11.14.2016

EXTREME SELF CARE

It was recently suggested that I look into (or examine) the concept of Extreme Self Care.  Actually, the first assignment called for me to exercise Extreme Self Care on a daily basis.  Although I had good intentions, the entire concept of Self Care was an uncomfortable one for me, so I kind of, sort of, just let it go.

Since I didn't perform that assignment, it was reassigned two weeks later.  And, finally, reassigned two weeks after that.  But, because of my shirking, that third assignment became a strong suggestion to examine why the thought of Extreme Self Care was so distasteful to me.  My coach calls this "Baby Stepping." Since I didn't manage the assignment either the first or second time, it was obviously a problematic one for me, and I needed to find out why. Only then could I begin the actual process of Self Care...or Wanton Hedonism, as I was imagining it.

In two days, it will be six weeks since the original assignment and, only this morning did I finally approach Extreme Self Care.  Up until now, I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole...but, time is flying and I need a solution. Perhaps, more than a solution, I need a scapegoat, and the perfect one has just come to mind.  Twelve years of Catholic School under a small community of St. Joseph sisters.  The real ones who wore full black flowing habits, which included a veiled, tightly fitted headdress.  When I think about it...not unlike today's controversial burkas.

I don't want to get carried away, but it is important to note that I was and, in many ways, still am a "Capital 'C' Catholic" versus an ordinary "small 'c' catholic."  That means I absorbed every word of every sentence those well-meaning women uttered.  Pulled them into my very being until they became part of me.  I'm sure, today, they show up in my DNA.

And, so, being a Good Catholic Girl, I learned that my wishes, desires, wants and needs were less important than those of the people around me. It was my duty to assure that their lives were running well and, it was probably my fault if they weren't. If I performed those duties with a genuine smile and a joyous tone, I would be blessed.  If I was a grouchy facilitator, it was all for nought. No blessings for me.  More likely, condemnation was near, because anything less was selfishness, and selfishness was a shortcoming and a shortcoming could lead to a sin, and we all know where that takes us. So I tried. For years, I tried.  I still do from time to time. It's not for nothing that I'm known as the person who never selects the dining spot.

And now, I'm 72 years old. I still can't help but look at Self-Care (not to mention Extreme Self-Care) as basically wrong. At worst, sinful. My joy (such as it is) must come from serving others. It will not come from plopping myself down for an hour with a good book.  I am not a "Good Person" if I am not making sure that everyone else is happy and fulfilled and free to choose where we all have lunch. It's just what I do.

9.05.2016

THE BUCKET LIST

I sat down at my cluttered desk this afternoon with the intention of sharing a few thoughts on "Bucket Lists."  I've heard of Bucket Lists for years, but I've never considered one for myself.  For the past few months, BC has been driving and flying to fishing locations he never dreamed existed...and having a wonderful time in the process.  He's marking items off his Bucket List.  As I was telling his story last week to my coach, Jay asked if I had a Bucket List.  "No," I had to answer. I'd encouraged BC with his, but, no, I'd never followed suit.  "What," continued Jay, "would you include on your Bucket List?" and I was struck dumb. I couldn't think of a thing. Not one thing.  So, I thought I'd better mention family in one way or another, so I didn't seem totally self-centered. I mentioned a family get-together, or the possibility of a summer home closer to the Midwest. But, no.  Bucket lists aren't about family, per my coach. A bucket list is about me. Me, me, me. Which, despite my original hesitation, isn't all bad once you get used to it.

For the past few days, I've spent time now and then thinking about the bucket list. My bucket list. And, I've had no luck.  How weird is that?  Personally, I think it's because we women have spent so darned much time facilitating everyone else's wants, needs and bucket lists, we lose the ability to think thoughts for ourselves. (I do believe that was more prevalent in our generation than the current one, but that insight doesn't help me take ownership of the mindset that, in turn, could  spew out a bucket list.)

So, it has been eight days since the subject was raised, and I still have no bucket list.  On Tuesday, it occurred to me that I should Google "Bucket List" but, really, how pathetic is that?  It's my bucket list, filled with my hopes and dreams and long-held desires. It seems wrong to Google someone else's list for ideas.  It does smack of stealing, or maybe just borrowing, but, really, who wants to live someone else's bucket list?  

Nonetheless, this morning (it's Friday, now), I caved and quietly Googled "Bucket List," slightly embarrassed, a little ashamed, and not really expecting positive results.  Ha! Much to my surprise, Google handed me hundreds of sites for "Bucket Lists."  Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but there are a lot of "Bucket List" choices. Apparently, I am not alone in my lack of imagination and daring. Surprisingly, the Number One Bucket List Wish--per a few sites--was: "Seeing the Northern Lights". I know.  I think it's kind of anti-climactic.  Not what I was expecting at all.  Whereas, I believe it would be wonderful to see them, it does mean hiking to the northern reaches of Canada, finding a comfortable hotel with windows facing north and then...waiting. Perhaps for days or weeks. And, most likely, in the dead of winter when the Lights are more easily seen.

And, therein, lies the rub, as my mother was fond of quoting.  One should not wait until her eighth decade to begin a bucket list because, at that age, one really doesn't have time to wait for anything, much less the Northern Lights. We elders have to act, and we have to act now. Our bucket list must be written in the present.

You should know that, at this point, I had planned to rant about Most Popular Bucket List Wishes #2, 3, 4, and 5, which were--Get a Tattoo, Skydive, Swim with Dolphins, and Scuba Dive but, on my way to the rant I ran across a sweet website titled: fullylived.com, that has restored my faith in Bucket Lists.  Divided into a number of categories, Fully Lived has created hundreds of Bucket List wishes that fit my needs so much more than a tattoo. I am totally re-energized.

I do love travel, so I homed in on:  "Go for a Walk in Central Park," "Hike in Ireland," "Hike the Appalachian Trail," "Eat a croissant in a Paris cafe."  I love those! Under the Personal Development heading I decided to add "Be Myself," and "Buy a Stranger's Groceries."  I did skip the Fitness part and the Adventure suggestions, but I paused at the Business and Career section long enough to circle all ideas related to writing.  Under education, I added "Finish an Online Course."  I have two that are in limbo, so I'll attack them tomorrow.  I believe there were 1,000 Bucket List Wishes in total, but I'm happy with the few I have at the moment and, now that I know where to find more, I'll finish my list.

So, yes...of course I have a Bucket List, thank-you very much--and I intend to begin marking off items this afternoon.

6.27.2016

CONTINUOUS TREATS

My calendar is opened to June but, quite literally as well as emotionally, it has already been a long, hot summer. Our temperature topped out at 120 degrees day before yesterday and, no matter how dry the air, 120 degrees is intolerable within a very short period of time.  In addition, the vagaries of the current political campaign, as well as the horrors produced by misguided fanatics with instant access to guns, continue to dominate our news.  I ignore the newspapers and turn off the television, but there is still no place to run nor hide.

This morning, in an effort to find a little positivity in my day, I began searching the internet for something--anything--that might bring relief to this dark state of affairs.  As is my wont, I began a search of quotes under the general heading of "joy,"  but quickly realized that joy was too boisterous for the subject at hand.  I moved down a notch to "happiness." "Happiness" seemed more appropriate and offered the possibility of success.  And this effort, in a nutshell, is how Iris Murdoch came into my life. I had always heard of Murdoch, but was surprised to realize I'd never read any of her writings.

