experienced fictionally, can one? Instead, I felt wistful that I could not see scholars in their gowns, bicycle up the high, climb Magdalen tower on May Day, punt along the Cherwell, listen to the University Sermon, and overlook the spires from the roof of the Bodleian.  The museums and streets were lovely to explore, and the Thames path was endlessly fascinating, but they were less about the University and more about England and winter. The feelings did not meet in any real way.

Here I have Jane Austen and Alan Garner as my guides, and that may be equally distracting.  I won't be feeling the depth of the mythology or experiencing the country community of Georgian England.  I'll just be rambling on the surface.  I wonder why Bath didn't strike me that way?  Perhaps because Bath caters to the Jane-ites and presents itself almost as a living museum.  Also, it too is walk-able. I just don't want to drive anywhere.  I am becoming a recluse, I think. 

December Jounral (posts, pixs, and emails)

Dec 1
Spent yesterday visiting SC in Grants.  Today, in Santa Fe with MS, D, and MC and J.  The latter are engaged:  he popped the question on her recent bday.
Back to enchanting skies and weird rooftops! and the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum.

 

Nice Museum

Dec 2
Abstractions

Dec 3

My fabulous earth ship hostess and guru

I cannot sleep in:
There is too much to absorb.
It’s great to be home.

After the dark night,
An interior sunrise
Lighting up the soul

More abstractions

M and LL do all the cooking and cleaning and it's wonderful.  I took LL's old socks and made them each a pair of finger-less gloves.  Also shared PT's cranberry chutney recipe (actually cribbed from Santa Fe chef Rhoda)
1 C Water
3/4 C dark brown sugar
1/2 C white sugar
1 C sliced onions
3/4 C cider vinegar or white vinegar
2 tart apples (try Granny Smith), peeled, seeded, and diced
1/2 t salt
1 or 2 t fresh grated ginger
1/2 t each mace/nutmeg and curry powder
grated rinds of 2 oranges
1 lb fresh cranberries, washed & picked over
1/2 C currants or black raisins
The strained juice of the 2 oranges
tiny amount of dried, hot red pepper flakes

Simmer sugars and onions in the water for 30-35 minutes.
Stir in vinegar, apples, salt, ginger,
mace/nutmeg, curry powder, and orange rinds.
Simmer at least 30 minutes more, then stir in
cranberries, currants, and orange juice.
Continue cooking at least 10-15 minutes or longer, until the cranberries burst

My hostess LL shared her training from the Cuyamungue Institute on ecstatic trance poses.  A very powerful experience.
Dec 4

Silver-gold linings
To dark low-lying cloudbanks.
A raven says hi.

Her family quilt,
Tiny stitches, jewel-like
I slept very well

M and L go to see art* and eat lunch in Taos while I meet L and K for breakfast at Taos Diner, drop off pillows in the Boys and Girls club donation box, and attempt to see a doctor  Then, duets with C.

*The photographer of the night skies is Barry Norris. barrynorrisstudio.mac.com

Dec 5
Charleston Airport memorial.  Had a fun conversation with a gent whose wife was in the back of the plane.  He texted her my plans and she knew all about TH.  She said I was living her dream.  However, since she is an artist who spends half her time in a Mexican hacienda, I'd say she is living a dream as well.

Dec 6
Started out at Urgent Care, getting tailbone checked out.  (No breakages or bruise, but porous from ongoing bone loss.) Then to Hemingway's in Beaufort, SC (where E plays her blue grass gigs.)

 

Picked up fake tree, in storage with friend, and food.  Helped decorate tree.

Dec 7
Really rainy.  L joins us.  I help decorate tree.  :)
Dec 8
Stopping by the display of nativities from around the world, at First Presbyterian church in Beaufort, SC. Nucleus was the 40+ collected by Marion Leach. Display inspired by the Trappist monks at Mepkin Abbey near Charleston.  Several used local materials, like shells.

Driving to Ormond Beach with big bro and sis.

We haven’t left town
But it’s time to take a break.
Geezers need protein.

Arrived in Ormond Beach in time for Mom's show.  Meanwhile,  friend L was listening to PBO and Capella Romana perform the Messiah.  And here I was in Daytona Beach, listening to a praise band sing about ugly Christmas sweaters.  Sometimes life’s contrasts are disconcerting.

We sat in the zone...
Fake snow made of soap bubbles.
Quite realistic.

