A Dawn Meeting

Olga and I walked up the high street before dawn yesterday morning, giving me a chance to photograph one of our annual neighborhood Christmas trees. Weirdly, I ran into two of Dave's co-workers, a choral music teacher and her husband, who often substitutes. You don't expect to see people you know on the high street at 7 a.m. but we had a brief chat about our holidays.

It was a long-ish walk for Olga, who these days can barely be tempted to go beyond the omnipresent trash bags on the corner at the top of our street. I had a fantasy about walking her to the cemetery yesterday afternoon but she wouldn't go for it. I think our cemetery days are over -- we last went in October and before that, August. Hard to believe we used to go every week and sometimes twice in a weekend.

She still likes the garden, though -- always her first stop in the pre-dawn darkness.

This has been a rough couple of days for celebrity deaths, hasn't it? First Jimmy Carter, a statesman and man of principle if ever there was one; then Linda Lavin, of TV's "Alice," and then Olivia Hussey, Zeffirelli's Juliet. I once saw Lavin on Broadway, in "The Tale of the Allergist's Wife" in October 2000, and I even saved the cover of the program:

That artwork is by Roz Chast, one of The New Yorker's most popular cartoonists. In my journal at the time I called it "a really funny play" but I don't remember many details, except how excited I was to see Lavin in person, having watched "Alice" faithfully for years as a kid. I got a kick out of seeing Michelle Lee too, as a childhood fan of "Herbie the Love Bug."

As for Olivia Hussey, I've blogged before about going to see Zeffirelli's "Romeo and Juliet" with my 9th Grade English class. With that one role she made an indelible mark on many of us -- she's still the world's Juliet, the face many of us picture when we think of the play. (I picture her face and Leonard Whiting's behind. Well, OK, his face too.)

But the death that surprised me the most when I read about it yesterday was that of Troy Masters, a journalist and editor I knew in New York. We were both heavily involved in the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association, and I was astonished and saddened to read that Troy died shortly before Christmas. I only knew him socially and hadn't been in touch with him in years -- except as passive Facebook friends -- but it still came as a shock. I wish I'd known he was living in LA. I would have tried to see him when Dave and I went in February. A missed opportunity.

And here we are at New Year's Eve. How did this happen already? Dave and I have no major plans to celebrate, except that he's getting his surgical staples out today, which I suppose is something. I will probably make a martini with some of our ancient vermouth and watch the "Happy New Year" episode of "Absolutely Fabulous," still one of my all-time favorites. We are such party animals!

Raking (Kind Of)

Before I even get started on today's post, I think I can solve a minor mystery. Remember the house in Whitstable with all the Christmas lights? We wondered when I posted that video whether they put them up every year or just leave them all in place. Well, I looked at Google Street View and found an image of the house in April -- and although the basic framework of posts and arches is there, all the holiday constructions (the wooden trees, the reindeer) and of course all the lights are gone. So I guess that answers the question. They take most of it down and store it somewhere over the summer.

Aren't you glad you know that?

Now, on to yesterday. Not that there's much to tell. I spent some time out in the garden, taking some pictures and doing very minor tasks. That's our hebe bush above, one of the few bright spots at this time of year.

I deliberately have not raked the leaves this year, because I want them to break down into the soil. But this path was so heavily leafed-over that I thought the grass might suffer, so I raked them up here and piled them in the very back of the garden to compost.

We already have daffodils coming up and even budding! After I took this photo I put stakes around them to keep the dog from trampling them, an annual challenge. I wonder what it would be like to have a garden without a bamboo stockade around every plant?

Totoro still guards the garden in this bleak season, when it's so gray and damp that he grows a coating of green.

While I was doing all this, Mr. Russia was up on the terrace blowing with that blower thing. I asked him what he was doing. He said he's trying to create a slope so that water will drain off the terrace, and he's resurfacing it in portions -- which explains why it's taking so bloody long. The blowing is to dry the terrace membrane, if I understand correctly. It seems a futile exercise given how damp everything is right now, but Mr. Russia said he was inside and "feeling bored" so he thought he'd work on it. I think that's the real key to much of the Russians' behavior -- boredom.