Among the list of quotes on "goodreads.com" was this: "One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats...and if some of these can be inexpensive and quickly procured, so much the better."  This gem was credited to one of Murdoch's later novels, "The Sea, The Sea."

I must admit that I'm a fan of continuous small treats.  For example, I am, at this exact moment while the outside temp is pegged at 109 degrees, happily sipping an exceptionally good cup of hot chocolate, topped with a perfect, sticky marshmallow which is slowly contributing just the right amount of sugary sweetness to this tasty concoction.  For thirty minutes now it has been a continuous small treat.

Whereas, continuous treats, for some, may begin and end with food, I decided to extend the concept to my next favorite thing--reading.  I do love to read but, for some reason I still don't understand, plopping down to read makes me feel guilty. I'm constantly fighting the thought that I should be up and doing something productive. Productive, I say!  For example...dusting the shelves (even the highest ones); vacuuming the floor; organizing the desk drawers; cleaning the produce drawers of the refrigerator.  Ugh.  So...whenever I schedule and complete one of these little productivity spurts, I find a soft seat, put my feet up and read for that exact same length of time. I don't know if that's really a continuous treat, or simply a way to salve my conscience but, quirky as it may be, I'm sticking with it.

Speaking of treats, not continuous this time, I got a nice little e-mail from Amazon yesterday telling me they had credited my account for $28.64 as a settlement in the lawsuit against Apple, dating back to Apple's entry into the e-book business when prices jumped up overnight.  I love Apple, but I'm still ticked with them about their part in destroying the $9.99 best-sellers.  The $28.64 helps.

So, please join me in the quest for inexpensive continuous treats.  I have a feeling they exist everywhere, we're just not looking hard enough.  I know I missed one a few hours ago--a rare cool early morning on our patio.  I won't be so careless again.
    

6.20.2016

NOT DONE YET...

This morning's question of the day was:  Which, of all the places you've been, would you visit again? For most of my lifetime I would have answered without much thought, "All of them." But, since I'm now of a "certain age," I believe that I should project a degree of decorum, so I'm working on measured and thoughtful answers. Hmm, favorite places...

For starters, I must include Colorado in a "Favorites" list.  Now, that would be Colorado straight north and south of  Denver and then west.  I'm pretty picky about Colorado, because its eastern half looks very much like the area of southwest Kansas where I was born, raised and lived nearly forever...and that scenery is just one step up from desert. I think I love the Colorado mountains because when I was very young, our family began spending a week in Evergreen every summer.  We stayed at Davidson's Lodge which consisted of five or six cabins facing onto Bear Creek.  It was heaven, and I knew I belonged there but, sadly, at the end of our cool, green week we loaded our un-air-conditioned car for the long drive home. The road from Denver up into Evergreen was always much more exciting than the exact same road leading out of Evergreen down onto the flatland.

I would take a Mediterranean cruise again...in a heartbeat.  I might even visit every place we stopped the first time.  I would spend extra days in Venice and take a full day tour of Ephesus instead of just half a day.  I'd want to go back to the little village near Ephesus, high on the hill, where St. John took Mary, Jesus' mother, to live after the crucifixion.  Raised as a good Catholic Girl means you never get enough of Mary. Legend or Fact...the stories are charming.  Oh--Pompeii.  Definitely another tour of Pompeii.  And, just one more glass of chilled white wine on the sweet, sandy beach of Mykonos.  I'd spend more time in the Pantheon and not skip the Coliseum.  And, this time I'd visit the catacombs. What were we thinking when we missed them the first time?

I still haven't walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, nor spent nearly enough time in Central Park.  I'd walk the Highline again, but detour over to the Whitney.  And, then, back to Times Square where I'd twirl like Mary Tyler Moore in Minneapolis, throw my hat in the air and dissolve into the lights and colors and honking horns of New York City.

The United Kingdom?  Every square inch.  I'd put on my hiking shoes and never take them off.

Vermont.  Ah...Vermont.  I grew up pretending I lived in Vermont...and that's hard to pull off in western Kansas. I don't know how, when or why the essence of Vermont captured me, but it did.  It took nearly sixty years before I finally visited Vermont, when we rented a tiny cottage among the trees above Lake Champlain. Our little love nest, as it had been advertised, should have been condemned long before our arrival. But, redemption was at hand every evening when we sat on the rickety front porch and watched the sun, in all its glory, dip behind the Adirondacks across the lake in New York.  One sees the edges of heaven from that porch.

Are there more?  Probably. But these are the special ones.  The magical ones that deserve including when we look ahead and begin to construct our Five- and Ten-Year Plans. I recently read that we all need Five and Ten Year Plans. Actually, the author suggested adding a Twenty-Year Plan, even at our age. So, planning was the subject matter of this post when I began, but it quickly took off on its own. If that was a "Wink from the Universe," I'll take it.  I'd love to have more travel in our lives.
   

6.13.2016

HAPPY ENDINGS

My Sweet Baboo and I have been Netflix-ing recently--sometimes watching two episodes back to back.  I draw the line at three.  We're not binge-ing, but it's close enough for my taste.  The object of this near-obsession is a series called "Longmire."  Walt Longmire, tall, rugged, blondish, is the sheriff of an isolated county tucked somewhere in rural Wyoming.  Which, frankly, means it could be anywhere. To locate it more specifically, it's next door to a fictional Cheyenne Indian Reservation or, "The Rez" as it's referred to by everyone, including the residents of The Rez.  Personally, I think that's a little disrespectful, but then again I grew up with Democrats.

I watched "Longmire" primarily because my Baboo is a fan of western movies, television series and books.  You could add leather vests, cowboy boots and cattle to that list.  Each of those things played a role sometime in the first two or three episodes, and he was hooked.  I was more taken with Walt Longmire himself.  He exhibited an extremely high degree of integrity, kindness and practicality which, for me are all good things.  Walt did something exceptionally thoughtful at least once during each episode, thus satisfying my need for high-mindedness during this current political season.

Unfortunately, despite the rural-ness of the area, there were an inordinate number of felonies committed during each episode.  Murders were commonplace, kidnappings frequent, fraud, corruption, robbery...everyday happenings.  I most enjoyed, though, the glimpse of Cheyenne life at the Reservation...the old ways in such conflict with the new.  Eye-opening, instructive and depressing...all in the same episode.

After five seasons, we think Longmire ended last night, but we're not sure.  One does not find neat ribbons tying up loose ends in Longmire's world. Maybe a little rustic bow here or there, but much is left to fester and question. And, I don't like that.  I want neat endings.  I want "An Affair to Remember" (Cary Grant version) endings.  And not just with movies and television series.  What about life?  There are a lot of messy endings in life.  I've had a couple of those myself, but eventually you dust yourself off and, against your better judgement, go out and try again.

I hope Longmire has had time to dust himself off by now.  He was such a nice, ethical guy and I miss him. I'd like to know for sure that he's walking happily into that great big Wyoming sunset.    

6.06.2016

THE LOVE LETTERS

Somewhere in a cute little chest of drawers, right around the corner from where I'm writing, is a stack of old letters held together by a rubber band.  Once, they were wrapped with a pink ribbon, but that ribbon, a victim of the years, is long gone.  The letters were written in the early '30s...from my father to my mother, and my mother to my father.  For a time during their courtship, they lived 90 miles from each other...a long distance in a 1920's era automobile.  There was no train service and, I would guess, no buses were available.

