Letter in an old File

Cleaning out old computer files seemed like a good idea to do while John and grandson David were away for three days. I had erased old lists, plans, and notes to people who are now dead. I hadn’t planned on giggling.

I wrote that I heard Lise laughing in her room and asked what was so funny. She replied, “I’m reading your family letters that I got in college before scanning them. Look at this one.”

I shouldn’t have laughed, but I couldn’t help it. A child told me a nightmare he’d had. Of course, one can’t share the horror of a dream in broad daylight. I could understand he’d waked with heart pounding and sweat pouring off him, but there was nothing in the telling that could make me quake. The punch line was so exquisite that I can’t resist writing it. You won’t let him know, will you? I wouldn’t want his feelings hurt, and he won’t be ready to hear this one on himself until he’s 25 years old.

In a confidential monotone voice he said, “I had a bad nightmare. A buffalo came at me and then elephants. This was in the mountains, and an elephant picked me up and carried me off up the mountain. It was awful. I was hunting for the abba, — the abda, — the ABDOMINAL snowman when I got picked up.”

That kinda hits you in the stomach, doesn’t it?.

England 40 Years Ago — April 4, 1982

[The date is approximate. I evidently wrote a whole month at once from travel notes. Google told me the date for Easter in 1982.]

Riems or Rhiems is pronounced something like “Reh”. It boasts the cathedral where Joan of Arc stood beside the King at his coronation. Her statue and a ratty old banner are near the altars. Another Marc Chagal window is in the East widow, visible from the rear over the altar. (The last window we saw of his was in Chichester Cathedral.)

We had been driving on fairly flat land when suddenly the road turned to limp spaghetti, and we were twisting and turning through the Alps. What gorgeous views! It was still winter up that high, with snow everywhere. $ was extremely tired and began to cry, because no train appeared on the narrow gauge tracks running beside the road. He had a keen disappointment.

We stayed overnight in Nyon, Switzerland, over-looking the lake. After the children were bedded down, we walked up the steep footpath toward the town. Beside the twisting steps were several springs delighting our ears, pouring water into troughs, basins, and pools. Looking up, we could see a castle-type building lit up against the dark sky. We certainly knew we were in Europe.

In the middle of a very long day in the car, $ began to cry when it was time to get in the car again. By the time we got to Sylvie’s house, he was full of energy and mischief. He adored that house where doors were always open to the warm spring breezes. Sylvie was the French exchange student one year while we were in college, and John had kept in contact with her.

The architecture was so different from northern France. In the north, roofs are dark, long slim windows “French windows” have dark shutters, and the houses have a clean, square appearance. In the south, things are more rounded – patios, walls, doorways, and porches.

In particular we loved Sylvie’s and Freddy’s home. They designed it themselves to suit the mountainous area. Three doors that wouldn’t look mean on a carriage house, had large expanses of glass and shutters opening onto the patio from the living-dining room. The guest room had a window and shutters on the second floor over the living room and a private bath. Lise and Kate had one of the boy’s rooms in the attic, complete with three beds and an alcove with sink and the most unusual bath we’ve ever seen. It was about half the normal length, three feet deep under the taps and a seat molded in the other end.

We noticed many open round reservoirs of concrete, shaped like above-ground swimming pools. Freddy explained it was for watering the grounds; most are at the top of the property so that you can water by gravity. Water from the mountains is plentiful.

Sylvie took us on walking tours of an old French town, the town she lives near, and Nice. Cars were forbidden in many places, and the streets were tiny. We each touched the water so that we could say we’d been to the Mediterranean Sea.

I liked the public fountains in all the little towns – water continually pouring out of one to four spouts and two rods under each spout for resting a container while filling it.

All you’ve heard about French cooking is true. Sylvie fed us course after course of superb dishes beautifully prepared and presented. Breakfast was the simplest meal – toast with coffee drunk from a cereal bowl. Lunches and dinners were hot meals! Sylvie said NO French woman would serve her family sandwiches for a meal. She served drinks before we sat down, sppetizer, meat, followed by vegetables separately, then cheeses, bakery cakes, and after clearing the table, coffee. Lots of fresh, crisp French bread was passed with every course, particularly the appetizers and cheeses. Sylvie served most of the things herself rather than passing the dishes. $ ate and ate!

