Yesterday the sun was so bright that I put Olga's bed out in the garden so she could soak up some rays. I put on a jacket and sat with her, reading "The Wager" by David Grann, about the wreck of British ship off the coast of Chile back in the 1700s. I've just started it but it seems promising. Unfortunately, despite the sun, it wasn't warm -- 44º F or 6.6º C -- so we didn't stay out there very long.
Still, the seasons are slowly revolving.
We heard nothing back from Mrs. Russia regarding the front garden. Maybe she's written the landlords, but I doubt it. I think we're in a stalemate.
We are also in a bit of a Cold War with Mrs. Kravitz next door, over our rubbish bins. Remember how several years ago we locked them because she (or someone in her household) kept using them? Well, one day last fall I found one of the locks torn off and a lot of rubbish from her bins strewn around in our alleyway. I came in and told Dave, who marched over to her house to demand answers. Mrs. Kravitz was greatly offended that we suspected she had torn off the lock, and she hasn't really spoken to us since. (I think she's also been gone for much of the winter. I've only caught a glimpse of her once or twice.) Her rubbish at the time included a lot of gift bags from fancy brands like Chanel, and in retrospect, I think a homeless person or other passerby tore off the lock because they thought something valuable might be in the bin. (We did apologize for confronting her, for what it's worth.)
Thinking about these fraught neighborly relations, I began to wonder yesterday if we're the problem. As I said to Dave, "Am I an asshole?"
He assured me that I am not. Granted, he's a biased source, but surely wanting to use your own trash bins without finding them filled with the neighbor's debris isn't that extreme.
Besides, I suspect being an asshole is a bit like being insane. If you worry you might be, you're probably not. It's only people who think they are without fault who have the real problems.
We have since removed the locks on the bins. They were a pain to navigate and one side benefit of confronting Mrs. Kravitz, and her appalled reaction, is that she wouldn't dare put her rubbish in them now.
Well, let's lighten the mood. Here's a video of Olga plowing through the overgrown ivy in the garden. This is the same ivy we're going to have pruned and brought under control when the gardeners come in about a month, so Olga is enjoying it while she can!
I shot this image of the moon and Venus yesterday evening in our western sky. According to this very informative website, the moon was in a Waxing Crescent phase with 11 percent of its surface illuminated. A beautiful night!
I had a pretty low-key day. I spent several hours in blogland, reading others' blogs and responding to comments on my own. I think I'm more or less caught up.
I was amused by John Gray's post showing his "untidy desk" (which was not at all untidy). It made me think about the reporters I used to work with and their appalling desks. If there's any industry that creates a less tidy culture than a print newsroom, I don't know what it is. Reporters, at least in my day, were constantly scribbling notebooks and legal pads full of handwritten notes, and stacking them up around the margins of their desks, along with police reports and depositions and old newspapers and all manner of paper detritus. I worked with one guy, Tom, who had years worth of paper piled on and around his desk -- he was notorious even in our messy environment -- and how he ever found anything I'll never know. I wish I had a picture of his desk now because it was truly remarkable. A paper mountain, or fortress, with a chair in the middle.
I guess the fact is, for the most part, we reporters only ever needed our most recent notes. After that, the notebooks and paperwork could be consigned to an "archive," in whatever formal or informal sense we maintained one. After all, news was a daily business, and we could always go back to our earlier published stories if we had to rehash older information.
I worked with another guy early in my career, Sam, who was notorious for leaving half-consumed mugs of coffee sitting atop his piled-up paperwork. Those cups sat there so long that they became biology experiments. I guess he must have cleaned them at some point but I remember them being pretty gross.
Personally, I always keep a tidy desk. I can't stand piles of paper. I remember reading somewhere that having too neat a desk sends a negative message to supervisors -- that you aren't busy enough. But I still kept mine clear. I saved my notes until a story published, or maybe for a few weeks or months afterwards, and then I'd periodically throw them all out. Even now, I keep my desk at work mostly empty -- which is hard because it's the main circulation desk in the library and it tends to be the place where people flump stuff down as they're passing by. Whatever's on it is what needs to be done imminently, and then it gets shelved, filed or tossed.
I don't even have a desk at home. My laptop is my desk.
Here's Olga navigating the narrow path along the side of our house. It leads to the garden gate, which opens onto the street (except it's always locked). Every morning she has to go sniff around over there as part of her "rounds." Maybe foxes wander through? Or squirrels? Something keeps her intrigued.
I got an extra hour of sleep out of the dog this morning! She woke up at 5 a.m. as usual but when she began giving me the paw, I just rolled over and darned if she didn't settle down and let me sleep until 6. I consider that a major victory.
The snowdrops have come up in our garden -- they're not quite open yet but they're already looking good. The daffodils, despite an early start, have slowed and we don't seem to have any that are near blooming. I think the recent cold weather has chilled their enthusiasm. We've had daffodils in January before, but not this year.
