Across the ocean and back again

I am home again.  I flew into Vancouver on Saturday from London. 

My trip was a good one.  I vacillated a long time about whether to go or not, and I am glad I went.

The flights are always hard.  On the way to London I sat next to an elderly Muslim woman who was being taken by her niece to Jordan to live with her son.  Because of a stroke last year, she had difficulty coping with the seats and some internal need caused her to lean in my direction.  Her niece and I gently tried to reorient her, but she continued to flop over the arm rest and was more or less in my lap for the entire trip. 

As I knew we would, for the first couple of days my daughter and I talked and talked.  We talked about family, friends, politics, swine flu, our blogs, our gardens, our lives.  We ate some non-fattening food and drank quite a lot of red wine.

I came to England to help her move out of the house she has lived in for 25 years, and I came, as well, to say goodbye to the house and the village I have been visiting for that long.  

We started working on emptying the garden shed.  We hauled out flower pots, rusty tools, golf clubs, large plastic water guns, and other plastic toy parts.  My daughter thought her next door neighbor might like to have the rabbit hutch, once occupied by a pet ferret.  The neighbor, Reggie, keeps a cat shelter but also has rabbits, chickens, ducks and guinea pigs.  She was delighted to accept the hutch.  We asked how many cats she has now.  She said about 30, and she is accepting no more.  At one time, when her husband was still alive, they had 80.  She says the last 30 will get old with her.

The cats are a problem for my daughter.  When she had Fluffy , the poodle, he kept her garden clear of cats.  Now Fluffy lives with me, and cats from next door sleep in flower pots, on benches and tables and make use of the flower beds so that gardening can be risky.

After a while we took a trip to the tip (dump) with a load of stuff from the shed.  I know the tip well, from many past visits.  It is well run, with things sorted by users into garden waste, land fill, scrap metal, electrical, and usable items.  This will be my last visit, so I waved goodbye to the tip. 

off to the tip

One day I went up to London to see Natalie of Blaugustine.  That was a real adventure.  I traveled by bus, starting at 7 in the morning from the village.  I took the bus to Oxford, then caught a bus for London, then took the tube to Natalie’s.  By myself.  I got to Natalie’s at 11 AM.

I always find public transportation a challenge.  I am scared of getting lost and missing connections, of not knowing which train to catch, or what to do with tube tickets and how to deal with machines that dispense tickets and let you in and out of tube stops. 

This time I am pleased to say I did it all correctly. 

Natalie is impressive.  Her flat is full of art, all by her or her mother, who took up painting and sculpture at 90.  Natalie’s work is colorful, quirky, funny and philosophical.  I loved it.  We had a coffee and a chat about our lives, and then I saw her studio and workroom, one for printmaking, one where she writes her blog.  She showed me some of the books she has created in the past.  Artist’s books are treasures.  Seeing Natalie’s books and prints inspired me to get to work once again.

workroom

 Next we went for lunch at a great pub across the street from her flat.  My granddaughter, Elizabeth, works nearby, and she joined us.  We started with wine, olives, and lovely bread to dip in olive oil. Elizabeth is a life-long vegetarian, and she and Natalie had courgette (zucchini) tarts with salad.  I had lamb kidneys on toast.  Most Americans would never touch a kidney, but since my mother was English (New Zealand) I have been accustomed to eating kidneys since I was a child.  The food at that pub was all beautifully done.

By 3 in the afternoon I had to start back for the village.  I got to Victoria Station and began to hunt for the bus to Oxford.  I walked aimlessly for a while, and decided to head for the bus station.  Suddenly I saw a bus that said Oxford, and luckily it was the right bus (there are 2 different companies).  So I arrived safely back at the village at about 7:30.

When my daughter moves out of her house her only home will be her boat.  It is a narrow boat, moored on a river.  It is 60 feet long and about 8 feet wide, and is an elegant and comfortable, but tiny, home. 

narrow boat

We delivered a few things to the boat on our way to a shopping session in Oxford.  There is a shop there where one can buy T shirts for about $3.50.  I bought 3. 

My daughter and I worked in her garden, as I have done with her over the years.  After a couple of days and a trip to the garden center (the garden center is full of temptations) it looked much tidier and had added color.

For recreation we shopped for yarn to knit tiny garments for the new baby – her first grandchild, my first great-grandchild.  That baby boy will be born in September. 
 
My three grandchildren who live in England came out to the village a couple of times.  They have busy lives, Tom and Catherine in Oxford and Liz in London, and it was good of them to find time for their grandmother.  We had two family dinners, and lots of conversation.

Tom (22) is going to drama school in October.  We had a long discussion of accents and inflections, and he demonstrated some dialects he does well.  Oddly, he isn’t so good at the American accent, even though he has heard it since birth.  But he says he will learn it in drama school.

We all agreed that the rising inflection is annoying.

in the kitchen

One evening we went to the movies with Catherine and her father (my daughter’s ex).  The movie was one of the Harry Potters.  I am not a fan of Harry Potter, but it was fun to go with Catherine and the popcorn was plentiful and good. After the movie we had a glass of wine in the Eagle and Child, the pub where Tom is presently working as manager (before drama school.)  Tom is a licensed publican, a good thing, I think, for a man who would be an actor.  The pub he manages is the one where J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis used to spend time in conversation – in the Rabbit Room.

Tom the Publican

One evening we had dinner at the house of my daughter’s old friend, Marit, with whom she ran the London marathon 6 years ago.  Marit is originally Norwegian, but has been British for many years and has British children and grandchildren.  We sipped champagne and ate smoked salmon appetizers on tiny pancakes, then had roast chicken with stuffing.  We talked about love affairs gone wrong and laughed (ruefully) at men. 

Marit’s style is to say shocking but funny things; underneath she is generous and kind.  I hope the Duchess will post about Marit and the egg man.  I don’t think I could do the story justice.  In the picture below Marit is holding a box of eggs.

Marit

That was my trip.  I came home to a loving husband, glad to see me.  The flowers and tomatoes looked well cared for.  The dogs were ecstatic and the cat, who had gone missing for 6 days, came back.