Transatlantic Mermaid

Some weeks ago, my blog pal Elizabeth -- way over on the other side of the planet in California -- wrote that she planned to captain a team for this year's Epilepsy Walk/Run named Team Sophie, after her daughter. Another fellow blogger, Kim from Art in Red Wagons (also, I believe, on the other side of the planet), decided to sell these nifty hand-painted mermaid shells through Etsy to raise money for Elizabeth and Sophie's team.

So, yeah, I bought one. Isn't it great?

It arrived yesterday in the mail, in a plain brown wrapping which I opened to reveal this:

That little parcel of lavender, ribbon and a curious page of French text -- "Selection du Reader's Digest," it says at the top -- protected my mermaid all the way across the ocean. (The Reader's Digest selection appears to be about World War II. I don't know much French, but I could figure out "La Gestapo.")

For each $10 shell, Kim is giving $10 to Team Sophie. Which is about as generous as it gets.

My mermaid has already taken up residence in the shadowbox frame in our hallway, which is inhabited by lots of small treasures I've collected over the years. From there she'll be cheering on Team Sophie, along with the rest of us.

Polly Comes to London

The Caribbean spirit of the Notting Hill Carnival must still be lingering in the neighborhood. I stepped out on the balcony yesterday evening just in time to see a flock of parrots swoop by.

Well, I say parrots -- they could have been large parakeets. I'm unclear on the difference. But they were unmistakeable, bright green and unlike any other bird. Once again drawing on my Florida heritage, I can tell you I've seen a lot of parrots in my day.

There were about six or eight of them, flying diagonally across our apartment "estate" from one corner to the other, and landing in a big tree in the courtyard of the Earl of Lonsdale pub. (Extra excitement for the pub-goers, who probably wondered if they'd had too many.)

I did some online research, and it turns out there are indeed feral parrots in and around London -- especially ring-necked parakeets and monk parrots. You'd think British winters would be too cold for them, but apparently some of the species are from the Himalayan north of India, so they're used to temperate weather and don't have a problem living here. There are even plans to cull the flocks so they don't become so invasive that they damage agriculture or native bird populations.

Interesting theories about their origins abound. Some people say Jimi Hendrix released them in the late '60s as some kind of peace gesture. They may also have escaped from a movie studio outside London during the filming of "The African Queen" in the 1950s.

More likely is that they're "liberated" pets, escaped from a shipper or breeder or set free by pet owners.

We never lack excitement around here, do we?

(Photo: Street debris a few days after the Notting Hill Carnival, last week.)

Adventures in British Dentistry, Part 2

I'm happy to report that my gold inlay is back in its proper place, in the back of my mouth. I called the NHS Dental Triage back yesterday morning, and I used the magic word: PAIN.

I wasn't lying. I really was in pain. Not severe pain, but enough to make the side of my face feel numb and make me resort to aspirin. So the nurse told me to go to St. Charles Hospital, in Ladbroke Grove, which is about a 20-minute walk from our flat. The dental clinic there opens at 10 a.m., she said, and it's first come, first served -- so get there early.

I got there at 9:50, and I was first in line. I got in to see the dentist promptly, and by 10:30 I was walking home, my lower jaw complete once again. I wish I'd used the p-word when I called Saturday. Now I know.

The best part: My visit cost £17.50, which is far, far less than it would have cost to see a private dentist.

Thank goodness that's over.

In other news:

-- I've been reading an interesting novel, from 1949, by a British author named H. E. Bates. I'd never heard of him before I stumbled across his book in the literature section of the local Oxfam used book store. I liked the title: "The Jacaranda Tree." It's about Burma in World War II, and Bates skillfully describes the colorful and exotic world the title suggests. I did some research to find out who Bates was, and it turns out someone's built a web site to promote his work and career. Apparently he was popular in his day, but his star has mysteriously faded. Although I do like his writing, he is dated by today's standards, especially in his approach to race. In the first paragraph of "The Jacaranda Tree," he describes a Burmese houseboy running through a courtyard at sunrise, the light "shining into a pale coffee face that had something of the look of a handsome monkey with a perpetual smile." Yikes!

-- Several months ago, after making an avocado sandwich, I planted the slimy brown seed in a pot of dirt, thinking it would be cool to have an avocado tree for our balcony or our living room. A touch of the old country for this Florida boy, you know? Well, that seed sat in the dirt and appeared to do nothing for weeks and weeks on end. It looked like a dead brown billiard ball. Yesterday, I finally decided to throw it away. I dug it up and discovered it does have a root about three inches long. Why it hasn't grown more, I'm not sure, but maybe it's moving slowly because of our wet, chilly summer. Anyway, I felt guilty, so rather than throw it out I put it in a glass on the kitchen windowsill, propped up on toothpicks like a kindergarten project. If I haven't completely traumatized it, maybe it will finally develop some leaves!

