Halloween in the 'Hood

I've been saving up a Halloween photo gallery of some of the fun decorations and jack-o-lanterns I've encountered around my neighborhood and on my way to and from work. My favorite is this house, with its monstrous three-eyed front door.

And check out that pumpkin at lower left...

...it's the Death Star!

Here are some more interesting pumpkins:

I like the one on the far right, with the moon and star eyes.

These are on the steps of one of our neighbors.

And this one's down the street. Not sure what happened here. Pumpkin fail!

Some houses have quite elaborate decorations...

...while others are more basic, but at least they're in the spirit of things.

Clearly the home of an American!

Dave and I plan to sit inside with the lights off this evening, as is our habit on Halloween. I didn't buy any candy or anything. I honestly doubt we'll get any trick-or-treaters anyway -- we never have before, and now, with the pandemic, it seems even less likely.
 
Still, Happy Halloween, everyone!

Polling Doubts and Rubbish Bags

Just a few more days, and the USA's long national nightmare may be laid to rest. I'm cautiously optimistic, although I'm taking note of Michael Moore's warning that the polls aren't correct and Biden is not as far ahead as everyone thinks. I think that's entirely plausible -- many Trump voters are skeptical and don't like or don't trust media or pollsters. I think it's likely that they refuse to talk to pollsters or outright lie about their voting intentions. Dave argues that pollsters have built ways to detect those lies into the polls, but I'm still skeptical.

What happens if, say, a pollster calls ten people, and five of them are Trump voters, but they all hang up without talking to the pollster. The five Biden voters, meanwhile, are happy to talk. Does that mean the poll's result is 100 percent for Biden? I'm sure it's not that simple, but how does that work? Maybe if there's a large number of hangups that widens the margin of error.

I think if the polls prove to be off like they were in 2016, it could signal the death of political polling. What's the point if they can't get an accurate result? Not to mention it will mean another four years of inane blustering from the overly bronzed commander-in-chief -- which I keep telling myself we could survive, but ugh.

At any rate, the bottom line is, if  you're an American voter, GO VOTE!

Meanwhile, in the UK, the BBC has told its journalists that they should avoid marching or demonstrating for controversial causes -- an edict that some say could prevent people from joining LGBTQ Pride marches. This seems ridiculous to me. When I worked at The New York Times, there was a similar rule about expressing overtly political opinions, and that makes sense. But marches that centered on identity as opposed to politics were fine, even if some of the other participants expressed political views. There was no prohibition against the Pride march.

Further evidence that the time change has screwed up our internal clocks -- Dave had dinner ready last night at 5:30 p.m.! I was like, "I can't eat spaghetti NOW!" It reminded me of that Seinfeld episode about the early bird special -- that's exactly how I felt. But eventually I talked my stomach into it.

On my early-morning walk with Olga...

Mmmmmmm...garbage! Don't worry -- she didn't eat any of it, though I'm sure she would if I allowed her to. She insists on checking out every bag we pass. For me, a walk is a nice opportunity to get some fresh air and enjoy the scenery. For Olga, it's a chance to enthusiastically bury her nose in the neighborhood rubbish.

(Top photo: A colorful mushroom on Hampstead Heath.)

Aluminum, Anyone?

I was talking with some co-workers yesterday about how tired I am these days, and how hard this time change has been for me. They said the same thing, and we wondered if all the tension surrounding the pandemic and leading up to this election has simply left us exhausted. Wouldn't surprise me.

Not a whole lot of news yesterday. I pulled the plug on the witchcraft/satanism book -- weeded it and put it in the charity box. In the end, it came down to the fact that the book wasn't used. Plus it was impractically huge and took up more shelf space than it deserved.

My next conundrum is over a series of slim volumes about the elements. There's one book for each element -- sulphur, zinc, aluminum, boron, that kind of thing. They're not all represented, especially when you get to those weird ones high up on the periodic table that exist only in laboratories for a fraction of a second, but many are. The books sound useful, but they aren't used, and nowadays all that information is online. There's no need for a middle-school level book about each element, and they're at least 15 years old. The science department says they'll take them for casual classroom reading, so I think that may be the solution.