On Saturday night Dave and I watched "The Apprentice," the movie about Trump's ascendancy. We liked it. Both Sebastian Stan as Trump and Jeremy Strong as Roy Cohn did an excellent job. It's not a documentary but I found it all entirely believable, especially the degree to which Trump was Cohn's apprentice -- and if there was ever a noxious human being, it was Roy Cohn. There is no morality, was his essential message. The only thing that matters is winning. All of Trump's litigiousness, his denial of reality and objective truth, his refusal to admit any defeat is rooted in Cohn's outlook. We rented the movie on Amazon and it's not cheap but we figure we'd have paid more than that to see it in a theater, so what the heck.

Plywood and Vermouth

This sight greeted me when I rounded the corner of our patio after getting home Friday -- a mysterious piece of plywood propped against our fence. I assumed it must belong to the Russians, so I picked it up and took it to their front door, and sure enough, they said it had blown down from their terrace during the windy weather the week before. I guess they're still working on the terrace -- they were up there yesterday doing something with a machine that was either a vacuum or a blower. Who knows?

I, meanwhile, took care of the last of our annual charitable donations to the ACLU, the Southern Poverty Law Center and Planned Parenthood -- and I doubled them all this year in the wake of Trump's election. That's one way I can resist the rising tide of Trumpism. Take that, Donald!

I also addressed some business with the British government. Those of us who are immigrants to this sceptered isle, but not yet citizens, are being switched to something called an "eVisa" that replaces our biometric residence permits. The permits are a little card that we can carry in our wallet, a bit like a driver's license, but they all expire at the end of this month, to be replaced by an electronic permit that the government holds for us so it can't be lost or counterfeited. In order to access this eVisa, we have to create an account with the immigration authorities and view it online. So I did that. I have no idea how this is going to work in airports and that kind of thing, but we'll see.

Dave and I really need to take the plunge and become citizens. It's just one more hurdle we haven't yet leapt (too many athletic metaphors?), but there's no reason not to. We've been here long enough and we've passed all the tests -- we just have to apply. Maybe that's a good new year's resolution.

OK, let's talk about something important -- vermouth.

When Dave and I went to Whitstable, I brought with us a nearly empty bottle of Martini dry vermouth, in order to make my (occasional!) martinis. An individual martini calls for only a tiny whisper of vermouth, so when it was time to come home, we questioned whether it was worth transporting this practically empty bottle back to London. I ultimately did so, even though, and I am not kidding, there's probably only 2/3 of an inch of vermouth in the bottom of the bottle.

Once back here, Dave asked if we should get more. I opened our liquor cabinet, such as it is (above), and found that we already have two more large bottles of dry vermouth. So no, we don't need to buy more! But then I wondered if they're still good. God knows where they came from, and as you can see, they have cobwebs on them. They've both been opened. I'm sure they've been down there for years.

I've always assumed vermouth can hang around forever without going bad. But reading online, I see that some people say it does in fact get rancid, and recommend that it be refrigerated and drunk within a month (!) of opening the bottle. Now, that just seems ridiculous to me -- the bottle I brought back from Whitstable has been opened for at least five years, at room temperature, and I've never noticed a problem. Then again, maybe this is why I'm not a fan of vermouth.

Anyway, we're not buying any in the immediate future. But I got to thinking about the contents of this cabinet. All I ever drink at home is wine, gin and the aforementioned smidgin of occasional vermouth. Dave, because of his Crohn's, drinks nothing. Why do we have two bottles of grenadine syrup, Calvados, Angostura bitters, a bottle of cheap cognac, Cointreau, pastis, limoncello and tequila -- not to mention nearly two liters of vermouth? Some of these were gifts, some were bought for cooking, and a lot of it is very old. I probably should do some cleaning-out here.

This is what it looked like around our house yesterday. Everyone is still exhausted from our travels. There was a lot of snoring.

I ate some left over fortune cookies for a midday snack, and the fortune in one of them said, "Accept the next proposition you hear." I hope it's a good one!

