Completion

"When we seek happiness through accumulation, either outside of ourselves -- from other people, relationships, or material goods -- or from our own self-development, we are missing the essential point. In either case we are trying to find completion. But according to Buddhism, such a strategy is doomed. Completion comes not from adding another piece to ourselves but from surrendering our ideas of perfection." -- Mark Epstein

(Photo: Trellick Tower, London. Credit to Reya for the quote.)

Guy Fawkes Night, Part 2

I already inflicted upon you a video of fireworks in our neighborhood leading up to Guy Fawkes Night, so I didn't bother to shoot more video of all the boisterous explosions we heard last night, during the actual event. But let me tell you, things were crazy.

I wasn't sure what to expect. The Evening Standard warned it would be the biggest Bonfire Night in years, falling on a Saturday. Apparently the last time that happened, in 2006, the London Fire Brigade faced 1,545 calls -- about one per minute. Many residents were expected to be lighting their own bonfires and setting off their own backyard fireworks once again this year. (As it turned out, the brigade said there were 570 calls on Friday night and 528 last night, with 173 fires over the two nights, according to the BBC.)

Dave and I went to the movies yesterday afternoon -- we saw "Contagion," which was good -- and as we were walking home just after sundown we were amused by all the bangs and pops. It sounded like London was under artillery fire. In Holland Park we passed a group of adults with small children, all playing with sparklers. Only after we got home did the real fireworks begin -- the sky lit up in all directions with green and red flashes. From our windows I saw fireworks to the northeast, in the direction of Maida Vale, to the west toward Shepherds Bush, and to the southwest toward Holland Park. I didn't see any actual bonfires.

We thought the dogs might sleep through it -- they're fairly deaf these days -- and indeed Ruby was oblivious. But Ernie was terrified. His brain short-circuited and he took a whiz in the hallway, poor guy. (Let's hear it for hardwood floors and prompt cleanup!) Fortunately the bangs and pops didn't go on past the first few hours of darkness, and fireworks were illegal after midnight, so he was able to get some sleep -- as were we all.

(Photo: "Seriously reconsider everything right now" -- street art by Public Spirit in Notting Hill, a few days ago.)

Ghostly Graffiti

In the better-late-than-never department: I was amused to find this graffiti on Wednesday near Trellick Tower. Halloween is not as big in the UK as it is in the United States -- we had no trick-or-treaters, I saw no jack o' lanterns, and I spotted only one or two other spooky decorations -- but clearly it's on someone's radar! (Judging from the "NYC" on his piece, Acid, at least, may be an American.)

Leaves

The weather forecast calls for rain today, tomorrow and most of next week. (We might get some sun on Monday.) I just took the dogs out and they were not amused.

I've been photographing leaves again, my standard autumn activity. Don't the two in the top photo look like they're holding hands?


The leaves from the London plane trees are huge. This one's about a size 11 1/2, I think.

Zander

My first visit to London in 2000 is kind of a blur -- I was here for just a few days, meeting my friend Arthur for a joint trip to Paris. Arthur was in London on a business trip for Barnes & Noble, where he worked at the time. (I think he was here for the London Book Fair, if I remember right.)

Anyway, our first night out was quite eventful. From my journals of April 19, 2000:

Our hotel on Norfolk Square turned out to be something of a dump, but the people are pleasant and I suppose you get what you pay for. There's no major difficulty -- it's just very scruffy looking, and the bathroom is so small you've got to sit sideways on the toilet.

Arthur and I met his friends Tracie and Hillary, who were running the London marathon, at a cool bar called Zander. We ate out ourselves at a fashionable little spot and then went to a pub where some of the denizens were staggeringly drunk -- one guy threw a glass, an act that prompted his banishment. We wound up at the Hard Rock Cafe, where the waiters performed an amusing trick -- one sprayed whipped cream onto the shaved head of the other, topping it off with a swizzle stick. They did that trick twice, and I was only there for two beers!

