OXFORD UNIVERSITY

I always wanted to read the Harry Potter series.  Really I did.  Harry was absolutely everywhere for a good number of years and I knew nothing about him.  I picked up that he went to wizard school and I'm sure he was a very good wizard...in all senses of the word.  For one thing, his glasses were great (I'm still trying to find some just like his); and, I did watch a short segment of one of his movies in which he showed a tremendous understanding of flight dynamics as they apply to a broomstick.  At least, I think it was a broomstick.  Now, we're heading to Oxford, which provided actual shooting locations for the films as well as overarching atmosphere,  and I don't know what  to look for.  Once again I have procrastinated my way into complete ignorance.

Kevin is discussing the British education system as we leave London and enter the Chalk Hills.  I sense that it's a complicated system as I'm madly scribbling notes and trying to keep up.  England is a class-based society, per Kevin, and I think he is suggesting that English schools, much like our own here in the US, may provide a better education to a middle or upper class neighborhood than to a lower class area. I'm disappointed about that--I had expected better, but I think I understood it right. Admissions become more complicated at the University level--where public schools are actually private.  I've stopped writing.  I'm missing too much scenery.

It is raining cats and dogs when we arrive in Oxford with a bit of thunder thrown in now and then. My camera is safely packed away and my umbrella is providing a bit of protection, but not much.  I am cold and wet.  But so is everyone else, so I decide to put on my brave face and be a big girl.

Because of the weather, Kevin is forced to scrap some of our plans, but we do manage a bit of a walk-around before climbing the stairs to the Great Hall of Christchurch College.  The very steps Harry Potter used in one or another of his movies.

A grand banquet will be held at the Great Hall this evening and tables are set accordingly.  I'm counting at least four wine glasses at each place, and wishing I'd been invited.  The Hall is huge, poorly lit, and impossible for me to photograph, but it serves as the model for Hogwarts Hall.

Proof that we are indeed here--although I see they spell Christ Church as two words, where much of my research combines it into one.  I really wanted to pick up the program and read it, but I knew not to.  And, perhaps it's just as well we weren't invited, as that many forks have a tendency to make me just the slightest bit nervous.

Our Christ Church guide really shouldn't have let us into the Great Hall since it was set for the evening festivity, but she has some seniority and Road Scholars are trusted not to steal delicate crystal and highly-polished silver from the tables.  And, she and Kevin appear to be on a first-name basis.

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After our tour, we enjoyed a late lunch in a nearby nicely trendy restaurant, and then visited the Ashmolean Museum which turned out to be really interesting from top to bottom.  The exhibits there are so diverse, everyone can find a favorite.  The museum dates to the 1670s when Elias Ashmole gave Oxford University a "Cabinet of Curiosities".  That tale involves much (and detailed) intrigue, but was the beginning that led to the historic building erected in the 1840s that has become tied to Oxford.  Besides more exhibits than could be seen in a day (pick and choose as you go), the Gift Shop rates five stars.

QUINTESSENTIAL LONDON--DAY 2

According to my beloved iPhone, it should be partly cloudy today and for the next few days.  However, the weather map on TV is showing an unrelenting  mass of rain moving in from the west, and I have just remembered my very preppy bright green raincoat is hanging in our Arizona closet. Exactly where I had put it so I wouldn't forget it.  I sense discomfort and dampness ahead.

Today's itinerary will take us to The Tower of London, followed by a cruise on the Thames to Westminster, and Westminster Abbey.  Following that, we will walk to the London Eye and experience the view from that most controversial but not-to-be-missed attraction. Finally, we will have dinner in the Sherlock Holmes Pub which, we are told, has a number of authentic Sherlock Holmes' connections.  It's a full day. 

After watching  the entire series of "The Tudors" again and again on Netflix,  I feel a bit queasy as we approach the Tower of London, passing very near The Traitors Gate.  I have witnessed way too many scenes of unlucky souls being rowed into the Tower under this ominous portal.

