April 22 - April 29
6:00 p.m., 22 April 1999
Back in St. Albans – no one home, so I’m not sure who to expect when. I’ve already taken one message for Ollie – according to Peter’s schedule Ollie should be here eventually. Peter may be too. Or not.
I called British Airways, but this time took them at their word that I don’t need to reconfirm my reservations – sure hope that’s okay.
I will definitely have to mail some things off tomorrow. Books, of course – and at Jarrold’s I did buy that little cat sleeping on a stack of books. Might try to take that in my luggage, however. With the Staffordshire cats and dogs. Hmmm.
I did call Gary – left some voice mail. Mother’s line seems busy, but it may be Peter’s phone. Or the calling card number. Her voicemail should have picked up if it was her line. Sheesh – I have 1-1/2 hour of phone time on that card – I’ll leave it for Peter I guess.
Watching the news reminds me of the long discussions on guns and gun control Helen and I had – there’s been another school shooting in the US, though I don’t know many details. It’s lovely how we’re viewed abroad, isn’t it? On the other hand, I find myself feeling that after all, it is our business – well, will be home soon and can see what the US media have to say. And then there’s been a nailbomb set off in Brixton, a London neighborhood – we don’t have a complete monopoly on crazies and indeterminate violence after all. In addition, the British media have taken ownership of the Kosovo war – you hardly hear about the US being involved – their reporters have made treks through the snow to the refugee camps, Tony Blair has been highlighted making strong statements about the NATO action – the 50th Anniversary of NATO includes a gathering in the US, but you see only Blair in the British coverage. Since you only see Clinton in the US coverage, that’s hardly a surprise, but in a way I am surprised at the proprietary attitude towards this action. And yet we’re castigated for our love of violence. Consistency is not a strong suit for any of us when it comes to these issues.
Tomorrow a stroll in St. Albans, I think. I’ll stop again at Past Times, look for the Fighting Cocks pub – pack, mail, get ready to leave. I’m surprised to be so ready to go home – and right now I don’t want to do more sight/site-seeing, not even Hatfield House. Though maybe I’ll change my mind tomorrow. But—I’m ready to go home – the fares aren’t that high – maybe I’ll come back sooner next time.
23 April 1999
Last day in England – Shakespeare's birthday, and my father's. Lunch at the Fleur de Lys pub in St. Albans. I’m tired – gray drizzly day, and I waffled about going to Hatfield or St. Albans or …? Took a look at the bus stop for tomorrow morning and took a bus into the town center. 50p. Wandered around St. Peters, then found the Museum of St. Albans – nice, and surprisingly interesting exhibit of tools, 18th-C. through mid-20th-C., and a visiting exhibit of British folk art. Evidently it’s a big deal to have folk art recognized as art over here. The commentary pointed out that in America and Scandinavia it has been appreciated for far longer. Britain, they said, as an Imperial Power, chose other emblems (to paraphrase).
Upstairs was a very nice journey thought the history of St. Albans and the Abbey – and in the little gift shop I found postcards of two cat paintings by Louis Wain – the psychedelic psychotic cat artist Melinda told us about on the web. He seems to have been hospitalized here in St. Albans! Cats at a tea party is delightful for rpcc! And then I bought two more books I don’t need to carry! Medieval Gardens and Medieval Feasts. Maybe I’ll stop back at the post office before I go home.
So here I am, eating pork and apricot casserole (incompletely microwaved) and chips. Have to mention the sandwiches on the train to and from Norwich – ham and egg on the way out, smoked salmon and cream cheese on the way back. Fresh, tasty. Hmmmmm. Should have had more sandwiches here.
Called Gary and Mother when I got back and left messages – Gary called me back around 9:30 (1:30 his time) – his Jacques Brel review opened to great reviews, Laura’s back is not doing well, and Mother is getting tested for heart issues – getting out of breath on Seattle’s hills (duh!) – but I’m worried, though Gary was matter of fact. But he always is. Sheeyit!
