Let the Sunshine In

Here's who should be eating our suet balls, instead of our canine vacuum cleaner. (Who, by the way, suffered no ill effects from her bird seed snack. She's a machine.)

We visited the Welsh dragon around the corner yesterday morning on our walk. Olga was very annoyed that there was no garbage to be found anywhere. We must have come right after the garbage men departed, because there is always trash lying around up there.

So what did I do yesterday? Well, aside from walking the dog, I didn't leave the house at all. I cleaned the bookcase in the dining room, taking down all the books and cleaning the shelves and then moving it to vacuum beneath it. This is a once-a-year task, at best.

Then, as I looked at my newly-cleaned windows, I realized how terrible the drapes looked. They've always been terrible but we've left them up in that room because if anyone stays with us, that's usually where we put them to sleep. The truth is, though, no one has stayed overnight with us in years. I can't remember the last time.

So I took down the drapes, and the room looks so much better. We're rarely in there anyway, and if we are we're sitting at the table, so who cares if people can see in from the street? Plus the house is elevated, so from the street really all that can be seen is the ceiling. The only people with a view straight into the room would be in the houses opposite. And I don't really care.

Now the only room in the house with drapes is our bedroom. I am not much of a fan of window coverings, especially when they're as dreary as the ones we have here. (All owned by the landlord.) Give me daylight!

One of my dahlias is sending up little purple sprouts. Signs of life! The others haven't sprouted at all yet, at least not above the soil, but it won't be long.

I ate two leftover fortune cookies yesterday at coffee-time, sitting out in the garden, and here was one of the messages. I thought it especially appropriate since Dave lands this morning, back in London from his adventures in Michigan.

I Can See Clearly Now

As I sat on the back garden bench yesterday morning, this was my view. The sun was so bright, backlighting the green alkanet (on the right) and the teasels in the parts of our garden that I leave purposely weedy, and Olga was soaking up every ray.

I stayed home all day, doing work around the house.

Allow me to explain this photo. See that opened box of suet balls for the bird feeder? Well, it wasn't open -- at least not that much -- before Olga wandered past unsupervised. And see the crumbs of suet on the floor on the beige rug and the purple rug by the table?

Yes. Someone had a bird-food snack. And she isn't a bird.

This was my major project for the day. I hadn't cleaned the front windows of the house in a long time. They're hard to do because they're quite high off the ground, especially those top ones, and until recently we had some very large and overgrown shrubs beneath the window. But after the Russians insisted on having everything pruned within an inch of its life, I could finally get in there to clean. (I hate giving the Russians credit for anything, but this was a plus, I admit.)

I tried using a ladder, but the ground is too uneven and there was no place to safely brace it against the wall. So I switched to a chair, which worked fine. I still couldn't reach the top ones, though, so I had to do those from the inside, leaning out the side windows and sticking my arm out the top.

If I'm making this sound like a major project, IT WAS! Indoors, the window area is normally crowded with plants and the sill is full of orchids and tchotchkes. So I had to move all that stuff out of the way and do a thorough wipe-down not only of the glass but the window frames and the sill. I ran the tchotchkes -- vases and whatnot -- through the dishwasher, and then put everything back.

The windows look so good now! I keep wandering into the dining room just to admire them.

I also did the little alcove next to our front door, where I keep a collection of vases and my Rhipsalis cactus. Can you believe how big that thing has grown, from a tiny cutting?!

This all took me a couple of hours, believe it or not.

Afterwards I read blogs and finished a book and watered plants. The jury is still out on the survival of our tree fern. I still can't believe how quickly it gave up the ghost -- it went from looking fine to entirely crinkly and dry in a matter of days, but it was probably suffering from a deficit of water for a long time and we just never realized. I feel so guilty.

Today is my last full day of alone time. Dave returns tomorrow morning, and while I'll be glad to see him, I must say I have really enjoyed being able to listen to my own music, and keep the end table next to his chair clear of detritus, and access the bathrooms anytime I want.

From Wheeling to Westminster

Yesterday morning, I dreamed that the school where I work decided I need to learn to snow ski. It's a relatively wealthy school and many of the students ski, and they felt I needed to better fit into the culture. So for professional development they decided to send me to Wheeling, West Virginia, to learn to ski. I remember thinking, "Wheeling? Is there even a mountain there?" I mean, why not Switzerland or the French Alps? I was distinctly disappointed in the destination and also a bit worried about trying to get on skis for the first time at almost 60 years old. I planned to use the children's ski runs, because I had no enthusiasm at all for breaking a limb.