In and of itself, however, the Tower is quite lovely.  The grounds are well kept, the buildings are nicely maintained, and the history always interesting, if just a bit dark.  When I researched the Tower (you know I love Wikipedia) there really weren't as many executions here as I had presumed, but the ones that did occur were  high profile.  Anne Bolyn, of course, lost her head here, as did Lady Jane Grey.  Lady Jane is an interesting soul.  Edward VI, on his deathbed at the tender age of 15, named her (she did have some claim to the throne) to be his successor.  You know, we always forget about Edward VI, the son of Henry VIII. His attempt to thwart his two nasty half-sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, by naming Lady Jane as his successor, while well intentioned, failed miserably when she was hauled off to the Tower nine days into her reign.  She was a prisoner here for some time, but finally executed along with her husband.  Another sad story to add to the growing pile of sad stories.  Being a member of royalty isn't all it's cracked up to be

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The much photographed Yeoman Warders--actually the official title goes on for three or four sentences--wearing their familiar uniforms.  Actually, this uniform, which I think is pretty spiffy is their "everyday undress uniform."  You could have fooled me.  They have a much fancier one called the Tudor State Dress, although I don't know the protocol for its appearance.

Until I saw a few, I had forgotten about the Ravens that are kept at the Tower, under the care of a Yeoman Warder known as "The Keeper of the Ravens."  Legend has it that if the ravens ever fly away from the Tower of London, the Tower as well as the Monarchy will crumble.  Into. Very. Small. Pieces.  To avoid this disaster, the Ravens' wings are clipped and they are fed raw beef daily that is purchased at an upscale meat market.  Don't you love traditions that grow from legends.  No wonder I was a good Catholic for so many years.

I would have to think that Tower Bridge is the most handsome of all the bridges that cross the Thames.  But then, I'm a traditionalist.

We've just arrived at the London Eye after touring Westminster Abbey.  No matter how long you spend at the Abbey, you will miss a grave or memorial you really wanted to see.  Everyone who is anyone is there in some form or another--with some notable exceptions, of course. Princess Diana comes to mind and Winston Churchill.   There is a memorial stone for Winston, but I'm not sure about Diana.  Winston himself opted out of Westminster while Diana's family simply took her home to Althorp.

The line of folks waiting their turn at the London Eye is a long and winding one but, on the side of serendipity, gave us Road Scholars time to get better acquainted.  Since each capsule holds 25 people, we all fit inside, with room to spare.   The capsules provide seating in the middle but, unless you're afraid of heights, it's more fun to stay next to the glass sides.  I have absolutely no sense of direction when I'm away from home, but it was interesting to note that to my left I had a bird's eye view of historical London fronted by Westminster, while on my right I was viewing wildly imaginative skyscrapers and dozens of construction cranes.

A single circle on the Eye lasts 30 minutes, and it's a quick 30 minutes. I noticed that most of my photos were a bit hazy, so I decided my time would be better spent simply enjoying the view and savoring the moments.  I do highly recommend the Eye.

If I haven't said it before, I'll say it now.  The London skyline is pure not what one might expect.  I love history and tradition and the buildings that witnessed it all, but some of the most creative architects in the world have chosen London to exhibit their work.  Alone, each modern skyscraper is remarkable if rather irreverently nicknamed:  The Cheese Grater (on the right, above); The Walkie-Talkie (above left); and The Gherkin (below right).  I love them all (and marvel at their engineering) but they are messing up my historical imagination.

As the sun is going down, we board our coach and settle in for a continuation of Kevin's non-stop stories of London--past and present.  My notes are sketchy, but he did point out an historical pub, "Bunch of Grapes" where drunk and homesick American loyalists hung out during the revolution.  It was a very picturesque pub--as was The Sherlock Holmes.  We ate there in an upstairs dining room, surrounded by Sherlock Holmes memorabilia.  I wish now I'd taken more time to explore it, but we were busy figuring out the unknown vegies on our plates.  Research revealed it was Samphire which grows in northern UK coastal areas.  It's a beautiful green color and, if you ever find any, it goes quite well with Salmon.

We'll sleep well tonight!