For my birthday yesterday, I wanted to go back to Zander, the "cool bar" Arthur and I visited on that trip. (According to the World's Best Bars web site, Zander is Europe's longest bar, with 36 meters devoted to "the art and science of seriously stylish drinking.") So Dave and I met at the St. James Park tube stop and walked to Zander, which is located in a nearby hotel.

Unfortunately, I don't have any photos of Zander from 2000, and I didn't take any last night, either. It's still a nice space, and it's configured the way I remember, though I'm not sure about the chairs and the purplish color scheme. (I guess it makes sense that might be different by now.) It was pretty busy for a Wednesday evening. After a martini (ok, two martinis) we made our way to dinner at a nearby pub, the Phoenix -- where, happily, we witnessed no breaking glass.

I can say this: Zander's business cards used to be a heck of a lot cooler. The cards at the top are from that first trip -- I was so impressed with them I saved them in my journal. Here's what Zander's card looks like now:



Not a change for the better! It seems they've de-emphasized the Zander identity in favor of this Bank Restaurant, whatever that is. I asked a hostess how long Zander had been associated with Bank, and she said she didn't know. She asked around and no one else seemed to, either. Oh well -- institutional memory is short in the service industry, and 11 years is a lifetime!

Birthday

Forty-five years ago today I came into the world in a drafty wing of Tampa General Hospital. Kind of hard to believe I'm approaching half a century! (Or, as my Peace Corps friend Jennifer would say, I'm now in my middle middle forties. Next year I'll be in my late middle forties. Then my early late forties.)

At any rate, here's a photo of me on what I think was my tenth birthday, at my dad's house in Florida. That's my stepbrother Jim on the left, my brother JM next to me, and my stepsister Jennifer on the right. Dig that '70s decor. Lots of macrame and ferns!

I'd like to say I have extravagant plans for the day, but I really don't. Dave and I might go out for a martini after he gets home from work, but otherwise I'm staying close to home. We're starting Ruby on some new medication today so I need to stick around for that. Dave is planning a more thorough celebration on Saturday.

Meanwhile, I looked through my past birthday posts. Some years I didn't even mention it. And then there were the possessed cats.

Walking the Dogs

Walking Ernie and Ruby is an exercise in patience.

When I walk alone, I prefer to keep up a brisk pace, to get my blood pumping and gain some cardiovascular benefit. Ernie and Ruby like to saunter, sniffing at every lamppost and spot on the sidewalk, quickly and illicitly snorfing up any edible substance left by a passerby. (When I say edible, I use the term loosely.)

These days, their sauntering is even slower than usual. In her younger years, Ruby insisted on being in front of the "pack," blazing the trail. Nowadays she usually brings up the rear, and I allow her to set the pace. If she stops, we all stop.

I don't take them far. We're scared to risk Ruby's weak heart beyond a couple of blocks. Even Ernie gets tired in that short distance, his head hanging low, a despondent thread of drool decorating his mouth and collecting stray bits of street detritus.

Their advanced age doesn't prevent them from driving me crazy, though. Sometimes all the sniffing and pausing, the agonizing 30 minutes it can take to circumnavigate a single city block, makes me nuts. (I was especially cranky Sunday and Monday, when I mistakenly got up at 4 a.m. I thought it was 5 a.m., but the UK left Daylight Saving Time on Sunday, and I'd failed to reset the bedside clock!)

Occasionally I unthinkingly jerk the leash to snap their noses away from a particularly interesting smell. Shocked at my own behavior, I remind myself that they're the equivalent of octogenarians -- at least.

Besides, to them, a walk is not just a walk. It's their single opportunity to interact with the world beyond our apartment, with other dogs, with new and different smells, with birds and blowing leaves. It's almost sad, really.

So, yes. An exercise in patience. An opportunity to practice breathing and gentleness and generosity, and to examine my own annoyed, urgent impulses. After all, where am I trying to go so quickly?

(Photo: South Kensington, on Friday.)