I’m going to list the foods so that I don’t forget them.

Radishes, chicken and mushrooms, boiled potatoes, strawberry flan.
Boiled egg with mayonnaise and tuna, lettuce, tomato, ripe olives, roast beef, scalloped potatoes, ice cream
Chicken in patty shells, green beans, cake
Radishes and a different kind of celery cut like shoestring potatoes with mayonnaise, chicken in cream, potatoes and beans mixed, tart St. Tropez.

Kate showed lots of improvement in the dog department. She shrieked the first day, but by the time we left, she just stood stock still whenever the dog walked by.

Spring Ice

Before going out to walk, I looked at two thermometers. The one on the deck showed it was just above freezing, while the one on the back porch proclaimed it was just below freezing. Maybe I should check what the birds were dealing with. From the top, the birdbath didn’t look bad.

Here is a selfie of the ice and my hand.

Taking the ice out of its mold, I set it on the railing. Can you see the round hole in the top where I poured in very hot tap water?

On a hunch that the underside would be interesting, I turned the mold over. There seem to be strands of ice from the rocks to the surface, working to tie them in firmly. When I showed grandson David the photos, it occurred to me that the rocks were poking above the water. I have little scientific knowledge, but I wonder if the rocks were colder than the water. That could explain why there was extra ice attached to them.

Ice couldn’t argue with Spring sunshine. When I thought to check on the rocks three hours later, they were dry, though sitting on damp wood.

Changeable Weather

I know it’s Spring when I look at the thermometer, throw on appropriate layers, walk outside for a while, and shed clothing as needed. That’s why I had a long-standing agreement with Connie and Marla for hanging a jacket on their mailbox near the stop sign. After they moved, I asked for the same permissions from Harmony and Lise across the street. This week I pulled off the hat and jacket before reaching the end of our driveway. No special permission needed!

Later that day, Connie came for our every-other-month lunch. While Albert is being groomed, she spends the time with us. I love this schedule that insures we keep in touch. We had hoped Shawn could join us, but communications were awry. John took a photo of us. After it was too late, I realized the lovely decoration on Connie’s sleeve did not show to advantage. I am wearing one of the new tops the neighbors picked out for me from the thrift shop. “They” say the best thing to wear is a smile, and we both kept those on.

England 40 Years Ago — March 28, 1982

I love Kate’s phrases. As John was teasing her, she said, “Mommy! Can you behave him?”

It just doesn’t DO for me to stay up too late! We had a marvelous time at the home group, but got home at midnight. The following day, dinner was a disaster. The pastry slid willy-nilly off the meat, jello unmolded from the new bunny mold into a wiggly heap, and $ poured a pint (that’s 20 ounces here!) of milk onto the floor. It was almost enough to make one swear off church meetings! Thank heavens we didn’t have guests for that meal!

Canterbury, on a lovely warm spring day, has a magical busy-ness. I got the feeling of pilgrims bustling about, even though St. Thomas a Becket’s shrine was destroyed by Henry VIII in 1538. At right is an entrance to the cathedral area through the archway on the right.

We saw the place where the tomb had been and the deeply worn stone steps leading there. The Black Prince is buried there, as well as Henry IV, the only king interred in Canterbury.

John had as much trouble as I did finding a place to park in Brighton, with one difference – he found one! I finally got to see the elaborate inside of that exotic Indian/Oriental fantasy, the Royal Pavilion, built by the Prince Regent (later George IV). We even had a delicious lunch in one of the upstairs rooms. Most of the furniture was designed specifically for each room, so they matched in style and upholstery. The columns, wall decorations and gigantic chandeliers, called gasoliers by a guide, were fantastic. I was fascinated with letters on display of the Prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert, the widow he secretly married.