It's amazing how high a premium there is on shelf space in our library. It seems like a huge room (a couple of rooms, actually) but you'd be surprised how quickly those shelves get jammed up.

Dave and I have periodically been watching a series on Netflix called "The Rain," which like "Borgen" is from Denmark. We're on the second season and I am completely bewildered by what is going on. My synopsis: There's a fatal virus that's spread by rainfall, and anyone who is touched by the rain dies. But then the rain stops, and mysteriously there's still the virus, which was created in a lab, and a kid named Rasmus is a carrier. The lab desperately wants him back, while his sister Simone tries valiantly to protect him. They run around with an evolving cast of allies, and there's lots of gun-pointing and devastation and people die and fall in love and somehow this virus is actually visible to the naked eye and I think I might finally be done with this show.

(Photo: A building in Hampstead covered with bright red Boston ivy.)

Sunrise and Satan

When I stepped out the front door yesterday, this is the sunrise that greeted me, over the rooftops of the houses across the street. It lasted only a few minutes and then the sun rose above the cloud cover, restoring the sky to a flat gray. It pays to be fast with the ol' camera.

I started another Newbery book yesterday, "Strawberry Girl" by Lois Lenski. To my surprise, the story takes place in Polk County, Florida, in the early 1900s. I used to live and work in Polk County, so I'm getting a kick out of it already! I'm surprised I never heard of this book growing up, though it was published in 1945 so it was well before my time.

Otherwise, life goes on as usual around here. I'm having very busy days in the library, keeping up with all the book orders from kids. It's good to see they're still reading, never mind the pandemic! We also weeded about 12 boxes of nonfiction during the parent-teacher conference days last week, so I've been boxing all that stuff up for donation to charity.

One of the books I've considered deleting is about witches -- a huge tome that covers Wiccans, paganism and even satanism. It hasn't been checked out in about nine years, and it's much bigger than the average kid's backpack. I'm wrestling with whether we really need a gigantic book on satanism. What would the average parent do if their kid brought that home?! I don't want to be censorious, but then again, no one's checking it out anyway.

We wind up with some very weird stuff in the library. Years ago a colleague found a book on our shelves called "Light Up and Live," which is basically about how to smoke safely. (I can write that book in two words: IT'S IMPOSSIBLE.) We weeded it but I saved it just because it's so bizarre.

I think we obtained some of those peculiar books through donations, which we used to accept much more readily than we do now. These days we decline most donations, preferring to build our collection more deliberately.

Anyway, now it's time to walk the dog and, if we're lucky, see another sunrise.

Pipe Joint

I woke up ridiculously early this morning. Our clocks changed on Sunday, falling back an hour, so when I woke up at 4:30 a.m., my body thought it was 5:30, which is at least closer to when I'd normally get out of bed. I lay there for a while but couldn't fall asleep again, so I got up to steal a shower before Dave. Now here I am, dressed, and it's only 5:39 a.m.!

This time change has really messed with my internal clock for some reason. I could barely hold my eyes open last night as we watched "The Great British Bake-Off" and indeed I nodded off during the showstopper, waking only in time to see that Sura's raw cake batter sent her home. (I think we may be an episode behind?) It was only 8:30!

I'm tempted to join the chorus of voices calling for an end to British Summer Time and Daylight Saving Time. People say, "Oh, but if the clocks don't change, children will have to wait for the school bus in the dark." Well, I remember waiting for the school bus in the dark, even with Daylight Saving Time, and it didn't kill me. And are there still agricultural reasons for this change, given that we now have sophisticated farm equipment and artificial lighting? I'm skeptical. But admittedly, I've never worked on a farm.

On another topic -- when I routinely walk through Golders Hill Park with Olga, we always pass this object (above). Usually it's swarming with about a hundred kids, but when we passed it on Sunday it was basking in splendid isolation, so I had a chance to take a good autumnal photo. I always thought it was a big pipe joint, put there for kids to play on. But when I looked more closely I realized the "pipe joint" had a raised floor, and that seemed unlikely.

Turns out it's a sculpture called "Gazebo" by British artist Wendy Taylor, from 1983. Wendy, I apologize for thinking your sculpture was a pipe.

