British Guiana

You didn't think I'd go all through the winter without showing you some teasels, did you? Here they are, nestled down in their flat rosettes to bide away the colder months before their flower stalks grow next spring. We've got a ton of them out there -- maybe seven or eight?

Well, here it is, Dec. 21, and I have nothing for Dave for Christmas. I've been racking my brains for some ideas, but he just doesn't need anything. He's got a closet full of clothes and I'm not buying any more kitchen gizmos that never get used. Plus, I'm not really inclined to go shopping.

He's been wanting to make a couple of household purchases, so I think we'll do some of those for Christmas and call it a day. Among the ideas are new window blinds, a new stove top, a light fixture for the dining room and a new armoire for the bedroom. Some of these I've been resisting because, after all, we rent this place, and why should we pay to install a stove? But it doesn't look like we're going anywhere, so I may as well give it some thought.

I did, however, buy myself a present yesterday. You may remember that I was an ardent stamp collector as a child. You may also remember that I wrote several months back about the world's rarest stamp, the one-cent magenta from British Guiana, purchased by London stamp dealer Stanley Gibbons earlier this year? I tried to go see it at their shop in August, and it turned out I was too early and it wasn't yet on display. Well, I still haven't seen it and only just learned that its display period ended on Saturday (argh!). But Stanley Gibbons is selling shares in the stamp, and I bought one, so I can now say I am part owner of the world's rarest stamp.

As you can see, I even got to virtually add my initials to the back of the stamp, as its previous owners have traditionally done.

Of course this is all kind of ridiculous but I couldn't resist the opportunity. That stamp is just about the most famous in the world of philately. I have no idea what happens to my "share" if it gets sold again or appreciates (or depreciates) in value. Time will tell. Basically I just bought bragging rights, and hopefully at some point I'll get to see the darn thing.

Oh, and I did clean the heck out of the bathroom yesterday, so that's a job done. I cleaned the walls and I think I can get away without repainting them. The bathroom is another part of the flat that seriously needs an update -- the fixtures are old and when they get dirty it looks downright squalid. After my scrubbing it's slightly better, maybe less like Afghanistan and more like...Bulgaria.

Gezza!

I can't believe I forgot to give you an update yesterday on Olga's nose. Basically, everything is fine. I looked at it the next morning and it looked like it might still be a little swollen, but it was so barely perceptible that I wondered if I'd made the whole thing up. You saw it, though, right? And the vet saw it. So I'm pretty sure it was for real.

Kudos to reader Ellen D. for identifying the mysterious plastic object I posted yesterday that I found in the cemetery (and have found in the past elsewhere). It's a "J-pod," a cartridge used in Juul vaping devices. Apparently they're refillable and often used with cannabis oil. Which, as I told Ellen, explains why someone might have dropped it on the ground rather than reusing it or throwing it in the trash -- they were lost in the stratosphere at the time.

Olga was in a walking mood yesterday morning, so we ventured westward toward Kilburn and through the Maygrove Peace Park. Along Wayne Kirkum Way, which connects the estate behind the park to Mill Lane, we found this graffti:

There's a level of frustration with Boris Johnson's leadership these days, and he's seen as politically vulnerable. "What's it come to," indeed! (I assume "gezza" is like "geezer," which in Britain is a colloquial expression for a man -- not necessarily an old one, unlike in the States, where "geezer" connotes old age.)

On the way home, we passed our neighbor a few houses up the street, unloading two Christmas trees from the back of her car. "Two trees!" I said. "You're going all out!"

She laughed and gestured toward her house. "Well, we may be locked up here for weeks!"

We are indeed facing a possibly intensified lockdown, though not a full one like we experienced in the early days of the pandemic. Apparently Omicron is romping unfettered through the UK population. Yesterday I saw an article that said the Astra Zeneca vaccine, which is the one I had, isn't as effective as Pfizer and Moderna for preventing Omicron infection (though it does help prevent hospitalization). At least I had a Pfizer booster. Maybe that toughens up my armor.

Finally, remember last year when Olga and I came across some hedgehog monitoring cameras in the cemetery? Well, apparently that project determined that Hampstead Heath is a local "hotspot" for hedgehogs, but they're declining elsewhere in London. I've found bits of a dead hedgehog on the Heath but I've never seen a live one. I would think with all the dogs around -- not to mention the occasional python -- they'd have a tough time of it there.

(Top photo: A dark street near our flat on a recent early morning.)

A Wreath, a Rat, a Stone, a Thing

When I took Olga to the vet on Friday, just to make things even more interesting, I bought this Christmas wreath at a store near the vet's office. That way I could walk 45 minutes back home trailing a lollygagging elderly dog and carrying a natural wreath on a little wooden pallet. I was certainly happy to hang it up when I got to the house.

Doesn't it look good on our front door, next to those completely useless anti-theft stickers from the Metropolitan Police (which pre-date our tenancy)?

