This Lovely Fall Evening

So thankful I chose to eat dinner on the back patio.  The backyard was alive with squirrels, a few stunning birds I don't know the name of, a blue jay, a chipmunk and my bunny (well, it's not "my" bunny rabbit, I just think of it as mine as this is the third time I've watched it hop around the backyard here at Across the Pond) all come out for my enjoyment this lovely fall evening.

At the community arboretum

     At the community arboretum at VWCC.  Jen recommended it.  It is a lovely spot on a gorgeous day.  I've decided on a child-sized bench next to running water.  Over the weekend it was rain and cold -- wonderful.  Today the sun has come out.  "Hello, Beautiful Day.  Didn't know how much I needed you until I had you."
     I dressed pretty for a date with this Beautiful Day, but I don't feel very pretty -- not the kind of pretty I want to be.  Superficial, I know, but I'm a girl that way.
     And lonesome.  Lonesome for him I've yet to meet since being back in Roanoke.  I "felt the need" or the "intuition" (still unsure how to describe that thing I have) to pray if our meeting will be soon, but I don't know how to listen and look for that answer.  The answer to "who?" -- much easier to spot.
    I know having someone won't be the answer to everything, but for this moment, it would be the answer to something.  May I serve him well and love him dearly.  If he picks me.  I very much hope, right now, not knowing the kind of person he is now, he picks me.

London trip 2015: Day Four 24 June Part II

The next event on our itinerary was taking afternoon tea at Claridges.  Claridges is a fancy hotel with a dining room that serves afternoon tea.  One does not "go" to tea, one "takes" tea.  In England, London specifically, afternoon tea is served usually between the hours of 2pm - 5:45pm at several places; it's quite difficult to choose.  Several big department stores (Harrods, Fortnum & Mason) and hotels (Claridges, The Ritz, Browns) as well as other places serve teas for various prices.  Some are themed teas, some are champagne teas...the choices really were a bit overwhelming for me.  For most places, I believe, reservations are required; it's best to check on the website of your venue choice or get in contact with the venue.

Heather and I decided on Claridges.  Though one doesn't have to dress to the nines for tea at Claridges, nice dress is required -- no jeans please.  We went back to our hotel, Durrants, to change from our walking clothes to our "tea outfits."  It looked like Claridges was within a ten minute walk from Durrants, so we decided to hoof it.  The directions I had copied down were a little hard to follow as it turned out; it was good that we gave ourselves a time cushion.

Tea at Claridges: how does one describe heaven?  I've never had a massage -- I'm weird about strange people touching me -- but perhaps the way I felt taking tea at Claridges is how others feel having a full body massage.

The dining room was so gorgeous; I was reminded of the movie Last Holiday when the main character looks at the ceiling of the hotel/resort she's staying at and says it's so beautiful, it almost makes you want to cry.  There are a couple of dining rooms actually, and we were given a few choices of where to sit.  In the room we chose there was a pianist and violinist playing musak, which was amusing.

Heather and I were presented with menus describing what would be served with the afternoon tea and a list of teas; all we had to decide on was what type of tea we would like.  I chose, I think the Claridges blend?  Honestly I don't remember.

On the table was milk for the tea and a box containing various sweeteners -- sugar cubes and the little packets of sugar substitutes.  A side note to this: I always enjoy when sugar cubes are presented.  They remind me of my childhood days at Sue's house; there, as a rare treat, if we were exceptionally good or very brave, we would receive a sugar cube as a reward.

Heather and I were each served tea from our own pot, and Claridges insist on their servers pouring themselves.  During tea we were also provided a lesson on the art of properly brewing and serving tea; if you ever make it to Claridges for afternoon tea, just ask.

The first course was a tray of various finger sandwiches.  One eats as much as one desires.  After devouring the first tray of sandwiches, a second was brought out.  Next came scones ('skonz') with clotted cream and jam.  The tea jelly served with the scones was so gorgeous, I could have eaten it with a spoon right out of the jar.  (Click on the words "tea jelly" to go to a website for the jam.)

I've probably mentioned this before, but a cream tea is one of my favourite things in the entire world:  a pot of tea with scones and clotted cream, with or without jelly -- it brings much joy to my soul.