Another Fox Video and a Dog Dream

Well, it will surprise none of you to know we made it home just fine. We called a Whitstable taxi which picked us up at 9 a.m., and fortunately they were happy to transport the dog. The train to London was smooth and speedy. Even Dave admitted that it was actually easier than the Uber, and much cheaper.

Above, you'll see Olga in the Whitstable train station at the beginning of our journey. She looks deceptively placid in the picture. She was actually a bit on edge, as she often is when we travel. Any time we moved she would jump up as if to say, "Don't forget me!"

Once on the train she spent most of the time by our feet, near the heating vents.

We got home to find the house just as we left it, and I set about unpacking, organizing and doing laundry. It takes a while to breathe life and warmth into a house that's been closed up for a week, but by the time we got dinner last night (Chinese take-away) we felt pretty much normal. Sleeping in our own bed felt fabulous. Remember, Olga and I were on the couch the whole time we were in Whitstable, because we couldn't all fit on the tiny bed. Last night I slept eight and a half hours, pretty much uninterrupted.

Our white hellebore is blooming like crazy. The red one has buds but it's still lagging behind.

I also downloaded all the footage from our garden cam, and here's the condensed, four-minute version of wildlife activity in our garden over the past few weeks:

Critical moments, in case you want to skip ahead:
1. At the very beginning, the fox is carrying a large dog treat of the type we occasionally find in our garden. Someone's giving treats to the foxes.
2. For the next few minutes, a fox lounges in front of the camera, grooming its tail and scratching as if it owns the place.
3. At the 2:11 mark, there's incontrovertible proof that we've got two foxes. One runs up behind the other, who isn't too happy about it.
4. At 3:08, there's a daytime shot in color.
5. At 3:38 there's one of several neighborhood cats that prowl our yard, this one with a highly reflective collar.
6: The last clip shows a European jay, pecking at something and then bouncing away.

Last night I had a long, involved dream in which I lived back in Sarasota, in Florida, but I worked for my current boss. I went to a retirement home to visit someone, an older woman who was very upset by the condition of the lamb she was served for lunch. When I walked out, I found an exhausted staffy puppy, similar to Olga but male, and with blue eyes. It was bloody from a fight and almost hairless from mange. I gave it a treat and picked it up, intending to adopt it. I remember thinking Dave was going to kill me. Then I woke up.

A Holiday Lights Extravaganza

I'm writing this post super-early because we're getting out of here today, headed back to London, and there's a lot to do. For one thing, we're still not sure how we're getting home. We've been unable to secure an Uber Pet to take us the whole way, so it looks like we need to catch the train -- and even getting to the train station is a question because of the dog. We'll work it out one way or another.

We've also got to tidy up the cottage, bag the linens, run the dishwasher and stuff like that. We don't need to be out until 9 a.m. or so, but I am all about getting an early start.

Olga, meanwhile, is perched on the couch watching the deck for our fox friend. She's convinced that Winifred is coming back. For the sake of all our nerves, I hope she doesn't.

Another gray, foggy morning yesterday. We spent most of it indoors, reading, except for a brief beach walk I took with Olga. I then walked into town just after lunch, intent on having a pint at the Old Neptune and exploring a bit more. Along the way, I saw this kestrel, perched high in a tree and surveying the grassy brush below for careless rodents.

The Old Neptune makes a big deal about being a pub directly on the beach, which it certainly is. Yesterday it was bustling with families and kids, the parents sipping their libations at outdoor tables as the kids ran around the seafront. I had a Whitstable Bay Stout and read David Sedaris's most recent piece in The New Yorker, about having trouble getting to New York from Maine after a flight cancellation. His partner Hugh is apparently an angsty traveller, but to be fair, it sounds like Hugh shoulders a lot of the logistical burdens. I can identify! I am the Hugh in Dave's and my relationship.

I walked along the beach and then back through town, retracing the route I took on Sunday. (Did we really get here a week ago? Where has the time gone?)