QUINTESSENTIAL LONDON--DAY 1

We've met our Road Scholar group as well as its two leaders, Kevin and David, and I'm comfortable we're part of a good crowd.  There are 18 of us and we hail from all over the United States. (Kevin and David, of course, are British.)  We're ready for our first day of touring and our itinerary will cover The British Museum, Guildhall, and St. Paul's Cathedral. Lunch will be on our own and Kevin has suggested the Museum lunchroom.  Right now, though, we're stuffed after the hotel's over-the-top English breakfast, so lunch is holding no appeal.  For now.

As our coach pulls away from the hotel, Kevin begins his detailed, and thoroughly entertaining archeologist/historian take on London  It's unaffordable for starters, so forget about buying a flat in our South Kensington neighborhood.  Average price today is 1.2 million pounds.  Pounds.  Multiply that by 1.62 and (much to my dismay) the figure is a cool $1,944,000. I don't know about your budget, but...

  

     
 Look and enjoy, but it's probably beyond your means...

Within blocks we pass Harrods, that most famous of up-scale department stores, now owned by Qatar Holdings who, per Kevin, are snapping up most of London't real estate.  Apparently, Middle East moguls are the only folks who can afford to purchase and live in this gorgeous city.  But, moving on...Jane Austen lived right there on Dover Street during her years in London, and the Middletons have a pad here at the Ritz Hotel.  Darwin rented a flat just to our left on Gower Road and portions of Harry Potter were filmed just ahead.  We have SoHo on our left (we know because there's a Sex Shop) and Chinatown on our right.  My head is spinning, but I swivel toward the Sex Shop which turns out to look a lot like our neighborhood Victoria's Secret.   Maybe the English really are a little prudish.

Established in 1753, The British Museum was designed to hold and preserve the Art and Culture of the world for all of Human History.  It has millions upon millions of items in storage and on display, plus millions of visitors every year, many of whom are here this morning.  We'll begin with the Rosetta Stone, then move on to explore Egypt and its neighbors.

Excuse me...The short girl can't see the Rosetta Stone...and it's on my bucket list.  The Rosetta Stone contains a message written in three scripts:  Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic, Demotic Script (who knew?), and Ancient Greek.  Since the scholars of the day could read Ancient Greek, and some even knew their way around Demotic they were able, for the first time, to decipher the Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics...thus opening the way to many Egyptian historical writings.  It was a major find in the very early 1800s.

This is more like it.  Rameses II.  Generally considered the most powerful and respected Pharaoh in Egypt, he is also the leading contender for the role of Pharaoh in the biblical book of Exodus.  I love when I can put a face to an Old Testament character, and this one is nice looking.  Even kind of pretty.   He lived 90 years in an era (1200 BCE) when longevity was rare, and was so well thought of that eight more Pharaohs took the name of Rameses--not to copy, just out of respect.

If you visit the British Museum, or another like-minded institution, do grab a guide who can explain the ancient tablets that will be displayed in room after room after room.  Kevin was amazing. He slowly strolled from panel to panel pointing out details, explaining scenes (including the time frames and names of participants) and absolutely brought these carvings to life.  Really.  It was a new experience for me.

The glass roof of the Great Court of Queen Elizabeth II which knits the various buildings of the British Museum into a cohesive whole, while providing a welcome openness, brightness and fresh air. Obviously, this is a new addition. One which people seem to love.  The loos are here--toward the center and down the stairs.  They are clean and plentiful.  I'm beginning to learn just how important loo reports will be over the next three weeks.  Oh--the two smudges on the roof? Men doing a little repair work...or maybe cleaning.  Looks tricky.

I can't look at St. Paul's, much less walk up the same entry steps and down the aisle without thinking of Charles and Diana.  That was a gorgeous wedding--well worth getting up in the middle of the night to watch.  She was beautiful, he was (unbeknownst to us) miserable.  Why the royal family was so hell-bent on thwarting Charles and Camilla, I'll never know.  Oh, I read the reasons, but real life (as so often happens) crept in and everyone involved was left bereft.  That is very sad.