After the scones came the desserts, though both Heather and I found it difficult to stuff down the yummy desserts on top of the filling sandwiches and scones.

This day had been so long already, and it felt to me that Heather and I had been constantly on the go, that I had to force myself to sit back and take some breaths, breath the moment like precious breaths of fresh air after being pulled from a smoke filled room.

For me, I think the best thing about this whole tea at Claridges experience was the service.  I felt like we were the most important people in the world.  Not once did I get the feeling that everyone -- the servers and hostesses -- was "just doing their job," but that they truly enjoyed what they did and cared about my experience.

Following that heavenly tea, Heather and I took the tube back to Leicester to find St. Martins Theater where The Mousetrap by Agatha Christie has been playing for the past 60 years.  Deciding on which show to take was also an overwhelming decision as there are so, so many playing in London.  I had somehow narrowed down our choices and gave the list to Heather: some I chose because of the big name actors, some because I thought we'd enjoy the story.  Ultimately, we settled on The Mousetrap because we'd visited Agatha Christie's summer home already on this trip.  It is a fun play, and the theater was cute.  The use of cameras is not allowed in the theater, but Heather was able to get a shot of the close-curtained stage before she was caught.  Before seeing, I recommend reading up just a little on the architect Christopher Wren; it's not necessary to understand the events of the play or to figure out the mystery of "who done it", but a few of the jokes might be missed.

We took the tube (most lines are open until midnight, I believe) back to Baker Street and walked back to our hotel talking about tea and the play our morning tour and our excitement for the tour we'd take the next day and finally crawled into our beds for some much needed rest.

Afternoon Tea at Claridges

London trip 2015: Day Four 24 June Part I

This was a long day, but a wonderful day.

Heather and I decided first to go the Sherlock Holmes Museum (there is a link included there).  It's about thirty US dollars for admission; I don't know that it's worth the price, but it was fun.  I believe they were in the process of office renovations in the building next door, but admission tickets are purchased in the gift shop.  There's a bobbie (policeman) standing outside the door of 221B Baker Street ready for a photo op and to take admission tickets.  Because of the size of the "museum," only so many people are allowed in at one time.

The museum is actually something like a townhouse dressed up as an Edwardian flat (English-speak for apartment) as described in the Arthur Conan Doyle stories with mannequins dispersed throughout depicting different characters from the stories.

Kind of bizarre.

There were a few references to the popular BBC show that portrays a modern-day Sherlock starring, of course, Benedict Cumberbatch (now off the market unfortunately) and Martin Freeman.  It was a fantastic show until Steven Moffat also took over Doctor Who and got too full of himself or something.  Now it's too bogged down in its own cleverness.  (But that's just an opinion.)

The townhouse was narrow and womb-like, and at the top of one of the staircases was this sight:

This mannequin represented one of the street urchins Sherlock Holmes employs to gain information.  (I forget what he calls this network in the stories.)  Thankfully this was at the beginning of a long day, so this creepy horror didn't haunt my dreams.

After our tour through the museum, Heather and I had some time to kill before we met up with the tour group in Leicester ("lest-er") Square, so we decided on a jaunt through Regents Park.  In Regents Park, which is very large, is the Queen Mary's Gardens.  I don't know if they have different flowers throughout the year, but we discovered rose bed upon rose bed and as it was the end of June, they wer in full, glorious bloom.  (I got the impression people tired of the photos I have from the gardens, especially when one person suggested we didn't do anything, so you may view my Facebook page for all the pictures to view as you please, but it was like I'd walked into a room of Heaven.)  Regents Park won my heart; I now count it as one of my favourite places in the entire world.

We took the tube to Leicester and were bumming around the Square near the TKTS booth (me trying to find even a hint of shade, Heather seeking out the blazing sunshine, though she wouldn't have called it "blazing" -- she and I have very different views on the weather) looking out for the tour group.  We weren't sure if there would be a sign or what when suddenly this deep, rich Scottish voice that caused every hormone in my body to stand to attention said, "Harry Potter walking tour."  And there is this gorgeous, beautiful man in a tight-fitted navy blue t-shirt, with short, dark brown wavy hair, who'd walked right out of the pages of a sweeping romance novel.  Oh my word, he was "my lady-in-waiting better hold on tight to the key of my chastity belt" handsome.  Heather was even lucky enough to be rescued by him at one point -- he literally noticed her in distress, broke through a crowd and came to her rescue, his t-shirt straining to hold its form over his chiseled physique.