Speaking of gardening, the saga of our front garden continues. You may remember that our upstairs neighbors, the Russians, cooked up a plan to rip out some of the bushes. I opposed this plan and said so in an e-mail to our landlords, and they sided with me. (The Russians and our landlords jointly own the house where Dave and I rent the bottom flat, and under the terms of our lease they are jointly responsible for the front garden.) Well, Mrs. Russia wrote me yesterday complaining that her wishes have been "disregarded and misrepresented" and she pushed again for ripping out those bushes. She expressly asked that I not forward her message to our landlords. I don't know why she insists on coming to me with these issues because, to use George W. Bush's word, I AM NOT THE DECIDER. I told her to write the landlords.
Meanwhile, it looks like our garden won't be trimmed anytime soon. Pruning gridlock!
Honestly, is it any wonder the world is such a mess? We can't even get simple landscape maintenance done without instigating another Cold War.
I found this Viking hat (complete with braids!) on the ground on my walk home from work last night. Have we been invaded again?
Seeing that fake hair reminds me that we got a note the other day about cases of head lice being reported in the school. Fortunately this is not a problem I have to think about, having very minimal hair myself. I remember when I was a kid we would have lice checks in elementary school -- the nurses would come to our classrooms and go up and down the rows of students examining our heads. As I recall they used a pencil to look through our hair, and it felt great. If they found lice the kid got sent home right away, which must have been embarrassing. Do you think they used the same pencil to look through all of our hair? That seems problematic, doesn't it?
I was aghast at Trump's press conference following the Washington, D.C. plane crash. I don't think I've ever seen such a bizarre performance from a sitting president. My jaw was literally hanging open. To immediately use such a tragedy to make a political point about DEI programs, insulting all the pilots and air traffic controllers involved by implying they were unsuited for their jobs, basically blaming every minority group in the country for the crash, and providing no evidence to support any of those claims -- it was astonishing. The fact that the helicopter pilot has subsequently been shown to be a woman doesn't change any of that, because who knows who was doing what at the time? There's been no completed investigation. I cannot believe this man is the leader of the free world.
Also, why are Army helicopters flying so near the flight path of a major commercial airport? Is that part of the training? Are we now using innocent civilians as military training fodder without their consent?
Is it just me, or does Trump look terrible? Like, even worse than usual. He looks like a ghost with an Oompa-Loompa spray tan.
Last night after work I took the tube down to Canary Wharf to see the annual Winter Lights display of light sculpture and immersive art. I do this pretty much every January and it's always fun. Winter Lights only runs for about ten days, and this year it was closed one of those days for Storm Éowyn, so there wasn't much time to waste. I'm glad I got to see it again.
As usual, the artworks come from a variety of artists around the globe. Above is "Evanescent Droplets" by Atelier Sisu of Australia and Peru. That woman stood there taking selfies for a good three or four minutes. She must have taken a hundred of them. I was trying to wait for her to get out of the way, but she never did.
Here's "Artificial Humans" by Atelier Haute Cuisine from Belgium. Apparently the artists asked AI to create an image of a light art installation, and AI came up with a vision of hunched figures all looking down and milling around in a group. The artists then brought that concept to life in the real world.
And here's a detail from "Stitching Light," by Emergency Exit Arts with Ruhul Abdin & Oitij-jo, from the UK and Bangladesh. Using traditional fabrics and sewing methods, combined with illuminated thread, women from Bangladesh and the UK told stories of their lives on fabric panels arranged around a short walkway.
And finally, here's "Portal," a monumental work by Lucid Creates in the UK. It's a giant doorway composed of highly reflective material, illuminated on the inner surface and echoing the shapes of the surrounding buildings. At 13 meters high, it is both "delicate in feel and dramatic in scale," as the exhibit notes say.
Pictures don't really do many of the works justice, because they include sound components and pulsing or moving light that a photo can't capture. So here's a video of the more dynamic ones, with a guide beneath to point out what you're seeing and hearing:
1. "bit.fall" by Julius Popp from Germany, a permanent installation at Canary Wharf that I've blogged before, which takes random words from five news sources and instantly converts them into a literal waterfall. 2. "The Clew," by Ottotto from Portugal, a round red-lit gateway, also a permanent feature that I've previously blogged. 3. "Aj Vana Be" by Benedikt Tolar of Czechia (apparently what we're now calling the Czech Republic?). I love this piece, which converted bathtubs salvaged from demolished council housing into illuminated, musical art. Behind it you'll see Newfoundland, a huge apartment building where Dave and I fantasize about living. 4. "Circa" by Limbic Cinema (UK), where each of twelve circles overlooking the Thames represents average light fall over one month of the year. (Sound design by Joe Acheson of Hidden Orchestra.) 5. "Error" by Vendel & DeWolf of the Netherlands. Based on the idea that evolution stems from genetic mistakes and mutation, "the swirling black hole in the work 'Error' is then a striking, abstract visual representation connecting the randomness of the universe with the randomness of technology -- sucking us all into the unknown," according to the exhibit notes. 6. "Wave" by Squidsoup (UK), which uses about 500 suspended orbs to create the effect of breaking ocean waves. (And squawking seagulls, if I'm not mistaken!) 7. "Evanescent Droplets" by Atelier Sisu (Australia/Peru), is supposed to capture the ephemeral, transient state of soap bubbles, evoking "universal playfulness and childlike wonder" in our fragile world. 8. "Mirage," also by Atelier Sisu, is a metaphor for the "fabricated mirage of social media," using coated acrylic panels that display light differently at different times of day and night and depending on the position of the viewer. It seemed to me like a very subtle piece. Maybe too subtle. 9. "Bird Passing By" by Luminariste (Benjamin Nesme and Marc Sicard) of France. The 64 sections of this sculpture imitate a bird in flight, and bring to mind migrations that carry birds through urban and rural spaces, both solo and in flocks. It's another of my favorites and I show it from two angles, during two different segments of the light and sound program. 10. "Portal" by Lucid Creates, as described above. 11. "Positive Spin" by Liz Harry and Kazimier Productions (UK). Based on childhood experiences at beachfront game arcades, it invites viewers to step up and ask a sort of gigantic slot machine for a fortune. (A positive one, of course. The guy who spins it here gets the results "physical growth," "emotional growth" and "friendship.") 12. "Illusion Hole" by UxU Studio of Taiwan. Using precisely arranged lights, the artists create a "black hole" that seems to open in the middle of a Canary Wharf waterway, prompting viewers to consider the truth of their perceptions.