We climbed the stairs to the rotunda--250 plus steps, I think, and gingerly walked around the narrow balcony.  The view of the cathedral was magnificent but not to be photographed.  What a waste. Actually, I didn't know that until an observant guard reminded me.  He didn't know I had this one already locked up!

I have no acceptable photos of the Guildhall, although it is quite impressive, and located in the City of London.  The Lord Mayor presides there--Lord Mayor of the City of London which differs from London itself.  Lord Mayor is a woman this time around.  Good for her!

Just outside of Guildhall, this dark line on the plaza marks the exact outline of a Roman Amphitheatre discovered in the late 1980s.  Entry is through the Guildhall Art Gallery, where we descended a flight or two of stairs into the dark remains of the blood and gore of Roman gladiatorial days.  The designers of this space have used digital visuals to recreate the missing parts of the stadium to great effect.  A must see.

Our first Road Scholar Day has been a smashing success.  As we depart the coach, we plan to meet again at six for a little wine or ale in the bar.  These Road Scholars are my kind of people!

KEW GARDENS: DAY TWO

Please, just take this time to relax for a minute, and enjoy a few photos from Kew Gardens.  Kew, as nearly everything in England, goes back centuries.  In this case, roughly 1299, when King Edward I decided to move his court to this bucolic neighborhood.  I can't say I blame him.  It's beautiful here.

So far, England has been a delight.  I've noticed that the parks and gardens have been filled with families simply enjoying the out-of-doors.  Kew is no exception, although today it seemed more a place of mums and grand-mums with their little ones--perfectly put together in pastel sundresses and little ironed shorts.  Most of my views have resembled a large painting I wouldn't mind hanging on my wall.  How lucky!

This is the Palm House, our first stop.  We've passed through the Victoria Gate with Cousin Gaynor and are planning our day.  The Palm House is all glass (hand blown) and wrought iron, humidity and equatorial forest.  It's been here since the 1840s, and the plantings are lush.  There is actually a much larger glass house on the property--The Temperate House--but it's currently closed for renovations.  In the meantime the Palm House does just fine.

Yes, we have some bananas, although they're a bit smallish.  At least, they look like bananas.  Kew lacks a bit in little signs which might help us identify many of its plants.  I think we're supposed to be smart enough to know.  But we're not.

We've moved beyond The Palm House and I don't have a clue what this might be, but I like it. If I weren't in this English climate, I might pursue whether or not it could live in Arizona.  Common sense tells me NO.

One last flower photo.  I promise.  I'm just so excited that my mystery flower and its little bees are in focus--more or less--that I wanted to show you.  It is a unique flower and coming from Arizona, where all of our bees are Africanized to some degree or another, it's nice to watch these calm little fellows gather their goodies for the hive.

Here is Kew Palace peering over or, perhaps lurking behind the rather sinister Medicinal Herb and Plant Garden.  Wandering through a medicinal garden makes me extremely grateful to be living in today's world with Walgreen just down the street.  The English of the 1800s were incredibly strong.  And trusting.  I saw plants that could kill or cure.  Learning the difference might take a toll.  This humble palace was home to George III and his family, one of a number of homes they claimed.  And, yes, I mean THE George III of American Revolution times.  You know, the one who was ever so slightly barmy.

Lovely vignettes abound at Kew.  One could wander for days here.  During our few hours, we actually covered only about a fourth of its 300 acres.

BC is taking a breather in this shelter formed from the branches of a mysterious plant (I can't find it's name) that has a tendency to twist and twirl as it grows.  And it appears to have been growing for decades.  I'm sure it's partially trained and partially natural, but it's time for him to move on before a leafy tendril reaches out for that wayward arm.

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These were a definite hit.  Found, appropriately enough, in the Water Lily House, these back-yard-kiddie-pool look-alikes are just that.  Lily pads.  I'm not sure if the small wilted one toward the center is still coming or just going, but they are fascinating.  We just looked at each other and laughed.  Lily pads make everyone happy.