In the evening, before dinner, I went for a walk back to the wildly decorated Christmas house -- and joy! The lights were on! So I was able to get some video footage, which is included in the montage above showing various decorated houses in the Seasalter area. (That's the neighborhood where we're staying, just west of Whitstable.)

The crazy house is the one at the end of the video, as will be obvious. Do you suppose the owner takes all that stuff down every year and puts it up again in November? Surely they don't leave it up year-round? I love how their next-door neighbor puts up a single strand of blue lights as a minimalist counterpoint.

Anyway, wish us luck on our return. We'll be coming to you tomorrow from good old West Hampstead, insha'allah!

Boxing and Foxing

Yesterday dawned gray and foggy. (I mistyped that as "doggy," but I suppose it was that, too.) Olga, as usual, began the day by exploring the back deck where we later had some excitement, as you'll see below.

Overall we had a very low-key Christmas. I spent most of the morning reading a thriller that I picked up for free at a school book swap, "Two Nights in Lisbon" by Chris Pavone. It was pretty good and certainly diverting. I kept thinking I might walk into town, but I knew everything would be closed so ultimately there didn't seem to be any point. Instead, Dave and I took Olga for a walk on the beach.

Another day, another photo of Olga in her sweater.

I was glad Dave went with us. He hasn't left the cottage much since we got here, but I think as tired as he feels, it will help him heal to move around. We didn't walk far, but far enough for a big black poodle-ish dog named Charlie to glom onto us and follow Olga like a lovesick teenager. Charlie's owner kept calling him, and Olga -- mostly disinterested in other dogs, even in her prime -- displayed only passing enthusiasm at his presence. But he stuck with us, until something finally clicked in his brain and he suddenly bounded away.

Here are some of my beach finds. The painted rock is curious. I guess someone did an art project and then threw it back?

After dark I walked down the road to find a house Dave and I had seen from the bus the previous night. It was madly, wildly overdecorated with Christmas lights and I thought it would make a fun photo, but sadly, it was all dark. I guess whoever owns it went elsewhere for Christmas day. Hopefully tonight it will be lit again.

Along the way, I passed several houses where clusters of people could be seen gathered around dining tables under warm lamplight. It was all very cozy.

Last night, Dave and I had our chili and watched "Pretty Woman," which I don't think I'd seen since it came out back in 1990 or so. It's a strange movie. As I told Dave, it's a misogynistic movie that masquerades as empowering. But it was easy to watch and basically a feel-good story.

Around 4 a.m. this morning, Olga flew off the couch and ran to the back door, upending her dog bowl and making a tremendous racket. I turned on the lights and found Wally the Whitstable Fox wandering around on our back deck. Despite the barking dog and I both on the other side of the glass, Wally was quite unconcerned and took his time sniffing, rubbing his face on the deck, pulling up a strip of wood and disappearing and reappearing repeatedly. (Wally may actually be Winifred, I'm not sure.)

This fox was not scared of anything. I walked Olga around the garden on her lead this morning, afraid she'd see the fox hanging around and go flying off the deck and hurt herself. But I guess at some point we'll have to let her out on her own again.

Today is Boxing Day, and a lot of places will be closed, but I'm hoping to get into town and maybe find the odd pint at a pub. If not at least maybe I'll get in a good walk.

Merry Christmas!

Here's Olga to wish all of you a Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays, or whatever greeting you feel most appropriate!

I've discovered the downside of the dog sweater -- getting it on and off. It isn't particularly easy to deal with, particularly putting her front legs through the leg holes (even though we enlarged them). But once on it's snug and apparently comfy, and she seems quite happy chasing her tennis ball or wandering around on the beach.

Most of yesterday was pretty low-key. Aside from a couple of walks with the dog -- followed by bathing her in the unfamiliar shower, which she did not enjoy at all -- I did nothing special all day. Just reading.

In the evening, though, Dave and I went out to dinner -- a landmark event considering it was his first restaurant meal since his surgery. He made this reservation when we first set our Whitstable plans, before we knew his surgery would happen, so I was glad we could see it through. We took a public bus into town and went to Samphire, on the Whitstable high street. And since this town is known for its oysters, we started the meal with those.