Dec 10
A brief respite at Mom's condo.  L and E left in the morning.
Message to LS, who was feeling left out:

Basically L has been driving for 4 days straight, I've been taking care of business before I leave the country for another 4.5 months, E and D are making things happen.  The usual!

It all started with Mom's desire for a visit.  I haven't seen her in quite some time.  Then, E suggested I fly out to SC and drive down with her.  Since my back injury has kept me from going to Japan for this month, I decided to do that, and fly back to England from Florida.  When I return in April, I'll stop by FL again and pick up the lightweight clothes that I won't need in Norway.

Then L decided to make one of his SC visits coincide with my trip, and I talked him and X into extending the visit to the drive down to FL:  that gave D access to a car and E a companion on the return leg.  I very much doubt he enjoyed any of it:  that's a lot of driving.  But Mom was happy to have him to herself for an evening.

Confused yet?

L helped Mom with her password:  her new computer password incorporates A info, so hopefully she'll remember it from now on.  I'm hovering while she goes through the process of learning the music composing program.  I didn't sleep well last night, so I'm running out of nice, but she's used to that from me.  ;)

All is well for the nonce:  I leave on Tuesday.

Merry Christmas!

And then E, the smarty pants, encapsulates it all in a few succinct lines:

I have to say that I could just barely follow your story and I was there; I doubt it was clear to LS.  That said, I don't think I could have done much better.  It's been a very busy time; but not much to write home about--partly because the weather has been awful.  Memorable events for me included: a beer at Hemmingways while it poured down rain outside, 2+ hours at prompt care so K could document her injury for the airlines, a freezing cold walk on the beach with L, looking at nativity scenes from around the world at the Presbyterian church, lunch at the Cracked Egg where we got to break in a brand new waitress, horrible coffee everywhere we went the whole time K was here, Mom's concert with the fake snow, lunch with L at Perkins on the way home while he told me stories about him and X.  Of course, the best part was just having time to visit--we did a lot of talking.

 Dec 11
Helping Mom with her computer and sending whines to my sibs:
She wants me to teach her how to use Finale, which is an EXTREMELY complicated program. More complicated than Photoshop, which it totally resembles. She doesn't understand that, to use the program, she needs to understand things like "toggle" "click" "uncheck" "page break" "navigation." She needs to know what a control key is. She needs to understand how the editing tools work. AND, she needs to understand that when she is reading a tutorial, she cannot click on anything. (It's not a guided tutorial.)
I think I need to walk away. 

 Dec 12
Message to Aunt:
I’m at Mom’s.   She and LM seem to be doing well.  We’re all decrepit.  Mom has her usual ailments.  LM cracked 4 ribs in a recent fall.  And I am recovering from a fall in Ireland.  It was actually a slip and hard sit on the outside steps.  I finally went to urgent care so I could get a medical refund for my Japan tickets, and the X-ray shows no damage.  But it’s still sore.  So, I’ve canceled the long flights to and from Japan and have booked up the intervening time on 3 housesits in England.  I’ll be in Oxford over Xmas and New Years, And since the train won't be running, I’ll be on my own.  That’s okay though.  I’m not feeling very festive.  But, I’m still happy with this lifestyle!

The weather is lovely here.  Not too hot, and not too cold.  In other news, N’s second child is due any time now.  I mailed off the blanket and newborn hat that I just finished knitting.  So for once, I’m almost on top of things.  Almost.

Shall we try a Skype on Xmas eve?
Dec 12/13

waiting for the daytona/orlando shuttle

ofergawdsake

Dec 13
"She's a suspicious character"
I wonder what happens if customs decides they don’t want to let you in? This is an important question as I got the major 3rd° today.  I didn’t have proof of income and the fact that I had just been here for three months and turned around and came back was VERY suspicious.  Having a resident cousin does not absolve me, rather the reverse:  they think I’m coming to stay.  The credit card was also suspicious because it looked like I was borrowing money... The poor gent was very dubious that I could support this lifestyle.  There’s nothing like a white-haired gentleman looking at you with concern and shaking his head to make you question your entire modus operandi.
E says the problem was my immediate return:  they thought I was trying to circumvent the 6-month visitor visa rule.  And the customs agent did cite that rule, so E is probably right. 