The Bible is right again – the more you ask for, the more you get. We were in the middle of an argument with a child when I sent a quick one up: “Lord, please solve this one and the ones to come when John won’t be here.” Immediately, with split-second timing, the phone rang! My brother Bob was on the other end saying he and his girls are coming to visit in June. That solved June for me, and when I turned around, the present problem flitted out the window in the excitement.

We had a gorgeous early summer day to drive near Bath to Longleat – the stately home of the Marquis of Bath. The house is 400 years old, a huge place, but the sizes of the rooms were livable. Even years ago people wanted souvenirs to take home, and the Thynnes were no exception. Displayed in the house was the shirt, complete with blood stains, that Charles I wore for his execution. I was very surprised when the guide pointed to two door facings from the Taj Mahal.

There were three dining rooms – one last used in 1923 where we saw the silver wired to alarms, another where the guide showed a dining room that the family uses when there are no guests. The present Marquis has celebrated two silver wedding anniversaries – 25 years with each of two wives. He still lives in the house, as do two sons and their families.

The grounds were beautiful, originally landscaped by Capability Brown. We were fascinated by one large old tree with a plaque saying it was planted by George III when he came for a visit!

So many ancestral homes are in jeopardy because of the steep inheritance taxes, and Longleat is no exception. Behind the house is an amusement park with a railroad we had to ride, a garden center, maze, and shops. Across the valley is the safari park, Europe’s first. We were amused at the cartoons displayed in the great hall, all poking fun at a peer of the realm keeping animals.

$ was impressed with the giraffes, whose knobby knees we looked up at from our car. He’s still imitating the monkey that sat on our car. Just at feeding time we saw the lions, tigers, and wolves pounce on their pieces of meat.

Before going into Salisbury, we saw Old Sarum. It had the deepest moat we’ve ever seen, 11^th century ruins of a cathedral, and a fort.

We didn’t find out the extent of damage to the cathedral of Salisbury until after the evensong service. At 2 a.m. vandals had entered through a small window and set fire to the altar and a side chapel, though all we saw at first was the charred altar. In an effort to clear the vestiges of smoke, the huge doors were thrown wide open. The church had been closed all day and was reopened just before the service.

The church is renowned for three things – the tallest spire in Europe (404 ft.), one of the oldest clocks of its kind in England, and in the library one of the four original copies of the Magna Carta. We liked its setting in wide green lawns. Some cathedrals have other buildings so close that it’s hard to see the church, but not this one.

[Forty years after we were at Salisbury, I have one other note to add for those of you who have sent or received on-line cards by Jacquie Lawson. She uses the singers from the choir of this cathedral on the sound tracks, and most big church drawings are based on the cathedral.]

We spent the night at the Red Lion Hotel – a medieval coaching inn with tiny passages that turn sharp corners and go up and down many levels. The rooms were cozy with many lovely touches. Sewing kits were little stuffed pillows fixed to the vanity, holding needles, thread, pins and safety pins. Attached to the walls were built-in electric kettles with a cabinet holding cups and the makings of tea and coffee.

Unfortunately, John became ill just before dinner and chose to go to bed rather than eat. The girls and I were leery of coping with $, but everything went smoothly in the hotel restaurant. Lisa took him to her room while Kate and I finished eating; the entertainment was brushing his teeth with Lisa’s toothbrush!

Sunday morning John’s innards felt better, but I can’t answer for the way he faced the world. I’ll leave it to your conjecture as to what happened to his razor blade.

Wells is a small jewel of a town with spring water gushing out of a fountain just outside the walls of the cathedral. We read that there are seven wells, though only this one is prominent.

The west entrance of the church can’t be seen because of scaffolding for restoration work, but the inside is exquisite. An unusual feature is the inverted arch work which holds up the central tower. We sat in the front row of the quire next to the boys – 18 of them and only one wearing glasses.

Beside the church is the oldest complete street in Europe – Vicar’s Close – where all the houses were built in the 14^th century. On the other side of the church was a moated enclosure for the bishop’s palace, still in use as a residence.

