iPhone Pics, Late November Edition

Because I have to be at work early today, and I don't have time to cook up a proper blog post, here's another parade of iPhone randomness for your entertainment!

First, some colorful mats laid out on the gym floor at the school where I work.

Looks like it was someone's 18th birthday. I believe I would have deflated the balloon before throwing it away, but that's just me...

Dave and I had brunch in a restaurant where someone was offering these for sale. They're old bricks painted to look like books. The seller suggested they be used as doorstops or bookends. Kind of cool, and if I needed bookends I might pay £35 for a pair. I like the eclectic choice of titles.

This is a cool building near the theater where I saw "Hamilton" on the 21st. I just liked the curvy architecture and the lighting.

Someone apparently doesn't much care for this Russian World Cup footballer. Olga isn't very interested, either.

The pigeons were lined up on this rooftop with almost military precision. Maybe they really ARE plotting to take over the world...

This groovy garden gate belongs to a house up near Fortune Green. Points for creativity!

And finally, for Remembrance Day, someone set out this wreath of poppies along with an old photo at the memorial to war dead in Hampstead Cemetery. The soldier on the far right in the photo is marked, which suggests his name is on the stone above. Someone thought to honor him, specifically. Touching!

Too Much Gloom

Dave and I took the bus over to Notting Hill yesterday to have lunch with our friends Chris and Linda. Chris has been in the hospital having a pacemaker installed, and he's looking much more frail as a result. I think he'll be fine but he needs some recuperation time.

We went to a nearby pub where the food was so-so and talked about medical ills and the political ills of Brexit and by the time we were done I was quite ready to Ac-cent-tchu-ate the Positive, as Johnny Mercer famously wrote.

But then I came home and kept reading "The Sleepless Moon," in which nobody is particularly happy. So it was just one of those days! Dave and I ended the evening watching "The Romanoffs," which I really like so far -- the second episode was better than the first, I thought.

Yesterday one of my Facebook friends -- a woman I knew when I was a small child in Florida -- re-posted a meme crediting Trump with restoring the White House nativity scenes after the Obamas "banished" them. Of course, I could not let this balderdash stand. I sent her a link to a Snopes article refuting the ridiculous claim that the Obamas got rid of the nativity scenes. She actually seemed appreciative, thanking me for "the correction," but I doubt she took it to heart. People are going to believe what they want to believe. Still, I'm glad I said something, and I pointed out to her that anytime she sees things like that online, she can check their accuracy on Snopes. You can give a person a fish, or they can learn to fish on their own, right?

(Photo: Part of the not-at-all-gloomy Fashion and Textile Museum in Bermondsey. I only walked past, but one of these days I'll have to visit!)

Moth Man, and a Quixotic Crusade

Yesterday the "moth man" came for round two of our fumigation -- the last one, fortunately. Just like last time, we had to leave the flat and be gone for 2-3 hours. To make things more challenging, it was rainy and damp outside and Olga was not enthusiastic about walking anywhere.

So we ambled down to the High Street and went to brunch at the Alice House restaurant, where I had a kale-sweet potato-sausage hash. Olga curled up under the table on her towel and seemed quite happy just to be warm and dry. I ran a few errands nearby, picking up the next two volumes of Karl Ove Knausgaard's memoirs at the bookstore and dropping off some cleaning -- and we managed to kill our two hours of time.

By then the weather had cleared up a bit, so while Dave went home I took Olga to the cemetery. She was a wild thing, happily chasing squirrels with abandon.

I don't know about you, but this is the kind of thing that drives me crazy. Not only is it litter, but it's perfectly good clothing that has been needlessly abandoned beside a footpath where I walk the dog. This was only part of it -- there was another pile nearby.

I've read that in our era of "fast fashion," or cheap imported clothing available at low prices, things get worn and discarded so quickly that municipal waste disposal systems struggle to keep up. Apparently there are people out there who are so obsessed with themselves that if they're shown on Instagram wearing any given item, they then feel they have to throw it away. Studies have shown people buy twice as much clothing today as they did ten years ago.

Anyway, I have no idea what was going on with this particular assortment, but I picked it all up, put it in a trash bag, and brought it home...

...where I ran it through the washer, dried it and folded it. (Because I didn't have enough laundry to do this weekend -- ha!) Then I took it to Oxfam. There was nothing wrong with any of it -- no obvious holes, tears or stains, nothing inappropriately intimate. Some of it was in dubious taste, filmy zebra prints and that sort of thing, but to each his (or in this case her) own, right?

Anyway, hopefully it will now find a second life.

A Lazy Change of Plans

OK, let me clear up one little misconception right away. I have been reliably informed that cranberry sauce is in fact readily available in England, despite what I said yesterday. Dave confirmed he bought it through Ocado (a grocery delivery service) and in fact they had several different kinds. I could have sworn we struggled to find it in years past but maybe I'm thinking of the American, jellied, can-shaped variety (which I love, BTW). At any rate, I certainly did not mean to speak ill of the wealth of opportunity and consumer choice here in Ye Olde Albion.

I barely left the house yesterday. I had grand plans to meet my boss and co-worker in Kensington, and while I was at it I was going to walk Olga in Hyde Park. But my boss texted in the morning and said my co-worker couldn't make it because she had an Ikea delivery scheduled, yadda yadda, and the weather wasn't great anyway. So we called it off.

I had already cancelled Olga's dog walker, but I rang them up pronto and they put her back on the schedule with no problem. Which meant I was off the hook.

I had more post-Thanksgiving cleaning -- laundry and dishes -- and it wasn't until about 2 p.m. that those poor machines finally got a rest. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading "The Sleepless Moon" by H. E. Bates, an old book I picked up in a charity shop for a couple of pounds, and settling our hotel plans for our Christmas visit to Florida. Dinner was turkey, of course!