All in all, I found it a fascinating show, and it was fun to get out and walk around. (This opinion may not be universally shared -- I passed one man on the sidewalk at just the moment that he muttered to his companion the words "boring and cold.") The crowds weren't too bad, and I bought a cup of mulled wine and enjoyed it while sitting on a bench watching "Bird Passing By," so that gave me a little boost of warmth.
I took this picture almost a month ago but I'm pretty sure I never blogged it, so here you go! This is Buckingham Mansions, an apartment block around the corner from our flat, on a rare sunny winter day. I loved the light and shadow. We're supposed to have sunshine today too, and colder temperatures though still above freezing.
I spent most of yesterday switching out displays in the library. We're putting one up involving an annual science reading project by the 10th grade, in which the kids recommend (or not) science-related books they were supposed to have read over Winter Break. It was a lot of work and of course the cynical side of me wonders how many of the recommendations were written by Chat GPT. At least I only have to pin them to a bulletin board, and not grade them!
I shouldn't be so suspicious, but it's the result of my reporting background. As we were always taught, "If your mother says she loves you, check it out."
Remember the architecture/planning fail that I wrote about on Jan. 19? The ugly barriers erected on the sloping sidewalk in front of Five Guys? Well, some signs have gone up indicating they were placed there by Camden Council and directing people with questions to call a hotline or write an e-mail address for "complaints." I wrote yesterday, not so much to complain as to say, "What's the objective here? How long are these barriers going to stay and what's the ultimate fix?"
I don't really expect an answer but I'm curious to see if I'll get one. This is the kind of thing that, back in my day as a reporter, would have produced a story in the local paper telling people what the heck is going on. Nowadays, with local media on life support, people are left to speculate online -- which is how we wind up with Q-Anon and lizard people.
Me, I will just continue to idly wonder and display my mystification on this blog.
We had more blowy, rainy weather yesterday morning, apparently involving Storm Herminia. Looking out at the street I would never have known it was a named storm -- it didn't seem particularly intense, at least not in my part of the world -- but apparently it has caused some damage and flooding elsewhere in England and Wales.
I took the photo above in the pre-dawn darkness while walking Olga. This morning, she got me up at 4:45 a.m., her tail thumping the mattress, ready to go! As Dave so often says, that dog is insane.
Last night I picked up our sheets and towels from the laundry and the clerk there annoyed me by asking again that I pay in cash. I said I didn't have cash. "Could you go to a cash machine?" she asked. I said no, I could not, that I was prepared to pay by card and that I never use cash. This is the second time in a row that they've done this to me, the last time in early December. I asked her if they intended to stop taking cards altogether. She said they were having problems with their card system, but I pointed out they've had this issue for weeks without getting it fixed.
I think they're simply trying to do business off the books to either avoid taxes or transaction fees on card purchases. I told her I was going to find another cleaner if they couldn't take a card, and darned if she didn't whip a perfectly functional card terminal out from under the counter. "For you, I'll use this from now on," she said, like she was doing me a special favor.
I hate to be such a crank, but come on. It's 2025! People pay for cups of coffee using a card. Businesses just have to be able to allow customers to pay that way.
Speaking of cranks, did you hear about Caroline Kennedy's letter skewering Robert F. Kennedy Jr. ahead of his confirmation hearing? (To be clear, I'm saying he's the crank -- not her.) I was amazed at her candor. Good for her.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that I watched a second David Lynch film the other day, as part of my sporadic personal David Lynch Memorial Film Festival. The film was "Inland Empire," which I'd seen once before back when Netflix mailed DVDs. (Remember those days?) I didn't recall the plot, and now, having watched it again, I understand why -- it has only the loosest of linear plots. It's more a three-hour collection of disjointed surreal scenes that fold back upon each other, and like "Mulholland Drive" they involve Hollywood and moviemaking and questions of identity -- "Mulholland Drive" on mushrooms, you might say. Apparently the movie was made without a complete script and Lynch filmed it all himself digitally and edited the footage. Even the stars -- Laura Dern and Justin Theroux -- have said they don't understand it. Despite moments of brilliance I did not love it overall. It was too Lynchian for me.