To eat them, we were given this utensil. I've never seen anything like this in my life but it's quite effective at loosening the oyster from its shell. I then added a bit of the juniper mignonette and a dash of Tabasco, lifted the shell to my mouth and slurped the whole thing down. It may not have looked very elegant but it's the best way to get the "liquor," or liquid that surrounds the oyster.

Anyway, they were yummy, and we followed that with a scallop and then fish pie (Dave) and Waldorf salad and Creole-style mussels (me). Unfortunately we couldn't stay for dessert because Dave was getting tired and sitting upright for extended periods is uncomfortable for him. We grabbed a taxi and headed straight home for ice cream in front of the TV.

Today will be a bit like yesterday in terms of activity -- not much. Dave and I agreed on no gifts, so there's nothing to open, which is fabulous. In fact I have become so lazy about Christmas gift-giving that it's barely a factor in my life. I send my nieces Amazon gift cards and that's all I can manage. It's uninspired, but it's something.

Dave is going to make a pot of chili and I'm going to take Olga back to the beach. I suppose I can muscle that sweater onto her for one more day.

Olga Meets Rudolph

I took this from our deck in the wee hours of yesterday morning, when the sky was clear. I definitely don't see this many stars in London! That line of red lights comes from the wind farm on the horizon, and we can also see the lights of occasional ships passing in and out of the mouth of the Thames. We use this website to identify them in real time. It tells us not only the name of the ships but where they're headed. Pretty cool.

I am happy to say our overfull rubbish bin was collected yesterday, but not without drama. I remembered to remove the wire I'd used to secure the lid, and the bin men were supposed to come around in the morning. Well, by 11 a.m. or so they hadn't appeared, and I looked online at the council website and it said the bins had been collected at 9 a.m. Argh!

I reported a "missed collection" to the council via the web, and I called the managing agent for the property, who had no better ideas. She said rubbish collection is a problem in Whitstable and if it didn't get picked up we should put our garbage in the recycling bins. Well, I am way too anal to do that, so I was relieved when the bin men came around some time in the afternoon and hauled everything away. Whether this was their normal route or a result of my "missed collection" report, I have no idea.

In the afternoon I walked into town to investigate further the life of Peter Cushing in Whitstable. Above is his former house, which faces the ocean across the coastal footpath. I'd walked right past it on Sunday and didn't notice, despite the obvious blue plaque. Apparently he was a painter as well as an actor -- hence the large studio windows on the top floor.

And of course I went to the Peter Cushing pub for a pint. The downstairs lobby contains some movie memorabilia, including the projector that was used when the place was a cinema, and two of Cushing's paintings.

Here's the upstairs lobby, featuring a poster for Cushing's 1958 film "Dracula." (Cushing played Van Helsing; Christopher Lee was Dracula himself.)

Afterwards I wandered around the high street a bit. I picked up some things from Sainsbury's, bought Olga a holiday surprise at a pet shop, and headed home as it began to get dark (about 3 p.m.)

And what was Olga's surprise, you ask?

Doesn't every dog need a holiday sweater?!

Now, there is a whole backstory here. For years, Dave has wanted to get Olga a sweater. I have long argued that dog sweaters are stupid because dogs come with a sweater -- their fur. With a few exceptions -- ultra-lean dogs like whippets and greyhounds -- they do not need more than that. Plus I always thought Olga would hate it.

But when I saw this in the shop, I thought it would be a fun Christmas treat for both of them, so I took the plunge. As it turned out, even though it's a Large, it's really too small for Olga. We had to cut open the front leg holes just to get it on her, and as you can see the back leg straps don't reach her hindquarters.

But hey, live and learn. She doesn't seem to mind it, Dave was amused, and she'll be stylin' when we take our holiday walks!

A Blustery Walk Into Town

I took Olga out on the beach yesterday morning so she could get her paws wet in the North Sea -- which, of course, she declined to do. She did romp on the pebbly sand and steal a tennis ball away from a 14-month-old boxer named Nina. Fortunately, Nina's dad had a second ball in his pocket, so he gave us the stolen one, which was firmly clamped in Olga's jaws. "Merry Christmas!" he said.