Ahem.  Where was I?  Right.  Harry what's his face.

So, the walking tour is put on by a company called Best Tours and for about two and a half hours, you get an on foot tour of London while learning about some of the London locations associated with Harry Potter, both the books and the movie.  It begins at a bookshop where one may purchase a first edition signed by the author, J K Rowling -- for only 2,000 GBP (which would be about 3600 US dollars), goes past several places that were used for on location shots (like a place just outside Old Scotland Yard used for several shots outside the Ministry of Magic), a few places used for inspiration (e.g. Clink Street, on which Rowling based Knockturn Alley), the school that Daniel Radcliffe attended for a year or two, and ends at Kings Cross Station a place significant for where Platform 9 3/4 is housed, and...where a significant scene takes place in The Deathly Hollows.  The tour was like a pep rally of sorts for Heather and I, a great run up to our tour for the next day at the Harry Potter sets tour!  The Harry Potter walking tour through London received great reviews on tripadvisor.com, and it earns every one of those stars.  They other London walking tours to choose from; I understand the Jack the Ripper walking tour is also very popular.  And if you're fortunate you get Scottish John as your guide.

London trip 2015: Day Three 23 June

Heather and I said goodbye to the lovely seaside and to quiet small town England life and hello to busy, always on the go London.

It is quite the contrast.  In Paignton, a quaint place to "pop up for the week-end," there were couples young and old and everywhere in between strolling along, holding hands; loads of families on a mini-break; restaurants that closed their kitchens at 7:00 pm and shops that closed at 6:00.  Everything was casual and leisurely.  Most people were English.

London, however, is always on the go and full of smartly-dressed people rushing from here to there.  Few families are seen out on the streets -- I imagine most of them live further out and get everywhere by car.  Walking the streets, it was rare to hear an English accent; I found it to be rather like Disney World.  Shops and restaurants held later hours.  And everywhere I went I was being shouted at by advertisements.

Heather and I had a room at Durrants Hotel.  "Our" tube station, our hub if you like, was Baker Street.  Durrants Hotel is about half a mile down the road from Baker Street tube station and lies on George Street between Baker Street and Marylebone (pronounced "Mar-lee-bone").

It's a bit posh.  The porter carried our luggage to our room for us -- I awkwardly tipped him, probably over-tipped him as England is not a tipping-society like the US.    The room key had a big paperweight on it, and Heather and I joked that if someone tried to harm us on the street, we could always use our room key as a weapon, though we discovered later, the idea was to leave your key with the porter so you wouldn't have to lug it around.  There were two twin beds separately made, but oddly they were pushed together; a little Ricky and Lucy.  The room was fairly small, but comfortable enough.  There was only one outlet in the room, so Heather and I had to take turns charging our electronics, and we had to do without the radio.  We had our own plug adapters, but the hotel had extra, if needed, at the front desk.  The hotel seemed a very gracious place.  The staff would often seem to be there one minute and the next vanish, and it was rare we saw staff in the halls.  I decided they must have "servant stairs" that they used.

Heather and I decided to explore the area a bit, grab some take-away and maybe enjoy it in the park.  We got our take-away (carry out or "to go" for we Americans) and walked up Baker Street.  We passed Baker Street station heading for Regents Park and along the way located the Sherlock Holmes Museum, which we would be visiting the next morning.

On my last trip to London, now ten and a half years ago, I'd visited Kensington Park and Hyde Park, both of which are lovely, but I hadn't made it farther north.

Upon my first trip to Regents Park, I fell in love, and now it is one of my favourite places on earth along with Camp Accovac in Clifton Forge, VA and Scotland (the whole country -- if Scotland were a man, I'd marry him).