I think I’ve had more real England here than ever before. I’ve
seen sites, but also spent days like this, just wandering, sitting – pubs
are quiet at noon – the British seem to eat later (1 – 2 and 8 – 9).
Gary would like it here.
later, 23 April 1999
I just called Mother – about 8:30 a.m. there – she didn’t have anything different to say then Gary did – I tried to call Janet, but I’m afraid I may have gotten their fax, not their phone. Looks like Peter isn’t home today and will, I assume, not be here tonight. Must remember to leave the keys and the phone card. Oh – and the toilet paper.
This is St. George’s day, Shakespeare’s birthday, and Harold’s birthday
too – an auspicious day I hope for my last full day here – it is, however,
pouring rain.
still later (23 April 1999)
The rain stopped – as always. Ollie and John swept in and back out. I retired to my room to pack, write, read – then around 8 p.m. Peter was home after all. I went out to see him. He was on the phone forever, but managed to share a bottle of wine with me before the long calls ended. He’s quite remarkable in being able to make one feel quite at home in the midst of chaos.
Later he went out for Indian takeaway – huge quantities and variety – it was 11:30 before I retired again – my last night in St. Albans.
24 April 1999
On the plane taxi-ing down the runway and off to Seattle. 1:30 p.m., but now I have to think of it as 5:30 a.m. – and I’ve been up since 11 p.m. the night before. Hmmmm – it’s as if I went to my bedroom at Peter’s, packed, and went out the door.
I left about 8:00 a.m., two bags crammed to the gills and heavy. This is without the books I mailed yesterday! I have developed some stamina however – now if I could just keep exercising at home. But the Brits could do with some more lifts and escalators!
I made sure I left everything I was supposed to, made up the bed as best I could, and stepped out the door at 10 Oswald St. for the last time. Walked the block to Victoria Street and up over the bridge to the train station. I got to the bus stop, and everyone else was going to Hemel Hempstead (wonder what’s there?). Spoke with an older man, then with a veddy country lady – who ran back off her own bus to tell me the Heathrow bus was on the other side of hers, unseen by those of us waiting patiently at the curb. I had to hurry, but the other bus driver honked, the lady I didn’t have time to thank went on her way – and I, thankfully, was on mine.
It was a long, winding journey to Heathrow – a nice day, and fascinating drive. As we drove through St. Albans (market day! I wanted to go to the market!), I saw a queue of folks waiting in front of a storefront – as the bus waited for the light, I read the sign on the door: all about policies for selling beanie babies (one bear, unlimited others, had to be fair, etc. etc.)! There they were in St. Albans, lining up for beanies! (Nick would be so mortified!)
When we arrived at Heathrow (about 1 ½ hours later), the shuttle to Terminal 4 was right there – seems it runs every ½ hour, so I felt lucky to find it waiting. It took another long, winding journey to get to terminal 4, stopping at several other places along the way, and seeming, at one point, to leave the airport grounds altogether.
Then a long winding journey upstairs to check in – all sorts of British Airways flights checking in at once – I was very glad I caught the 8:35 bus from St. Albans instead of the 9:35.
I spent the last of my British pounds on an overpriced stuffed Beefeater bear (later named Buckingham – I love him, even if he isn’t the posh Harrod’s bear I could have had). I had a very good baguette (bacon, egg, and tomato) past the metal detectors. And then there was the duty-free shopping! Tons of Harrod’s things – including all those bears I’d passed up in London, cheaper because no British taxes in duty-free. Since I had Buckingham already, I got a tin of Assam tea and a small Harrod’s bear (Harry). Charged those, as I had only a couple pound coins left. *sigh* Shoved everything down into my green bag – fortunately, the bears were squishy (squishier than the toilet paper Gary and Mother sent me off with!).
Rode moving sidewalks to the departure gate – another full flight – with a baby across the aisle – we’ll see how that works. But – going home!