I even brought tennis balls on this trip, but I didn't think to bring one out on the beach. I just assumed Olga's ball-chasing days were over. Silly me!

After that I took a long walk into town, all the way from where we're staying in Seasalter to the tip of the point, where the port of Whitstable is located -- about five miles round trip, I think. There's a public footpath that runs parallel to the beach, so that made it easy. I passed lots of brightly painted beach huts like the one above, which are all locked up tight at this time of year. I think they're used in season as changing rooms and day shelters for beachgoers, and some of them bore "For Sale" signs, so apparently they're bought and sold like real estate.

I also passed lots of derelict boats lying near the beach, including this one -- aptly named.

At the port there's a gigantic Christmas tree made of seafood traps and marker buoys.

I walked up around the boat basin and then came back through town, along the high street. Dave and I will be heading here on Christmas Eve for dinner at one of these restaurants. It will be Dave's first restaurant meal since his surgery, but he really wants to get back in the saddle, so to speak.

We will surely have some oysters, which are a Whitstable specialty!

I passed a large pub called The Peter Cushing, named for the Hammer horror and "Star Wars" actor. It looks like it used to be a theater, maybe, or something other than just a pub. Cushing lived in Whitstable for many years, including during the period when he played Grand Moff Tarkin, the ruthless commander of the Death Star.

My walk home was intense, with the gusting wind no longer at my back. It was 41º F (or 5º C) and I was pretty chilly despite three layers of clothing and a hat. After I got back I stayed inside the rest of the day, the wind buffeting the walls of the cottage.

Dave and I have been watching Netflix in the evening on the account of someone named Leo, who apparently never signed out after renting this place. I'm hesitant to sign in with our own account on a strange TV, but I wonder if we're messing up Leo's algorithm by choosing shows he might not want to see? He may be sitting at home wondering why "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" keeps popping up in his "recently watched" queue. (Consider it a recommendation from us, Leo.)

We watched a Norwegian tsunami disaster series called "La Palma" that was pretty good -- maybe not the best show for the beach -- and last night a movie thriller called "Carry-On" in which always-affable Jason Bateman gets to play a bad guy for a change.

I suppose we'll sign Leo out when we leave. He'll probably appreciate that.

Buddha, Frida and Some Mermaids

This is a view of the side yard at the house where we're staying. The camper belongs to the neighbors, but we also have a camper, a trendy little teardrop-shaped thing sitting by the front gate. We have been informed that it is not part of the lease, so sadly, I can't look inside it. (Except through the windows.)

The big turquoise Buddha head, believe it or not, is only one of several big Buddha heads we have lying around. Whoever decorated this place has a definite affinity for Buddhist imagery, as well as tropical prints and...

...Frida Kahlo.

Here's our groovy little kitchen, which believe it or not has both a washing machine and a miniature dishwasher despite its small size. The fridge is one of those little college dorm models, but it's enough for us under these circumstances.

As the day dawned yesterday morning -- the shortest of the year -- I looked out that window over the kitchen sink and saw some trash blowing around in the front yard. Sure enough some animals had pulled bags of rubbish out of our bin and strewn it around. The bin is so full of trash from previous renters that the lid won't close, which is a problem. I collected and re-bagged all the rubbish (ugh), put it back in the bin and wired the lid closed, as best I could, with an old coat hanger. Now I just have to remember to take the wire off in time for collection tomorrow morning. It seems to be my lot in life to manage the world's refuse.

We ordered groceries yesterday morning, and then promptly realized we'd forgotten paper towels and wine, which are pretty much essentials as far as I'm concerned. So I walked to the nearest convenience store before lunch and bought a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a kitchen roll.

Otherwise, we barely left the house. Well, Dave didn't leave it at all, and Olga only ventured as far as the yard.

I tried to get her to walk on the beach with me in the afternoon, but she was having none of it. I don't blame her, really. It rained all morning and ever since it's been blowing a gale out there.