And then I woke up and realized with great relief that I didn't have to learn to ski or go to Wheeling (where I have admittedly never been and it may be a perfectly nice place).

I spent the morning in the garden, sitting out with the dog and reading despite the fact that the temperature was something like 50º F. (Not that warm.) It got much more comfortable fairly quickly, though. Our camassia lilies are blooming (above) and every day the garden's growth is more lush and the flowers more abundant.

Olga went with her dog-walker at about 11:30 and I decided to go to the Tate Britain, where I hadn't been in ages. There's an exhibit of British photography from the 1980s that I wanted to see. Also, a few years back the museum re-hung its collection -- an effort that not everyone appreciated -- and I was curious to see what it looks like now.

The photography show was interesting, particularly the earlier rooms devoted to photojournalism about the strikes and economic turmoil of those years. I took a few photos of the photos but I don't feel I can post them, given copyright laws. My favorites included some of Tish Murtha's work from Newcastle in 1981. There was also an emphasis on the use of photography by British black and/or female and/or queer artists in developing and exploring their individual identities and communities.

Then I went to the member's room under the museum's central rotunda and had coffee and carrot cake. That was the view from my table, above.

In the permanent collection I visited "Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose" by John Singer Sargent (on the right above), one of my favorites. It now shares a corner with works by, from left, Herbert Draper, Annie Louisa Swynnerton (top) and Henry Scott Tuke, famous for his paintings of naked teen boys bathing in the waters around Cornwall.

I tried to find Gerald Brockhurst's portrait of Margaret, Duchess of Argyll, also a favorite of mine, but Margaret has apparently been relegated to a storage closet somewhere as she is no longer on display. I suppose being known primarily for sexual scandals and aristocratic incompetence no longer entitles one to a position at the Tate.

Of course John Everett Millais' "Ophelia" is still on display, as well as Henry Wallis' "Death of Chatterton" (top right).

This 1920s painting by Frederick Cayley Robinson jumped out at me for its unusual sunset color scheme, softly glowing lantern and old-fashioned pastoral theme rendered in a contemporary style. (Those white marks at the top of the image are reflections from the painting's protective glass.)

I left the museum in mid-afternoon and walked back to the tube through Millbank and past the Houses of Parliament. I was passing Westminster Abbey when I heard someone yell "Steve!" and turned to find one of my co-workers there with one of her daughters and some friends. I told her, "Now I know I've lived in London a long time, when I run into random people I know at Westminster Abbey!" We sent Dave a selfie so he could appreciate the chance meeting.

Meandering Through Mayfair

I was back down in Westminster yesterday, this time to meet up with my friends Chris and Gordon for lunch and do a bit of paperwork. Gordon is one of our referees for citizenship, so like Sally he had to sign a paper attesting that Dave and I are who we claim to be. We got that out of the way and had a good vegan lunch at Mildred's, which is possibly one of the most popular vegan restaurants in London. We got the lunchtime prix fixe menu, which was very good.

Then I went for a wander through Soho and Mayfair, taking photos all the way. I've photographed this dramatic lamp shadow (above) before, way back in 2014. This time a bird flew into the shot and placed itself just so, as if the shadow were some kind of laser beam blasting that pigeon from above.

In Mayfair, echoes of mid-century media at the Time & Life Building, now the home of Hermés. I wonder if the passing teens and 20-somethings know (or care) why the building is called that.

This little pub, the Coach & Horses, used to be crowded on all sides with buildings, but now the ones behind it have been torn down for some grand project or other. It makes the pub seem even more oddly isolated.

At Berkeley Square, home of the famous nightingale, I re-created yet again my photo from April 2000, which I first blogged about and re-created back in 2011. It's hard to believe that more time has elapsed between that blog post and now (14 years) than between the first photo and the post (11 years). The scene hasn't changed much.