The letters--I'd always known they existed--came home with me in 2004, after I cleared out my Mother's room at the retirement facility she lived in for so many years.  They were some of the few treasures I moved from Kansas to Arizona after her death.  I put them in a box under the guest room bed, then nearly forgot about them.  Some years later, when my sister visited, I sent them home with her to read.  And she did.  "Marg," she wrote, "you need to read these letters.  They're wonderful, and I have such a different impression of Daddy now."  (Daddy was quiet, reserved, even tempered, and very hard of hearing.  Communication was never easy.)  I assured Mary that I would indeed sit down immediately and read them.  That was 2008.

Today, in 2016, I will be putting that cute little chest of drawers into storage as part of a paint-up, fix-up project we will soon begin.  I must clear out those four drawers and find additional storage for the few items I will save.  I will save the letters.  The "love letters" as I think of them.  Contrary to my assurances to my sister, I never touched them.  I've looked at them since, all bundled together with that ratty rubber band. The least I could do is find a nice ribbon.

I would like to read them.  When I was younger, they fascinated me, but I never touched them.  They weren't mine, they were private and they were personal.  I really didn't think with that much maturity, but something about those letters was different.  Sacred, even.

I've been doing a little writing lately, creating stories from a few memories of years gone by and, at the same time, whining because I don't feel like I ever really knew my mother.  My Authentic Mother, as it were.   For that matter, my Authentic Dad also...but he was an easier read.  The letters might help that venture...but at 71, I still hesitate.  What to do?  I open the drawer, I pick up the letters, I put them back and, gently, close the drawer.  I'm not sure what holds me back, but something does.  At the same time, I believe I may regret not reading them. Regret not taking time to get to know them a little better...from the other end of life.  Read? Or Not Read?  I don't know--but I'm willing to listen to opinions and/or advice...            

5.16.2016

THE OVERVIEW EFFECT

Because I like to read quotations and, when one strikes me, ponder it for a few minutes, I'm always on the lookout. Last week, I found this: "HAPPINESS IS WORTH THE EFFORT."  I know that quote, put together so succinctly, wouldn't have resonated with me at all two years ago.  Two years ago, I hadn't dived into the pool of Personal Development, nor realized the value of a Life Coach cheering me on from the sidelines.

Today, I can say with complete sincerity and comfort, "I'm creating my own life."  We're all creating our own lives, but not all of us are conscious of it.  Not all of us are working on it.  Even I, the recent convert, forget from time to time, and must backtrack to pick up the pieces I've dropped.  So--the idea that we create happiness, and happiness is worth the effort seems natural.  Actually, everything good that we accomplish is worth the effort but, sometimes, it's a tough slog to get there.

Edgar Mitchell is given credit for the "Happiness is worth the effort" quote.  I had no idea who Edgar Mitchell was, but I assumed he would be a writer or philosopher.  But, much to my surprise, Edgar Mitchell was an astronaut.  One of ours.  He was the pilot of the Lunar Module on the Apollo 14 mission to the moon.  He was the sixth American to walk on the moon and, by the end of the mission, had covered more territory and spent more time there than anyone else.

I thought about Edgar Mitchell and the monumental commitment necessary to become an astronaut, when I ran into an unexpected sentence:  It seems that on Mitchell's return home from the moon, at the point in which the spacecraft has a perfect view of this little ball we call home, he found himself "filled with an inner conviction that the beautiful blue world to which he was returning was part of a living system, harmonious and whole, and that we all participate in a universe of consciousness..." We are all connected--united, if you will, on this "tiny, fragile, ball of life hanging in the void."   The article went on:  "From space, national boundaries vanish, the conflicts that divide people become less important, and the need to create a planetary society with the united will to protect this 'pale blue dot' becomes both obvious and imperative."  Mitchell came back a changed man.

His experience was not unique. Other astronauts and cosmonauts have reported similar awakenings and the phenomenon has been given a name--The Overview Effect. Science-speak describes it this way:  "...a cognitive shift in awareness reported...during space flight, often while viewing the Earth from orbit or from the lunar surface."  Some report it as a spiritual experience, others use different terminology.

As I read that, I thought maybe we all need a little time in space to figure out what this Earth (and life on this Earth) really means. It's the only home we know, and we're all on it together riding through the darkness. Years ago, in my mind, Coca Cola had it right when they sang, "I'd like to teach the world to live in perfect harmony..." Especially this year, we might want to revive that thought...It would certainly be worth the effort.

5.12.2016

THE PROCESS OF GRATITUDE

Last November when I was wandering the aisles of the local Office Max (I had once found very cool desk accessories there) I came across a Gratitude Journal.  It was smallish, with a gray cover, the printing on which was gold and creamy white.  A whitish ribbon peeked out, letting me know I would always be able to find my proper page with just a flip of that ribbon.

My find might have been what some would call "A wink from the universe," as I had been thinking about gratitude quite often in 2015, but not really expressing...or examining it.  Last year, I had been part of a group meeting regularly with a Life Coach--by conference call.  Our coach opened each session by asking each of us to relate what we were grateful for that morning.  I was new to the group-coaching concept and not entirely sure it was my thing, then boom--every session I had to think of something for which I was grateful. Fortunately, I am grateful for my family, and that became my fall-back position.  I could always mention family, but that wasn't really helping me work with the whole "gratitude" process.  So, I was sure my newly purchased Gratitude Journal would take up the slack.

I sat down on the morning of December 1st and began:  "Today I am grateful for the quiet early morning reflection-time that I can carve out for myself nearly every day.  I begin with coffee and the current "Daily Guidepost" reading.  Then I move on to another book of my choice...right now it is "What's So Amazing About Grace" by Philip Yancey.  It deserves to be read several times over a lifespan.  Then I move to Unity Church's "Daily Word" message for the day.  Today it is "Pray for Others." Then I listen (lights dim) to their Meditation.  It's a wonderful start for any day."

Looking back, that wasn't bad for a first effort.  As I continue my review, I note that on December 4th, I was grateful to feel better than I had the day before.  Sometimes it's the small favors.  As Christmas began to close in, I find I was simply grateful for a new day and a fresh start.  On December 16th, I see that I was grateful for Best Buy's "Geek Squad," but on the very next day I was grateful to be learning gratitude.  And on and on it goes to this morning, when I expressed thanks for the peaceful feeling that surrounded my "Morning Time."  That isn't always the way it is, but I've learned enough to be grateful when it is.  Grateful enough to write:  "This morning I am just thankful to be."

As A.A. Milne noted:  "Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude."  I'm learning...    

4.29.2016

A BEAR FOR THE AGES

Books were treasured items when I was very young.  I can remember whenever I had a case of serious sniffles, or symptoms of flu, or an especially nasty case of Chicken Pox as I did in first grade, I would be confined to bed with a few books scattered nearby.  Bed, at that time, was in a shared room with my sister.  It was a small room, but bright, with both a north and an east window.

We didn't have a lot of books.  As with everything in the late '40s, we had a few of this and one of that.  Not like today's children who have a lot of both this and that.  I remember two books of poetry--a large format book filled with Mother Goose rhymes and colored illustrations, and a slightly smaller, and more serious, dark blue book--Robert Louis Stevenson's "A Child's Garden of Verses."  I have to guess that both books were gifts to my sister...perhaps when she was born. (The '40s were also a time of sharing and hand-me-downs.) 