Later on the flight
11:08 a.m., Seattle time. At least four more hours. This flight seems to be taking forever. When I’m going home, I want to be home. I’ve dozed on and off, dreaming of England and rows of houses, trees of pink and white flowers – haven’t put on the earphones to listen to the movies or tv being shown on the screen in front. But an episode (the first, I think) of The Vicar of Dibley just finished – “Wendling is Dibley,” Helen told me. “We have all the characters right here.” It would be nice to re-visit Norfolk, maybe stay in that little country hotel up the road from Helen and Vernon – see more of Swaffam and that Iceni recreatio – and Blickling and Felbrigg – I’m half way through the first volume, Cobwebs and Cream Teas, of a two-volume series about life behind the scenes in a National Trust house – and it would be fun to actually see Felbrigg, the house being described.
As far as I can tell, I’ve totally screwed up the count for presents to the department – forgot all about Kelvin and Mary Jane (except, of course, it’s now Jaydee taking Mary Jane’s place) – will have to do something like offer everyone their choice of two items (one book mark, one Brighton Rock) – give Kelvin and Jaydee one of each, then give a lavender sachet to Janie. I have the lavender incense anyway. I should have bought more little postal vans – at 99p. they were a bargain I could have added to the mix. *sigh*
And I realize I have no idea how much stuff I’m allowed to bring in – I think I have about $300 worth right now – I forgot totally about the Sandringham things and that added L40. Wonder if they take Mastercard?
I want to be home with my kitties!!!
28 April 1999
Seattle
That last was harder to accomplish than I’d anticipated. The plane landed at 3:00, but it was 4:00 before I made it through Customs – it all went fairly smoothly, but it was still an hour. Two 747s full of international travelers and two, count ‘em two, Customs lines, didn’t help. When I retrieved my bag from the last baggage carousel ($400 allowance, by the way, with restrictions on fruit and plants, etc.), I made arrangements for the Shuttle Express and called Crown Hill. They closed at 5:00!! And wanted me there by 4:30. Or maybe 4:45. Even though at first they gave me their weekday closing of 6:30, which would have been perfect. I almost cried right there in the airport. No way was I going to make it.
When Shuttle Express arrived, there were seven passengers, six stops – they just collect folks and then figure the best way to get them all where they belong. Cost $22 + tip. But I didn’t have to carry my (heavy) bags on the bus or from the bus to my house. And for a bit, I still cherished the prospect of making it to my house in time to jump in my car and make it to Crown Hill before closing – just try to get me out of there without my cats then! But it soon became clear that it wasn’t going to happen – I was the last one out of the shuttle, and was home at 5:30. (12:30 a.m., UK time). It was a beautiful day – warm and sunny and not at all like what I’d left behind in England. Or what Seattle had been like when I left. Alas, it was not to continue – cold and rain returned the next morning.
Which was when I went for the kitties, promptly at 10:00 a.m. Skye told me at the top of her voice just how unhappy she was – all the way home. She’d hurked once, early in her stay. Tally had goopy eyes that hadn’t been cleaned out But they seemed otherwise in good shape, though they disappeared as soon as I opened the carriers in the living room, and ignored me all day, until late that night. I lay in the bedroom and once in a while one or the other would come in, disappear into the closet, come out – maybe glance my way – but not come for smurgles or attention or anything. By bedtime, however, I was forgiven, as both of them ended up curled up in bed next to me – they didn’t even hiss at each other. While I gather they spent most of their boarding time in opposite ends of their three-cage suite, it could be that the enforced proximity, if not inspiring “bonding,” did increase the tolerance level. I hope so.
Airmail from England has arrived promptly, by the way! The Harrods and British Library shipments were waiting at the office, and postcards were reported as arriving almost as soon as I’d left. The postal bags I sent airmail from St. Albans have all arrived, both at the office and at home, and only the box I sent surface has yet to come. Amazing!
But I am so jetlagged! I can’t focus, I crash by late afternoon, and today I bit Sara’s head off in an emotional exchange I should have been able to avoid. (Right now I’m writing in the sun, hoping to do something to my body clock. As before, going over wasn’t bad. Coming back is hell.
Still have to reflect on the whole experience. On England. On going back. On coming home.