During our half-day of sunshine on Saturday, I went out into the garden with my zoom lens to try to catch some of the birds in action. I could see them flitting around from the living room, but as soon as I went outside they all took to the shrubbery. (And then Olga began crashing through the bushes, as she often does, and that sent them even more into hiding.)
I did manage to photograph this little dunnock sitting in our Hebe. In yesterday's post I was comparing camera and phone photos -- well, this is a good example of a picture I could never have taken on my phone. I needed my long lens. (And remember how I said my Canon camera weighs 3.5 lbs with my macro lens? Well, with this zoom, it weighs 5 lbs, 5 oz.! You can see why lugging that thing through the streets of London can get tiring.)
Here's a blue tit sitting in our Philadelphus. That bush really does need to be pruned, but I hate to do it because so many birds live in its thicket of branches. I know the neighbor dislikes it because it blocks light from her garden. As usual, I struggle to find a sensible middle ground, where wildlife doesn't suffer but the garden is also kept under control.
I got my test results back from my gastroenterologist from my followup visit earlier this month. My calprotectin levels are still a bit high (153) -- lower than they had been but still not quite normal. I take it as an overall improvement, though, and since no cause can be found, I'm assuming that whatever's happening is hopefully on the mend. The doctor said he will "review in due course," whatever that means. My possibly unrelated aches and pains seem to have subsided.
On my walk to work yesterday, I passed several heaps of trash and some discarded furniture on the sidewalk, and dutifully reported them to Camden Council via our handy "LoveCleanStreets" app. Two of my reports were allegedly cleaned up within a couple of hours (I haven't walked past yet to be sure but I have no reason to doubt the app) -- and one was already gone by the time the rubbish collectors arrived. Now there's a metal helium tank sitting on the corner that's been there for several days, and the regular garbage collectors won't take it, I assume because any gas in it is under some kind of pressure. I'll report that this morning if it's still there.
That's me -- Steve Reed, Neighborhood Trash Cop!
Dave told me last night that one of his recent staff meetings opened with the question, "What is your obsession?" Each person had to name one and explain why they were obsessed with this subject. I told Dave, "I know what my obsession is -- trash collection!"
I read an article yesterday about Bristol, in western England near Wales, possibly switching to rubbish collection once every FOUR WEEKS! This is my nightmare. They'd continue collecting recycling, including food waste, more frequently. The theory is this will pressure more residents to funnel waste into the recycling stream rather than the garbage -- but as I understand it already a lot of "recycling" doesn't really get recycled. So the whole thing seems like a money-saving shell game, and I tend to agree it will just mean more trash dumped illegally. I hope to God we don't do that here, but I suspect any money-saving decisions made by one municipal council will soon be adopted by others.
I just cleaned out my comment spam and found TEN comments in there. Sorry if you've commented recently and then wondered where your comment went! I usually check spam every day but apparently I got behind. You've all been released from spam jail now.
This house is one of several on our street under heavy renovation at the moment, basically being gutted and rebuilt on the inside. Our street is not particularly long -- the equivalent of about three blocks, if our area was laid out on a grid -- but I'm always amazed how many people are renovating at any given time. Maybe the Russians aren't so unusual after all. Maybe I'm the unusual one, just making do with what we've got.
Anyway, I took the picture because I liked the light, shadows and colors. I used my big camera, a Canon EOS 5D Mark III. I bought that camera back in 2012 and it cost a pretty penny then, but I was trying to make a go of doing serious photography so I wanted good equipment. As it turns out, that wasn't really the best camera for me because it was geared toward people who also wanted good video capability, and I didn't really need that. (Plus, it weighs 3.5 pounds with my lightest lens!)
I shot the photo in RAW for best detail, and processed it slightly in Lightroom to correct the perspective and lens distortion.
And then, just for fun, I shot a similar picture on my phone:
This one took no processing -- and it has more detail in areas with bright light. If it's not better overall, it's at least just as good. Aren't they amazing, these tiny computers we all carry nowadays? With video too! The only things the big camera can do better are zoom photos from a distance, with my telephoto lens, and macro photos, with my macro lens. And it doesn't telescope distant objects and make them seem incredibly far away, which the phone camera does because of its tiny wide-angle lens.
Still, phone cameras are amazing.
I spent yesterday cleaning and reading. I finally finished "The Bee Sting," which I mostly enjoyed. It ended on an agonizingly ambiguous note and was ultimately quite tragic, but I'm glad I read it. Now I have to catch up on New Yorkers before launching into another book.