(Photo: Near London Bridge station, last weekend.)

The Dishwasher is Still Running

Well, thank goodness that's over.

I feel that way about most holidays, even when I have a good time and everything goes according to plan -- as our Thanksgiving did yesterday. Dave cooked up a storm and we served our guests parsnip soup, lobster and scallops on puff pastry in a tarragon sauce, and a 12-pound traditional turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and even cranberry sauce, which is not the easiest thing to find in England. Oh, and dessert: a pavlova and pecan pie, both courtesy of our friend Chris, and cupcakes from our friend Lisa.

And wine, needless to say. The "cats in space" wine was very good and we didn't even open the ladybird wine, because all our visitors brought their own bottles and we couldn't get through everything without going into liver failure.

We forgot to serve the bread, so now we have a big ol' somewhat stale baguette for sandwiches, and Dave also forgot to make a green vegetable. But oh well. A lot of people don't like green vegetables anyway, right?

Afterwards there was a freaking mountain of dishes to deal with. I'm on the third dishwasher load now. I think one more will have them all done.

So, yes, a success. I'm so glad the oven didn't die, like it did last Christmas.

We had a good talk at dinner about the mythology of Thanksgiving -- how the story of the colonists and Native Americans sitting down together for a cooperative, friendly feast wasn't quite accurate, at least in its broader context. It helped that we had two history teachers at our table.

This morning I was snoozing in bed at 6:45, after having gotten up once in the night to empty and reload the dishwasher, when I was awakened by slamming and grinding sounds. At first I thought workers were finally taking down the scaffold around the house, although it seemed awfully early. So I got up to investigate and saw the recycling truck making its way down the street. Crap! We forgot to put out the recycling!

So I raced out there in my bare feet carrying our waste food caddy and handed it off to the guys manning the truck. After cooking so much we had more peelings and other food refuse than ever, and I sure didn't want that to sit around for another week. The rest of it can wait.

(Photos: Rude kids street art in Bermondsey.)

Cats in Space

"Hamilton" was, of course, really, really good. I was surprised by a couple of things. I didn't know it doesn't have dialogue -- I expected something along the lines of a traditional musical, with dialogue interspersed by songs. This is more like a rap opera -- no speaking at all. The story is entirely told within the lyrics, and some of the stage effects were magical. At one point the action runs backward, and when that happened, I thought, "OK, this really is a special show."

I think what I love most about it is its improbability. Doesn't the idea of a rap-music stage production of Alexander Hamilton's life sound patently absurd? It's almost as crazy as "Springtime for Hitler," the show cooked up in "The Producers" to intentionally lose money. Add the fact that most of the cast members are people of color and you have a really interesting take on American revolutionary life.

I want to know what Alexander Hamilton would think. I suspect he'd love it.

One really interesting twist, given the London audience -- when King George III first appeared on stage, in his cape and crown, some people applauded! I'm pretty sure you wouldn't get that in America.

Otherwise, yesterday was busy. I worked all morning in the library, hoisting books, and I think I got everything done. Then Dave and I went out for lunch and collected our specially-ordered fresh turkey and some other Thanksgiving supplies. I bought these two bottles of wine:

How could I resist astronaut cats in space?! (The wine is called Felicette, named for the first cat sent into space, by France in 1963. Apparently Felicette only flew a 15-minute mission and came back alive.)

I called my mom to wish her Happy Thanksgiving and make sure I know how to make her traditional sweet potatoes, which we're going to try to replicate here. (Note to self, for future reference: bake, rather than boil, said sweet potatoes.) Dave did some cooking last night, making our parsnip soup (there was a major boil-over and a flooded stovetop, but I think he saved the soup) and the chicken/turkey stock for the gravy. Thanksgiving is like his dream day. Most of us might balk at the idea of spending a day in the kitchen, but not Dave! We're having four friends over for dinner -- plus Olga, of course.

(Top photo: Seeking sun in Bermondsey.)

A Mission Statement, and Hamilton

I took this picture in Cricklewood on Saturday, intrigued by the stark shopfront with its gothic door, boarded window and two pathetic houseplants. I only realized later that I'd photographed it before, when it looked very different.

I came home and joked to Dave last night that I was going to be fired. Why? Because I got an e-mail from the head of school on Monday and essentially ignored it. It was an invitation to sit on a committee to reconsider the mission of our school, and I thought it was an e-mail blast to everyone. (To be fair, the head of school sends lots of global e-mails, including at least one other on Monday.) But no -- the mission statement e-mail went only to select people. How I became one of the select I'm not sure, since I am normally so low on the organizational totem pole that I'm barely above ground.

Anyway, I saw her last night as I was leaving the building and she asked me, "Did you get my e-mail?" I may have hemmed and hawed a bit before confessing that I'd seen a couple from her but hadn't yet read them closely. She pointed out that one of them was especially to me, and you can bet that when I got home I read it right away.

So I guess now I'm reviewing the mission statement, unless I've already been kicked off the committee (before it even meets) for dereliction of duty. Criminy!

I'm not sure I'm the best person for this task, honestly -- I don't see myself as particularly good at organizational stuff -- but I guess all perspectives are needed and when you get asked, you participate. Right?

Today is just a half-day at school and we're off tomorrow and Friday for Thanksgiving. I've got a lot to do in the library -- I've got to re-shelve a few carts of books and empty out the rest of the DVD cabinet in preparation for its removal this weekend.

And tonight I'm finally going to see "Hamilton" on stage! I bought this ticket back in June, and I've been afraid I was going to forget it entirely, but fortunately I've kept it on my calendar and tonight's the night. So tomorrow I ought to be able to tell you what all the buzz is about. Unless I fall asleep.