(Photo: Souvenirs for sale on Queensway, Thursday.)

Adventures in British Dentistry, Part I

As I mentioned yesterday, my gold dental inlay (essentially a big filling) popped out on Friday night while I was flossing my teeth.

"We are not amused," as Queen Victoria famously, and perhaps apocryphally, said.

I slept through the night Friday and yesterday morning at 9 a.m. set about trying to find a dentist who could put it back in. I called a central "Dental Triage" number for emergency cases established by the National Health Service. I gave my contact information to an operator who said someone would call me right back.

About 10 minutes later I got a call from a nurse, who asked me the particulars: What kind of dental emergency was I experiencing? Was I in pain? Was there swelling? Was I taking painkillers?

I truthfully answered no, I was not in pain and I wasn't swollen, but that I was reluctant to eat because my tooth was exposed. I guess I should have lied, because the nurse said, "I realize this may be an emergency for you, but we really don't see it as an emergency." She then gave me a number to call on Monday morning to simultaneously register with an NHS dentist and make an appointment, told me to go ahead an eat and "continue to practice good oral hygiene." (Which I suppose means, "Brush your teeth.")

I wasn't too upset by this, figuring that after all, I wasn't in pain, and as long as I could eat I could go ahead and limp through the weekend.

This morning, though -- despite chewing gingerly on only the healthy side of my mouth -- I am feeling a little bit of pain. Still no need to take medicine, but I'm debating calling the number back and trying to get in today. I really don't love the idea of sitting around another 24 or 36 hours with half my back molar gone.

I should point out that this delay is partly because I'm trying to get the problem solved through the NHS, which means we wouldn't have to pay. I could call another emergency number and get set up with a dentist to pay privately. No doubt that would be much faster, but I shudder to think how much it might cost.

I'm not even registered with a dentist here in England. Dave needed a root canal a couple of months ago and just walked over to the dentist across the street, thinking he would be covered by the NHS. Then the dentist billed us as private clients, and we had to pay for the root canal out of pocket.

Once again: "We are not amused."

Apparently each dentist only has a given number of NHS slots, and once those are taken, additional patients are treated as privately-paying clients. At least, I think that's how it works.

Anyway, I'm not sure yet which path I will take, the inexpensive or the expedient. Stay tuned!

(Photo: A storefront in New Cross, from my walk Friday. I saw it months ago from the bus window when Dave and I went with Jennifer and Jesse to Kent. I knew I had to go back and photograph it!)

Pat By Moonlight

Here's Pat, our balcony spider, by the light of Thursday's full moon. You can see the concentric, shimmering rings of her web. Halloween in August, right?

I had a great day yesterday, walking about 3.5 miles from New Cross to Elephant & Castle in South London. Beautiful weather, lots of great storefronts, some unexpected street art, some good street photography "moments" -- all the ingredients were there. I stopped at an Ethiopian restaurant for lunch, a simple, one-room place called Enat Guada on Old Kent Road. No menu that I could see, just a mildly surprised-looking proprietor who promised to bring me the vegetarian selection. I hadn't had Ethiopian food in ages, and I loved tearing off little pieces of injera bread and scooping up the food with my fingers.

I got lots of work done yesterday, too. The new job is going well, but there is a constant, low level of tension that goes with working at home and being on call, and thus never really being "off." I was even checking e-mail during my walk. Maybe I need to set boundaries.

Dave and I are continuing to watch "Breaking Bad" on Netflix. We love it. For those who have seen it: Last night we just found out what that stuffed animal floating in the pool was all about. Certainly not what I expected.

And then, last night, a stroke of misfortune. I was flossing my teeth when my gold inlay popped out, clattering into the sink. I cursed, instantly imagining the hours of pain I was about to endure from a sensitive, exposed tooth -- and where does one find a dentist in London at 10 p.m. on a Friday? Fortunately, the inlay didn't slide down the drain -- that would have been a disaster -- and surprisingly there's been no pain at all. Once I got over my dismay, which took a few hours, I slept like a baby. This morning I'm even having coffee, though I'm trying to drink it using just one side of my mouth, which is a challenge. Starting at 9 a.m. I have to track down an emergency dentist through the National Health Service. Not how I imagined spending my Saturday!

Finally, at least one of you wanted to see the medieval carving of the elephant from the South Lopham church that I recently mentioned. I have a photo on Flickr here. That creature looks less like an elephant than a duck with hooves!

