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.
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.
Brighton Pavilion
Pavilion from another angle
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.
Longleat from our car
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.
Longleat dome
Drawing room
Drawing room
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, 11th century ruins of a cathedral, and a fort.
Old Sarum moat
Ruins of the cathedral
Old well at Sarum
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.
Salisbury close
[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.
Wells spring
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.
Vicar’s Close
Beside the church is the oldest complete street in Europe – Vicar’s Close – where all the houses were built in the 14th century. On the other side of the church was a moated enclosure for the bishop’s palace, still in use as a residence.
Bishop’s palace
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.
Glastonbury Abbey
Another view of Glastonbury Abbey
Supposed site of King Arthur’s tomb
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.
Family with new thorn bush
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 20th. Then we’re having guests almost till the date John is to return to New York to start work.
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!”
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.
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!
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!!!!
Mosaic at Fishbourne
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.
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.
Grandson David knew his day off would be different, because he was slated to run the sound board for the Lenten service. He’d had general instructions and observed a time or so, but there is nothing like sitting in the command seat! He said he made one mistake, but no one in the congregation noticed.
Amy, the music director, was in the choir loft and thought to take a photo and send it to John and David. Wasn’t that thoughtful? I particularly appreciated it.
Earlier in the day we went with David to the Subaru dealer in Asheville, as he began looking for a car to buy. There was nothing that interested him, but he had begun the process. As we drove home, the salesman texted him, asking if he might be interested in a new car that was due to come in soon. David said yes. We hadn’t been home long when word came that the car was delivered and was there on the lot. The fellows went back, planning to see the car and wait for the church service to begin. It takes about 45 minutes to get to Asheville, so they wouldn’t come back home.
David texted me, and I’m sure if there had been wires involved, they would have sizzled. He test drove the car and agreed to buy it!!! On that high, he rushed to church and ran the sound board. His concentration must be superb.
Back of the cashier’s check
Normally he is on a very late schedule, but David got up quite early to go to the bank. His face was all smiles as he held up the cashier’s check.
Next stop was for insurance. His grin was even broader when he knew the car was insured.
At the dealership, he signed papers in the showroom while the car was cleaned and gassed up. After choosing a service agreement, the salesman sat in the car with him, showing him all the bells and whistles. David knows a lot about cars and probably didn’t learn anything new, but they went through the checklist.
They brought a sign out for him to hold, while the salesman and I took a picture. After shaking hands all around, David was left alone with his car for the first time.
I couldn’t see the screen very well in the bright sunlight, but I asked David to pose beside the car. It looks like he took it under his wing.
The last photo at the dealership shows him in the driver’s seat, ready to start the car. I leaned in and said, “Nobody is looking. Hug the steering wheel.” This was a private moment, not to be intruded upon by a camera.
We stopped for a sandwich at Culver’s. Normally David would have loved a milkshake to go, but he wouldn’t take food in the car on its first day. I have a feeling this vehicle is going to stay a lot cleaner than my old car, Snot. After lunch we drove in tandem until David turned off to go to work. I felt sorry for him, having to work a full shift after a very exciting morning.
There is one thing I failed to do. I didn’t lean in the car and get a whiff of that new car smell. I shall do that tomorrow.
We had a short day trip to Greenwich (don’t forget it’s “grin itch”) while the girls were in school. Climbing around the Cutty Sark was a lark – Cutty Sark, I presume you know, was not originally liquor but a clipper ship. The brass on her was gleaming – hinges, handrails, porthole rims, step guards, etc. $ enjoyed watching the hoards of little school children on their outings. The Cutty Sark is by the Thames and just a walk away from the Royal Naval College, National Maritime Museum, and the Royal Conservatory.
We walked up the steep hill to the Observatory and saw the clock built in a brick wall that proclaims Greenwich Mean Time. Its dial has 24 hours in Roman numerals; I’d know the time easily only half the time! A few feet away was a brass strip laid in concrete that is the world’s prime meridian, dividing the world into Eastern and Western hemispheres. Wow! It was like standing at the dividing point of the world!