I remember preferring Mother Goose to Robert Lewis Stevenson, but I loved the illustrations in both. My worldview was formed from those drawings--which means my ideal landscape and cityscape and architectural design all date from 18th and 19th century England.  It's why I sometimes think the Good Lord planned for me to be born in England, but in the rush and flurry and fury of World War II, dropped me in Dodge City, Kansas.  It was an honest mistake--the Army Air Force Base in my home town had originally been intended for Royal Air Force pilots.  No doubt, it was just another wartime paperwork snafu.

As far as owning a book to claim as mine, that would be "The Littlest Angel" which, much to my surprise, is still in print.  I loved "The Littlest Angel" and, although it's technically a Christmas book, I read it again and again and again. It was not an easy book to read--it's difficult to learn of a small boy in heaven--all by himself--trying so hard to be good, and failing at it again and again.  The ending, however, is more than wonderful so, if you buy it for a grandchild, DO NOT let him or her become depressed and put it aside.  He must read it all, for the rewards are rich. 

This reminiscing has led us, in a roundabout way, to what I had intended to be my starting point:  The 100 Aker Wood and Winnie the Pooh.  Our set of four Winnie the Pooh books: "Winnie the Pooh," "House at Pooh Corner," "When We Were Very Young," and "Now We are Six" were also baby gifts for Mary.  The books were copyrighted and published in the late '20s, so our editions would have been very early.   I could listen to tales about Pooh and Rabbit and Owl and Eeyore and Kanga and Baby Roo by the hour and...I did, if I could plead with just enough intensity to win over a kind adult. Fortunately, by the time I could actually read the books by myself, my sister had moved on to movie magazines and Farley Granger, letting me store A.A. Milne's four masterpieces on my own set of shelves.

To the left of our front door was a set of stairs that led to an upstairs bedroom.  They were enclosed, but had a west facing window.  For me, those stairs were a cozy private place where I could read, play with my stuffed animals or spread out my paper dolls.  Each step became a different room, or a different house, or a different part of Pooh's world.  I spent hours on those stairs, and that is exactly where I read and re-read every tale about Pooh's adventures with Christopher Robin. 

Many years later, after Mary and I had both graduated into the Adult World, I learned she had packed up the Pooh books and taken them to California to use in her classroom.  I felt terribly let down, although I hadn't looked at them in years and, after all, they were her books.  My own kids owned Disney-fied Pooh books and paraphernalia, but it was not the same.  Not even close.  I always missed Ernest Shephard's line drawings. No amount of technicolor could make Pooh as lovable as those spare illustrations.

A few months ago, I was working on a writing project, searching for quotes, and realized only Pooh could cover the situation.  I dropped into Amazon, and YES! Pooh was still in print.  I ordered the classic boxed edition which was a copy of those I had loved as a child, and waited impatiently for the mailman to drop them at the front door.  He did, and I've been reading ever since.  No one is as sweet and lovable as Pooh.  He describes himself as a "Bear of Very Little Brain," but, in actuality, he is a Bear of Very Large Heart, and that is enough for me.  

4.25.2016

OUR SNOWBIRDS ARE FLEEING

Despite my best resolutions, I lost the first half of April while my back was turned.  I know...I was going to stop doing that, then whumpf.  All of a sudden taxes were due, and the snowbirds who populate our lovely retirement community, were packing to leave.  Sometimes, this is a sad season for those of us left behind.

Retirement communities throughout the south report that at least half of their residents are part-timers.  Sometimes it's a few more, sometimes less.  Here, in Sun City Grand near Phoenix, we've always heard it's about 40%.  I have no reason to doubt that so I'll go with it.  In our particular cul de sac, which contains six homes, two will soon be empty.  M. and T. will go back to Iowa--although I think T. would like to stay a little longer.  As the snowbirds begin to leave, tee-times are much easier to get, and T. does love his golf. In the corner house, M. and A. have a bit more vacationing to do, but they'll be packed and on the road by mid-June.  We're luckier than some.  My friend, C., is the only person left in her neighborhood at this time of year.  That I wouldn't like.  I'm not terribly gregarious, but I do enjoy my neighbors.

I was born and raised and lived nearly my entire life in the same community in southwest Kansas.  It was a community that remained static.  If you moved there, you stayed there.  Your neighborhood was your neighborhood for years and years.  Sometimes the goings and comings in Grand are disorienting.

Tonight, we will attend a party with our Small Group to say "goodbye" to those who are leaving. We're a group of seventeen who have met together weekly for more than 15 years. One couple has already left. Two couples will stay for the duration, although both will travel during the summer.  The other thirteen members will find their way to Oregon, Washington, Wyoming, and Minnesota within a few weeks.  We'll reunite in the fall, and be happy to do so, but it's still not exactly the same.

My Book Club will grow smaller.  We expanded a bit this past spring to twelve members simply because we want to have enough to meet each summer month.  (Aside:  For those of you who are regular readers, I did suggest "Jane Eyre" for June and it was accepted!  I started reading it a week or two ago and I'm loving it.  I do think I may have left it unread all those years ago, although considering it was 1958 when I received it, who knows?)

Our Theological Discussion group dwindles down to a handful, but we have learned that makes for rich discussions that are impossible in a crowd of twenty or so.  Summer, then, can be an advantage.

My KKG Group disbands entirely, but thanks to MJ and her efforts, those of us in town meet for lunch once a month; but BC's Fishing Club simply shuts down.

It's easy to find a seat at church, but the choir goes on hiatus for lack of members.  My wonderful RISE Education classes will continue although the choices are more limited. We can find empty lanes at our lap pool nearly anytime of the day, and seldom have to wait at our local restaurants.  Some eateries (bless their hearts) extend Happy Hour in order to fill their tables; others offer additional specials.  To every season there comes some benefit.  Ours is less traffic, fewer lines, and better deals.

Ah well...it is what it is.  We'll miss our faraway friends and look forward to their return.  In the meantime, we text, e-mail, Facebook, and enjoy quieter times with our summertime friends.  And, secretly, we do take a certain pride in the fact that we are a hardy bunch--115 degrees is not for the weak of spirit.        

4.21.2016

QUOTATIONS

At writing class last week, our instructor strolled in carrying two bursting-at-the-seams shopping bags.  After a few minutes, we each took an item from one bag or the other and held it until everyone had a turn. The  shopping bags were filled with decorative miniature pillows, boxes, paintings, plaques, all with quotations written on them. Sandy loves quotations and has filled her home with favorites. Filled every nook and cranny.

Assignment Number 1:  Spend five minutes writing about the quotation we just pulled out of the sack, and then we would read what we had written.

Assignment Number 2:  We should spend the next week looking through our own homes and, assuming we were quote collectors, find a favorite and write about it.  Well--this sounded easier than some of the other assignments Sandy has handed out, so I was on board immediately because I do like to write about what a quotation might mean...at least in my rather limited little world.

So, let me say right up front, that it is no wonder I'm not living an inspired life.  My lovely two bedroom, two bath Del Webb home is very short on quotations--inspirational or otherwise.  I had nearly given up looking when I wandered into the Utility Room and there, finally, was a decorative board full of quotations beside the door to the garage so that I would always be inspired as I left to run errands. I remembered right away that I had found this little gem at Target, and as I purchased it I knew it would create a new beginning in my life.  Daily inspiration...or something like that.  So, let's take a look:

"Your Life is NOW.  Seize it and Make it AMAZING."  OK--I can do that.  Or, at the time I plopped down $40.00 for this plaque I thought I would do it.  But, over time I've simply looked past it, and all attempts at amazement-hood have gone by the wayside.  We'd better move on.