Meanwhile I’m here. I didn’t get much sleep last night because the guy next to me was listening to loud music on his headphone: it totally leaked through and he was dancing in his chair and he was really really snockered.  But, I’m happy.
Arrived  at Leyton house mid-morning and crashed for most of the day.  E still at work, R and V in Oz.
Dec 14
Trees in Trelawn Rd

To the Gang:
The hard drive from my old computer is in the hands of a sketchy (one might say dodgy) operation on the High Road in Leyton (E’s London neighborhood).  It’s a combination dry cleaner and phone store, but he said he might be able to pull the data off of my hard drive. We can but hope. Since I don’t have a phone number for the month that I’m here I gave him my email address but I had to write it on a piece of paper that he stuck to the hard drive and we all know what my handwriting is like.  Add to that the fact that English is his second language and I have no idea whether I’ll ever see that hard drive again.
But, as they say in Ireland, that’s grand.
No other news. I’ve been listening to books and knitting and doing laundry.  It’s cold enough outside that I am glad my ex-sister-in-law found my coat and gave it to me when I was in Portland last August.
E is still working and tonight he’s gone to hear a folk rap band. I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
I miss R and V: they’re both in Australia. E showed me a video of V; she’s just starting to crawl. so darn cute!
The street here is lined with these great trees!  So I took a picture of the trunk.
I know you’ve missed these banal reports.  Tomorrow I go to Oxford, which should be more interesting
 Dec 15
First world problems: E was worried that I had left confidential info in dodgy hands, and I decided she was probably right.  I retrieved the hard drive this am.  My guess is that they were ok guys, and if not, that they hadn’t started work on it. I’d told them I was taking off, so there was no rush. And they would have had to work around lack of passwords.
Not sure what to do next, tho.
So, for the next 3 weeks I’m living on an island in the Thames.  The dogs are poodles named Lolly and Pop.  (The daughter of the family named them when she was 6.) I plan to revel in the view and the walks.

Just finished watching a documentary about Fred Astaire, narrated by my hostess, professional dancer Darcy Bussell (sp?) Airing on BBC1 next Thu.  She's, like, famous. Even has a photo in the National Portrait Gallery. I’m meeting some fascinating folks. Dec 16
It’s cold so after taking a walk to the covered market and getting a portable coffee maker, I came home to chill out.
This is a lovely town.

An exploration
Takes me to coffee prison.
I may just stay put.

Covered Market display

Performances: Tightwalk fiddler on Cornmarket Street, and my hostess, judge on Strictly Come Dancing.

Then cuddle with the puppies

Dec 17
First 2 walks:  towards Port Meadow and then along Thames Path to Folly Bridge and Christ Church Meadows

Along the towpath
The beautiful nasty swan
Hissed menacingly.

Tom Tower and Gate, Christchurch

Me and the puppies:

We walked for an hour and a half in a cold rain, and it was lovely!

Dec 18
To A:
Thames walk to Christchurch Meadow: Took the triangle back through Jericho in a cold rain yesterday.  Today’s walk, though frosty on the nose and underfoot, was nicely lit up with winter sun.
Lolly is now snuggled in my knitting while Poppy is keeping a dozy eye on the backwater.
All remains well.  I used your printer yesterday, hope that’s okay.  Please let me know if you’d rather I didn’t.

Christchurch meadow

A cold wintry light,
Frosty nose, frost underfoot,
Still water runs deep.

German kids punting on the Isis through Christchurch Meadow. The gent sitting on a nearby bench and swigging from the brown-bagged bottle told me one of the kids fell in. He laughed heartily and then confessed it was mean of him. But it WAS funny, he said. It must have been jolly cold.

Looking towards Folly Bridge

Dec 19

The dogs have been very fussy today.  I got up late (9:30) and when I opened the door to let them pee, they made a break for the open gate.  I had to jump into my host's wellies and race after them.  I was wearing my puppy pj's, bright red.  It must have been a lovely sight.

Then, hysterical barking as they saw a cat, a mailman, a random person....they were not content to let me drink coffee and eat toast, so I had to take them on a walk RIGHT NOW.  I took the other side of the Thames and had a nice chat with the lock keeper, who gave the dogs biscuits while I took some pictures.  He lived in the states for awhile, working at casinos in Atlantic City.  His lock keeper job started as volunteer work.  He says that all sorts of boats come through:  they just need to fit under the bridge (which, by the by, is not that tall.) 

I mainly took pix of the graffiti.  We came back on the Osney Mill side of the river.  

There were various barking incidents, most incomprehensible.

Around 3 they saw a cat and went berserk, so I took them on another walk, this time going into town for a bit.  The Botley road (near my house) is the only way out of Oxford in that direction, and the traffic was totally backed up.  But there were very few people on the sidewalks. 

