Owls of Hyde Park

I took Olga for a long romp in the park late yesterday morning. As usual, she started out chasing her Kong and she wound up chasing squirrels in huge, swooping loops across the grass. Several times I lost sight of her entirely, her chases took her so far afield, behind trees and around shrubs. She gets a little crazy when she goes into "hunting mode."

While she was doing that, I stayed busy with my camera, photographing local birds like this great tit in a wooded area with a few bird feeders. I saw several large mice/small rats running around through the leaves.

Then I noticed a cluster of birdwatchers standing near a dead tree. I went over to see what they'd found, and they pointed out a little owl, high in the branches.

One of the guys asked me if I'd seen the nearby tawny owls. "No," I told him. "Where are they?"

He led me on a five-minute walk to another tree. Olga tagged along behind us, her Kong in her mouth.

He looked up and found the owl right away, "sitting on the balcony," as he put it. He had to point her out to me. Doesn't she blend in well?

I can see how the owls would like that part of the park, considering the presence of the aforementioned rats and mice -- not to mention all those plump squirrels! (Olga never did catch one, but she's getting better, and I fear that day might come.)

Black Orpheus

Re. the first-name situation I wrote about yesterday, I've decided I'm just going to roll with it. What can it hurt? We'll see how it unfolds!

Dave and I had some coworkers over last night to watch a movie, "Black Orpheus," which I have wanted to show to one coworker in particular for a very long time. It's such a fresh, remarkable movie even now, more than 50 years after its release, and the footage of the beauty of Rio de Janeiro is unsurpassed. Both of the guys who came over have been to Brazil several times, but they'd never seen "Black Orpheus" -- which after its release in 1959 won the Palme d'Or and the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film, and helped launch the bossa nova craze of the '60s -- so I'm glad I could remedy that.

I still really, really want to go to Rio. I've wanted to go ever since I wrote to my Brazilian pen-pals while I was in high school. Teresa, Frima and Flavia -- don't their names suggest a Portuguese version of the Supremes? I wonder where they are now. Every once in a while I search for them on Facebook, but even their last names are fairly common and women's names often change anyway, so the chance we will ever reconnect is probably pretty slim.

I wish we could have a quiet weekend here, but it looks like it will be fairly busy.

(Photo: I escaped from school at lunch on Thursday to walk up Primrose Hill, where quite a few runners and walkers were out and about despite the remnants of a foggy morning.)

First Name Basis

An interesting trend is developing at work. I have been introduced to the students as Mr. Reed, and so far they've all called me that, even though it sounds strangely formal to my own ear. But the other day, unbidden and out of the blue, one of the older girls called me Steve. I'm not sure how she even knew my name is Steve, unless she overheard one of the other librarians call me that.

Yesterday, two more kids began calling me Steve.

These are all older high school students, so it doesn't seem weird. In fact if I met them on the street or at a party I'm sure I would have introduced myself as Steve.

But I can see how, as this phenomenon spreads, it might become a little strange. I don't want sixth graders calling me Steve, for example. After all, part of a younger student's education has to do with learning respect for adults and how to function in polite society.

I asked Dave about it last night, and I expected him to be dead-set against being on a first-name basis with the kids. But he actually equivocated and said, after all, that it shows they like me and they're being friendly with me. Only a tiny handful of adults at school -- in fact, I can think of only one -- allow students to call them by their first name.

So now I have to decide whether to nip this first-name thing in the bud, or just let it happen but restrict it to juniors and seniors -- or maybe just seniors.

This woman was among the mobs on the tube yesterday morning. Was it Take-Your-Tiny-Dog-To-Work Day?

(Top photo: Holiday lights in Notting Hill.)

Mona Lisa, St. Helena and Caroline

I just read the most fascinating book -- "The Emperor's Last Island," by Julia Blackburn. It's about Napoleon's exile to St. Helena, a tiny volcanic speck in the vast South Atlantic Ocean. The British sent him there after the Battle of Waterloo, and Blackburn traveled to the island, said to be one of the most isolated spots on the planet. She described Napoleon's former home there, which apparently belongs to the French government and is maintained as a sort of museum, as well as the location of the tomb where he was buried after his death in 1821. (His body was later moved to Paris.)

I've always wanted to go to St. Helena, as well as its sister islands, Ascension and Tristan da Cunha. They are not particularly close to each other, but they have common volcanic origins and I learned about them as a kid through stamp collecting. (They all issue stamps, mainly for export to collectors. Only a few hundred people live on the latter two islands, and finding a postally used stamp from any of them can be a challenge.)