So Amy Coney Barrett has been confirmed for the U.S. Supreme Court. I'm hopeful that as conservative and religious as she is personally, she'll wind up being open-minded enough not to become a monster a la Clarence Thomas. She seems like a genuinely decent human being, free of the character questions that plagued Brett Kavanaugh -- so that's something. (I'm trying to be positive, here.) We'll see how it goes.

Yesterday at work I wrote about my latest Newbery read, "...And Now Miguel." I wasn't crazy about it, and when I looked at Goodreads to see how other people described this 245-page novel about a shepherd boy in New Mexico, I found possibly the funniest review I've ever seen on that site. Hopefully Goodreads user Julie won't mind if I republish it here:

As we approached page 121 of this read aloud last night, my 10-year-old slowly slumped forward on the bed, a finger plugged in each ear. She didn't say a word, just slowly fell forward in silence.

I pulled her left finger out of her left ear and said, “What's up, honey?”

She looked up at me with glazed eyes and said, “I can't listen to one more word of this story.”

I looked over at my 12-year-old, who was busy sketching a picture of an animal (not a sheep), and, without looking up, she said, “It's over, Mom.”

Over?

Over for Miguel? The boy who wanted to grow up quickly so he could be a shepherd of his father's flock? The boy who aspired to climb the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of his native New Mexico, circa 1953?

“Over, Mom. Over.”

Free Gold

There's a Lloyd's bank commercial on TV here that features a galloping black horse (the Lloyd's trademark) accompanied by the Carpenters song "We've Only Just Begun." Which I happen to love, sentimental as it is. It made me wonder how old Karen Carpenter would be if she were alive, so I looked it up -- and the shocking answer is 70! It's shocking only because none of us can picture her at that age. We all still see her as a winsome 25-year-old, don't we?

Would she be annoyed that her first name has become synonymous with middle-aged white privilege?

Marilyn Monroe would be 94, assuming she was still with us -- probably a big assumption.

Anyway, yesterday was very low-key. I spent most of it reading, finishing my latest Newbery book ("...And Now, Miguel," which was meh) and working my way up to page 527 of the latest Robert Galbraith. I gotta say, it's a compelling story, and not at all painful or boring to read, but I do feel like there's an awful lot of extraneous detail. I suppose my editor's mind is constantly seeking to pare back.

I took the dog to the cemetery, but otherwise I didn't leave home. I caught up on some photo archiving and some other housekeeping stuff I've been meaning to do.

I mentioned yesterday that I brought the avocado tree back indoors -- here's what it looks like, back in its corner. It rained off and on yesterday and I almost felt sorry for the tree, locked up in a dry room. But come winter it will be happy to be inside. (You can see that massive Galbraith tome sitting on the little table next to the couch.)

Speaking of social media and targeted advertising (as we were in my last few posts), yesterday I got a spam e-mail that cracked me up, featuring this:

Yes, that is a "gold" coin featuring a portrait of Donald Trump. (But looking more like Alec Baldwin playing Donald Trump.) And look -- it's FREE! All I had to do was click a link! What an amazing deal!

Honestly, do people really fall for these things?

I thought it was pretty funny since clearly whoever sent it to me has NO IDEA who I am or what I'm likely to want. Spam e-mail is the opposite of targeted advertising, I suppose.

(Top photo: A streetlight shining through an autumn tree, early one morning.)

Avocados, Ducks and Questions of Grammar

A pretty busy day yesterday -- a morning walk for Olga, then laundry and vacuuming and plant-watering for me. I brought our avocado tree back inside for the winter. We'd been debating whether to leave it outside to fend for itself (and likely die) or give it another year by bringing it in, and in the end, I just couldn't surrender it to the elements.

It is rather large and unwieldy but I think with some pruning it will be more manageable. Besides, it's our Christmas tree! I did trim off a couple of bits before bringing it in -- some leaves that were badly affected by scale and also the sprouts on the top, which would otherwise be scraping the ceiling.

I'd considered taking it to school -- we could install it in the library, where there are high ceilings, big windows and plenty of space. The head librarian gave her approval, but Dave balked at helping me transport it, which would basically mean trundling it on a wagon or dolly to St. John's Wood. (There's no way we could get it in a cab or hired car.) It would definitely take some time and we'd be quite the spectacle.