I popped in to a Pret and ordered a coffee and some chocolate-covered almonds, and waited with other patrons in a rather disorganized group as the coffees were produced. When the barista called "white Americano" I stepped forward to take it -- not because I am a white Americano but because that really is my usual coffee order -- but she said it was with hot milk and thus belonged to a nattily dressed older gent behind me. I stepped aside and said to him jokingly, "I didn't take a sip from it, I swear."

"I wouldn't have minded if you did," he said to me, rather suggestively. Whoa! Was I hit on by a nattily dressed older gent in Berkeley Square? I believe so.

Hedonism Wines was bursting with springtime color, adorned with huge clusters of tulips, trees of Easter eggs and larger, graffiti-covered eggs down below. As the sign says in the window, "Have an eggcellent day!"

From there I walked to the Bond Street stop, took the Jubilee Line back up to St. John's Wood and stopped at school to scan the documents Gordon and Sally had signed. I uploaded all our supporting docs last night, so now the application is complete except for our "biometric meeting" on April 30. After that, it's just a matter of waiting.

The wisteria around the corner from the school, which I've photographed in years past, is once again in full, flourishing bloom. It smells heavenly.

Back to the Eye

Yesterday I got out for a little adventure in London, thanks to a friend at work and a family with kids at our school. The family wound up with four spare tickets for a river cruise and a visit to the London Eye, and they gave the tickets to my friend and co-worker. He invited me and two more guys along.

I've been to the London Eye several times, but it's been ages. I've just spent about 20 minutes going through old blog posts and trying to figure out when I was last there. I think it was July 2012, when I went twice -- once with Dave's parents and once with our friend Kellee.

So I was due for another visit. But first, the river cruise:

We sat on the top deck of the boat and got a look at sights along the river from the Houses of Parliament to just beyond Tower Bridge. Our helpful guide Jordan pointed everything out and told bad jokes along the way. I wondered if he ever gets sick to death of doing the same spiel over and over, and trying to get a laugh out of foreign tourists who may not even understand everything he's saying. (The older Asian couple sitting next to me clearly had no idea, though the man made a video of the entire journey on his phone.)

I texted another friend and told him what we were doing. "You tourists!" he texted back, with a laughing-face emoji.

The guide insisted that we wave at everyone on the bridges as we passed beneath them, and of course the people on the bridges waved back. This was funny because I'd just been walking over one of those bridges shortly beforehand, and a boat passed beneath me and I pointedly did not wave. What a crank I am. I did wave, a bit half-heartedly, from the boat. When in Rome.

From the boat we walked the short distance -- just a few steps, really -- to the Eye and jumped the queue with our VIP tickets. Soon we were in one of the glass pods making the roughly half-hour circuit around the wheel. I wonder what would happen if someone did lean against those doors? Surely they wouldn't just pop open. I didn't test them.

I made a video to give you the London Eye experience:

There are three clips spliced together. We begin with the Houses of Parliament and pan along the north shore of the river; we then look east toward the City of London and gradually southward to Elephant & Castle and west to show an adjacent pod on the wheel; and finally we pick up at Elephant & Castle again and look west along the river toward Vauxhall before ending back at Parliament and Westminster Bridge.

I paired the footage with a song from my iTunes, "How Do You Feel" by Wave System, which was just the right length. Its copyright holder apparently permits its use on YouTube. I had to put some music with the video to eliminate the conversational chatter within the pod, which was fairly loud because there were several little kids. (Don't lean on the doors, kids!)

Anyway, after this adventure I bade adieu to my friends and walked northward through Trafalgar Square (which was closed off for filming of some kind) and Soho all the way to Baker Street. I passed All Souls' Church (top photo) which was decorated with a special cross for Easter week.

And now, Olga wants a walk of her own!

A Spiny Surprise

I got the surprise of my life yesterday morning while watering our houseplants. Another one of our cacti is blooming -- and this one has never bloomed before! It's the left-hand cactus in this post. What's funny is, I had always imagined that if this cactus ever bloomed, the flowers would be pink. It's like I manifested them.

It's only blooming on the side that faces a sunny window, which is interesting. I feel a little bad that it's putting so much effort into flowers when there are no pollinators around, but I get to enjoy them, at least. (When I crane my neck to see them on the opposite side of the plant!)

I had a busy morning yesterday doing all the predictable things that I do around here -- cleaning the house and mowing the lawn and plant caretaking. I intended to go through our old paperwork and shred some of it, because seriously, we are saving things that are of no use to anyone. I discovered that while fishing around for documents for our citizenship application. But I just didn't have the heart to immediately tackle that project.