When I was walking Olga on Saturday I found this tiny pendant lying next to the sidewalk. I interpreted it as the letters "IL" and I couldn't imagine what that meant. A souvenir of Illinois? That seemed unlikely. (The "I" was originally bright red, which is what caught my eye on the ground, but when I rubbed the dirt off the red came off too!)
I brought it home, cleaned it up and photographed it (with my macro lens!) and then ran it through Google image search to try to figure out what it meant. Turns out...
...it's a zipper pull from a Fila sweatshirt.
Well, not quite as exotic an artifact as I had hoped, but the mystery was intriguing.
When I walked into the bedroom last night to go to sleep, this is what I found. Geez, dog, leave some space for us!
We had bright sun and blue skies for the first half of yesterday. The robins were singing and other little birds were chasing each other around with possibly amorous intent. It's too early (and too cold) to say it's spring, but I got the barest hint that our darkest days of winter are over.
As I may have mentioned, I've arranged with a gardener to come and help us get our ivy under control. They're also going to prune our roses and some of our other plants. This won't happen for another month but at least we've got it on the books. I still don't know what's happening with the front garden -- I haven't heard a peep since writing the landlords last weekend.
I spent yesterday morning doing laundry and reading "The Bee Sting." I think I ought to finish it today. I really like it, except for the parts with minimal punctuation, but it's been hard to find time to read more than a few pages here and there which is why it's taking me so long -- and it's a 600+ page book.
In the afternoon, inspired by the sunshine, Olga and I took a walk and went...
...to the cemetery! Just weeks after lamenting that we may never get there again, I was happy to see her willing to make a go of it. We didn't walk the whole thing, partly because we ran out of time -- the cemetery gates close at 3:30 p.m. at this time of year, and we got there a little after 3 p.m. At the speed Olga walks, we had time to do just a small part of the back area. But still!
Olga did pause as we were walking there and look at me as if to say, "Are you sure this is a good idea?" But I gave her leash a soft tug and she came willingly. I think she did it for me, to be honest. She'd be just as happy sniffing trash bags closer to home.
Here she is on a woodsy path, passing the partly-buried headstone of Charles Absalom Bromige and his wife Eliza Margaret, which I've discussed on this blog before.
She seemed confused when we didn't follow our usual circular path through the cemetery but as I said we just didn't have time, and in the end she relented and allowed me to walk her home early. Surprisingly she didn't seem particularly achy last night, either. She's a tough old bird!
I came across this rain-spattered key tag on my way to work yesterday morning, along with the remains of what looks like someone's breakfast. It was gone in the afternoon, so maybe whoever lost it found it again.
I don't have much news today, so how about just a few pictures?
This was the scene yesterday at work -- someone filled one of the boys' bathrooms with balloons. It's been Spirit Week, so there have been a lot of shenanigans like this.
Meanwhile the aquarium in the Lower School has been restocked with lots of little neon tetras, gold platies and some other yellow tetra-looking fish. My brother and I used to keep aquariums when we were kids, so I'm familiar with most of these guys.
Some graffiti on my walk to work. This masked "Dr. Hokes" character started appearing during the pandemic and has been popping up ever since. The artist even has a website that includes art, some bizarre items for sale including Buddha figurines for £10,000 (surely a joke?) and a "Covid Enquiry Podcast," which I have not listened to. Given the Hokes (hoax) name, I'm assuming he's a skeptic.
Finally, some of Dave's students gave him flowers when he returned to teaching this week -- a thoughtful gesture particularly appreciated by King Zack. (As you can see, I disturbed Olga's morning couch nap!)
I mentioned about a year ago that our local branch of Oddbins, a chain of wine and liquor stores, had closed. The shop has been vacant ever since, but a few days back some big posters appeared over the windows announcing the opening of a skin-care salon. (What that will entail I'm not sure, but I am sure that I will never go there.)
In the process of preparing the shopfront someone took down all the old Oddbins signs, and beneath them was this amazing "ghost" sign for some place called Bottlenecks.
I have tried to look online for information about Bottlenecks, to see how old that uncovered sign might be, but I can't find any record of it. Was it just a single shop? I'm guessing at some point it was purchased by Oddbins and absorbed into that larger chain.
Maybe this is a hint. I have never seen a British phone number written as seven digits. Usually they are eight digits with a three-digit area code in front, written like this: (xxx) xxxx xxxx. I'm not sure this is universally true across the country, but that's how it is in London.
And when's the last time you saw a phone that looked like that?
Side note: If you want to read something head-spinning, check out this Wikipedia article about the history of British phone numbers. I tried to glean some information that would date that sign, but I was quickly buried in an avalanche of minutiae. It was obviously written by someone who is obsessively interested in the mechanics of phone numbering.
I read enough to learn that there were two overhauls to the phone numbering system large enough to merit a public-relations campaign. There was PhONEday, in 1995, and there was the Big Number Change in 2000. Apparently that latter date is when certain parts of the country including London moved to eight-digit numbers.
If I had to guess, I'd say the sign goes back at least to the early '90s. It might even be significantly older. The typeface looks very '70s. Can any of my British readers shed some light on this?