Regents Park is large: there are ponds with marsh birds, swans and geese, there are the Queen Mary gardens that were full of roses, fountains, there's a university, a restaurant or two, a cricket field -- cricket the game, not the frightening bug -- and the London Zoo.

Heather and I were so enthralled with just the little space where we ate our dinner, we decided Regents Park would be a good place to kill some time the next day between our visit to the museum and our ride to Leicester (pronounced "Lester") Square for our London walking tour.

Oh to have a grand, peaceful park such as this one near where I live.

Enjoying our take-away and watching dog-walkers, joggers and some geese:

(You'll notice both Heather and I are in tank tops.  Heather was kind enough to let me borrow hers.  The whole week was unexpectedly warmish-hot, except for 30 minutes on Sunday.)

London trip 2015: Day Two 22 June

From the seaside town of Paignton, my travelling friend, Heather, and I rode a steam train, the Greenway Halt, to Greenway House, the summer home of that famous mystery writer Agatha Christie.

 The steam train -- looks a bit like the Hogwarts Express, eh?

The steam train itself is not called the "Greenway Halt" but rather the train car.  

On the ride to Greenway House, watching the country pass by, I found myself very grateful that Heather was able to make this trip with me.  I had originally planned to do this whole trip on my own; I've done that before, but I'm quiet and would not have had much conversation with anyone; I would have been stuck inside my head almost the entire time.  It's nice to have someone to talk to once in a while (I'm not particularly chatty with anyone usually) and to go on a trip with someone who enjoys the same things as you.

Here's Heather showing off her Hufflepuff scarf

Unless, of course, you have your own means of transportation, there are a few different ways to arrive at Greenway House: steam train and walk, ferry and ride in a vintage bus or steam train and shuttle bus.  The only caution is to make double sure of all time tables; for example,  Heather and I were going to go by ferry/vintage bus, but, when planning the trip, I discovered this service is not available on Mondays.  For the steam train, I believe you have to book your train ticket online in advance.  Tickets for entry into the house and grounds may be purchased onsite.  On most days, you may also choose to ride the steam train to Churston station and from there take a shuttle bus to the house or ride the steam train to Greenway Halt and walk through the woods to the house.  Heather and I chose the latter.  

The website for the steam train warns that the walk from Greenway Halt to the house is 30-minutes; Heather and I decided they overestimate.  It only took us about 20 minutes, if that, the first time.  

If you like nature, as Heather and I both do, the wooded walk to the house is absolutely lovely, a feast for the eyes.  I would say it's an easy walk, but there is a lot of uphill/downhill.  There are two gates one must pass through; admittedly we city-gals had a bit of a problem opening one, but there was a kind family, also on their way to Greenway House, that helped us out.

Greenway House was Agatha Christie's summer house and had been used by her family until 2004 - there are family pictures throughout the house.  And it was a summer house, so Christie never actually worked (wrote her novels) in the house, nor was it very much considered home: like any other summer house, it was a place for family and friends to gather, relax and enjoy each other's company.

 View of the quay (pronounced "key" remember) and the River Dart

 lovely, lovely tea things and dishes

 The drawing room where they played games.  Visitors are to stay on the rugged/carpeted areas as much as possible, and no one is allowed to touch any of the items laying around, not even those who work at the house because the natural oil in human hands would cause everything to deteriorate very quickly.  Occasionally one sees a worker carefully dusting the items; they must all wear gloves.  There are workers scattered around the house to answer any questions one may have regarding Agatha Christie and the house.

 If you're poor, you're a pack rat, but if you're rich, you're a collector.

 Dishes!  Aren't they lovely?

 the kitchen

 Agatha Christie had a Sue; she called hers Nursie.  This is her portrait.

 Agatha Christie's bedroom:  a recording of Christie speaking about writing was playing on loop.

 

family pictures

There are a few gardens to tramp through at Greenway.  The first, the Camelia Garden, isn't what I would call a garden so much as a Camelia Walk.  Heather and I traversed the footpath and concluded "this is the garden."

There are also two walled gardens, one of which contains a greenhouse and a tent with telescope for stargazing.  I found the walled gardens heavenly (no pun intended).