I will say this about computers -- it's great to go paperless and have so much stored digitally, as many things are nowadays.

Of course I would never throw away my elementary school annuals, which I came across in my rummaging. Here's my fourth grade class. Can you find me? Hint: I had the biggest forehead in the room.

What's funny is, I still remember many of these kids' names. Not all of them, but many. I don't know who that kid in the second row is with the bowl haircut, looking like Cousin Oliver from "The Brady Bunch." And I don't know why Gary wrote that I have a bad temper. He was a pal so I'm sure it was a joke. Mrs. Herb, my teacher, didn't have her photo taken so she drew herself in, with eyelashes weirdly on the bottom of her eyes.

Oh, and Melissa's last name was not "Mouse," despite being from Florida and thus potentially related to Mickey. I'm not sure she was even in my class -- her photo's not there, in any case.

My tax preparer got back to me with our completed US return yesterday. I looked it over but it was huge -- 50-something pages with worksheets and supplemental material, far bigger than any return I ever prepared myself. That accountant knows how to parse everything properly. I could really only skim through it to make sure it basically made sense, and it did. So I signed it and Dave signed it, and it's been filed and we've paid what we owe (not too much).

Next, we get to do our UK taxes! Woo hoo! (Sarcasm, in case that wasn't clear.)

Dahlias

Yesterday was my appointed day for the dahlias' annual spring reveal. I hauled them all out of the shed where they'd spent the winter, dry in their pots. There are eight of them altogether, and my plan was to repot them so they'd all have fresh soil for this year's growing season.

Unfortunately, I didn't have enough compost to repot them all completely. So I repotted five of them, and the other three I simply took away the top couple of inches of soil and gave them a fresh layer, figuring at least some of the nutrients from the new compost would filter down into the older soil below. It will be interesting to see if it makes a difference as they grow and bloom.

I once again realized that I have too darn many dahlias. Five of them I grew from seed -- I planted a bunch of seeds and that's how many sprouted, so I didn't have much choice in the matter. Another one grew of its own accord in another plant's pot, presumably a seed that somehow got away. The other two I bought as mature plants.

By the way, when you dig up a dormant dahlia, this is what they look like -- a thick knot of tubers. If I did this the way the experts recommend, I'd wash all the soil off that ball, neatly trim away anything shriveled or dead and repot the tubers in entirely fresh dirt. But I'm going the easy route, so I just brushed them off. If I lost a few dahlias it wouldn't kill me.

Here are some things that are blooming at the moment: Our aquilegia (above)...

...a fancy variegated deadnettle...

...and the candytuft, which persists every year despite the fact that Olga wipes her face on it every evening after she eats. (This is a tough plant -- it's one of the few smaller plants in the garden that's been here longer than we have.)

We've had a few failures, though. I already mentioned our struggling tree fern -- the jury's still out on that one. The foam flower (Tiarella), which looked so healthy in its pot last summer, and which I was so proud of having saved from its crowded, overshadowed location in the flowerbed, failed to come up this spring and when I examined the pot it was completely empty. Not sure what happened there.

Dave got launched successfully yesterday morning and he sent me a text last night that he'd landed safely in Michigan -- in Romulus, the township that includes the Detroit airport. Earlier he'd texted me "Jolan tru," which I did not understand at all -- I replied "Covfefe," thinking he'd simply done some sloppy typing. It turns out that he was about to take off on his connecting flight from Minneapolis, and "Jolan tru" is Romulan (as in "Star Trek") for "goodbye." Dave is officially nerdier than I am when it comes to "Star Trek."

I spent yesterday evening watching "All the President's Men," a movie I have seen a hundred times and could watch a hundred more. It makes me nostalgic for journalism, conversations with demanding editors and smart newsroom repartee. My grandfather and my uncle, both staunch Republicans who lived in Washington, hated The Washington Post for its relentless reporting on Nixon and Watergate -- I'm pretty sure my grandfather called it the Pinko Post, or something like that. I wonder what they'd make of Trump if they were alive. Trump's dogged insistence on loyalty isn't so different from Nixon's "enemies list," and his insecurity and paranoia are very Nixonian as well.