I looked around online and found that flights are now available from the UK to Ascension, a somewhat barren rock used mainly for military and communications purposes. They apparently have a hotel and are trying to develop some tourism. St. Helena fosters tourism as well, but it doesn't yet have an airport -- so getting there involves travel on a Royal Mail ship! Getting to Tristan involves ships too and seems most difficult of all.

As we have discussed, I am always attracted by remote places, so I'm toying with the idea of someday visiting Ascension and/or St. Helena. I would love a place with few people, lots of hiking and interesting flora/fauna/landscape features! Maybe for my 50th birthday?

I met up last night with my Peace Corps friend Caroline, who is in London on business and who I haven't seen in years. We went to dinner and had a pint at a pub afterwards, laughing about our experiences in Morocco and catching each other up on news about our lives and those of our friends and acquaintances from that time. Seeing her was like leaping back in time!

(Photos: Mona Lisa, I believe, guarding a doorway near the Westbourne Park tube station.)

Nessie of the Sidewalk

I finally got my Istanbul photos on Flickr. If you're interested you can view them here, though admittedly you've already seen the best of them on this blog.

Dave's crazy week of concerts and work is continuing. I've been home alone for dinner the last two nights, which actually hasn't been so bad. I made pesto pasta, listened to music and read by the light of the Christmas tree.

This is what our poor balcony plants look like these days. Winter is tough on them! The horseradish has died back completely, and our clematis has never really prospered. (I think it's too windy out there.) Last year's heather is a bit scraggly. I may get out there and trim away some of the dead stuff just so we can bring in the pots if it snows -- or I may just let nature take its course this winter, thereby thinning the herd. (Can you have a herd of plants?)

There is a very odd crack in the sidewalk a block or two from our house. Doesn't it look like a snake, or maybe the Loch Ness monster? Olga and I walk past it every morning. I suppose it has something to do with a cable run underneath the pavement, but it's so specifically monster-like I wonder if someone made it on purpose.

(Top photo: A zebra-striped treehouse near where I work, in St. John's Wood.)

Yuletide Festivities on the Home Front

Behold what I have created. (Well, not the tree itself. As Joyce Kilmer famously wrote, "Only God can make a tree.")

If you know me, you know decorating for holidays isn't really my thing.  Every year I debate whether to even bother, and usually I don't. A couple of years ago I did manage to erect a tree after a failed experiment at fireplace decoration, but that was not typical.

Last night, walking home from work, I decided to take the plunge. I picked up a tree on Portobello Road for £25, and I pulled out our one strand of lights and our handful of ornaments, and BAM! We're good to go!

Our ornament selection is really minimal. Here's one from our trip to Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh in July 2012, and we have a few random red balls that I found several years ago -- I kid you not -- in the trash. (Why would someone throw away perfectly good ornaments?)

We have six little critters like this squirrel made of straw or sisal or some kind of bristly substance. I bought them at Target in New Jersey in 2009. They've already lasted longer than I ever expected.

And we have this brass music note, a gift from Dave's oldest sister. And that's pretty much it.

When I lived in New York by myself, I never put up a tree. But I must say, it's kind of nice to have one. I love the soft glow of the colored lights. My grandmother used to say that it never felt like Christmas until the tree went up.

Dave wants to get some tinsel, too -- because, as you may remember, when we adopted Olga last January, her name at the shelter was Tinsel. I hope we don't -- I'd just as soon not have to pull it out of the vacuum cleaner. But if we do, something tells me Olga will develop very sparkly poop.

A Post in Which Marilyn Weeps

A busy weekend around here, but not in any way that's interesting. I got a ton of little, boring things done -- laundry, house-cleaning, bathing the dog. Isn't that exciting? Not really?

I did Skype with my mom and with Dave's parents, and it was good to catch up with them. I'd like to Skype with my dad but I want to give him time to recuperate a bit from his recent health problems.

I also went to the high school band concert yesterday afternoon. Dave got a great performance from all the kids, who played, among other things, a terrific wind-instrument version of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, which I've only ever heard as an organ piece.

I'm barely seeing Dave these days -- he's involved in some administrative things at school as well as a series of concerts this week. He did have time yesterday morning to hurl the Kong in the yard with the dog, though probably not as much as she would have liked.

By Thursday things should be calming down a bit, but we're also easing into the socially frantic holiday season, so we will remain busy. I suppose I should be grateful that we have a social life, and I am, honestly. I am not complaining.

(Top photo: An interior design gallery near Edgware Road late Thursday afternoon -- love those big Marilyns!)