The Barn Door

Remember how I said our cardoon didn't bloom well this year? I should have emphasized "yet" -- because now it's blooming like crazy. I think it has eight flowers. They're smaller than they've been in the past but the bees like them just as much.

I survived my medical test. It was without a doubt one of the strangest tests I've ever had to take. I was asked, after 12 hours of bland food and 12 hours of fasting, to exhale into a glass tube, which was rapidly capped and labeled with the time of my exhalation. I then had to drink a sugary solution once, and repeat the breath test nine more times, using nine more tubes, over more than two hours. Finally, I was asked to package those tubes containing my breath into a box and ship it back to a lab.

I find the idea of mailing my exhaled breath very weird.

However, I'm playing along. And I was so happy when it was all over and I could finally eat again. Dave bought waffles and we ate them with bacon and real maple syrup made by his nephew in Michigan.

Afterwards I was feeling super-efficient (and relieved), so I decided to walk Olga and run some errands. I took a big bag containing our bedsheets and Dave's shirts for the laundromat/cleaners and also my medical test to drop in the post box. I dropped off the laundry with no problem, but the test, it turned out, was just a hair too big for the slot in the mailbox. Argh! I was outside the Post Office, which was closed, and I saw a woman knock on the door so I thought I might be able to drop it inside if someone answered -- and they did, another woman in a glamorous green dress. I asked her if I could drop my test indoors and she said they were having a "private party" -- so, no. The idea of a private party at the Post Office on Sunday afternoon sounded a bit bizarre, but then, we have quite a stylish Post Office.

Undaunted, Olga and I went on to Kilburn Grange Park, where she chased her Kong, lolled in the grass and even menaced (sort of) some squirrels. Remember when that building behind her was a construction site covered in scaffolding?

I saw this chair sitting outside a shuttered shop with some empty boxes and other debris. I asked the guy who ran the grocery next door if it was trash, and he assured me it was -- he said it had been there several days. So I texted Dave and asked if I should pick it up. The finish needs some work, but it's Danish and was probably quite expensive when new. We agreed that I should.

And that's how I wound up walking home with an exhausted, very slow-moving geriatric dog, carrying a box of my exhaled breath and a Danish modern chair. And then, about halfway home, aware of what a spectacle I must be, I realized that my fly was down and probably had been for hours. Life's little absurdities!

Oh, and I forgot to mention the man we saw while walking to the park, wearing a t-shirt that said, "It's Allergies Not the Rona," which I thought was pretty funny. I would have taken a picture but, as we've discussed, I had my hands full.

White Diet and Campervan

Not a whole lot of excitement around here yesterday. I spent most of the day on a bland "white food" diet, because of an at-home medical test I'm taking this morning to look for harmful bacteria in my stomach. I was restricted to eating things like white bread, rice and skinless boiled potatoes. The list didn't include pasta, but that's what I had for lunch yesterday -- I figured if I could eat white bread then surely pasta with no sauce couldn't be problematic, since it's all made of the same stuff. For dinner I had two poached eggs on a bowl of rice. Soooooooo exciting.

Now I'm fasting, except for water, but I did allow myself a cup of black coffee. My need for coffee outweighs my need for this medical test.

Anyway, it will all be over around noon. I really don't think it's going to find anything. I'm not sure I would even go through with it except that I already paid for it, so I may as well persevere. (I did it through a private doctor, not the NHS.)

Olga was feeling quite feisty yesterday and demanded two walks, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. I was lying on the couch reading when Dave, sitting in his recliner facing the back door, started laughing. He pointed and I turned around and saw this:

That's the "take me for a walk" look.

So we went to the cemetery, where the thistle seeds are blowing around in a very autumnal way (top).

On our morning walk, I found this:

 

It had been discarded beneath a tree with some other debris on the high street. This pillow SPOKE to me. My father collected Volkswagens, and he had a VW bus very similar to this that we rode around in all the time as kids. (I don't know what year his was -- the one on the pillow is allegedly a '63.) And my brother is a Volkswagen aficionado too, repairing old ones just like my father did.

So I picked it up and inspected it carefully, inside and all along the seams, and although the exterior was slightly grubby it seemed fine otherwise. I brought it home, took off the pillow cover and washed it and the poly-fiber pillow inside, and everything came out looking like new. Thank goodness for durable polyester! The weird black dots are part of the design, believe it or not -- here's another pillow by the same company with the same feature. At first I was worried because the spots didn't come out, and then I realized they're supposed to be there.

Anyway, as you can see, it matches my groovy green bean bag chair quite well -- at least in spirit!