"Discover Your PASSION and Pursue It."  That is a good one, don't you think?  But, I don't know how much Passion I can really muster up at this point in my life.  I'm not sure either my sister nor I were raised with a passionate sort of mindset.  I might have to come back to it.

"Be Honest, Generous & Kind."  Well, of course, be honest, generous and kind.  That goes without saying.  We all try to be honest, generous and kind.  That's who we are.

"Be Brave & Wild At Heart."  I love that one.  I don't know if I even know anyone who is Brave and Wild at Heart, but it sounds wonderful.  Actually, I've lived through some times that required bravery simply to crawl out of bed in the morning.  I'm sure we've all experienced that.  But, Wild at Heart? Wow!  I've always been a little sad that I missed Wild.  I know there were times when my mother thought I was Wild, acted as if I were Wild, but she was wrong.  Oh, so wrong.  She had no idea what Wildness was going on in that sorority house, and I wasn't invited to be a part of it!  Sadly, I put "Wild at Heart" back on the wall.

"This is Your Time."  Well, yes it is.  It's mine, and everyone else who's still kicking time.  Live in the moment sort of time.  Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today time.  There's never a better time-time..  Tomorrow, I have to have this Assignment done time. I am in trouble time.

I'm searching my house in earnest now.  I'm down to paging through my Franklin Planner--I always order the "Seven Habits" Planner that includes a quote on each page.  If nothing else, the "Seven Habits" quotes are serious and heavy.  They're meant to be life-changing and they certainly can be, but, heavy.  A little too heavy for me..

Downhearted, I wander into my kitchen toward the refrigerator and there...  How could I have forgotten this wall-hanging?  My all time favorite quote...my mantra..my guidepost, especially for moments like this:

"POUR YOURSELF A DRINK, PUT ON SOME LIPSTICK AND PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER"  Elizabeth Taylor

And I did.

4.18.2016

"THE 52 LISTS PROJECT"

I received a wonderful book for Christmas.  It's called "The 52 Lists Project" by Moorea Seal.  Seal is an example (for me, anyway) of a person who is achieving her dreams by taking advantage of today's technology.  Not that she wouldn't have achieved them without technology, but the Big T provided a platform to display her talents to a wider audience, and she has grabbed hold. Her bio tells us that she is:  A retailer, a designer, and an online curator.  She has a fashion and lifestyle brand called Moorea Seal, from which she contributes seven per cent of proceeds to non-profits.  I noted it is 7% of proceeds.  Not 7% of profits.  I like that.

But, back to her book.  It is, per the title, a nicely designed book of illustrations, brief instructions and empty lines perfectly spaced for 52 lists--one for each week of the year.  I love lists.  I have lists all over the house and cannot begin a project without a list.  If I don't have a list I lose my way.  Which may be why a rather large writing project I'm involved with has been such a bugger.  I didn't make a list.  I thought it would fall into place, but it hasn't.  Obviously, I made a mistake by not being true to myself.  Right now I feel that I should stop writing this essay and make the damned list because I don't want my big project to turn out as a half-done piece of work laid on the guest room bed with the thirty never-finished, half-done pieces of work that didn't come to fruition because I didn't have a list. Thank you.  I'm done now.

LIST ONE:
This list, designed for the first week of the year, requested that I list my goals and dreams for 2016.  It didn't demand resolutions.  It asked for goals and dreams.  That, in itself, put me a little off-balance. At 71, do I even have goals and dreams?  Of course I do.  Everyone has goals and dreams, but people like me misplace them under the stack of resolutions.  And then, after a few months, they're not just misplaced.  They're lost.  Probably thrown away in a fit of cleaning, never to be remembered again.

I worked on List One for the entire week.  I incorporated it into my early morning routine and determined that I would dig up at least one goal or dream each day.  By the end of the week, I had actually created ten goals and/or dreams.  Well, really nine...I stretched one into two parts.  But still, I was pretty pleased with myself.  Goals and dreams are hard.  Resolutions are much easier to list--we know our shortcomings even if we don't want to think about them.  Goals and dreams aren't nearly so clear-cut.  They're our mental stretching exercise, and if you haven't done that for awhile (and I hadn't) you might wake up a bit stiff, sore and scared the next morning.  Dreams and goals require action.  Often, action we haven't practiced before.  At least, not successfully.

I used words in my Goals and Dreams List like "connect," "balance," "relax," "highest and best self," "focus," "authentic," and "challenge."  And that's only half the list...

This week--Week Fourteen--I'm required to List the Ways I Can Cleanse My Life For Spring.  These lists require more than a little thought for me, and I have grown to love that.  For the moment, I'm cleansing my life by cleaning out a few drawers, reviewing my notes from a personal development webinar I attended a couple of years ago, and turning off the TV.

Next week I will be challenged to list my Dream Trips.  That will be fairly easy for me.  I can remember the best of the best, and research a few more.  That's the beauty of the 52 List Project.  It's wonderfully balanced between our past and our future, and that's a good place to be.  We learn from the one and thus, are able to enrich the other.

Amen.  

4.12.2016

ON THE BONNIE, BONNIE BANKS...

Well, sadly, this is it.  The last day of our journey--if you don't count tomorrow's haul from Edinburgh to London to Phoenix.  We do love that we can fly non-stop from London to Phoenix with British Air. I've always hated the hours spent in New York or Chicago or Atlanta waiting for connections between wherever and home.  The only thing that could make our trip better tomorrow would be comfortable seats.  I think the plane we flew to London was one of the original 747's from decades ago--it was well worn, and a bit dingy, but it got us to here and we'll expect it to return us to Phoenix just as carefully and safely. What always surprises me, and makes me moan, is how many people are packed into the fuselage of the aircraft every single time we decide to fly.  It was a full house three weeks ago when we flew from west to east.  Fingers crossed for the return trip.

This morning, we'll visit Loch Lomond to enjoy its scenic beauty and walking trails.  Our lunch has been planned at David Marshall Lodge.  It's billed as a lunch of sandwiches and scone with jam. We've had two or three similar lunches, and the sandwiches have always been very good.  They've been daintily cut into halves or quarters so one never feels like a pig when eating three or four. If God is with me and my research is accurate, the David Marshall Lodge would have been built for a visit from Queen Victoria during the years that extensive water-works were being created at Loch Katrine. The populace had not intended to build anything for the Queen's visit, but she demanded a Royal Cottage and so it was done.  As she arrived, the obligatory 21-gun salute was performed with such enthusiasm that all the windows in the brand new Royal Cottage were blown out and, suddenly, the Queen had nowhere to stay.  That rather seems like Divine Retribution to me.  A few years ago, we visited a beautiful house in Ireland that had bankrupted its owners as they remodeled, replaced furniture, and completed renovations required by their royal visitor, who happened to be the very same Queen Victoria.  She always seemed so sweet in her pictures--short, chubby, mourning her sweet Albert for decades.  But, maybe that was a ruse.