I'm enclosing a picture of a boat that I thought was abandoned (it was covered in leaves and schmutz.)  But when we came back along on our second walk, a young man was climbing in the open hatch, shlepping a bag of something.  So.. I guess he lives there.  Many people do live in houseboats, but they are mainly the long brightly painted type.  This one looks too much like a boat.

Spent some time writing, now going to bed.  Good night.

The dogs won’t let me Just sit and watch the light change. We must walk....and watch.

 

 

Osney Lock and my island

Dec 20

Moorings at Jericho Wharf and Oxford Canal

I think they need a bath!

I have to get up early tomorrow, so this is a quick note.  Still finding new dog walk routes!  I left them alone tonight and walked 30 minutes to Christchurch Cathedral for a Christmas Concert.  Boy sopranos!  And two sing-alongs.  I couldn’t remember the words to “O Little Town of Bethlehem” because the tune was by Ralph Vaughan Williams and my memory is tied to the saccharine tune we use in the States.  Interesting how the mind works!
TO L: Lovely reverberate music in a lovely (and imposing) setting.  I hope to find some more music.  So far I’ve spent my week in Oxford walking the dogs along various waterside paths.  I have two more weeks to visit the Ashmolean and check out other museums and bookstores.  Sigh.  So much to do, but I just want to curl up with the dogs and read!  I must be ergophobic.  Or agoraphobic.  Or both!
It was a lovely concert.  Must get to sleep now.

Carol concert at Christchurch Cathedral (MAO, Music At Oxford now has me on their email list)

While I was at the concert, Elin Wray Shimmin was born at 11am, MN time.  So weird to be 7 hours away from important things.

Dec 21
Prepping for Christmas with my cousin, wearing my other cousin's apron.  Lefse and decorations

train delayed both going and coming:  GBR stole at least 2 hours from me!

To the Gang: You’ve all heard from me today, so an “I’m alive” message is unnecessary, but I wanted to share my delight in this day’s activities.
Since R and V are in Australia, I came down to London and E and I made lefse.  It’s not very good, actually, but we played Baroque Christmas music and also made some decorations.  So, it was time well spent.   These things are better shared.  Sadly, I had to leave too soon:  I needed to get back to the dogs, and dark comes early.
Even more sadly, British Railways stole an hour that could have been spent making origami ornaments!  The train was 20 minutes late getting in, and delayed another half hour going back, all because of the same disabled train on the track.  I mean, fix it already!  Still I could have been on the coast run from Seattle, so I won’t complain.
And, it’s my own darn fault for traveling on solstice with the moon and Capricorn lined up, or whatever the hell it is that means all decisions and travel are effed up.  (I came home to a Facebook post warning me, too late.)
So, happy Saturnalia!
Dec 22
Ashmolean, at last!  A cross between the British Museum and the Huntington.  I loved it!  But now I’m tired. (With Jerusalem artichoke soup and truffle oil at the rooftop restaurant, plus Christmas turkey dinner, including pigs in the blanket.)

And afterwards, home with Lolli and Pop. 

To A: Tomorrow they get pigs ears and wing pix.  Anything else?
FYI, I met a tall lanky gent yesterday who told me I needed to watch the dogs more carefully as the boaters are complaining about the poop.  Mea culpa.  From now on I'll keep them on the lead even when the gate is locked.

You know you are loved
When they snuggle on your feet.
These dogs are smelly.

 

Dec 23

A walk through town followed by book reviews on Goodreads

Bridge of Sighs, outside Bodleian

Productive and non-productive day: I planned to attend a carol service tonight and make julecaga and ginger snaps this afternoon, but I was dozing at 4:30 (the service was at 17:30) and didn’t have the recipe for the first nor molasses for the second.
I did however take a very long walk and located sites for further exploration:  the Bodleian, Magdalen College, and Radcliffe Camera.  And I learned that dogs are not allowed in the Botanic Garden, and it will be cheaper to avoid the weekend:  the weekday is set up without ticket taker, on a donation system.  Being cheap, I plan to skip the donation.
I’ll bake tomorrow.
Dec 24
Posted pic of arrival in London 2 years ago.  I miss traveling w/ G, but it's good to be able to do what I want to do.