We thank Gaynor, our delightful shirttail-cousin, for our day at Kew.  She had visited our Desert Botanical Garden this past spring where, unnervingly, a most social King Snake took an immediate liking to her. Fortunately, she's not a scaredy cat like I am, and took it all in stride.  Even more fortunately, Kew Gardens snakes (if any exist) stayed somewhere else during our visit.  Thus assuring that my day was lovely.  Thank you, Gaynor. 

HELLO, LONDON!

It's a wonderful thing that British Airways flies from Phoenix to London.  Nonstop.  Every evening.  And, during the flight, offers free wine.  I don't know how many they might offer, but I know you can have at least two.  Chances are you will want that much if you're flying steerage (as we were).  Steerage continues to be extremely cramped and crowded.  My guess is, the airline has reached the absolute limit on numbers of seats per square foot before murder and mayhem break out over the North Atlantic.  But, we also need to be real.  BC and I are on our way to a long-awaited trip to the UK and, in only ten somewhat uncomfortable hours, we will be there.  I think that makes us very lucky people.

We were joining a Road Scholar Program entitled "Quintessential Britain" in which we would learn the meaning of "quintessential" and then proceed to seek it out. But first, BC and I were to spend two days in London on our own.  Figuring it all out by ourselves which, since I'm able to write about it, we managed to do.  From the airport, we took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station.  As we exited the train, we followed a black line painted on the floor periodically labeled "Taxi Line."  (It was nearly as if they knew we were coming!)  Eventually, we followed it out the door and into the short queue of travelers near the long queue of taxis.  Within a minute or two, we were loaded and on our way to the Radisson Edwardian Vanderbilt Hotel.

 

I was sure the Radisson Edwardian Vanderbilt Hotel would be labeled "quintessential" but it wasn't.  It was very nice, though. The hotel, located in South Kensington, is the result of nine adjoining townhouses built  by one Vanderbilt family or another, at some point in time being connected into one sizable hotel.  This results in a somewhat confusing, but always "old-money elegant" maze of hallways throughout the structure.  We were in Room #318  which was a bit smallish, but chic.  We had a large window that overlooked the pristine little homes of Atherstone Mews, and I was totally thrilled with the atmosphere.

 

Before we move on from the hotel, I have to tell you what I just learned as I was looking up some Vanderbilt details.  It seems that Kate Middleton (yes, that Kate) and her friends spent her hen night at the bar of the Radisson Edwardian Vanderbilt Hotel shortly before her wedding to Wills (yes, THE FUTURE KING.)  Had I known that Kate Middleton frequented this very same bar in which I was sloshing down a pricy Strawberry Mojito, I would have been beside myself.  It's pure luck that I took a picture of the bar, so now we all can visualize the type of place Kate chooses when she's ready to throw back a few.

Our adventures began in earnest on Monday morning as we had planned to take the underground to visit the Churchill War Rooms and then walk back to the hotel via Buckingham Palace, St. James and Hyde Parks, and Kensington Palace.  It was tourist season in London and it was crowded.  That's what I really noticed the most.  People were everywhere.  We were in line (queued) at the Gloucester Underground Station for twenty minutes or so waiting our turn to figure out the magic machine that reads your credit card and spits out the appropriate tickets.  It operated flawlessly!  Definitely cause for celebration.  Then we walked down the up staircase (must remember left...left) to the trains for the quick journey to Westminster.  Bruce has already noticed how clean and tidy everything is here.  We like that.  As we left our train, following the signs and the crowds to the exit, I concentrate on staying left, and walk briskly to avoid being run over. We're climbing the stairs when, just three or four steps from the top, we looked up to see the quintessential British view begin to appear.  The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben are only a few steps away.

Although the War Rooms are tops on our agenda, there is no way we will not walk around this historic area, aka The Palace of Westminster.  It's buzzing today.  Hordes of tourists are dodging oversized tour buses that slow down (ever so noisily) to disgorge even more tourists who adjust their backpacks while clutching their cameras and running toward the fence to take the perfect picture that proves they were really here.  Where?  Parliament:  The House of Commons and The House of Lords.  Speaking of which, we're being waved back as an expensive car begins to pull up to the gate.  Perhaps it's a Lord.  Surely it's a Lord.  It appears to be a very old Lord who needs help exiting the car while clutching his briefcase with a death grip.  Could he be meeting with the Queen?