Those are not avocado leaves above, by the way -- just interesting ones I found on my walk with Olga.

In late morning, Olga and I went to the Heath, where we found a group of very colorful ducks swimming on the pond. I think they're mandarins? Olga was interested and waded in for a closer look, which of course sent the ducks madly paddling elsewhere. Meanwhile, I was trying to photograph them, which was nearly impossible with the dog.

We came home to find a package waiting for me -- a birthday present from my in-laws. (It didn't go to New Zealand like Dave's!) They sent me a pair of denim shorts just like the ones they sent Dave, which we thought was pretty funny -- now we can be matchy-matchy. But seriously, I'll wear 'em.

This dahlia in our garden is usually bright red, but for some reason, its most recent flowers have been bright yellow. Something about the change of seasons? Less light, lower temperature? I have no idea.

Last night we watched "The Social Dilemma" again, because Dave fell asleep midway the night before, and I really wanted him to see it. (He's far more addicted to his Facebook news feed than I am.) He made it all the way through this time, and ended the evening by turning off all his notifications, so that's progress.

Here's an interesting grammatical note, if there is such a thing. You may remember that in yesterday's post, I treated the phrase "social media" as plural: "Social media are evil." I did that because "media," obviously, is plural -- the singular being "medium." But honestly, it sounded weird to me.

Google says the singular usage is also correct: "Social media is evil." And on watching the movie again, I noticed that everyone verbally refers to it in the singular, saying "social media does this" or "social media is that." People have the same tendency with the news media; they'll say "the media reports the news," rather than "the media report the news." This usage is also hotly debated, with some people saying that in the case of news media or mass media, singular usage is acceptable. I guess this is another example of our ever-evolving language.

Finally, during our exploration of the autumnal Heath, I made another short video featuring Olga. Enjoy!

On Social Media

Dave and I watched Netflix's fascinating documentary "The Social Dilemma" last night -- about the ways that social media not only monitor our online lives but also influence our lives offline, transforming politics, relationships and more. It discusses the ways social media make money by gathering data about us and feeding us advertising tailored to our interests. It also explores the idea that by helping individuals "gather" in virtual communities of like-minded people, those media increase polarization and extremism.

(I'm using social media in the plural sense, referring to many different platforms, rather than in the monolithic singular. Evil Google says it's correct either way.)

I'd call myself a casual user of social media -- very casual. I usually check Facebook once a day, and I'm on there maybe half an hour, if that much. I don't have accounts on Twitter, Pinterest, LinkedIn or Reddit, though I occasionally look at those sites when I want something specific. I use YouTube, but again, only when I want to find a specific video, or when I upload my own videos for blogging purposes -- I don't usually pay much attention to YouTube's recommendations for me.

When it comes to photography, I have a dormant Instagram account, but I mainly use Flickr -- and although Flickr allows commenting and other social media functions, I don't really use it that way anymore. I'm on Blogger more than anything else, and although I'm sure Blogger gathers data about me on Google's behalf, it's not showing me ads.

I've never been too troubled by the commercial angle of social media. I don't care that they harvest data about my interests or send me targeted advertising -- that seems harmless enough, and I rarely click on any of it anyway. (I have occasionally bought t-shirts recommended in Facebook ads because, let's face it, they were perfect for me!) It's reasonable to expect Facebook and Google to want to make money, and it's not much different from being subjected to advertising on television or even in print, as all of us have been for decades -- except that the ads more closely hew to our desires. Which, it could even be argued, is a good thing.

But the second issue, polarization, is a huge problem. The argument, basically, is that social media group people into like-minded virtual communities and feed them false or ever-more extreme content (which gets a lot more clicks than moderate content or real news) through recommendations. Thus, they gradually turn people with a conservative bent into ravening right-wingers, and turn liberals into ever-more-shocked-and-offended snowflakes. We see the evidence in our daily lives, our current politics, and even in people's reactions to the coronavirus pandemic -- all those who believe it's caused by 5G technology or that it's a hoax or that mask requirements are a totalitarian infringement on personal liberties.

I think the biggest problem arises when people rely on social media recommendations for their news. I don't mean to suggest that I'm playing this game perfectly, but I do not get news from social media -- I read The New York Times and The Guardian and other reliable media sources, and I occasionally look at Fox News and even Breitbart to see what the "other side" is saying. (Admittedly, I seldom believe them, though!) In other words, I go to the source, and I know my sources and where they stand, which helps me comprehend that news.

