Getting Ready:
January - April 1999
January 1999
I haven’t been to England for 15 years. 1984, and Mother and I went on a tour to Oberammergau, staying after for a two-week trip through England and Scotland. That was the year my car (Anastasia, the 68 Buick) died, I bought my house (about to be sold out from under me), and Geoffrey was diagnosed with pancreatitis the day before we left. The year I almost backed our rented car off the ferry and into the North Sea on the Isle of Mull. The year Geoffrey died the week after we returned – did weariness and jet lag cloud my judgment, make me give up too soon? Leaving me with an unshakable sense of having failed him?
But since then, neither of us has traveled outside the U.S., except to Canada. And now the University of Washington the State is actually sending me to London for a week – to observe and participate in the English Department’s Spring Quarter in London program I’ve helped administer for so many years.
26 January 1999
The sky is a comfortable January gray, soft and silver, a little damp, matching the pavement of sidewalk and street – comfortable because I’m looking at it from inside my favorite local coffee house, sitting at the window overlooking the street through floor to ceiling windows, a fire burning in the fireplace behind me – never mind that the fire burns the same in the spring and summer, ersatz coziness on demand: today it’s a warm comforting presence. I’m sipping a cappuccino and listening to soft jazz coming out of the speakers. Jazz this morning – much better than the rock or pop so often chosen instead.
Will April in England be as comfortably gray, I wonder, or will I resent the typical spring coolness if that’s the face London turns toward me? Will I demand sunny skies and flowering trees and daffodils? Will there be time for quiet reflection in a coffee house – or, more likely, a pub . . . ah . . . British bitter! Courage Directors! I think I dreamed about that last night – in a pub where I was poured a half because I was a woman before I could ask for a pint. Never mind – I could always order another. But then the dream-like slow motion search for British coins to pay, a traveler’s check in sterling to write out. And then the dream moved on – to my house here in Seattle and contractors competing to repair it while it began to fall apart even as a horde of ladies who lunch played cards and had tea on the front porch. What was that about anyway?
Oh to be in England, now that April’s there!
And I will be in England for two weeks in April! Courtesy of the UW Department of English. Amazing! I have a plane ticket in hand, a promise of a place to stay, and a rapidly growing pile of guidebooks. It’s been fifteen years since I was last there and this is the first time I’ll be on my own, a single traveler, with no one else to consider. At least during the second week that is – first week is devoted to participating in the Spring Quarter in London, getting a first-hand on-site look at how that program operates, so I can come back to Seattle and tell prospective students how it was when I was there. What it’s like to commute in from the suburbs, to find my homestay straight off the plane (except Peter has offered to collect me at Heathrow and that’s so tempting!) . . . but after that I have a week on my own to do and go whatever and wherever I want. I say I’ve made no commitments, but I think I want to go to Wells, stay in the Ancient Gatehouse, go to evensong in that beautiful cathedral . . . maybe take the bus to Glastonbury. And Peter lives in St. Albans, with its own cathedral and Roman ruins and a rose garden (too early in April for the roses, I guess) . . . six miles from Hatfield House – a definite day trip.
But I want to be able to take time and relish experiences – see everything and be quiet all at once – there won’t be time for everything, so I need to take care to relish and savor and experience.
And shop. And take pictures. And take notes. Comfortable gray skies or brilliant blue skies? England in April. Lots to think about in Seattle in January.
27 January 1999
Sitting here in SBC, gray skies, flickering fire, cappuccino. (But no jazz this morning . . . some kind of light pop/rock – I guess. I really don’t have a clue about most contemporary music – anything after 1750, or maybe 1800, and I’m lost. I wonder what it feels like to be really in tune with your contemporaries, with contemporary culture. There was that brief period in the late 60s . . . but I’m not even sure how authentic that was. My hippy period was more of an affectation than anything, and since then . . . well, a good ol’ ninth-century chant or sixteenth-century polyphonic chorales can’t be beat, eh? Maybe there will be sweet English chorales at St Albans or Wells or somewhere in London).
10 February 1999
They said it would snow today, and it’s cold, but the sun is out here in Ballard . . . and I still wonder about what to pack for England in April – I thought I’d scoped it out (2 prs. jeans, 2 turtlenecks, 2 polo shirts, a sweatshirt jacket) but I keep fussing and changing my mind – I need more cold weather things, more rain things – and I want to travel light. Sheeyit!! again.
Two months. Gotta get organized!
16 February 1999
Yeah, right. Organized. Not doing too well along those lines. At least Marigold isn’t squeaking this morning – wonder what that means? I hope it means nothing is wrong or going to go wrong. It’s strange how the well-being of the inanimate objects in my life affects my sense of well-being. Somehow I have to get everything and everyone sorted out before April, so I can leave with a relatively clear mind. Sheesh! It’s only going to be for two weeks – it’ll all be here when I return. Right?