Also at Greenway there is a gift shop, a shop that sells pieces from local artists and plants and a small cafe.  (If you're a picky-eater like myself, the cafe doesn't have much to offer, so I can't recommend it one way or the other, though even if you're not a picky-eater, the menu was very limited.)

Heather and I had decided to take the train from Greenway Halt back to Paignton instead of catching the shuttle bus to Churston station.  So we made our way back across the wooded-lane to Greenway Halt stop.

For those who have been paying attention -- this was interesting.

We wait and wait at Greenway Halt.  A couple had arrived at the stop shortly after us and said they had requested the train to stop.  There are some train schedules where the train only stops on request -- there's a button one pushes.  That was all fine.  I studied the train time table and noticed, the train doesn't run from Greenway Halt to Paignton.  I pointed this out to the couple who informed us we'd have to ride the train to Kingswear (the other direction), hang out there for 30 minutes and then catch the train to Paignton.  Oh.

Like most Americans, I arrive everywhere by car or by foot.  The only public transportation I've had dealings with here are the school bus and the trolley in San Diego; with the former, you have your stop and time and that's it; with the latter you mostly go one way or the other and it stops every so many minutes.  I find public transportation schedules hard to understand because they're not something I've had to "figure out."  

Heather and I debated the decision: take the train to Kingswear or race back to the house for the 1:10 (or 13:10) shuttle bus.  Neither of us really wanted to explore Kingswear for half an hour, so we trekked the wooded-lane for the third time that day.  (Honestly, this whole England trip, I got enough exercise -- for me -- for two years.  Haha.)  We made it back to the house to learn we had to make a dash for it to the estate entrance in order to catch the shuttle.  Those lovely people working for the National Trust (the organization that owns and runs the house) were hot on it: Heather and I made it a few paces from the visitor center when a man in a car asked if we were the ones trying to make it to the bus; he drove us down the drive -- we'd never had made it and would have had to hang out for another hour or so -- and had us there just as they were boarding.  It turned out they were going to hold the bus for us.  Well done National Trust.  I'm impressed, and it is NOT an easy thing to impress me.  So we rode the bus to Churston Station, all passengers working together to figure out which platform we should be on and how to get there, and then back to Paignton and the lovely seaside.

A story to tell never told Part III of III

[The continuing saga that I began but couldn't seem to finish many moons ago; it is also peppered with my commentary -- because it just wouldn't be bearable without it, now would it?]