Which is good for the offshore wind farm that we can see from the back deck. All the turbines are topped with flashing red lights that pulse on the horizon at night. It's kind of a cool effect. (This was taken at low tide, hence all the exposed sand. I'm not sure what that green buoy is for, but there are oyster-farming frames nearby so maybe it has something to do with those.)

Also enjoying the wind was an incredibly cold-hardy windsurfer. And see those weird things on the horizon? Those are Maunsell Forts, which were erected at the mouth of the Thames during wartime to guard the estuary. They're abandoned now, and apparently it's possible to take a boat tour out there, but Dave vetoed that idea. I guess being bounced around in an Uber was enough for him, in his post-surgical state. He doesn't need bouncing in a boat, too.

It's supposed to be windy today but not rainy, so I'm hoping to get out for some more walking.

A Long Car Trip

Well, we have made it to Whitstable, via a very long and somewhat strange Uber trip. Which I will get to in a moment.

First, can you believe that I actually went to work yesterday morning? There were a couple of things nagging at me. I wasn't able to finish the re-shelving on Wednesday because a holiday party (unknown to us until the last minute) was starting in the library at 3 p.m. Being an organizationally obsessed librarian, I couldn't stand the thought of all those books just lying around for a couple of weeks and then having to deal with them upon my return. I wanted to take down our holiday decorations. And one of my co-workers has a plant in her windowless office and I suspected she'd forgotten to move it to a windowed room so it could get some light during our absence (when her office lights would obviously be off). I had to take care of that stuff.

And I did. The books are back on the shelf, the decorations are in their boxes, the plant is by the window. Also, a student left a bag in the library containing some Christmas food in plastic containers, and that would have been disgusting by January, so I brought it home and cleaned the containers out. I'll put it in the lost & found and if no one collects it, free food storage containers for me!

Thus, my conscience assuaged, I was ready to embark on our crazy journey. With the car arriving at 3 p.m., we packed in the afternoon -- including Dave's fruit basket -- and were ready when Jean-Claude, our Congolese driver, rolled up right on time. Olga climbed into the back seat with us and we were off.

I was a bit apprehensive about having to converse with a driver for the two hours or so we'd be in the car, but it turned out Jean-Claude was on the phone to his brother in Africa, and they chatted for a good half of the trip. And then, when he hung up, Jean-Claude cranked Christmas tunes by the likes of Jessie J, Celine Dion, Pentatonix and Gwen Stefani. (Some guy named Teddy Swims sings a mean version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.") Clearly Jean-Claude did not expect conversation from us, which was a relief.

His SatNav directed him through Highgate and Hackney to the Blackwall Tunnel, which meant sitting in a lot of city traffic. Olga was intrigued by the views, but once the sun went down, she settled into an awkward sleeping position with her hind end on the back seat, her front legs on the floor and her head resting on the center console between the front seats. She did indeed fall asleep that way.

At some point, rocketing along the A2 between Gravesend and Rochester, I turned to Dave and said, "This is a very surreal trip. We have a pineapple in the trunk!"

We got to our cabin after dark and got in with no trouble. As you can see, it's a very cute, quirky place with a glass wall that looks out on a deck. Beyond that, which you can't see (and neither have we, really), is the beach and the North Sea.

We ordered fish & chips from the local chippy, I made a martini and Olga explored the property inside and out with her acute canine olfactory skills. (In other words she sniffed everything.) I was pretty smart about the packing this time, I think, bringing some things like a martini glass and my favorite coffee mug that make my routines more comfortable.

It's still dark as I write this, but I'm eager to see our view when the sun comes up!

Decompression

Yesterday was glorious. I finally, finally got more or less caught up in blogland, answering comments and reading other blogs. It's been weighing on me that I've been a bad blogger the past couple of weeks, since my job got so hectic and Dave had his surgeries, and it feels good to have touched base with most of my blog pals.

