And Suddenly, It's Winter

Yesterday we had a surprising morning weather-wise. It started with rain, but when Dave and I got off the tube to walk toward school, we stepped into a snowstorm! It was wet, clumpy snow that didn't stick around long, but all the kids were exclaiming about it. Some of them whipped out their iPhones to take pictures or videos.

I was mostly worried about our plants -- I'd only taken in a single geranium, and hadn't done anything to protect the others. I did not expect snow! But the temperature was in the 40's (F) and because the snow wasn't lingering I hoped they'd be OK.

By the time I left school around lunchtime to take the capsule endoscopy recording unit and belt back to the hospital, it was merely cold and wet outside. I walked past the war memorial in Upper Grosvenor Gardens, decorated with poppy wreaths for Remembrance Day, and snapped a picture just as two dedicated joggers passed, huffing and puffing like blonde locomotives. (I'm sure they would not appreciate that simile.)

I was glad to be rid of that recorder, but it felt a little weird to drop it off and get nothing in return. "Do I need a receipt?" I asked the receptionist, who assured me I did not. I hope he's right and nobody calls me in a week saying, "Hey, where is that recorder?"

When Dave and I got home last night, we went on a plant protection campaign. We covered the avocado with one of the protective sheets I bought for that purpose, and now it's standing on the patio like a giant ghost. Covering a plant that big turned into a complex affair involving a ladder, a rake and lots of clothespins, but we managed.

I also brought in more stuff: our other three geraniums, the plectranthus and the African daisy. I left the citrus out because it's big and I hadn't yet made room for it in the house, but I'll get it inside this morning. It's supposed to get even colder over the next few nights -- down to 30º F (-1º C). I hope the ol' avocado is up to it.

I was glad to see that one sheet covers the avocado, because we have a second sheet and if the weather gets really cold or snowy, we can give it two layers.

Dave got our first King Charles £20 note the other day. This is the first paper money I've seen bearing his visage -- most of it still features the Queen. But slowly the change is happening.

Speaking of high-profile deaths, I was thinking yesterday about the post I did almost four years ago called "Who's Still Alive?" I mentioned 17 celebrities of a venerable age. Today, of that group, only Gene Hackman (94), Eva Marie Saint (100), June Lockhart (99), Dick van Dyke (98), Mel Brooks (98) and Tina Louise (90) are still with us. The other day I mentioned Tippi Hedren in conversation and I could add her to the list -- she's 94 -- and fellow Hitchcock muse Kim Novak is 91. Tina Louise was even on television a few months ago, doing a promo for a memoir she's written.

Let's hear it for good genes, fitness and modern medicine! I wonder if any of them ever had a capsule endoscopy?

Art and Medicine

This is one of two so-called "shell huts" in Lower Grosvenor Gardens, a park near Victoria Station that I walked through on my way to the hospital yesterday morning. They are quirky little buildings decorated with shells from France and Britain, and a site called "The Londonphile" has an article about their unusual history. I thought they were perhaps Victorian, because the Victorians loved their shells (remember the shell grotto in Margate?) but they were actually built in 1952 when the gardens were re-landscaped after World War II.

One of them is used to store garden tools, and I saw a gardener working from it, but apparently the one above is kept locked.

I also walked through Upper Grosvenor Gardens, an adjacent park that features this sculpture, "Lioness and Lesser Kudu" by Jonathan Kenworthy. It's a relatively recent installation, from June 2000.

The hospital where I went for my capsule endoscopy was right behind Buckingham Palace on Grosvenor Place. I couldn't see the palace -- only the well-fortified walls topped with barbed wire encircling its trees and gardens. I was there at 8:30 a.m., ready to get this thing over with.

I was taken for a preliminary CT scan, to make sure the test capsule was no longer in my system (it wasn't, and I told them that, but whatever) and then given the real thing by a nurse. It really is a little miracle of science, a half-clear capsule with blinking lights inside. I was surprised by the lights, but of course it would need some kind of light source. After all, it's dark in there. So while I went about my day, that capsule was strobing away and my innards were partying like it was 1999!