I loved seeing all the old chronometers, astrolabes, sun dials, telescopes, and clocks. I felt if I had several years to absorb all that information, I might begin to hear the ticking of the universe. Going down a set of stairs, we could hear that peculiar music of many time pieces in symphony. To me that sound is second only to the sound of falling water. I could have listened to an hour whir away! My favorite was a big clock that said, “Cathack, thumb, whack” in definite triplet rhythm. Among the clocks were two watches that had belonged to Lord Nelson, one of which he had with him on the Victory.
Greenwich Observatory House
Queen’s House, Greenwich
At home Kate came leaping into the room to announce that her dad has lived 14,785 days.
I vaguely remember hearing that it isn’t necessary to wash a teapot after each use. It wasn’t until I questioned a really cruddy one in an antique shop that we were told this finer point of serving tea. “One should NEVER wash a teapot,” both husband and wife agreed. All that is necessary is to rinse it after each use. They claimed tea doesn’t reach a perfection of taste unless brewed in an encrusted and stained pot.
We were a little concerned at increasing evidence of recent snow as we drove from France to Luxembourg, but it was only on higher ground.
Trier, Germany, is reputed to be the most medieval of German cities. The cathedral was impressive.
Just down the street was the building that caught my fancy – the Porta Nigra – about four stories of huge stones making up a double archway, built by the Romans! In England we’ve seen flattened ruins, but this is the biggest standing Roman edifice I’ve seen. I know it wouldn’t look as big as a peanut next to the Coliseum in Rome, but when all I have to compare it with are mosaics, rubble, and a wall that’s falling down, I’ll stay impressed.
I had to grit my teeth during a long ride along the Moselle River, because I was dying to take a photo but had to hold a sleeping little boy. The vineyards on those perpendicular slopes seemed to be holding on by sheer determination. Every available bit of soil had precisely measured stakes holding the vines in place. The rows were up and down the mountainsides, often to the very top and down to the water’s edge. Cross-crossing little roads with hairpin turns provided access for cars. We drove up and up among the fields. I don’t know how people could cling there and do any work without starting a landslides of shale down the steeps (can’t call them slopes!).
We wondered why the suitcase seemed roomier; we thought perhaps we were really getting the hang of packing for traveling. No, there was a bit missing. I’ll leave it to your imagination as to whether $ mischievously took it, or I maliciously removed it, or John was too busy thinking of others to take time for himself. In any case, John C. was without a change of underwear. Somehow he didn’t appreciate it when I offered to share with him.
Though we carefully parked the car under the hotel in Trier, she refused to start the next morning. You can imagine our dismay early on a Sunday morning. A young man from the restaurant helped push the car, took John to a service station to borrow jumper cables, and used his own car to boost ours. Further disappointment – no go. As the man was about to drive off, John tried our car one more time, and she started. Relief! We had no trouble the following night, even though the car was parked in an exposed place.
Again, on higher ground, we found snow lying on the ground, though it didn’t hinder our trip to Cologne. The cathedral there is the most massive one I’ve seen and the tallest. I’d vote it the most beautiful in Europe. Despite the fact that the city all around was leveled during the war, the church had surprisingly little damage.
John came in to read the first page of this letter, then leaned over to read as I typed. I asked him if he minded if I wrote it before he read it.
We drove along the Rhine to Bonn, peeking at the river between some houses and scads of industrial parks. Then we had a front seat view on a Rhine River trip. In all honesty, I’ll have to admit it lasted only five minutes. We were south of Bonn and looking for a way across to return to Cologne on the other side. Being among the last in the queue, we were directed to the front of the last row and had a marvelous point for looking around without budging from our seats.
We saw the towers left of the bridge at Ramagen that was bombed during the war. The towers are not standing to the left of the bridge; only the towers remain of the bridge. It would help to write things out beforehand!