I also don't de-friend people who think differently from me. I don't mean to condemn those who do -- I totally understand the impulse. I try to remember that behind those political views, however repugnant I may find them, there's a person who at some level means something to me -- even if it's an old acquaintance from high school who I haven't seen in person in forty years. (!)

The movie made some recommendations for managing our lives on social media. Limiting screen time is an obvious option, as well as turning off notifications -- those little messages that ping our phones with supposedly urgent news or updates. (I've always kept all notifications turned off. In fact, I mostly use my phone as a phone -- or a camera -- and seldom use it for web browsing. I just can't deal with that tiny screen.)

Removing oneself from social media is an option too, but honestly, my Facebook account is too valuable to me -- I like being in touch with all my friends. I think deletion makes sense for social platforms we feel we can do without. For example, last night I deleted my TikTok account, which I created several months ago out of curiosity (after reading about TikTok in The New Yorker) and almost never used. I won't miss silly videos of teenagers lip-synching songs I don't know.

Anyway, it's a very interesting movie, and definitely food for thought!

(Photo: Autumn color in West Hampstead.)

Confusion, with Nice Leaves

As I write, Dave is sitting in the next room with the presidential debate on. He got out of bed this morning and promptly went for his computer, saying, "I hope Joe Biden didn't screw up." (He actually used a more colorful phrase.) I told him Joe would have to screw up pretty dramatically to make a difference at this point. I have no intention of watching it myself. I'll read about the highlights, which is enough for me.

We have enough drama here in the UK with our Covid restrictions. In case you haven't been keeping up on it, our cases have spiked and the government has introduced a truly bewildering three-tiered lockdown scheme. I can't begin to explain what the tiers mean in practical terms, especially because the rules keep changing. Households can't mix, but pubs can stay open if they serve food. Gyms couldn't open, then they could.

So far, southern England is not too badly affected -- relatively speaking, anyway -- but northern England is under some pretty tight rules. (As Mr. Pudding has mentioned.) Unfortunately, because of the confusion surrounding the regulations, and a natural, understandable tendency for northern England to resist and resent London's rulemaking, adherence to and enforcement of these restrictions is variable. I think schools are staying open no matter what.

None of this changes our lives much. We never go out these days. I haven't been to a restaurant or a pub in months. Aside from work, we don't do much of anything except buy groceries, walk the dog and watch television at home.

We've had several more Covid cases at school, so we have several groups of kids -- contacts of those who have tested positive -- who are all staying home in isolation. So far, this hasn't affected me. One good thing about my job is that I'm never in touch with any one individual (aside from three fellow librarians) for very long -- just a few minutes here and there -- and I'm behind a mask and (if I'm at my desk) a clear plastic shield. So I'm not included in these groups of potentially exposed people.

I came home from work yesterday and did some trimming in the garden, clearing away dead thistles and the inulas, dumping a few old annuals and neatening things up. Those are our hostas in the top photo. I love the way the leaves turn, and it doesn't take long -- I took that shot just a few days ago and now those leaves are entirely yellow. I didn't trim them -- they provide some nice color.

Crabapples and a Rainy Walk

I found a little grove of these trees when I was at Gladstone Park with Olga. I think they're crabapples, but I'm no expert!

Today and tomorrow will be quiet days at work. It's parent-teacher conference time, so while Mom and Dad learn via Zoom about little Susie and Jimmy's performance at school, I'll be in the quiet library organizing the shelves. (Actually, they're more likely to be Olivia and Zach, or Ethan and Emma, or Maya and Alex.)

I'm doing more weeding in the nonfiction section, and probably shifting books, which is not my favorite job but alas, it must be done. Certain parts of the collection (science) age more quickly than others, and some (LGBTQ, women's studies, race studies) have grown quite a bit, so we need to make some room. That doesn't just mean moving books but also remaking shelf signage.

I love days like this, when I can work on my own in the stacks in silence! Dave doesn't even have to go in -- he's Zooming with parents from home.