I had to wear a padded belt and shoulder harness for the unit receiving the transmitted images from the capsule. It was comfortable enough at first, and the image recorder was no larger than a Walk-Man (if you remember those). After swallowing the capsule I had to walk up and down a hallway for a while, to get my gut moving and set the capsule traveling on its way.

The hallway was decorated with these bright artworks by Leon Polk Smith from 1968 and 1973. I'd never heard of him but I guess he was known for these sorts of hard-edged, colorful graphic images.

They're very '60s, and therefore I like them.

I know you're all wondering whether I was able to watch the progress of the capsule. I saw some initial images, because the recorder had a display screen and the nurse activated it to make sure the capsule was moving along. I could see inside my stomach and the beginning of my small intestine, but honestly it didn't look like much -- just a pink-beige tunnel. The screen didn't stay on, and I was scared to try to push any buttons to activate it later, so that was the only time I saw any pictures.

I was sent home around 11 a.m. My jacket covered the recording unit, so I wore it home on the tube with no problem. The rest of the day I spent lounging around the house, because I wasn't supposed to do a lot of bending or stooping. I couldn't eat until just after 2 p.m., and even then only a tuna sandwich thoughtfully provided by the hospital. (Hospital food at home -- yum! Yes, that was sarcasm.)

In the afternoon I watched "Fortune and Men's Eyes," a 1971 movie about prison life with gay themes. I'd read about it somewhere and it sounded interesting as a sort of cultural time-capsule, which it was.

But by this time I was feeling pretty terrible. The thing about capsule endoscopy is that it disrupts life for about 72 hours -- my diet the preceding two days had been bland and then liquid, and even after my tuna fish "snack" at 2 p.m. I felt like hell. (I wasn't able to have any coffee yesterday, probably my chief complaint.) It's much less invasive than a colonoscopy, and capable of seeing more, but man, including prep time it takes forever to complete.

Finally, around 6 p.m., I could eat normally. Hallelujah! And at 9 p.m. I could take off that infernal belt, which I had slowly come to despise.

Today I have to take the recording unit back to the hospital and then, assuming this all shows no abnormalities -- which I won't know immediately -- I will be glad to get on with my life!

You may be wondering about my friend the spider from the previous post. Last night when we went to bed it was tucked up next to a wooden molding by the window. I looked up a couple of times during the night and it was still there, which enabled me to sleep soundly, but this morning it was gone. It's a harmless house spider (Tegenaria) but I'd still rather not touch it and I hope it has disappeared for good into some dark hidey-hole.

Apostrophe and Comma

I looked out yesterday morning and saw these rose-ringed parakeets on our bird feeder. I was surprised they were so brave, as Mr. Russia was up on the terrace banging around again. They must have been hungry.

They reminded me of two parentheses -- or of that line in Sandra Cisneros's book "The House on Mango Street," about the man whose little dogs were always jumping in mid-air, looking like an apostrophe and a comma.

Or maybe a pair of synchronized divers?

Yesterday was dreary, food-wise: An egg and a white roll in the morning, some cheese toast for lunch, and then nothing else. Plus the whole cleansing thing in the evening. This morning I can't have coffee (the worst bit of all this so far) and shortly I'll be off to the hospital to receive the sacrament of the capsule. Why do I believe it will be glowing when they hand it to me, the light shining upward into all our faces, as angels sing?

At lunchtime I'm supposed to be able to eat a light meal, and by dinner I'll be back to my normal dietary habits. And none too soon.

(Trigger alert: Stop reading now if you are an arachnophobe!)

When I got up this morning, I went to open the back door to let Olga out. Then I went to get my glasses, which were on my bedside table, so I could blog. And I saw this:

I had pretty much the same expression as that owl.