Loch Lomond, the more famous of the two lochs we'll visit today, is also the larger, stretching 24 miles in length.  Per Wikipedia, it lies on the Highland Boundary Fault that separates the Scottish Highlands from the Lowlands.  Research suggests that much of the beauty credited to Loch Lomond is due to the nearly 30 islands scattered here and there across its surface.  I just found out that one of the islands--Inchconnachan--is home to a colony of wallabies.  They are a very long way from home. What a surprise if you sailed onto that island beach and began unloading your picnic goodies, only to be surrounded by wallabies.  Who knew?


We'll be going for a walk in order to have more and better views of Loch Lomond, and our choices are the short walk or the long walk.  We decide on the long walk.



The short walk, we learn later, is not only shorter (as advertised), it is much more civilized if these rocky steps are any indication.



The longer walk, by contrast, clings to the edge of Loch Lomond, but if you don't fall in during the first hundred or so feet, you're good for the entire journey.  In the picture above, we're just starting out and will soon find ourselves on the beach of the loch.



And here we are--me in my new rain gear and BC, who is obviously sure enough of his masculinity to carry my Vera Bradley all over the U.K.  Good job, Sweetie.



We've climbed from the beach through this lush forest, and are at the highest point of our journey.  As we rounded the last corner--with just the slightest amount of hard breathing, we met an entire pack of young (grade school aged) scouts, learning about plants, leaves, birds, stones...it didn't matter what. They were just ecstatic to be here today instead of in their classroom.



We've gobbled up our lunches, and are unloading from our short drive to begin boarding the steamship, Sir Walter Scott.  One of the very nice perks of a tour is that no matter how long the line may be, we go to the front.  Some days I feel rather badly about that, but most days I don't. I simply remember Queen Victoria and take it as my due.

Sir Walter Scott will escort us around Loch Katrine.  I think she will be equally as scenic as Loch Lomond, but we'll have an hour or so to view it from different angles.  Loch Katrine serves a number of purposes:  Besides simply being there in all her beauty, Katrine has been poked and prodded, deepened, plumbed and extensively engineered (rather like an aging screen actress) in order to serve as a reservoir for Glasgow's water supply.  I'm most impressed by all of this work when I realize it was done well over a hundred and fifty years ago.  The Sir Walter Scott itself, a steamboat, has been remodeled to burn bio-diesel instead of oil.  All the better to keep the Loch (and Glasgow's drinking water) as pristine as possible.

Historically speaking, Rob Roy MacGregor was born near the head (or north end) of Loch Katrine.  I had always heard of him, but never had details.  He and his father joined the Jacobite uprising, but when that effort faltered, his father was jailed and Rob Roy was always viewed a bit askance as an outlaw.

There is probably more fiction than fact about Rob Roy, but his life style is definitely the stuff of which movies are made.  My favorite line was that Rob Roy was a "cattle lifter." Back in Kansas, his sort would be called cattle rustlers and shot on sight.  The term "cattle lifter" just struck me as being veddy veddy British.



One of the few islands in Loch Katrine.  I would take a guess as to which one, but that would be very foolish.  We sat at the front of the boat out in the open, cutting the wind for all those behind.  I thought I would freeze to death, but Bruce was very into this whole adventure and so I stayed by his side.  It was miserable but, as you can see, very beautiful.  Especially for us Arizonians whose landscaping is covered with 3/4" granite stone in a variety of earth tones.

Thus endeth this beautiful journey to England, Scotland and Wales.  I wouldn't trade a minute of it for anything else.  The group we traveled with were wonderful, our leaders were outstanding, the organization was perfect and I would do it again in a heartbeat.   Thank you for letting me relive this most wonderful of vacations.

4.07.2016

HUNTINGTOWER CASTLE & SCONE PALACE

This is our second-to-last day of Quintessential Britain, and we will visit Huntingtower Castle and Scone Palace, both of which are located near Perth--about a short hour's drive from Edinburgh.


Huntingtower Castle dates from the era in which a castle was a castle. A fortification more than a home. Utilitarian more than comfortable.  In the 1500s, Huntingtower was the home of the Ruthven family.  Our story begins when the 4th Lord Ruthven and his cohorts became involved in a plot to kidnap King James VI, son of Mary, Queen of Scots.  Their plan was to gain power by controlling the King.  However, King James escaped, and soon forgave Lord Ruthven.  Lord Ruthven--perhaps not the brightest Lord of the Peerage--soon gathered some friends and attempted to overthrow James yet again.  That failed, and this time Lord Ruthven was executed and Huntingtower was seized by the crown.

A few years later the castle and lands were given back to the Ruthven family who (as hard as this may be to believe) were caught up in yet another plot to kill King James.  This time the King executed the two Ruthven brothers involved, seized their estate and abolished the name of Ruthven altogether. Thus, the House of Ruthven became Huntingtower Castle.

The castle itself is very stark, both inside and out, but interesting.  The ceilings are wood and some of the paintings and decorations have survived the centuries.  Unfortunately, the electric lights are few, the windows are high and small, making the rooms very dim.

Besides the tense relationship with King James VI, our guide told of the love story between a daughter of an earlier Ruthven Lord and a servant of the household.  Per the tale, the two met often in the servants' quarters in the eastern tower, while the family occupied the western tower.  (At that time, the castle consisted of two separate towers connected by a bridge). One evening, as the mother crossed the bridge between the towers--suspecting daughter/servant hanky-panky--said daughter, tipped off by some kind soul, and possessing amazing athletic skills, leaped several meters from the servants' tower to the family tower, and raced to her bed where she was later found safe and sound, with Mom none the wiser.  Daughter and servant eloped the next day and we hope...we don't know, as no records exist...that they lived happily ever after
.


If you should visit Huntingtower, do allow enough time to read the many signs around the interior of the castle. They are fascinating, full of history--scandalous and otherwise, and tie-in now and then with Scone Palace, our next stop on this day.

********************


After a relatively short drive, we arrive at Scone Palace--described as Georgian-Gothic. Scone Palace was originally an Augustinian Abbey, but during the Scottish Reformation, was badly damaged thanks to a mob whipped up (and, some say led by, John Knox himself).  Subsequently, it became a secular home inhabited by a family named Mansfield.  Over the centuries, the palace has been enlarged, remodeled, updated and beautified.



The grounds of Scone Palace are exceptional, and worth the trip all by themselves.  They are open to the public and include this immense Douglas Fir...the seeds for which came from the United States (Columbia River area) in 1826.  It's a beauty!  We spent an hour wandering in the park-like area, and still felt rushed.  Had it not been for rain and mud, we would have visited the diamond-shaped maze created from two types of beech plantings...a good reason to visit again!

Scone (the area) rates Quintessential billing as it has been the crowning-place of the Kings of Scots since the 800's.  Yes--the 800's...it's not a typo. Parliaments resided here, laws were made, treaties ratified, and lesser rulers promised their fealty.

There exists a Stone of Scone upon which, or over which, the monarchs of Scotland, England and the United Kingdom, for centuries, have been crowned.  The Stone of Scone is the making of a coronation.  It was last used in 1953 when Queen Elizabeth II was crowned.  I love looking at those pictures...she was so young.

If you love legends, you will love the Stone of Scone.  Some say the stone originated in Tara, the coronation place of Ireland, but then again the stone itself matches that quarried near Scone.

Was the Stone of Scone that was captured by Edward I and taken to England in 1296 the authentic Stone of Scone, or is the Stone of Scone buried in the silt at the bottom of the River Tay, deposited there for safekeeping by monks from Scone Abbey?