9/11 and a Big Book

As I begin this post, I'm thinking about the fact that one of the most horrific days in all our lives was exactly 20 years ago. It certainly changed many things about our world -- our methods of air travel, the powers of surveillance granted to our governments, our own feelings of personal and national vulnerability and uncertainty. I was living in New York City on 9/11, and I've blogged about it several times, mainly here, here and here.

I spent ten years in New York, from July 2000 to October 2010. I think of those 14 months before Sept. 11 as a sort of halcyon period of sunny days and carefree existence, which I'm sure isn't entirely accurate, but such is the fog of memory. I remember walking in Greenwich Village and seeing the twin towers rising up beyond the southern end of Sixth Avenue, a vision that never ceased to thrill me. I was 34, and I felt young. The world held promise.

After Sept. 11, everything got almost immediately scary. Adding to the immeasurable trauma of that day, we had another major plane crash (unrelated to terrorism, as it turned out) a few months later in Queens. We had powdered anthrax come in the mail to my office building, and as a result, the company began sterilizing all the mail -- for the next few years it came to us warped and stained from high-temperature treatment that destroyed photographic slides and computer discs. There was a lot of fear, a dark psychological weight. It was a very, very bizarre time.

It was strange working in journalism then. Our days were consumed by 9/11 and terrorism-related news, while of course the world went on and there were plenty of other issues that demanded attention too. I worked at the New York Times Company as an editor for its smaller community papers, and though I wasn't involved in the Times's own coverage of 9/11, it was going on all around me and it was all any of us talked about. I remember being terrified that I would be asked to go to Ground Zero and report. I didn't want any part of it, and fortunately that assignment never came my way.

Anyway, I don't know where I'm going with this. I honestly didn't mean to write much about Sept. 11 today. I thought these photos might be a good antidote to stories of destruction, given that they show building. Construction cranes are omnipresent in London, and I noticed on my last two outings in the city that it was hard to take photos in some areas without getting cranes in the background (or foreground). I decided, rather than trying to avoid them, I should celebrate them. So here you go -- a celebration of cranes.

I have a rather low-key weekend planned. I'm taking a medical test meant to assess whether I have harmful, ulcer-causing bacteria in my gut (this is related to some intermittent stomach trouble). I have to follow a mild diet today and then tomorrow morning I have to spend a couple of hours periodically breathing into little tubes, which get immediately capped and sent to a lab for analysis. It sounds insane, but that's my plan, and I'll be glad when it's all over.

I'm also hoping to get some reading done. Funny story: A kid came to me in late spring asking for a book recommendation. He wanted to read fantasy. I showed him the Wheel of Time series, which has been popular with other students in the past, and he took the first book, which is about 650 pages long. He returned it this month, and yesterday, to my surprise, he gave me a letter asking me all sorts of questions about my opinions of the structure and the plot. It was then that I realized a) this was part of an English assignment, and b) we were supposed to have some kind of dialogue about the book, and c) he was under the impression that I had actually read it. Which I have not.

Had I known he wanted me to recommend something I'd read, I would have chosen Ray Bradbury, which I know well. Now I've got to do a quick assessment of this other gigantic tome and write him some kind of response, so we can have a conversation about it. His assignment has expanded into an assignment for me too!

Coleus and Covid

Here are a few of the coleus plants on the back patio. I don't know why I don't grow these more often. They're easy as pie and really beautiful. We have three pots of them and I'm really happy with how they've turned out. Apparently they're related to nettles!

I have a little more time this morning, so maybe I can write an actual blog post. I suppose I could sit down the night before I post and write something more thoughtful, but for me this is part of my morning routine -- as much about the process as the result. I would miss writing in the morning if I didn't do it. It's a quiet activity to start my day, gives me something to do while I enjoy my coffee, and it helps me gear up my brain.

Some of you might be wondering how we're doing in school with Covid. The answer is, we're not really sure! Last year the school sent out alerts when anyone tested positive, and close contacts of infected people were required to self-isolate for ten days or so to make sure they didn't pass it on. Thus, we had some sense of the infection rate. This year, all of that's gone by the wayside. If someone tests positive they're not even required to tell the school, and there is no isolation of close contacts. I think we've basically decided that vaccines have to do the job. (Which appears to be consistent with the UK's national policy for schools.)

Just yesterday I had a kid come to my desk and return some books, and as he handed them to me, he said he'd been absent because he had Covid. I don't think the risk from touching books is very high, but I sanitized anyway, the minute he walked away! It was more for psychological than physical reasons.

I feel sort of fatalistic about it all. I'm taking sensible precautions, I'm washing my hands and for now (as long as the school requests it) I'm masking. (The masking may go away, though, as it has in UK state schools, and even at our school I often see groups of unmasked kids sitting and talking together.) I also take regular lateral flow tests. Overall, I have confidence in the vaccine. I realize there's a chance I could catch Covid anyway -- and I have vaccinated co-workers who came down with it -- but I guess that's just our new reality, unless and until the vaccines get better.