Where that gigantic thing came from and what it's doing on my bedside lamp I'll never know. I imagine I disturbed it with all my cleaning on Saturday. I just left it alone. Maybe it will go back where it came from. The question is, will I ever be able to sleep soundly in my bed again?

An Autumn Video

I'm getting a late start this morning. The dog woke me up at 5:30 a.m. to go out, and I let her out and just assumed we were up. But then, when she came back in, she went straight back to the warm bed -- so I did too. I only woke up about 20 minutes ago.

In lieu of a photo I'm giving you a short video of the back garden, showing the colors and leaves and sounds of autumn. I worked Olga into the clip, and I especially love the line of pigeons sitting atop the white apartment building behind our flat, spaced so evenly they could be gargoyles.

I managed to avoid filming Mr. Russia, who was working on the terrace above our living room spreading some volatile compound. He's been talking about the need to re-seal it so I'm sure that's what it was. Every time I open the back door, Dave says, "Close the door! That stuff stinks!" And it does.

I had to swallow this yesterday. This is not THE capsule, the one with the camera. It's just a dummy, a sort of test capsule to make sure my gut is capable of passing the camera later. I don't swallow the camera until tomorrow morning, at the hospital. If it's the same size as the dummy, known for some reason as a "patency" capsule, it should be a cinch. The dummy was no worse than a vitamin pill.

But I am on a low-fiber diet, which is pretty dismal. Yesterday for breakfast: white toast and an egg. Lunch: white toast with leftover ground beef and cheese. Dinner: skinless chicken and white dinner rolls. This is not the way I usually eat and I am dying for some broccoli. Dave bought carrot cake as a dessert treat, forgetting that carrots and nuts are off-limits for me at the moment. Oh well -- Monday night!

I walked Olga on the high street yesterday and did lots of housekeeping -- two loads of laundry, thorough vacuuming (including under the bed), plant-watering, windowsill-cleaning and other odds and ends. I don't know how there's always so much to do around this place when there are only two of us and a dog. How do people with children do it?

I'm trying to catch up on my New Yorkers, or at least make a dent in them. I was nine issues behind, having been diverted by "Bleak House." I've since dispatched two, and I'll take care of a few more today. Fortunately I'm off work tomorrow, but I doubt I'll clear the coffee table entirely!

A Note for Blind J

Since I don't have a whole lot to say today, how about another post of random photos? I haven't done one of those in a while. Here are some images that have stacked up over the past several weeks.

First, a lost cap not far from school. It's gone now so hopefully whoever lost it found it again.

Here's some graffiti that appeared on a utility box in my neighborhood, by the writer who goes by the name Tramp. I've photographed some of his/her messages before, which usually focus on race and class.

This one says:

For this country to get back on track, we need to be allowed to be proud of it. I love this city, especially this bit of this city. I love that you can hear four different languages on the tube. I love that after Brexit, now any human has the same chance to come here and call this home no matter what color or creed or background. So to show how proud I am I picked up my flag and waved it. But I was then called a racist and my new neighbors feared me, so I put it down. Later I saw one of my new neighbors waving their flag. I went over to ask them to stop being racist and put their flag down and was told to stop being racist.

Satire or sincerity? You be the judge.

Kind of a weird photo -- I was experimenting with the reflection in our kitchen window of a Scottish shot-putter on an oatmeal box. Here's a whole article about the history of this image on the box of Scott's oats. Apparently there was controversy when he was updated a few years ago and critics called the new Scott's oats guy a "soyboy."

Someone tracked this ginkgo leaf into the library. I love how yellow ginkgos get at this time of year.

When I went for my doctor's appointment last week I passed this car near Regent's Park. Wonder what the story is there? From the haphazard parking to the filmy layer of grime and collection of fallen leaves, it looks like this vehicle hasn't been moved in a while.