27 March 1999
It’s two weeks to go, not two months. And I have hardly planned more than I wrote in January. The students are all there now – Spring Quarter starts on Monday – I have bunches left to do -- and I’m going to go home and nap – then pack this weekend – tonight or tomorrow – I have L100 cash in my wallet. They’ve changed the money – I know these bills are different colors than before, different pictures – at least they’re not Euros, not yet. Here’s hoping the English stay their course and stay English!
28 March 1999
Less than two weeks to go, and I’m more disorganized, less ready than ever. I haven’t made any overtures to get together with internet friends like Francis-and-Waffles-and-Marble’s mum or Intie-and-Breshnev’s mom (silly not to, but will that keep me from going off on my own that second week?). And what clothes do I bring??? Cold? or mild? Will a sweatshirt jacket be enough?
But…I do have nice colorful money in my wallet -- L5 and L10 notes – and a ticket and passport in my green canvas bag (do I take just that or a little purse as well? Which one?). I have some clothes in my suitcase, and reservations for boarding the kitties. (Skye came into the bedroom and stayed to be petted last night, even though Tally was asleep on my knees – and neither hissed!)
Still—time is getting shorter and I’m getting behinder . . . aaarghhhhh!
30 March 1999
What do I need to do?
Revise packing!
E-mail Helen Simmons (?)
Fax Janet – must be sure to get together with her
Get $$ from Credit Union to cover 4/10 bills and a little Seattle
cash – so
on 4/9 I will have $500 to draw on with cash card in London
Stop paper
Hold mail
Mow lawn (take lawnmower to shop?)
Check credit card balances
Read Oroonoko
Read Othello
Get/read Mrs. Dalloway?
Photocopy bits from guidebooks
Print out websites
Oh yeah . . . work. (!)
Make address/phone list
31 March 1999
I feel much better about my packing – before I left the house I opened the suitcase and rearranged things (added underwear!) – found I actually had packed more than I’d meant – all that taking out and putting back! – so I was able to cut down. I now have 1 pair of jeans, 1 t-shirt, 1 polo shirt, 1 turtleneck, and will wear 1 pair of jeans, 1 turtleneck, and 1 sweatshirt jacket. One pair sweatpants and t-shirt for sleeping. Socks. Pantyliners. Toiletries (may take out the hairbrush and stick with the little one in my purse). Lots of film – should still see about a film bag. And the 3 t-shirts and 2 mugs as gifts – which should make some little space for things to bring back.
And the sun is shining! Maybe I’ll take a walk at lunch – see the cherry blossoms before they fall.
I’m going to ENNNNNGGGGGLAND!
7 April 1999
Ohmigawd! I’m leaving day after tomorrow and even though I’ve been methodical in some of my preparations, there’s so much left to do! I’m NOT READY!
And I’m lying awake with knots in my stomach – sheesh! – you’d think I’d never been to ENNNNGGGGLAND before! And I’m worrying about the kitties. And the yard. And work (well, a little about work).
I have an invitation to stay with Helen Simmons (and Waffles and Francis and Marble) in Wendling in East Anglia – looked up Norwich (they’re about ½ hour out of Norwich), and it seems totally kewl! Cathedral and castle and medieval buildings and churches – she says there are ruins of castles all round – and Sandringham is close by – think I may be going to Norwich and Wendling and the trout stream!
Will have to get kitty pictures and prezzies – a Dept. of English mug – some Frangos . . . so much for packing light!
At least I’ve finished Oroonoko. Mrs. Dalloway won’t get done I fear. Unless I get it for the airplane.
One more day at work; one day at home; then Friday and off to ENNNGGGLAND . . . my stomach hurts.
8 April 1999
Thursday. Tomorrow! My stomach still hurts – I gave in to that tension and took the cats to their boarding kennel this morning…I betrayed their loving and trust. First Skye came into the bedroom and curled up on my tummy – I rested my hand against her side, and we stayed there for a good long time, one-half hour or more. But when I felt her getting ready to move – and I had to go to the bathroom – I grabbed the scruff of her neck and took her on into the bathroom with me. She yowled those hollow despairing yowls. (When I first took hold of her, she curled into a ball, her tail between her legs, curled on her belly – it was a moment of smurgling, but also pathetic, that curling into a scared defensive ball.)
Shortly after I’d ensconced Skye in the bathroom and returned to bed, Tally came in, climbed on my tummy – I held her and petted her and looked in her eyes and tried to explain. And then I grabbed her scruff and parked her in the bathroom too. She was more energetic in her attempts to leave than Skye, who rested tensely on top of the pile of clothes in the corner. Poor things – they do not understand, and I can’t explain. Skye howled the whole way up to Crown Hill, and Tally seemed, as before at Christmas, in shock.
They’ve changed the type of catfood they feed them – I hope that won’t be a problem – not that they don’t have a few reserves – chances are they won’t starve, but still . . . hard to think of this as their Happy Holiday Hideway Hotel.
Now it’s just a matter of re-packing, working in the yard, picking up my boot that’s being restitched, and deciding finally which shoes to wear. Calling British Airways and re-confirming, even if their voicemail says I don’t need to. Mother and Gary (and maybe Laura) are due in tonight – gawd, I am so not ready. And my stomach hurts!