Yesterday was very rainy -- I had a rainy walk to work and a rainy walk home. Here's a snippet of what it was like yesterday afternoon:

Pretty leaves, but lousy weather!

Mystery Meds

When I walk to work now, it's still dark (or dark-ish) outside. Our clocks will change this weekend and that should give us more daylight in the mornings, but in the meantime, I pass scenes like the one above -- autumn colors in the blue-gray light of dawn.

I ordered some new masks the other day. I got sick of the ones I had, which were all patterned, and it may be my imagination but I think many people seem to be trending toward more neutral masks. (Or "face coverings," as they are euphemistically called.) I suppose that way we don't have to think about matching our masks to our clothing, a la Nancy Pelosi. Not that she doesn't do it exceptionally well.

The ones I got are black, and supposedly they're more breathable because they use nanotechnology blah blah blah. They don't really seem more breathable but I do think I like the black fabric better. It still seems so odd to me that we all now have to think about this additional wardrobe element as a matter of routine.

The other day I was in the medicine cabinet looking for a Band-Aid and I found a Ziploc sandwich baggie containing these two pills (on the left -- with an aspirin just to show how big they are). Does this ever happen to you, where you find random medicine with no idea what it is or where it came from? I've never bought any pills like that, I'm sure. Given their size I figured they were chewable, and after some Googling I determined that they're Alka-Seltzer antacids -- someone must have given them to me at some point. God only knows how old they are. But I saved them -- they're probably still good.

It's raining again this morning. No walk for the dog!

Leaves

It's raining steadily outside and I'm sitting in the darkened living room with Olga beside me. I'm in the mood for a simple post -- so how about some autumn leaves?

I found these in the cemetery, along with the first two below.

I found these two on my walk home from work yesterday:

They look like they might all be from the same species of tree, a maple or a sycamore -- obviously one of the more colorful trees out there at the moment!

Lampion

We spent yesterday mostly at home. I was a cleaning machine, again, vacuuming and doing laundry. I also made great progress in "Troubled Blood," my current book, and finished "Out of the Dust," my latest Newbery read. The latter, by Karen Hesse, was excellent -- one of the best Newbery books I've read so far -- about a girl living through the Dust Bowl in panhandle Oklahoma. I'll definitely recommend it to kids.

This tree on our street (above) is already losing its leaves, but for a brief time every fall it's a beautiful color. It's some kind of ornamental fruit tree, and it's always one of the first to change.

Olga didn't seem to want to walk in the morning -- still tuckered out from Saturday, I guess -- but after a long snooze she was ready for two loops around the cemetery in the afternoon. 

I picked this up at a florist's shop on Mill Lane. Because our Chinese lantern only ever seems able to produce one lantern per year, I figured having a second plant couldn't hurt. Maybe if they cross-pollinate we'll get more lanterns? I have no idea.

By the way, if you look at the pot, you'll see that it says "Chinese lampion." I first thought this was a laughable corruption of English by a foreign producer, but it turns out that lampion really is a word. It used to mean a lamp with a glass chimney in a carriage, but nowadays seems to mean a paper lantern. Who knew?

Olga and I found this sign in a window overlooking Fortune Green. Dave and I seriously considered trying to get a sign for our window, but there didn't seem to be much point, given that most of our neighbors aren't American voters. But I must admit seeing this gave me a boost.

I am feeling so much anxiety about this election. I keep telling myself, "No matter what happens, it's not the end of the world" -- but unlike in past years, I actually think it might be.

And here's Dave's pumpkin pie, which he finally had a chance to make. It's fantastic. We ate half of it last night!

Fox on Tracks

Olga and I took two lengthy walks yesterday -- first around the neighborhood and the cemetery in the morning, and then to Gladstone Park in the afternoon.

At the cemetery we found lots of colorful leaves catching in tree branches (above) and carpeting the ground. It was chilly enough that I had to wear a sweatshirt and a jacket.

But when we got to Gladstone Park later, I was surprised to find lots of summer flowers still blooming -- cosmos, marigolds, rudbeckias, borage. They're looking a little raggedy, for sure, but still with plenty of blossoms. We're perched right at that in-between time, when it's cold enough for leaves to turn but warm enough for flowers to linger.