We feasted on a traditional Sunday lunch of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding at the Swan Hotel nearby. Then we drove to Glastonbury to see the ruins of the Abbey where King Arthur is supposed to be buried.

Legend has it that the Holy Grail is also there, brought by Joseph of Arimathea. Joseph had leaned on his staff, the staff sprouted into a thorn bush, and he knew he had to establish a church there. During the Civil War (England’s, not ours) the tree was cut down, but a new one was started from a cutting.

On the way home we drove through Cheddar, now as famous for a commercialized natural wonder (a gorge) as for cheese. With a speed limit of 70 miles per hour on motorways, we scooted home in three hours.

We’re leaving on our last continental holiday April 1 and won’t return until the 20^th. Then we’re having guests almost till the date John is to return to New York to start work.

Superlative Podcasts

I lost contact with Nick when he switched from blogging to pod-casting. I’m thrilled that he contacted me, and I am now back in the loop. If you have ANY interest at all in classical music, please listen to one. Nick talks briefly about a selection and plays it. Instant pleasure! There are usually several in each podcast. There are now almost 40 to choose from, with a new one every week. I love the title, Perfect Pitch.

This is the blurb that appears on the web site: “Perfect Pitch brings you a whole new approach to classical music. For experts and beginners alike, Perfect Pitch is an accessible, relaxed, and informative dive into the best classical works over the centuries and some of the fascinating stories behind the music and their composers.”

It is very easy to access with the link here. Listen with your computer, tablet, or cell phone. If you like what you hear, please share with your relatives and friends. Nick loves to share his passion for music with everyone. He told me this is a mission, not a commercial enterprise. I’d say, “Mission accomplished!”

Thrift Shop BonANNEza

I never dreamed of having personal shoppers at a thrift shop, but that is what happened. Those special pickers were none other than our “awn” neighbors Dawn and Shawn.

Dawn knew the thrift store was going to throw out clothing for lack of storage space. She texted me, asking what size top I wore. Shawn joined her, and they picked out things for themselves and ten tops for me! Ten (10)!!!

At Dawn’s suggestion, I’ll donate the ones I can’t use to another shop. According to the label, one was two sizes too large. My friends had good eyes, though, because I squeezed myself into that tank top. By definition, it had no sleeves. I failed the sleeveless scale 30 years ago and won’t try again. One top didn’t look good on me, though it would be great for someone else. The third reject showed dangerous cleavage. I’ll pass this one along to someone who is much more willing to flirt with danger than I am.

The slideshow presents clothes that originally cost more than I would pay, and I am delighted to have them. One still has the original store tag! The photographer, using only one hand, did not do a good job, but you can get an idea of the lovely things Dawn and Shawn chose for me. Thank you very much, dear neighbors.

Pleasure Amplified

Grandson David has enjoyed his new car, getting used to the way it handles on the road and exploring the bells and whistles. On David’s first day off after getting it, John went outside with him to admire it and see its special features.

I laughed when he hopped into the back of the car and pointed out how he could transport trains and stow camping gear.

Just then a truck pulled into our driveway, and Shawn, Bob, and Logan hurried to inspect the car with us. They looked at the inside as Bob sat behind the wheel, all the while saying how great the car is.

They even looked under the hood! Bob and Logan searched for the hook release after David popped it open. We all admired the spotless innards, and I noted it was color-coded, as the salesman had said it was.

NOTHING could have added more to David’s pleasure than hearing their enthusiastic comments. They spent quality time rejoicing with him. It was focused, uplifting, and affirming – just perfect!

England 40 Years Ago — March 21, 1982

A dozen eggs and one small boy is a potent combination. I wondered why he was content to play with a shoe box all the way home, then found it was the EGG box! It could have been worse, I guess, for he only cracked two and broke one over an old quilt. The quilt needed washing, anyway.

Seeing a baby asleep on an aeroplane isn’t an uncommon sight, but I wonder how many parents see their little ones using a plane as a pillow? $ couldn’t “hatch” his big Fisher-Price aeroplane as he does all his matchbox toys, so he chose it for a pillow, and thereby slept on an aeroplane in his cot.