And the Stone of Scone that England returned to Scotland in 1996?  Is it really the same stone stolen from Westminster Abbey by four Scottish students (1990) which, in its journey to Scotland was broken in two and buried in a field before its arrival in Scotland; only to be returned to Westminster months later when the London police discovered its whereabouts?  Or, is it a copy?

Well, I don't know, but it's a great story and I'm all about stories.  And, tradition.  And, England, Scotland and Wales.  I have no favorites.  I love them all, and I'm sad that our trip is coming to an end.    

4.02.2016

AN ABBREVIATED TOUR OF EDINBURGH

We have arrived in Edinburgh on the cusp of the Edinburgh International Festival, a three week celebration of the arts that takes place in various theatres, concert halls, and smaller venues around the city.  All is in preparation, and Edinburgh will look her best on opening day...at least if the two persons working on this display have anything to say about it.


Yes...he is seeking perfection flower by flower, and it is gorgeous.  At this point in time the gardeners are replacing flowers beyond their prime, and plucking droopy petals that have seen better days.
  


I know that pipers are ubiquitous at any time of year in Edinburgh--or Scotland, for that matter--but perhaps a bit more so when Festival-goers are pouring in.

Our day began with a guided tour of Edinburgh--led by a delightful young lady who commutes 30-45 minutes into the city each day to do what she loves best.  And, she's good at it.  I'm not even going to try to remember every historical building and tale that she told, But, I will remember the skies--very cloudy, partly cloudy, sunny...and then back again.  I'll remember the elaborate and beautiful carvings that set each building apart from the next. And I'll definitely remember the hustle and bustle as we ended our formal tour near the beginning of the Royal Mile, where all was in preparation at Edinburgh Castle for next week's Royal Military Edinburgh Tattoo.  The Tattoo is a definite Bucket List item...



We did get this close--the Castle esplanade where the ceremony will take place.  Over 200,000 people attend the Tattoo each year during its run, with about a third of them from outside the UK. You can see a portion of the grandstand to the left of the photo.  Whereas, there are drums and pipes and fifes galore on the esplanade during the Tattoo, what I remember most from the TV version I saw years ago, was the spotlighted lone piper standing on the high wall of the castle. The esplanade was completely dark, as he began piping "Amazing Grace" note by mournful note.  Nothing can touch your heart like a bagpipe.  I sat in my living room, tears running down my face...I can't imagine the emotion I'd feel being right here.



There is, in addition to the Edinburgh International Festival, the Edinburgh Festival Fringe--a sassy, slightly irreverent, and non-curated accompaniment to the more staid Festival itself.  According to its web-site, anyone can participate in the Fringe Festival.  There is, quite proudly, no vetting.  If you can find a venue that will accept you and whatever you might offer, you're in.  Most egalitarian.  If not a wee bit naughty...



On a slightly different note...but, perhaps, no less touristy, welcome to the industry known as Greyfriars Bobby. We didn't have an opportunity to go into the pub, but we did meet the sweet little guy.  You may remember the story...



Greyfriars Bobby was the sweet little Skye Terrier whose owner, John Gray, died.  I don't know if it was a sudden death, or whether John lingered.  What I do know is that Bobby was devastated and spent the last fourteen years of his life lying on or beside John Gray's grave in Greyfriars Kirkyard. And today, is buried not far from his owner.  (Or guardian, as we would say today.)





It is also very sweet that even today, nearly 150 years after the fact, people leave little items for Greyfriars Bobby very near his grave.  Thus, the shoe for chewing and the sticks for chasing.  I so hope he enjoys them up there in his little doggy heaven.  Or, hopefully, in regular heaven.



And, now we've come to Deacon Brodie's Tavern, which was packed to the rafters during our late-ish lunch. There is (as you might guess) a tale about Deacon Brodie--namely, that he is the inspiration for Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde."  To wit: Deacon Brodie was a highly respected businessman in Edinburgh in the mid-1700s.  He was a cabinet-maker, and because of his stellar reputation gained entry to many of the richest households in the city. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to anyone, he also had five mistresses, a number of children and a nasty gambling habit.  Mr. Brodie was in need of money.  A lot of money.

To that end, Deacon Brodie, when building cabinets in someone's home, made wax molds of the locks  he happened across.  He then made keys to fit those locks, and when the timing was right, let himself in, opened said locks, and stole money and treasures.  Not a lot--just enough to satisfy his needs and maybe a bit more.  Thus the sign above.  Sadly, Deacon Brodie was hanged for his sins with 40,000 people in attendance.  I find it highly unlikely that 40,000 people actually attended that event, but no more unlikely  than the additional story which suggests that he might have survived the hanging due to a deal he cut with the hangman himself.

Oh--the Jeckyll and Hyde tie-in.  Robert Louis Stevenson was apparently fascinated with the story of Brodie, who was such a good and respectable man, but deep down, scoundrel. A real scoundrel. 

And that was our first day in Edinburgh.  

3.18.2016

CHESTERS ROMAN FORT

We will arrive late this afternoon in Edinburgh, but on the way, we'll stop to explore Chesters Roman Fort built during the construction of Hadrian's Wall. Our time-frame this morning is about 124 CE.   Early on, Hadrian's wall was simply that--a wall.  It marked the northern limit of the Roman Empire, and also served as a defensive fortification.  It doesn't divide England from Scotland--it varies in distance from the actual border, but was designed to separate the Romans from the Barbarians in the north.  I'm learning there are some tensions between Scotland and England that, no doubt, date back millenia...


Chesters Roman Fort seems large to me, but we are only seeing a small portion.  Much of it has been carted away as stones for other buildings, and much remains underground.  It was originally constructed to guard a bridge that carried the Military Way Roman Road across the River Tyne.  It housed up to 500 cavalrymen, plus supporting staff and civilians.  The troops who garrisoned here weren't Roman troops.  They were called Auxiliary Troops and were gathered from across Europe including Northern Spain, the Rhineland in Germany, and Bosnia-Herzegovina.

The view above is the area of the fort closest to the river and the remains of the Roman bridge.  This area primarily housed the baths.



It takes a squint, but you can see ruins across the River Tyne that are the remains of what are called "massive" abutments.  The Saxons dismantled the Roman bridge in the late 600's in order to use the stones in the building of a church--today's Hexham Abbey in nearby Hexham., Northumberland.


Farther from the river, we find the stable-barracks in which the men and their horses lived.  I'm not exactly sure how they divided up the square footage, but it seemed to work for them.  These barracks were probably built in the second century when a new group of cavalry arrived.  By this time, the numbers had been reduced to about 360 or so.  Plus their horses, of course.



Peter is demonstrating the width of this bit of Hadrian's Wall that still remains.  When it was originally built, the wall varied from nine feet wide in the east, where the wall was built entirely of stone, to as much as twenty feet wide in the west, where the wall was mainly constructed of dirt.  The height also varied from twenty feet high down to eleven feet.  Much of that seemed to depend on materials at hand.  Wikipedia mentioned that when Hadrian's Wall was completed, it might have been plastered and then white-washed as an example of the sophistication and glory of the Roman Empire.



This is an oven--or the remains of an oven--used to bake bread for the soldiers.  If I understood correctly, this was a kind of bee-hive oven in which a fire would be built.  As that fire died down, the dough  was placed inside and baked by the heat dissipating from the rocks.  Really, it's a pretty simple concept, but I can imagine, over time, the sophistication (and competition) that arose from individual bakers and their take on perfect dough, right-sized fires, temperature variations outside and inside the oven and all of the many etc's. that go with the baking and breaking of bread.