     All we wanted as five year olds was to be sixteen.  At that age, being sixteen meant that you were an adult and got all the guys and a really cool job, like being a banker.  Sixteen-year-olds could go out any time they wanted and had a blast.  If you were sixteen, you were invincible.  Of course, that is most certainly not the case, but to a five-year-old girl, sixteen could be anything she wanted it to be.  For we five girls, it was our own special world.
     As we grew older, sixteen became even more extraordinary to our imaginations.  We dated New Kids on the Block ["Oh-oh Oh-oh-oh, the right stuff"] and played unspeakable games, too embarrassing to say [although why our very mild, watered-down version of "strip poker" is so unspeakable, younger Steph, I don't know.  We were five, people!]  If I were to mention what crazy things we came up with to play, my former childhood friends would murder me.  [I honestly don't remember what else there was, but I kind of want to make something up just to make life interesting.]   There was also Star Search, Elton John's album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road [Still love this one.  We would pretend we were ghosts in a cemetery while dancing to "Funeral for a Friend"], and fairy tales.  With the fairy tales we acted out, I usually got the part of the princess, which made the other girls mad.  Never bothered me of course.  [Sue probably picked me most of the time because I was such a lemming.  Although, my name does mean "crowned ruler," and I'm still holding out for the possibility of marrying Prince Harry, so perhaps it was just density, I mean, destiny.]
     I remember some of the things we did for Star Search.  There were the usual dance contests, which nobody really won because how can you single out one child in the area of creativity [apparently that rule doesn't apply to picking out the proper princess -- see above regarding fairy tales]; there was the "taking care of a baby" section.  Sue would ask us questions like, What do you do to a baby with colic? [The answer: get a muzzle for the little squawker.  Just kidding!  Another true story: until a couple years ago, you know, when I was a grown woman of thirty -- as opposed to a grown woman of sixteen -- still had no clue what colic was.  According to Wikipedia, it's crying.  A lot.  For no good reason.  Seriously?  Maybe I wasn't kidding about that muzzle.  And in case you missed it, grown woman of thirty, still no clue what colic is.  Totally thought it was a gassy baby.  Whatev.  And the crap if I know what you do with a baby that won't simmer down.  That's what the internet is for, people.]
     Every day at lunch we would watch a movie.   Our favorite was Troop Beverly Hills with Shelley Long.  ["Beverly Hills, what a thrill!"]  I've watched it recently and think it is the silliest thing I've ever seen [aw, younger Steph, it's not that bad], but back when I was a kid, you couldn't beat it.  I remember the first time we watched the movie Witches with Angelica Houston.  [Actually have another blog post regarding this movie:http://stephbehr.blogspot.com/2014/08/revisiting-my-childhood-witches.html].  Everyone else was fine with the movie, but I'm still haunted by the awful images of Angelica Houston as a witch and other scenes from the movie.  I've watched that movie more recently as well, and though I'm not as frightened by it [note the "as frightened"], the images, as I said, are still looming around me.
     Before lunch we would take long walks around the neighborhood.  [I don't remember much, but I remember the walks!]  Sometimes there would be scavenger hunts, and sometimes one of us would be allowed to push the baby stroller of whoever was small enough at the time.  [This sounds confusing, so I feel I should mention, Sue did watch other children in her career besides the five of us girls.]  We'd take with us a jug of tea.  [I don't remember the jug of tea, but I'm glad younger Stephanie did.]
    Oh Sue's tea  -- the taste was magical to us.  We had tea with almost everything.  I don't recall Sue ever keeping soda around the house or many types of juices.  The choice was always tea or water.  We drank tea with our snacks, which is the part of life that a child lives for.  [Well, that may not be true anymore, younger Stephanie.]  If we did something bad, we received no snack.  If we didn't finish breakfast or "feel like eating" until later, we received no snack.  Receiving no snack was a hard thing, but luckily, the incident didn't occur often.  [Shocked that younger Stephanie did not mention receiving a sugar cube as a treat for being good.]
     The one thing we weren't too fond of -- but would kill for now -- was naptime.  [That one is very true still, younger Steph.]  Sue had [still has!] three children.  The oldest daughter had married and moved out.  There were three bedrooms upstairs and there was a bed or a couch -- I don't remember which now, but for our intents and purposes I'll say it was a couch -- downstairs in the basement.  In Jeanie's and Chris' rooms hung posters of Duran Duran and other 80s bands.  We loved going into their rooms for naptime because, of course, they were older and very cool.  Each of us was allowed to take a book into bed with us.  [Oh my word, that sounds so naughty.  My fellow bibliophiles -- it all starts in the crib apparently.]  I don't remember, but I think by the time we were in school we didn't have to take naps anymore.  I mention this fact because I don't recall Jennifer and Donna having a naptime or being around at naptime.
     I vaguely remember a time when I fell asleep on the living room couch watching a movie.  [Oh man, this happens all the time now.  Welcome to the other side of thirty.]  I don't recollect if naptime was still in effect for the five of us or not.  I had awakened when someone picked me up and carried me down the stairs to the basement couch.  I pretended I was still asleep.  I liked being carried; that kind of security is a good feeling when you're a kid.  [Oh, younger Stephanie, not just when you're a kid.  Ain't too proud to admit it.]
  We used to make up dances.  [Just flitting from one subject to the next, aren't we.]  Jennifer usually led us in this task.  Everyone would contribute at least one step, and when it became a finished product, we'd perform it for Sue who would congratulate us on a job well done.  They were silly things, of course.  I still can't dance well.
     When Fer and Ashley stopped going to Sue's, Donna, LeeAnn and I  indulged in less and less creativity.  Maybe it was because we were growing older, and sadly our imaginations were growing lazy.

*    *    *    *

[And that's all I wrote.  The piece stops there.  Mercifully, if you ask me.]