And through it all, day after day, the most patient (and mostly unarmed) Metropolitan Police stand guard, answer questions, gently correct, pose for photos, and manage a smile now and then.  They are wonderful. 

We're back on track now to meet up with Winston Churchill in the Churchill War Rooms, deep in the bowels of the Treasury Building in the Whitehall area of Westminster.  These rooms (another maze) have been left exactly as they were when World War II ended and everyone walked out after the surrender of Japan in August 1945.  All the clocks are set to 4:58 (or was it 5:02?) which marks the exact ending of the war.  It's all fascinating as you realize the number of people who worked here, ate here, slept here, and the momentous decisions they made based on a constant stream of updated reports from the field.  It was dank and damp then, this self-contained underground world, and with your "personal audio device," you can experience as much or as little as you wish.

Some of the War Rooms house an outstanding museum covering the life of Winston Churchill.  We meet him as a bouncing baby boy--born during a party at Blenheim Palace where his socialite American mother (a guest) was a bit short-taken, and finish with a touching video of his funeral ninety years later.  In between we watch him grow up despite a number of questionable reports from his skeptical teachers, and unbelievably benign neglect from his parents.  But when Winston came into his own, he came in with a vengeance.  He was unique and he was magnificent.

"THEY'RE CHANGING THE GUARD AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE
CHRISTOPHER ROBIN WENT DOWN WITH ALICE
ALICE IS MARRYING ONE OF THE GUARD
A SOLDIER'S LIFE IS TERRIBLE HARD."
Says Alice

And so the classic poem goes for stanza after stanza.  It's all I could think of as we approached Buckingham Palace.  Because her flag was flying, we knew the Queen was in residence, but safely tucked away from all of her many subjects and tourists crowding her fence.  I'm not sure what we all were looking for.  I think it's just natural to try to get as close as you can.  There was no changing of the guard today, but the few guards there were dressed in their best as they solemnly marched between the guard-boxes.  It was good enough for me.

Our long flight was beginning to catch up with us as we slogged through beautiful Hyde Park, and finally, realizing I  was not going to make it as far as Kensington Palace, we turned the corner for the short walk to our hotel and a neighborhood pub we had discovered last evening.  Day One has been very, very good.     

  

THIS MOMENT

Welcome to a little writing exercise I was assigned yesterday.  I've decided we might as well work through it together, since I'm convinced we may all be in the same boat on this subject. And, the subject is TIME.  Yes, time.  I know that some of you have heard me lament the way in which time flies.  I often say that I can literally see it whiz past my face. Whoosh...(feel the breeze?) and another day is gone.  Where did it go?  And, where was I while it was happening?

I used to think I had this time thing figured out.  I once decided (or maybe just read) that, as we age, any single hour, day or week becomes a much smaller percentage of the total time we've been on earth and so, becomes less and less important to our world.  For example: When we were five, and our birthday wasn't for six more months, we had to wait 10% of our entire lifespan for that day to arrive.  No wonder we cried and kicked the furniture.  Today, a wait of six months, is somewhere around seven tenths of 1% of my lifespan.  I think.  Oh well, it's short no matter what the measure, and I have long since stopped kicking and crying about it.  I do get a bit snippy every time another seven-tenths falls off the time clock, but we just call that Age and Stage.

I've recently been introduced to a new concept for better living that I'm studying and exploring and reaching toward, and, now, extending into this time conundrum of mine.  The concept is this:  As human beings we spend very little conscious time in the moment--this moment--the very brief here and now.  Instead, we are generally consumed with rehashing the past or projecting the future and, in that process, missing the very precious present.  Totally missing it.  No wonder we think time is flying by.