We are having a breezy morning here, with the forecast calling for winds up to 35 mph. That's practically dead air compared to Northern Ireland and Scotland, which are expected to get gusts up to 100 mph. This is all part of Storm Éowyn, apparently. Before I went to bed last night I put all the patio plants on the ground to avoid a repeat of the Great Geranium Disaster of New Year's Day, and so far I've heard nothing crashing or smashing. Olga went out briefly when I first got up but she came back in as quickly as possible and returned to bed.
Our flat inspection happened yesterday, but from what Dave said, it was more of a walk-through than an inspection. And really not even that.
In the morning I got a WhatsApp message from "Babs," the management company's inspection clerk, saying she would arrive between 1 and 3:30 p.m. ("That's an interesting name," I thought, imagining that I was about to be met by a Realtor from Long Island. I was picturing Barbra Streisand, honestly.) I arranged to leave work at 12:30 in order to be home for the first part of that window of time; Dave's day was ending at 2:10 so he could take the second shift. I got home just in time to welcome Olga back from her walk, and we hung out together until about 2:30, by which time Babs had not arrived. When Dave got home I went back to work.
As Dave related later, it turns out that Babs -- who showed up near the end of the window -- was actually a black man. And apparently he was terrified of dogs. He did a cursory inspection of the flat, taking note of a few things that Dave pointed out, but he wouldn't even enter the living room, where Olga was lying on the couch. Dave went to sit with her and hold her so Babs wouldn't be nervous, and tried to explain that Olga is ancient, partially toothless and not at all a threat, but of course Olga didn't help the situation by getting excited and wanting to get off the couch to go see the new visitor. (Everyone is a potential playmate.) Babs steered clear.
I suppose the inspection served its purpose, in that it proved to the property managers that we are not destroying the flat or running an illegal enterprise. But it doesn't sound like we're going to see any movement on our minor maintenance issues as a result.
On my way back to school on the tube, I noticed that Homebase, the big-box home improvements store where we used to buy all our gardening and household stuff -- and also King Zack -- has been torn down! It closed several months ago and the whole site, including an adjoining mall and movie theater, is due to be redeveloped. We now get our household stuff from a much smaller DIY shop on the high street (and if they don't have what we need, we go online).
I also noticed this rather interesting advertisement in the tube station. How do Muslim ideals of modesty intersect with a trip to the beach? Apparently by everyone staying entirely clothed -- everyone except Mom, that is, who doesn't go to the beach at all. (Or maybe she's taking the picture, while clad in a Burkini?)
Speaking of religion, I was perplexed by all the outrage from Republicans over the inaugural sermon given by Bishop Mariann E. Budde at the National Cathedral. Budde dared to ask Trump for "mercy" on behalf of several minority groups who feel threatened by his presidency. His reaction was indignation, demanding an apology and calling her "nasty," one of his favorite insults. But it's not like what she did was so shocking. A plea for mercy on behalf of society's downtrodden, the potentially fearful and insecure figures relegated to its fringes, is inherent in Christian teaching. What she said was consistent with every Christian message I ever heard when I went to church.
What this kerfuffle actually shows is that Trump and his followers don't have a clue what Christianity is about. (Top photo: The red hellebore in our garden, finally blooming!)
The kids in the Lower School have created another interesting series of artworks. I'm seeing cats, bears and various cylindrical, box- and cone-shaped objects. Once again, I wonder what they used for inspiration? Anyway, the art makes a colorful display.
I don't have much to report from yesterday. Work, work, work. Our new assistant has started but she's still learning the cataloging system and the lay of the land, so I don't have a real sense yet of how her presence will affect my workload.
The seniors have decorated their gathering space beneath the stairs for Spirit Week, including papering over the light for a groovy red effect. You can barely see it, but there's a green bean bag at the left beneath the giant green banana that says "SENIORS." That bean bag used to be in our dining room! But it was too big for our flat so I gave it to the school, and I'm glad it's being used.
As for the big banana, which I blogged previously -- a second one has appeared, in rainbow camouflage. The mysteries proliferate!
Dave and I had a Zoom call last night with the lawyer who's helping with our estate planning. That was a barrel of laughs. We sent him back to do some revisions but I think the process is almost done.
And today we're supposed to have our annual flat inspection. The managing agent sends someone each year to check the place over and note anything that needs work. I have a few items to bring to his/her attention! In fact I should probably be cleaning right now.
I came across these Picasso-esque figures on a wall between Belsize Park and St. John's Wood. (I'm not sure Picasso would agree they're Picasso-esque, but you know what I mean.) I think whoever drew them may have been following existing cracks or contours in the wall. Or maybe shadows?
Dave and I have ironed out our plans for February break in a couple of weeks. We are indeed going to Florida, and our friend Warren, who has stayed with Olga in the past, will dog-sit for us here in London. We're going to fly into Tampa on the 15th and fly out on the 22nd. In between I'm not sure what we're doing. Dave will spend the bulk of the week in Bradenton with his parents, and I hope to get up to Jacksonville to visit my brother, and we'll see my step-sister just north of Tampa.