It's a brave new world.

Out and about in London, people are still supposed to use masks on the tube -- but I'd say at least half don't, or don't wear them correctly. Masks are no longer required in shops or public spaces, and although you still see them, many, many people have stopped wearing them. Sometimes I put one on to go in a shop and find I'm the only one who's masked.

Another co-worker told me yesterday that a concert we'd planned to attend last year -- which of course was cancelled -- has been rescheduled for later this month. So, soon I'll be at a rock concert! I have mixed feelings about that, but I'm going to take the plunge. (The band is Elbow, and the concert is on the 22nd.)

I guess what it comes down to is -- and I've said this before -- we just have to live our lives, and life involves some risk. The trick is to minimize the risk while returning to some semblance of normalcy. I think we're finding that balance, but time will tell.

Well, I didn't intend to make this whole post about Covid, but it's still on all our minds, right?

I found this walking home from work yesterday. It's just a bit of cardboard printed with what looks like a mid-century abstract painting. I Googled it but nothing came up, so I'm not sure what it is -- but I kind of like it.

St. George

Just a quick post today, because I slept late and I have to get out the door and get to work. (One good thing about Olga getting older -- she often no longer wants to go on a walk in the morning, which saves me a good half an hour. She's still in bed as I write this.*)

This picture shows a detail of the metal gates at Marble Arch, where I went to see the Mound over the weekend. The gates are a permanent part of the arch itself. I believe that's St. George -- the patron saint of England -- killing his dragon, although his spear appears to be missing. That was perfect light for a photo, wasn't it?

The flag of England depicts the red-and-white St. George's cross.

By the way, Wikipedia has an interesting page about the legend of St. George and the dragon. I had no idea both St. George himself and the dragon story had origins in the Middle East. I always thought St. George was a knight in the crusades, but it turns out he pre-dates that period. He's mostly legend at this point.

Off to work!

*Addendum, 9 a.m.: As it turns out, the minute I posted and stood up, Olga leaped up too and wanted a walk. And of course she got one, because she's Olga and she runs my life. It turned into a rather rushed morning!

Thorn Apple

The spiny seed pod of our jimsonweed has opened, revealing hundreds of black seeds inside. In an effort to control the spread of the plant, I clipped the pod off so I could grow the seeds in trays. But of course some fell on the ground, so who knows -- it may be re-seeding without me. You can see why it's also called a "thorn apple"!

Dave and I got our refund for our thwarted vacation to Brazil. I'm glad it came so smoothly after we requested it a couple of weeks ago. I thought I might have to fight for it. That's a load off my mind.

After writing yesterday about the person who's been setting out old art and politics publications for the taking, I was amused to walk by in the afternoon and find this rather cranky sign. Someone's not happy with this method of redistribution! (Maybe the person who owns the wall?)

Solus ipse non

Today, just some photos of interesting stuff I've found in my urban wandering.

First, there's a wall on one of my walking routes to school where for months now, someone has been setting out stacks of old publications -- mostly art and political journals. Here are two I found yesterday. That issue of "The Spokesman" is from 1971, and the European Management Journal (which sounds as boring as all get-out) is from 1982. Someone must be cleaning out their closets and bookshelves.

Here's a sign promoting Extinction Rebellion, the group whose march against climate change I posted yesterday. Some of you questioned the effectiveness of marching, and I'd agree that it has no practical effect, but I suppose it does raise awareness. Or that's the idea, anyway. (That was a very small march, incidentally -- some of their demonstrations are large and quite disruptive.)

While walking Olga I found these bedside tables set out on the street. I think they're cool in a kind of Stanley Kubrick way, but I didn't take them.

Boris Johnson's administration has been criticized for its "do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do" approach to governing.

I found this Bible verse posted on a fence near the cemetery. I found a similar one on Hampstead Heath back in January.

This tile mosaic of a swallow (or a swift?) was attached to a wall near Southbank Centre.

A random sticker found on Westminster Bridge -- probably a remnant of someone's take-away food order. The textured disk below the sticker is much more interesting -- a bronze medallion reading "solus ipse non" with the apparent acronym SURY, and punched with holes. Other identical medallions have been found elsewhere in the UK, and there are discussions on Reddit about what they could be.

Here's a close-up. The shield appears to show shaking hands with wings. I'm not a Latin expert but according to the Reddit folks, "solus ipse non" roughly translates to "I am not alone," or "he is not alone."

And finally, here's one of those Covid "Dr. Hokes" stickers which we've seen before. Someone clearly objected to this one!