I know, for example, that if I'm dreading an appointment next Tuesday, I can sit on the patio and sip a little wine with BC, or watch the sun rise through the fronds of our pineapple palm, but remain relatively untouched by all of it, or any of it.  Why?  Because I'm so engrossed in next Tuesday, I've missed this Tuesday.  The same thing happens in reverse when I'm wrapped up in last Wednesday's meeting, because maybe, I think, it didn't go well.  I might have said too much...or was it too little?  I think I laughed at the wrong time (it was an odd joke) and I know I spilled my coffee.  Could it be worse?  Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it could be worse.  Much worse.  Because I have just allowed today to be hijacked by concerns about last Wednesday and, in the process, I'm another day older with nothing to show for it. What a waste!

Does that make sense?  I hope so, because I'm just beginning to begin to get it and I want to pass it on: Being (or living) in the moment.  Not the old '60s version of "living in the moment" complete with diaphanous flowered skirts, bare feet and funny cigarettes.  No.  This is totally different.  This is grabbing on to each instant and understanding this is as good as it gets.  This is here and now and it deserves all my attention.  Every bit of it.  No more multi-tasking.  It was a great strength years ago...or so I bragged, but today we're learning multi-tasking is simply divided attention which, unfortunately, yields very few dividends.

I'm not thinking that achieving mindfulness (being in the moment) will be a particularly easy task, but, as with anything we attempt, it should get easier with practice.  Especially when we find that this moment, fully appreciated and not disturbed, has made our day richer.  Has made our week more memorable. And, moment upon moment, our life better lived.  I even have a reminder from Eckhart Tolle:  "...the present moment is all you ever have.  Make the now the primary focus of your life."

Well, having said all that, I'd better get started--right now--to remind myself of the moment I'm in. I will not worry about the lengthening list of tasks due tomorrow, nor the negative "Why did I do that?" or "What was I thinking?" that so often takes over my brain.  No!  I will reach for the here. I will hold onto the now.  I will pull myself back into and reside in this moment.   After all, this is the only moment I have, and I plan to live it fully, appreciate it, and remember it in my heart.

PS:  One more Eckhart Tolle...I couldn't decide between them earlier:  "You create a good future by creating a good present."     Amen.

AMERICAN HISTORY

April has landed in our part of the world with a great blast of early a.m. sunshine pouring in our east- facing kitchen windows.  The sun always seems very close in Arizona and, at this time of year, energizing.  I love to get up early in the spring, when the outside temps linger in the high 50's and low 60's.  It's the perfect time for a cup of coffee, al fresco, and a wake-up read.

On the lazy days when time allows, I read an entry from The Intellectual Devotional: American History.  Today I learned that Eiffel, of Eiffel Tower fame, designed and built the interior framing that holds our monumental Statue of Liberty together.  I visited Liberty Island when I was a senior in high school and remember going inside and climbing up, I'm not sure how far, but I do remember we couldn't go all the way.  Something about crumbling and unsafe conditions.

It just dawned on me that my paternal grandparents may have come into this country after the Statue of Liberty was erected.  I wish I knew, but since I don't I'm going to believe they did....because I want to be part of the poem attached to that great lady:

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me ... 

Talk about "wretched refuse:" My maternal great-grandmother came to these shores, alone in a coffin ship at the tender age of 12.  She sailed from the shores of Ireland where the poor farmers, in the midst of the potato blight, were starving to death, and the English were letting them.  To the English, the departure of one little Irish-Catholic girl was "good riddance" indeed.   

On my paternal side, Grandfather and Grandmother Weigel were Volga-Germans--descendents of Germans imported into Russia by Catherine the Great for the purpose of teaching the Russians their farming methods. Catherine promised them 100 years free of taxes and military conscription and, until the 1870s, that promise was honored.  When time ran out, the future grew dim.  Russia began pulling the rug out from under the Germans, but when they looked to the west, neither Germany nor Europe could offer a peaceful future. America became, quite literally, the promised land offering a home to these who were now homeless.  My grandparents, gratefully, answered the call.

So, wow!  Obviously, I come from very strong stock...as do we all if we think about it.  That's the beauty of a country grown with immigrants.  When the lovely granddaughter of that little Irish girl met the handsome son of those Volga-Germans, their love created a family with traces of Wales and Mexico and Germany and England and on and on and on.  You've got to love it!