Not to mention the variations of millstones.  We saw dozens of millstones, all of which were discovered here at Chesters Fort.  My son is a miller (How many mothers can say that?), so I have some interest in millstones and the magic they create.  This photo came from the little museum nearby which contains all sorts of artifacts from the excavations at Chesters Fort.  It's a tiny museum, over one-hundred years old, and well worth the look...as are all Quintessential British sites!

3.09.2016

OUR DAY IN YORK

We left Harrogate about 9:30 a.m. for a late morning tour of York Minster.  The Minster is the seat of the Archbishop of York...second only to the Archbishop of Canterbury.  I'm not completely sure how all of that works but, in this case, coming in second is still quite impressive.


Much of the Minster dates to the 13th and 14th centuries, but Christendom has roots here from 180 CE--or so the story goes.  The first recorded church on this site was a wooden structure built in 637 CE for the specific purpose of baptizing Edwin, King of Northumbria.  If Wikipedia is to be believed, the destruction and resulting construction never stopped after that, with each iteration being a bit larger and a little more grand.  I'm convinced that a detailed tour of the Minster would take days and, no doubt, leave your head spinning with names and dates and deaths and births.  It is beautiful and...


towers over all of York.  We were turned loose later in the day, but could always find our bearings by referencing the Minster.

Considering (again) that we are on a tour titled "Quintessential Britain," today has been designated as Fish and Chips and Mushy Peas day.  We have waited a good number of days for the quintessential fish and chips, and now is our time.  I'm really not a fish person, but I do know that if you take a fresh piece of mild white fish, dip it in a goodly amount of well-prepared batter, and gently lower it into a fresh, and bubbling oil, the result will be quite good...and it was.  Ditto the chips.  I had been a bit worried about mushy peas, but they were really good.  I haven't mushed any since I've been home, but I just might give it a try.

This afternoon we're on our own (so to speak) to wander at will, or wander with Peter.  We choose Peter who points out various historical buildings, shopping areas, museums and parks, before we unfold our city map and give it a go by ourselves.  We have a friend who loves anything to do with railroads, so we walk to the Railway Museum (Per Trip Adviser, the Number One attraction in York) to see if we can actually find it, and when we do, purchase a little something for him.  We're successful on all counts!

This is Sunday, so those of us who wish are meeting back at the Minster for Evensong.  I have really looked forward to this experience and it doesn't disappoint.  We didn't realize that the Minster Choir was on a summer break, and so this evening, our choir will have come all the way from Kentucky.  I would have loved to hear the Minster choir, but the Kentuckians were wonderful!  The Dean of York Minster is a woman--Vivienne Faull, and she delivered the sermon.  Between her accent, the acoustics and the sound system, I didn't understand it all, but I know she got a word or two on women and equality worked into it.  Good for the Dean!



This will be our final night at The Majestic Hotel in Harrogate.  She does resemble an aging grand dame on the outside, but her interior has held up remarkably well.  Her large public rooms are elegant, and her dining room adds just a touch of formality to our meals.  Unfortunately, plumbing appears to have been an "add on" and pipes (maybe a little like my wrinkles) run helter-skelter over her well-maintained but fading face.

This evening, a young Indian couple are celebrating their wedding at The Majestic and it is a perfect setting.  Beautifully dressed women and handsome young men fill the main floor rooms and wide hallways.  Tons of kids--all dressed in their best--are skittering up and down the wide curving staircase, laughing all the way.  We can hear the music and quietly smile at the pure joy seeping through this grand lady and our evening.  A perfect day's end.          

2.28.2016

HOWARD CASTLE & RIEVAULX ABBEY

What struck me during our visit at Howard Castle, was its juxtaposition with the last season of Downton Abbey which would be starting soon in England.  I don't know about you but I have loved every minute of that show, and I'm very worried as to what I will do when it ends in a few short weeks.  I began watching Masterpiece Theatre in 1971 which is...forty-five years ago, and I think Downton Abbey has been my all time favorite.  I completely typed out "forty-five" as it seems not quite as shocking as "45".  

As we know, the 20th Century was not kind to the landed gentry in Great Britain, and it quickly became obvious that the huge castles and manors would no longer be able to support themselves...as has happened with Castle Howard.  Whereas, family still lives here, they occupy only a small apartment on an upper floor and must live with hundreds of visitors each day wandering through what was once their home.  The Castle has been lent out for filming, thousands of acres have been sold, and much of the damage from a massive fire in 1940 remains untended.  She is a grand lady, and still beautiful in that elegant way the very rich can manage but, sadly, her days are coming to an end.


Welcome to this grand Castle.  Research told me that this is the south facade of this lovely home although I would have sworn it was west.  If you walk up the not-so-elegant stairs--not so elegant because this is the back door--and turned around to face south, you would see acres and acres of manicured lawn and trees, with imaginative sculptures placed here and there.  Pure gorgeousness. From this view Castle Howard doesn't look terribly large, but at each end, monstrous wings reach toward the north.  I think I read the house has 145 or so rooms.  If the few we saw were any indication, decorated to within an inch of their life, an invitation to Castle Howard would have been an awe-inspiring event back in the day.


A small corner of the back yard...



Contained within the vast landscape are walled gardens.  This particular garden--The Rose Garden--displayed this memorial just inside its gate.  GH would be George Howard, father of the current owner, Simon. Cecilia was apparently his beloved wife.  I love sentimentality.  I strive to be the type of woman whose husband would dedicate something in her honor...with sweet words about me prominently displayed.  Yes, I definitely would like that.  And, I'm happy for Cecilia.

Castle Howard is about 15 miles north of York--our stopping place last night.  It's been the home of the Carlisle branch of the Howard family for more than 300 years.  We learned that this home is not a real castle, but qualifies to be called that because an actual military castle once stood here.  My pictures do not do it justice at all, but if you watched Brideshead Revisited (which I didn't--what was I thinking?) this was where it was filmed.

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Now we're driving toward Rievaulx Abbey...or the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey.  It's raining in earnest as we approach these beautiful remains, and the photos I had intended to take would have been exceptional indeed.  I once learned it was possible to take very nice pictures when your camera was securely tucked inside a protective plastic bag, and I took that to heart.  Not close enough, however, as I had no plastic bag on this journey.  It was a bit like some of England's history..."For lack of a horse the battle was lost..." or something similar.


'Tis a moody setting, to be sure.  The Cistercian monks of the 12th and 13th centuries lived well here, working hard and creating a great deal of wealth.  They diverted the River Rye in order to have more flat for farms, mined lead and iron, and raised sheep--selling the wool throughout Europe. However, by 1381, their fortunes had turned.  Black Death swept through England and their revenues dropped significantly when an epidemic of sheep scab wiped out their flocks.  Finally, in 1538, Henry VIII dissolved the abbey--heaping insult upon injury when the buildings were made uninhabitable and stripped of everything of value.



We spent some time in the small museum near the abbey that told its story in detail, then moved on to lunch in the Rievaulx Town Hall where we were able to visit one on one with a few of the folks who live near here.  They were farmers--meaning My Sweet Babboo had a wonderful time asking all sorts of questions.


Rievaulx Abbey strikes me (as did the moors) as a perfect place to wander on your own.  There are hundreds of stories to be uncovered here, and sometimes that's best done in solitude.