Liberals and Conservatives: The Bottom Line

It seems like we're all a little poisoned by politics at the moment. I suppose that's inevitable in an election year, and even though I'm in England, I see it on Facebook and in the blogosphere every day. I'm glad I'm not in the states, being subjected to a constant barrage of political advertisements.

Yesterday I got to thinking about the differences between liberals and conservatives. I once read somewhere that the difference lies in how people view government -- that liberals have an essential faith in government, while conservatives are skeptical. That may be true, but the difference goes much deeper, doesn't it? It's more a matter of how you see yourself and humanity.

Conservatives, I think, see the world as a threatening, us-against-them sort of place -- people all competing for finite resources, with inevitable losers and winners. Economically, they're individualists. They provide for themselves and their own, but see little responsibility for anyone beyond their family or perhaps a slightly wider circle, like a faith community. They might choose to support others, through church missions or charity, but they don't want to be compelled. It's not that they're heartless -- they really believe that a competitive environment is better for people, at least those willing to work. They greatly respect tradition.

Liberals, on the other hand, see the world and its occupants as intertwined and inseparable. They believe that government support for the poor or infirm provides social benefits to everyone, and view people in a more trusting, cooperative sense. (That's also why liberals are by and large less likely to carry a gun -- they lack the competitive, protective urge of conservatives.) To them, the cost of maintaining society through taxes, public spending, welfare programs, public education and the like is an essential obligation. They're more willing to acknowledge that not everyone can compete fairly in a purely market-driven world. They're less traditional and more open to social change.

I dunno -- I doubt any of that is particularly ground-breaking. I suppose it's even cliched. But it's interesting to try to boil our differences down to an elementary level. Can we ever learn to work together, especially in these polarized times? I'm not sure. Those world views -- even forgiving my potentially inaccurate descriptions, and recognizing that many people fall somewhere between the two extremes -- are pretty different.

I'm a liberal, but I'm really trying to be non-judgmental, here. I'm trying to understand.

In other news: Did any of you watch the opening ceremonies for the Paralympics on Wednesday night? The Queen attended and it was touching to see disabled athletes from all over the world -- Angola, Bahrain, Cameroon, Iran, you name it -- walking or wheeling their way into the Olympic stadium. I mean, can you imagine what it must be like to be in a wheelchair and living in a developing nation in Africa -- where there are few if any ramps, and where streets are badly paved, if they're paved at all? From what I hear, ticket sales have been brisk for the Paralympics. Everyone's working to make sure they're not just an afterthought, you know?

(Photo: A lone, lost glove in a stairwell off Moscow Road, Notting Hill.)

Neil Armstrong

With all the running around I've been doing lately, I haven't had a chance to weigh in on the death of Neil Armstrong.

I don't really remember his famous walk on the moon. But of course I heard about him throughout my childhood, an idol to many and neck-in-neck with John Glenn as the preeminent hero of the space program. And here's what's cool: I once met him!

In October 1985, I was a sophomore at the University of South Florida in Tampa and had just joined the college newspaper, the Oracle. My editor decided to send me to Tallahassee, which involved an actual flight on an actual airplane and a stay in an actual hotel --  and thus was my first true business trip. I was to cover a public forum of the National Commission on Space.

Armstrong was a panelist at the event, which allowed members of the public to make suggestions about America's future in space. Launching a space station and building mining colonies on the moon were among the topics discussed:

Armstrong said that there are mining possibilities on the moon. "There is plenty of silicon, for people interested in solar cells, and we found large quantities of ilmenite in the Sea of Tranquility," he said. "It won't be practical to mine for the purposes of using the materials on Earth. They would be used, say, to build structures on the moon or in a lunar orbit." Aluminum, iron and magnesium are also present on the moon's surface, he added.

My article goes on to say:

The Commission would not discuss items of a military nature, particularly Reagan's "Star Wars" plan. Armstrong, however, said with a grin, "I sure hope we don't start having gunfights in space. But I find no difficulty with having a shield -- 'Star Wars' seems very challenging to me."

Those are the only direct quotes I attributed to Armstrong, who I remember only as a tall guy with graying hair. (He would have been about 55 -- just ten years older than I am now!) After the event, he was nice enough to give me his autograph, which I kept for years and years but eventually lost or discarded. The only other vague memory I have of Tallahassee is sitting alone in a bland hotel restaurant, which pretty much sums up the nature of business trips.

Unfortunately, back in Tampa, my editor wasn't too pleased with my article. He wasn't unhappy with my reporting or writing, but I think he expected the event itself to yield more substantial news.

"I thought it was going to be something else," he said cryptically.

Oh well. I still got on the front page.

And for the record, though I've always supported space exploration, I'm glad we didn't build "Star Wars" and that we haven't started mining the moon.

(Photo: A woman picking grape leaves on Portobello Road, last week.)