Much to $’s and John’s pleasure, we took a local train from Reigate to Reading sitting in the last seat on the train, watching the world go by backwards. It was fun to see towns we know by car from a different angle. There were eight tracks going through the Reading station – the center for all trains going West. To speed things up, we took the express back to Redhill, this time in the front seat where we could see the tracks.

Our friends, Barbara and John C, came to spend the day with us Saturday. Their two red-headed boys love trains and thoroughly enjoyed the new layout John had completed at 3:00 a.m. that morning. For that matter, $ was intrigued with it as soon as he saw it and the girls as soon as others began playing with it. After our noon dinner, we went for a long rambling walk past the golf club and looping back around through the town. It seems to be the thing to do after a heavy meal, except at night when it’s dark. We found out that John C grew up across the main highway from here and knows Walton quite well. He remembers a windmill that was one of the few things demolished by a flying bomb in the war. He was also aware of some of the nobility who had put the golf club on the map.

After our ramble, we had a hearty tea – more like a Sunday supper. The children certainly put away the food, probably because of the exercise and having more familiar foods to choose from.

I’ll bet Vivien would be surprised to find he was a direct answer to prayer. We and Philippa were all ready to hop in the car Sunday morning, but the car wouldn’t start. Both John and I tried it repeatedly. John walked in the house in disgust while I gave it one more try. When it still balked, I said, “Lord, if you want us to go to church in Chichester Cathedral, then you’ll have to get this buggy going.” With that, Vivien tapped on the window, suggested we push the car to the front door, and use a hair dryer on the spark plugs. I took a photo of the proceedings. The car sprang to life, and off we went. A one-second prayer resulted in a five-minute miracle.

Despite our late start, we parked a few yards from the church and walked straight into an elderly man who guided us to the steps of the choir. He instructed a younger man to seat us where the GIRLS could see the BOYS singing. There were six men and eleven boys, five of the eleven wearing glasses. The choir was perfectly balanced, and their diction was so good that I understood every word. The slideshow below shows the steeple, the separate bell tower, and an area inside where repairs were being made.

We felt this cathedral, though one of the oldest in England, is the most progressive. They have preserved the ancient parts while constantly adding new things. There is a small side window by Marc Chagall, a flag that Sir Francis Chichester had flown on his boat, and a brilliantly coloured tapestry woven in 1966 hanging behind the altar.

The shopping area of Chichester is still enclosed by Roman walls, and much of it is for pedestrians only. We saw the market cross – a Gothic structure with clocks – at the cross roads in the center. In a long row of shops was an ancient church that took our fancy; it had been turned into a delightful little religious book shop. We ate a delicious dinner in a restaurant called the Vicar’s Hall, housed in a former church building.

We then drove a short distance to the ruins of Fishbourne Roman Villa – a huge place that is now partly covered by a town. It’s amazing what the experts can deduce from rubble. The introductory film put forth the educated guesses as to when the various parts of the buildings were erected, how rooms were changed, the name of the owner, the fact that children of high-born parents lived there, and that the decaying building was destroyed by fire. They had carefully uncovered the oldest mosaics in England made when St. Paul was preaching around the Roman Empire!!!!

Below are photos showing a mosaic at the Roman villa and a mug decorated with an image from the floor. We bought the mug 40 years ago and still have it in our collection.

Lock and Heart-Shaped Rock at the Creek

When John and I walked to the creek on February 12, someone had left a juice pouch, a lock, and a heart-shaped rock high above the water.

Two days later the pouch was gone, but the other items were there in approximately the same position.

On March 3, I took another photo to show nothing had moved. This time I put a date on it.

The next time I went down, the lock had a new position.

Some time between March 10 and 19, both lock and heart were gone.

I’m amazed that the items stayed beside the stream for roughly a month. Granted, the weather was cold and few people were wandering about. How I wish I knew who put them there and who took them away! John’s last time to walk all the way to the creek was the day we found the lock and the heart rock. I think if only the rock was there, I would have brought it home as a memento of our walks to the creek.