Overall, some trips are better than others. This will not be remembered as an easy one for John. The last night $ marched into the room, headed straight for John’s glasses, picked them up and did a Superman job on them – snapped them right in half without even a grimace. Then at 3 a.m. John rushed to the bathroom with his innards as scrambled as this word: haarrdie.
We were early for our ferry, so ducked down a street in Calais set in a huge apartment complex to go in the international Supermarche. We’d seen people interviewed on TV because they took a ferry and a bus from England to shop there for bargains. The store was the largest I’ve ever seen – ginormous, as we’d say in British slang. One end had food, and the other clothes, appliances, and even lumber. I think there were about 50 check-out counters. Opposite the check-out were several restaurants, snack bars, patisseries, and even a place for clothes cleaning. We bought cheese at about half the price we’d pay in England. I’m sure if we’d put our minds to it, we could have spent lots of money.
We looked at antiques in Dorking and found that the fronts of those small shops hide amazing spaces crammed full of furniture. There were small rooms upstairs, downstairs, and in lofts. The area I’m talking about is the small street where we pointed out to some of you a plaque about the Pilgrims who sailed to America. These shops specialize in larger pieces of furniture rather than knick-knacks. I was drawn to chairs, while John kept looking at sideboards. The piece we both fell in love with was a small cabinet that camouflaged a coal bucket. The inlaid wood was exquisite, but we couldn’t think of a way to use it in the Stony Brook house.
We noticed two For Sale signs – one at the house we would have loved to buy from our first visit to London and the other at Timberly (the first house we rented). Guess I’m a little wistful.
Bjorg S came out for tea and dinner; John had known her in New York and worked with her in London. She was very kind to the children, and we had a chance for a long chat after they went to bed. Enjoyable! It was nice to have the house presentable, too! All but $ pitched in to straighten, neaten, and clean. Surely that’s a reason to resolve to have company at least once a month!
We took a last swing into Westminster Abbey. As usual, the music was glorious and the preaching atrocious. After the service John showed Kate and me where he’d walked in the cloisters during the sermon. Some of the walls are from the 1100’s. Buried behind walkways and low passages was a delightful little cloister where a merry little fountain sparked in the middle of lush green grass and flower beds. Also tucked away was a treasure room where we saw the replicas of the crown jewels that are used for rehearsals of coronations, funeral effigies surprisingly life-like, the oldest saddle (for a horse) in Europe, seals and signatures of historical greats, and the coronation chair used only once to augment the ancient one when William and Mary were crowned simultaneously.
Responsibility for a service at St. Mary’s in Reigate rested partly on our shoulders when our home group led the service at 6:30 last night. Two ladies were in charge of the coffee, all women brought biscuits, the men helped with the offering, one of our group is a clergyman and could legally hold the communion service, Penny gave a testimony, several did readings and prayers, I accompanied the singers of our group for songs during communion, and John preached. It all went very smoothly for a surprisingly large congregation.
John could say, “Something funny happened on the way to the pulpit.” Just before the service he was checking the pulpit light when Tim, the minister of our group, was chatting with the regular vicar nearby. The vicar said to Tim in a chill, somber voice, “Just who is this John Mehrling?”
Tim, slightly taken aback, explained that John had been coming for two years. John walked over to re-introduce himself and got a very stiff reception. That would have really upset me, but John didn’t mention it until we were on our way home. He said the man had every right to be concerned about what would be preached by a stranger. It was a bit late to be concerned, I thought. We laughingly decided that every home group service will be minutely examined hereafter.
Today we bought an Edwardian umbrella stand that appealed to the whimsical and the practical in us. [It is in the entrance hall in North Carolina. We do not have a proper umbrella, only collapsible ones in tired heaps. A harness for Sadie and my fancy cane gravitated here.]
[For lack of any other appropriate photo, I will include our Welsh lovespoon. It should have been included in the letter for March 1.]
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 