Olga and I don't often visit Gladstone Park, because it's kind of a hike from where we live -- the last time we were there, I think, was back in August 2018. (Can that be right?!)

There were loads of squawking green parakeets in the trees, and also loads of squirrels scampering on the ground. Olga spent all her time obsessively stalking them (above).

Here's a close-up. Can you see the two squirrels by the base of the tree? Naturally she didn't catch any but she ran herself ragged.

We got several compliments from passers-by. One man said, "Beautiful dog, mate!" And then talked about how she looked just like his dog at home.

Another woman, watching Olga run after her ball, said, "How old is HE?"

I said, "SHE is about ten."

The woman said, "Really? I never would have guessed HE was that old!"

I said, "Yes, SHE is very vigorous."

She said, "HE is very handsome."

It was like I was being corrected and told that my dog is a boy, despite whatever I might believe. Olga is kind of butch-looking, but c'mon lady, don't you think I know my own dog's gender?!

As we were leaving the park, which is bisected by a railroad line, we crossed over the footbridge and I looked down onto the tracks. I was surprised to see a fox down there, plain as day, ambling around and sniffing. Probably not the safest place to amble, but foxes have quick reaction time, so I'm not too worried.

Louse and Sunflower

These days, when I walk the dog in the morning before work, it's still dark outside. We often pass this flat where there's a motion-activated light by the front door, which creates interesting shadows through the bars across the front porch. (This specific apartment is like Fort Knox, for some reason.)

And with that, here are some more miscellaneous pictures from my trusty iPhone.
 

I found this artwork propped against the rails in a stairwell at school. I guess someone didn't want their drawing of a giant...louse?

Domestic life on a weekend. Dave probably wouldn't be thrilled that I'm showing you a picture of him with his uncombed hair, in his pajama bottoms...but hey, this is our reality!

The trees on the next street over from our flat have gone yellow and autumnal. Once again, Olga poses patiently as I pray that no cats or squirrels wander past.

This poor sunflower got somewhat beaten down by Storm Alex a few weeks ago, but it was still pretty enough to be photo-worthy.

Olga is freaked out by the crazy face drawn onto this recycling bin. "We are cool kidz," it says. Guess someone put their kids in charge of bin-decorating.

In a recycling bin in St. John's Wood. Unfortunately the book had been rained on -- but fortunately I already have a copy. I figure if we get locked down again it might be a good reading project, as it's about 10,000 pages of tiny, tiny type.

A sign of the times.

And finally, so as not to end on a sour Covid note, how about...

...a weirdly hypnotizing GIF of elephants that I stole off the web?

It Had to Happen

After yesterday's post, you probably knew this was coming! Yes, this is the interior of the Victorian-era West End Lane Public Conveniences -- specifically, the men's room. I walked over there after work and found it open and accessible.

The historical listing mentions the red-and-black tile floor, as well as...

...the ornate ventilation grills...

...and the interior arched doorways. There also appears to be some kind of skylight, but it's been painted or covered over.

There's a bank of four or five full-length urinals which aren't in great shape. They were, however, made by...

...which seems pretty swanky.

There are three toilet cubicles with complete walls and green wooden doors, like three closets side by side. (Which I suppose is where the term "water closet" comes from.) Only one of them was open, and the toilet didn't look like an original fixture (although I am hardly an expert) so I'll spare you a photograph. Aren't you lucky?

Here's the women's room entrance, with its equally ornate metal railings.

So yes, here I am, touring Victorian restrooms so you don't have to. Never say I don't go to great lengths to provide a fascinating blog post!

Incidentally, some of you commented yesterday about my use of the term "restroom." I must admit, if I opt for a euphemistic phrase for a place to relieve oneself, that's the word I go for. Maybe it's an American thing. I realize there's no resting involved, although as Ellen pointed out, some facilities (particularly fancy women's rooms) do have adjacent lounges with a couch or other furniture.

I also use the term "bathroom," although I suppose that's more accurate when it's also a room for bathing. Like some British people I casually say "loo," which I think is a great word. There's also "toilet," but to me a toilet is more the fixture itself than the room in which it resides. And there's always the very European "water closet" or "WC" (which I invariably pronounce "vay say," in the French style, a lasting after-effect of my time in Morocco). So much terminology!