April 29 - May 19
Home Again
29 April 1999
So here I am, back at the Ballard SBC, leaves on the trees now, sun shining (if only for today). What details do I need to remember?
No walking sticks and no charms for sale . . . some little pins (I got a St. Albans coat of arms and something from the Royal Pavilion in Brighton). The toilet paper is just fine now. Gary’s going-away gift was not as radical as it could have been. People in St. Albans lined up in front of a store selling Beanies. All sorts of newbies (but not the newest newbies) for sale in Norwich (and bears behind the counter – didn’t even ask the prices).. Aggressive crossers of streets – no one but the timid American waited for the little walking man to light up. And, of course, the very obvious place lit up on both the walking green man and the standing red man – Helen said she’d never noticed it. Peter did, of course, and pointed it out to me. They still don’t do coffee. But they have the kewlest electric hotpots – kinda tall and flat, sitting on a base where the element is located – plug in the base, set the pot on top, flip the switch on the pot to “on” – and when the water boils, the switch flips off, you lift off the pot, pour the water, and return it to the base – no muss, no fuss, and no electric element burning dry. Both Peter and Helen had these pots – if the current wasn’t different from ours, I’da bought one. Should’ve bought more baguettes and sandwiches. Still want to go back to Wells. But now I want to spend more time in St. Albans too. And Norfolk – say, Swafffam. Try that country hotel on the road to Wendling.
On the plane – the Indian couple next to me, the man (white bearded and turbanned) asking if my journal writing was poetry – “You were writing so fast, I wondered if the poetry was just coming like that.” As if!
I may finally be settling in and settling down – it feels good to be here at SBC, and I noticed last night how good it felt to be nestled down in my own bed. But I love having Buckingham, my Beefeater bear, beside me – overpriced, but more…friendly…than the Harrods bears, I think.
Found several books on the Web that I’d passed up in the UK – the Granta book on London, and Stories in Stone, the book on the roof bosses of Norwich cathedral – will have to put an order together. Oh yes – the Felidae books that Helen liked .
19 May 1999
Back almost a month now – well, a little less, but London is fading into memory It’s been cloudy and rainy here since I returned, hardly different than before I left or England while I was there – but this week promises sun and perhaps I can spend enough time this weekend to actually accomplish something in the yard – I have lobelias to plant among the roses, roses to fertilize, and maybe another pot of geraniums. And tomatoes. And herbs. In St. Albans, Peter had been working on his garden for a year or two – small because of the granny flat extension, and paved, with beds surrounding – more a patio than a garden. (Helen and I discussed the different terminology between our two countries – we say “yard” to designate the lawns and green space around our houses, while in England “yard” is an enclosed paved area – more like a patio – where we say “yard,” they say “garden,” while “garden” to us usually means “vegetables.” Or a big formal garden. Either way, I think Peter and Helen and I all get great joy from fiddling with plants.
Happy to get home though I was, I would be happy now to return. The cost is a problem – what with Ceilidh’s illness, the new furnace at Christmas, and the $1000 I spent in those two weeks in England, I’m way overextended – in fact, I just got my US West Mastercard bill, and that’s when I realized I’d put over $900 on it in the UK. It’ll be a while (!) before I can see things settle down.
But . . . there’s a hotel in St. Albans just down the street (I think) from the little Post Office I used, and a B&B a few blocks on the other side of the hill, not too far from the train station and bus depot . . . how about, say, a week in St. Albans, finally going to Hatfield House, to the Roman ruins, in to London; then another week in Norwich (rent a car, stay at that little country hotel down the road from Willow House, or maybe a B&B in Swaffam), with more time in Norwich, that Iceni reconstruction, the lavender fields . . . then the train back to London, change for Bath and on to Wells and the Ancient Gatehouse, take that bus to Glastonbury . . . back to Bath, on to Heathrow and Seattle . . .three weeks . . . don’t spend much (HA!).
The last package from the UK arrived yesterday – about a month in transit – all there, though. So now it really is over . . . though photos, the web site, etc., will keep it alive, much more than frail memory. I want to show Mother and Gary what I learned, and I want to go back -–always to come home again, but go back – Ah, to be in England, once April’s there again!