It's good to have a plan. I haven't been back to Florida for a year and a half, and I think we both felt like we were due for a visit.
Last night I was re-reading some posts from 2013 when we first got Olga. It's so funny to read them now, when she is so thoroughly Olga to me, with all her quirks and personality traits known. Back then she was a blank slate, a question mark. I remember when I picked her up I was surprised by how big she was, and she was wearing a studded leather collar that frankly made her look thuggish. We got rid of that right away. She was called Tinsel by the shelter where we adopted her, and it took us a while to settle on a new name -- Mona was the most viable secondary option, but when we chose Olga we did it with certainty. And Olga she has become, through the subsequent 12 years of our shared life together.
When I got her I remember thinking, "We're going to have this dog for at least ten years!" That seemed like such a long time. But it went by in a flash.
Anyway, I'm not sure what prompted this retrospection. Olga's health seems more or less fine; she's just doddery and slow. She's 14 or 15 years old now. Maybe I'm a little uncertain about leaving her when we go to Florida. But we've gotta have lives, too, right?
Remember those violas I found on the sidewalk in St. John's Wood last November? They're blooming away, despite our near-freezing nighttime temperatures. Rugged little things.
So Trump has pardoned most of the January 6 rioters, as expected. I'm not too worked up about this, given that many of them have already served their sentences and punishment has been inflicted. I was on the fence about prosecuting them in the first place, and I still think the Biden administration, by vigorously doing so, missed an opportunity to extend an olive branch and ease the grievances of the MAGA crowd. The prosecutions turned them all into martyrs in the eyes of some Americans. (I do think some of the leaders of alt-right organizations -- like Enrique Tarrio and Stewart Rhodes -- were rightly imprisoned as instigators of violence, and I'm sorry to see them get off.) Trump declined to pardon the rioters in the waning days of his first term, so if I were them, I'd be saying now, "Too little too late!" But of course he can do no wrong in their addled eyes.
I can't even talk about all the other stuff Trump is up to. We are in for a world of crazy.
By the time I went to work yesterday morning, two of the abandoned chairs in my previous post had been taken -- the two on the left. I would have adopted that middle one if it had still been there. Dave can thank his lucky stars it was gone!
Olga surprised me yesterday morning with a youthful burst of energy. We went walking to the housing estate, where we haven't been in months, even though it's not that far from our flat. She usually prefers to go around the corner and sniff garbage, so this was a welcome change.
When she was younger we walked here almost every morning. I hope she enjoyed it for old times' sake.
I texted Dave: "Free stuff!" He texted back, "No."
That middle chair is pretty cool, in my opinion, but I suppose we do have plenty of chairs.
I spent the day reading and doing some stuff around the house. Mrs. Russia met me outside to have a conversation about the front garden. Remember how we got an estimate for having it pruned? Well, it won't surprise you to know that the Russians have come up with an alternate plan that involves ripping out several large bushes and basically replanting the whole thing. These people! They can't just let things be! They have to renovate EVERYTHING!
I said no, that is not what I want, and I wrote our landlords to that effect. The ultimate decision lies with our landlords and the Russians, who co-own our house together, but our landlords may regret involving the Russians in this project. Which is what I told them. In the past the landlords have paid to trim the garden using our maintenance company's handyman service, and I don't know why that wasn't good enough. I even offered to split the cost with them. But they appealed to the Russians to share the cost, and now that the Russians feel they have an ownership stake in the front garden I'm afraid we will never hear the end of it.
In the evening we Skyped with Dave's mom. His dad has been ill and is now getting rehab for some back problems, and we're still considering going to see them in Florida next month. Dave has been on the fence about going, given his own recent surgery, but I think we're going to do it. Hopefully the Russians won't seize that opportunity to pave the front garden and turn it into Red Square.
We also watched "Mulholland Drive," David Lynch's mysterious movie about Hollywood, from 2001, to mark Lynch's recent death. I've been a Lynch enthusiast for years, ever since I saw "Blue Velvet" in the mid-'80s. Here are a couple of screen shots showing his mesmerizing style.
Lynch loved to put people in front of microphones. That's a common feature in several of his films. "Mulholland Drive" is all about identity and duality, and I think Lynch liked the idea of characters being on stage, performing, in an exaggerated semblance of how we all perform in real life.
Soon after we started the movie, Dave turned to me and said, "This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen."
Here's another photogenic rail station from my walk on New Year's Eve. The modern station is located across the street from this one, which doesn't appear to be in use. The four posters on the doors are part of a public art project. They say "the person behind wants to talk to you," "ideally this poster would show you the way," "this poster saw you coming before you looked at him" and "you should have gone up."
I spent yesterday morning gardening and cleaning. I say "gardening" but really all I did was cut some plants back. I did some reading about avocados, and found that the variety I think we have is more cold-hardy than I thought. It's not the West Indian type that I grew up with in Florida, which is quite tender. It's a Guatemalan species that can handle chilly weather, being native to high altitudes in Central America. It would still suffer in particularly cold weather or snow, but that explains why it came through our recent cold spell with nary a wilted leaf. (Except the ones I managed to damage while covering it!) So I guess I don't need to be as paranoid about protecting it as I have been, which is good news.