I don't want to play the world's tiniest violin, but I think this period has been harder on me than even I have fully understood. Work has been very stressful -- and not the individual tasks themselves, but the overarching sense of pressure since my co-worker left. It's not just that there's a lot to do. There's a constant frantic edge to everything, and there's less placid routine and more wobbly variation. I think some people thrive in that kind of environment, and even enjoy and perhaps subconsciously encourage it, because it makes them feel needed and valued. I am not one of those people. So now, behind going to work every day, there is a constant looming thought: "Do I really need this job?"

Sadly, the answer probably still is yes, for the time being. I'm only (!) 58 years old. I'd like to put in 15 years before I quit, and I'll start my 15th year as a librarian in 2027. But I have been mulling retirement for a while now and that thought is never far from my mind. As I wrote the other day, my departed colleague's replacement is due to start in several weeks and that may absorb some of the unpleasantness. But her position has been cut from full to part-time, so we'll still be less fully staffed than we were.

Anyway, all this to say again that yesterday was glorious. In the morning I sat on the couch with some coffee and just did nothing. I let my mind go blank. I watched the birds on the bird feeders. I let my mouth hang slack and my eyes go glassy. I think Dave thought I was having a stroke.

In the afternoon I read "What Time of Night Is It?" by Mary Stolz, the sequel to "Go and Catch a Flying Fish," which I read in the spring. They're books about a family living on the Gulf Coast of Florida in the late 1970's, and the kids in the book are exactly the age of me and my brother. I identify so strongly with the descriptions of the landscape and wildlife, the weather patterns, the overall atmosphere of a less-developed Florida at that time. Hurricanes David and Frederic figured in the plot, and I remember the summer of those storms (1979). Stolz was essentially writing about my childhood. I enjoyed the book a lot.

In the afternoon we got a big box delivered to the door -- a "Get Well" fresh fruit basket from some of Dave's colleagues. It was a very kind gesture but rather ill-timed given that we're leaving town for a week today! We may have to take the grapes and bananas with us. I think everything else will last until we get back. Can a whole pineapple go in the refrigerator?

Remember how I promised to go back at night to check out those weird, Skylab-like light fixtures on Carnaby Street? Well, last evening I took the train down to Westminster and walked around Soho to see some of the sights. Above you'll see a brief video that answers the question of what the Skylab lights look like when lit, and hopefully helps you experience some London Christmas magic.

Coming to you tomorrow from Whitstable, if all goes as planned!

(Top photo: An autumnal hydrangea leaf I found on the patio yesterday morning.)

Night Dog

A rose bud appeared on one of our bushes a couple of weeks ago. I was surprised because this is not really the season for roses, but the bud lingered. It grew very slowly and with our chilly weather and low light, I was afraid it would drop if I left it in the garden. So a few days ago I cut it and brought it inside, and it has blossomed beautifully in the warmth of the house.

Any thoughts I had of sleeping in on our winter break were shattered this morning when the dog got me up at 4:30 a.m. She is very insistent about her morning routines, and one of them is rising early. I remember after my grandfather retired back in the early '70s, he continued to get up every morning at some ridiculous hour, as if he still had to climb into his car and drive into Washington D.C. to go to work. And my grandmother would rise as usual to make him breakfast -- even though neither of them had to be anywhere. The habits of a lifetime are hard to break. So it goes with Olga.

A couple of nights ago she got us up in the middle of the night. This was not routine. She was panting and we couldn't figure out what was wrong. I let her outside and gave her a paracetamol, and she lay on the floor of the living room for a while, and then she was fine. I think she either had to go out, or her achy joints were acting up, or she was overheated -- or a combination of the three.

While we were both up, I decided to experiment with the low-light photography capabilities of my phone. The iPhone can do amazingly well in minimal light. The picture above was taken in our dark living room -- and when I say dark I mean DARK, as in, I could barely see myself. There was moonlight outside, but as you can see the brightest lights were the red glow from the TV power strip and the green light on the DVD player. And the phone still managed to produce a picture. Kind of cool.

I hope to get out a bit during the daylight hours today. I've had barely any sunlight on my skin for a couple of weeks now!