A curious message, apparently for "Blind J," from someone who has gone to Tesco for "bitch training," whatever that is. At least they helpfully left a phone number. There's also a note for passers-by: "Please don't be a c--- and move the sign."

Of course, if "Blind J" is really blind, you gotta wonder how helpful a sign will be.

Someone scattered yellow rose petals around the base of a tree at the top of our street. I'm not sure if this means anything or they were just trying to beautify the cigarette butts.

Spotted on my walk home last night. Ever the optimist!

Death and Taxes, Minus the Death

We're at that time of year when a lot of my photos are taken in the dark, since my walk home happens after the sun sets and walking the dog in the morning occurs before (or around) dawn. I'm inside at work during nearly all our daylight hours!

I've always liked this apartment building (above) in West Hampstead, but I seldom get a clear shot of it because there are cars in front. Last night I happened to catch it at a good time. I love the stained glass windows in that central stairway.

I am back in income tax hell here because I'm trying to file UK taxes for the first time. This has to do with income from my portion of my mother's estate, which I recently inherited, and I hired a tax adviser to compile my British return, since I'm unfamiliar with the system. She has done so, and let's just say my tax liability is higher than I expected. I'm still trying to understand why this is, but apparently it's because the UK taxes certain income at a higher level even if it's already been reported in the USA. I'm supposed to have a conversation with her next week to go over things, so hopefully I'll understand more then.

My feeling is, if I owe it, I owe it. And I'll pay it. But I do want to make sure we're minimizing the liability and I'm not filing incorrectly in the states in ways that leave me exposed here.

Sometimes living overseas is a huge pain in the neck. Not to mention expensive.

And then the question is, what's the best way to pay the tax bill? I'd rather not convert my American money, which would mean losing a percentage to the banks, so the alternative is to pay it from our British accounts -- and at this rate, a couple of years of income taxes on my American investments would drain our savings here. Obviously that's not sustainable.

Argh!

I don't think every year will be like this year. I think this is an especially heavy burden because of distributions I had to take from my mom's retirement accounts after her death. But still.

I took this photo yesterday in the library. Remember my purple heart plant, a type of Tradescantia? It's a relative of the plant now often called a "wandering dude." I have one here at home that I've had for many years and mentioned several times on the blog.

Well, every time pieces of it break off, I root them and stick them in a pot, which I then take to the library. This is the result -- we have at least six purple hearts on the library windowsill, along with various other plants from here and there. It's getting a little ridiculous, to be honest. I guess I have to be less soft-hearted about saving every cutting!

The Capsule

Here's another shot of the cleaners' shop around the corner, taken Tuesday evening as I was walking home. When it's lit up you can better see not only the contents but the leaded windows and the mosaic doorstep.

And here's the electricity repair on our street as of yesterday morning. As you can see, they dug out the hole a lot more and installed that weird torpedo-shaped connector thing. (I believe that's the technical name.)

I got more news and info about my upcoming capsule endoscopy. (Feel free to skip all this if you're squeamish about medical/bowel stuff.) For one thing, it's not happening Friday, but Monday morning. Apparently we needed a little more lead time for preparation. Starting Saturday morning I'm supposed to eat a low-fiber diet (which I'm going to hate) and only liquids from Sunday noon. I also have to swallow a dummy capsule about the size of the camera, as a test to see if it gets through my body without complication (apparently virtually guaranteed). On the off chance that it gets stuck, it won't cause harm because it eventually dissolves. And Sunday evening I have to take bowel prep (ugh) but only one sachet, so it's not quite as intense as with a colonoscopy.

Then I swallow the actual camera capsule on Monday morning at the hospital, and I have to wear a little monitor all day to collect the transmitted photos. So as it turns out I'll be taking Monday off. The nurse says the capsule, which goes down the drain at the end of all this, is the size of a large vitamin pill. We shall see!

This whole thing sounds wild and although I am not looking forward to the prep, I'm very curious about the experience (not to mention the results).