I cut the yellow rose in our garden and brought it inside to brighten up the kitchen.
In the afternoon I read "The Bee Sting." I've hit a rough patch in this book. The story is told in the voices of several characters, and the sections narrated by the mother are written with minimal punctuation. There are apostrophes and question marks, but nothing else -- most crucially no periods. It is a nightmare to read, and it's a 165-page section of the book. And we return to her later in the narrative, too.
I was annoyed at first because it seemed utterly purposeless, but then I read in online reviews that it's meant to show the mother's lack of formal education and her manic mindset. I still think it's gimmicky and it's giving me a headache. I am dying to get back to the sections voiced by the other characters.
Speaking of books, how do we feel about the demise of TikTok in the United States? I don't use TikTok at all so I don't really have a horse in this race, especially being here in the UK. But I do wonder about its effect on book sales and the publishing industry. The "Book Tok" community on TikTok has turned some books into best-sellers, and without that marketing tool I suspect some authors will suffer.
Here's an architecture/planning fail on our high street. That building on the right is brand new, and when it was built, it was left with a sloping sidewalk in front. The slope is quite dramatic and, as you can see, someone (presumably the local council?) chose to erect unsightly barriers rather than have people walking on it. I guess they don't want people tumbling sideways into Five Guys.
I wonder how they're ever going to fix this and how it was allowed to happen in the first place. It's unfortunate because it's a very busy stretch of pavement and having such a big section blocked off is inconvenient, to say the least.
A few days ago I passed the cubbyholes at school where some of the students store their belongings, and saw this little panda peeking out at me. It's wearing a little sash with words on it but I didn't stop to read them. Something about being cared for? A hospital gift, maybe.
I hate to say I had a busy day yesterday, because I say that all the time and it's not very inspired blogging. But holy cow, this whole week has been busy. For one thing, I've been helping to process probably a hundred new books, which means adding stickers, stamps, covers and labels to each and every one. (Well, some come pre-covered, which always makes my heart sing.) Covering books is kind of an enjoyable task, like vacuuming -- I can mostly turn off my brain and I'm left with a satisfyingly improved product at the end. It does take time, and I'm not sure it's my life's purpose, exactly, but I don't mind it.
Besides, who says life has a purpose? As I've always said, I'm not a deeply philosophical person -- I don't spend a lot of time pondering the mysteries of the universe. To the extent that I do, I believe we're all basically happy accidents. Nature is chaos, a primordial stew of chemicals and DNA, and from that emerge all the ever-evolving life forms that surround us, including us. And I could just as easily have been an entirely different person, if a different sperm had connected with my mother's egg, or if the same gametes came together in a slightly different way. There is no grand or divine plan.
I was listening to my QAA podcast last night and they were talking about the Religious Right, and how evangelical Christians really do believe that this world is merely a veil overhanging the real, spiritual world beyond. That we're all in a sort of Holy Holding Pattern, waiting to begin our real existences in the Great Beyond. I just do not understand this kind of thinking. I see how it can foster a conspiracy mindset, because then you don't need evidence to believe anything -- people who are heavily spiritual can take information on faith and stand by it as their reality. I'm not saying all Christians are conspiracists, and in fact I grew up in a liberal Protestant church and absorbed none of those tendencies. But there's definitely a link between evangelical, faith-based thinking and Q-Anon and other forms of political mysticism.
So, yeah, that is not me. I am an evidence-based person, and I suppose I'm a bit nihilistic. I don't think we have a purpose at all as individuals, beyond the biological imperative of perpetuating the species. (And I've even failed at that!) I do believe we have a moral responsibility to be kind to each other and to the creatures with which we share the planet. That's not a divine imposition, though -- that's just our human responsibility as self-aware beings who have evolved beyond beetles and fleas.
Does that make any sense? Maybe not. That podcast got my mind spinning and this is where it took me.
Speaking of fleas, I passed this disgusting, wadded-up bag on the sidewalk on my walk home, and it immediately reminded me of one of those electron-microscope images of a flea. Can you see it?
Right?!
Olga was a complete pill last night. She decided at 3:30 a.m. that night was over and it was time to get up. After lots of whining and licking and carrying on I got up and let her out into the back garden, and when she came back in I went back to bed. She eventually joined us for another hour or so, but at 5 a.m. she was raring to go again. I think she'd completely forgotten that she'd already been out just a short time earlier. She's a very sweet dog but her brain is not very big.
Dave's been saying for years that we need a new light fixture for the dining room. Last night I passed this one sitting on someone's wall next to the rubbish bins. I texted him: "Do we want this light fixture?" I'm thinking with some black paint it could be pretty cool, maybe a bit like the one that cast shadowy lines on the walls of our cabin in Whitstable.
But Dave texted back an understated "no," which probably actually meant "NO!" So I left it.
And now the dog is being a pill again, wanting her walk. We shall philosophize again another day.