I miss company
But am happy to be home
And not traveling

 Today's walk on the towpath: interesting wall

 

First try was Grace Kelley.  FB games

To the Gang:
By the time you get this I’ll probably be at a midnight service at St Mary Magdalen, always assuming I’m not in a sugar coma.  I made fudge yesterday and today I made ginger snaps (without molasses) and julecaga.  The latter is in the oven.  Lord knows how it will turn out.  I had to peel the cardamom out of the pods and crush it with spoons and glass.  My kingdom for a spice mill!  Or at least a coffee grinder.
The young sprig at the local market stared blankly when I asked for molasses.  The inter webs had a ginger snap recipe that used applesauce instead.  I substituted marmalade.  It actually tastes okay, but the texture is too crumbly.
I’m listening to Messiah, Bach’s Christmas chorale, and now good olde Hildegard.
So, my Christmas Eve is turning out okay.  I do miss you all tho.  It’s my first Christmas without family, and/or friends.
God rest you merry.
Dec 25
Church was high Anglican mass, almost completely sung, even the gospel.  Lots of incense.  The priests were so very young.  I must be getting old.  I was sitting behind a pillar that totally blocked the pulpit, but I could see everything else.

After church I stopped by the Lamb and Flag passage to get a picture of the tree where Reggie Pomfret proposed to Harriet Vane. (I’ve been re-reading Gaudy Night (Dorothy L Sayers) and today I checked out some of the places.)

Then to the Mitre (where Peter Wimsey and Harriet drank some beer), where I played the Lonely Old Lady On Christmas card (because I hadn't booked ahead) and spent big bucks for a traditional feast, complete with cracker and Christmas pudding and mince pie.  Then walked the dogs, spreading smiles and good cheer.
All in all, a good day!

Dinner after church at the Mitre

The angel dogs have their Christmas treat

To A: Everyone we met was delighted by the wings.  The dogs were delighted with the pigs ears and have almost forgiven me for going to church followed by Christmas feast at the Mitre.  We’re settling in for a cozy evening.  Happy Christmas from your adorable soppy dogs!
To the Gang:
I had strict instructions from my hosts’ daughter to put the angel wings on the dogs.  They hated it!  But it was highly amusing to everyone we met.  I like to think we spread Christmas cheer.
Anyway, the day went quickly.  I just got off a Gmail video call with Aunt Linda...so that’s another option while I’m off phone.  Gmail also has free phone calls through the computer if you want to talk in your jammies and be hidden from sight.
Time for this girl to go to bed.  Good night!
Dec 26
I got up late, to a lovely wintry sunlight.  So, I took the Thames footpath on past Aldate, where I usually turn towards Christchurch.  It went on and on, finally reaching the Iffley road, where I turned back to the city centre.  By then, it was cloudy.  All in all, I was walking for 3-4 hours, without a break.  And yet, the dogs kept dragging me back out! And into a downpour.  Dogs.  Sheesh. One would  think I’d lose weight, but I’m bigger than ever.  Sigh. 
Spent the rest of the day working on my sweater and watching Paul Hollywood’s City Bakes. (Not a weight loss incentive)  The Iceland one was most interesting.  G, he was unimpressed with Bourdoin’s in San Fran.  Apparently we should have gone to Tartine’s.
Anyway, I made reasonable progress on the sweater. I have to finish half of the front, and then do a collar.
Boxing Day walk route: from Osney Mill south along Thames footpath past Folly Bridge and college boathouses to Iffly Road, back north along Meadow Lane, jackdaw lane to Magdalen Bridge, along High, down Oriel Lane, through Castle and home.

  Dec 27

It snowed and it’s cold
So we walk through the graveyard
And call it a day.

 

 

To A:
FYI One of the dogs threw up, mainly liquid on the stairs, in P’s room, and on the rectangular downstairs carpet.  I cleaned with Febreeze, but is there spot remover if that doesn’t work?  What brand do you prefer, if I have to buy it?
Thing 2...Poppy has been eating grass and scratching by rolling on his back, and also shaking his head like he has ear mites.  I don’t see anything wrong with him, just letting you know in case it gets worse. 
It snowed mildly last night and feels below freezing today (but is not). The Thames is overflowing its banks, but not up to the footpath.  We took a shorter walk today, and I let Lollipop loose in Osney Cemetery.  Since we followed the Thames to Iffley Rd and back yesterday, I’m not worrying about their exercise.  3-4 hours yesterday makes 45 minutes today okay, right?
To the gang: Snow and cold kept me indoors, trying to finish my sweater. It’s too tight...guess it time for another diet!
Tomorrow I hope to explore a bit more so I have something interesting to share, but I rather like a day snuggling with yarn and dogs.
Dec 28
Frosty Osney Cemetery: a good place to let the pups off lead for 10 minutes before breakfast.

But the scarf will stay forever

Finally made it to Pitt Rivers.  An amazing place, rather like being inside a huge Victorian curio cabinet.  I loved it of course.  But now I have a migraine. Lack of sleep?  (I was awake until 4 am).  I still don’t know what causes these headaches.  Sigh.
The colorful gent was one of the staff:  the job is to watch over things and engage visitors.  He was indeed engaging. 😺
I believe the bird is the English Robin.  He bullied me into giving him some of my treacle cake.
Going to bed now.
 

I look up to meet
A fearless, demanding gaze.
I set out some crumbs.

Dec 29

I drop my yarn ball
In the half-full cup of joe.
Natural dye job

The river has risen: foamy, over-running the banks, brown and dimpled and roaring through the locks. The Port Meadows walk is out, because the towpath is flooded.

Another walk to Christ Church meadows and back past Dorothy’s birth place in Brewer Rd off St Aldate (at one time the Jewish Road)

Another long walk, checking out the river.  It has risen and is rushing past, transformed from a reflective sheet to a moiling current.  Quite fascinating.  Ran into a London couple who’d come down for some green and were seeking the Botanic Garden.  Don’t know why they didn’t pick Richmond and Kew, but that’s up to them I guess.  They had an actual paper map, so I showed them where the path would take them.  As they walked on the gent commented that if you want directions you had to ask an American.  Not quite sure what he meant by that.

Spent the rest of the day reading, knitting, watching bad tv.
Dec 30
I was awakened by a text from Erik: My host will be awarded the Order of the  British Empire; henceforth she will be Dame Darcey Bussell.  Go figure!  I’m guessing her husband will not be Sir Angus....
I have lost track of the days...thought it was Friday.  I don’t want to miss hearing the new year rung in!
Finished my sweater.  It’s actually too warm, but I’m guessing I’ll be glad of it.
And that’s all!
Dec 31
Walk to Magdalen College to ring out the old year and ring in the new.
I was all alone with the bells and the river and an effing cold wind.  Going through the town I was stunned at how many under-dressed young women live in Oxford (and that they will queue in the cold at many clubs). One woman’s skirt was so short you could see her crotch.  She was wearing white lace panties.  They should have been black to match the skirt.

 The Year in Review:

First lines of blogs in 2017 I wrote no entries in Feb and March. I was working, taking classes, and making plans to enter the Life Nomadic. Apparently I had no time to write!
Jan: I delivered my rent check and he said, "So, it's 2017 and the world hasn't come to an end."
Apr: We put 5 more boxes in his storage unit in the basement of the building, and he fingered the chicken wire that separates his space from his neighbor's: it has come loose from the staples that moor it to the flimsy wooden framework.
May: I'm sitting in a lovely hilltop house in Petaluma CA, listening to baroque music on Spotify, watching the gentle coastal hills across the way.
• When I came back from Australia, I was loath to do my trip laundry.
Jun: Years ago, I saw a picture of a young woman walking a pack of dogs of all shapes, colors, and sizes.
• We were talking about making music, versus playing notes.
Jul: Years ago I read a book by Rebecca Solnit about walking.
• In looking for community activities, I came across the Claremont Forum.
Aug: Five days ago, hundreds of white nationalists, neo-Nazis and their ilk descended upon Charlottesville, VA, population 49K, to protest the removal of a civic statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee.
• "You are wearing your smug hat," she said to him.
Sep: The GWR train from Paddington to Plymouth goes through green hills and along the southern coast.
• I just re-read one of my private blogs, the blogs where I talk critically of people whom I love, where I question relationships, where I whine even more unbearably than I do in the public blogs.
• I got up early to let the dogs out and do some tutoring.
• I am walking directly into a bright westering sun which has the effect of dimming my vision.
Oct: As I travel around, I'm popping into other people's lives and then out again.
• So, now I've lived through a hurricane too!
• A neighbor with two dogs has been taking me on the twice daily walks, and tomorrow we’re driving to another location
Nov: I was talking with R about a possible writing project.
• People think I'm looking better and that I seem to be healthier.
Dec I'm sitting on the couch next to the snoring dogs, wearing the sweater I've just finished knitting.