I don't know what it's made of, and none of the tags tell me. They just say it's not for consumption. Which is a shame; I was going to boil it up.

Yesterday, as predicted, was mostly spent lying around the house. I did clean the floors. Housekeeping at this time of year is a challenge because it's so muddy outside, and somehow clots of dirt invariably find their way indoors. I found one in the hall the other day big enough to be a divot from a golf course. I take my shoes off when I come inside and even that doesn't prevent it, probably because it comes in between Olga's toes.

The idea of taking shoes off at the door reminds me of my grandmother, the one who lived in Washington, D.C. She bought new carpet at some point in the late '70s and you would think if she wanted to protect it she'd have had us take our shoes off at the door. But no -- she had a theory that the skin oils from our bare feet would actually make the rug dirtier, so she required us to wear shoes or socks indoors. I have never heard of this before or since.

In the afternoon, Olga and I took a walk to the cemetery. We hadn't been there in weeks so it was good to go back.

Does anybody know what this is? I found it at the cemetery and I often find them lying around town. I thought it was a sort of electrical fuse but Google says it's an LED. That doesn't seem right, but what do I know?

A. Alvarez got a new, rustic-looking headstone.

And we found a little statuette of Ratty, from "The Wind in the Willows," next to someone's marker. He had fallen over so I stood him back upright.

We got back from our walk just as Dave was about to Zoom with his tuba student. He's been working with this guy, who's in his 20s, pro bono because the student is marching with the Madison Scouts, a Drum Corps group, and Dave is a Scouts alumnus. It's a way for Dave to contribute to the strength of the group. Anyway, I always tease Dave because everything he says to this student sounds weirdly sexual; he's always talking about tightening embouchures or positioning the lips and tongue in certain ways. A few weeks ago he said to the guy, "I think there are very few things in a brass player’s life more personal than multiple tonguing." It was so funny I had to write it down. (Fortunately the guy lives thousands of miles away so I'm not worried!)

We wrapped up our day by watching "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes," which I always find entertaining. Despite the presence of Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, it's an incredibly gay movie. I thought Dave might really like it because he loves "Auntie Mame," and it's similar in its Technicolor extravagance. But he was lukewarm. We then watched "Annihilation" with Natalie Portman (big genre change!) and it was entertaining enough, like a good TV movie, even though the final scene looked like a Martha Graham modern dance number. If you've seen it you'll know what I'm talking about.

Swollen Sunrise

We had this nice sunrise a couple of mornings ago. Yes! Sun! For a brief moment and only on the horizon, but still, it counts. (Otherwise the heavenly orbs have mostly been hidden by clouds lately.)

Finally, FINALLY, Dave and I are on break. I have no plans for the next few days but to sit around and read. I feel as wrung-out as a wet washcloth. I do have some holiday goals, though -- a heavy-duty cleaning of the bathroom and, if I get really ambitious, possibly repainting.

I also thought I might clear some more dead stuff from the garden, but Dave is arguing that we should leave it to decay and restore the soil (and protect the critters and roots in the ground from freezes). I'm cool with that, so I guess that's the plan. We'll deal with it all in the spring.

We were supposed to go last night to a choral concert in a church with some of Dave's co-workers, but with Covid numbers ramping up they decided not to go and we followed suit. Dave called and surrendered our tickets in case others were trying to get in, but I don't know what the demand is like at the moment. We have another Christmas concert next week at Royal Albert Hall; fortunately there we'll be in a box seat, with some space around us, so hopefully that will go forward as planned.

We've been having some mysterious trouble with Olga in the last few days. Can you see how the left side of her snout (in the photo) is slightly swollen? It's barely noticeable but it's definitely out of balance. I looked at her teeth and gums and couldn't see anything unusual, and she doesn't seem to be in any pain and is eating normally -- even chewy treats! But in an abundance of caution I took her to the vet last night. (THAT turned out to be an odyssey, because our usual vet, around the corner from our flat, had no available appointments until next week -- so I had to walk Olga over to the Hampstead branch of their office, and as Olga is a leisurely walker these days it took 45 minutes to get there.)

The vet said he couldn't see anything unusual either, so his theory is that it's just temporary and we should go back if it isn't gone by the middle of next week. The waiting game!

I had some interesting comment spam this morning -- it's not just Ratana anymore. Now it's someone posting LOOOOOOONG messages wanting to sell antiquated sleeping pills like Nembutal. (Isn't that what Marilyn Monroe overdosed on?) Anyway, in deleting them, I discovered a handful of comments from real commenters tucked into my Blogger spam folder, going back several months. I never check that spam folder, but I guess I should! Sorry if I ignored your comments until now!

Neon Trees

Well, yesterday turned out to be sheer madness -- a steady stream of middle school classes coming in to the library to check out books for the holidays. I didn't have time to do anything but cope with the crowds -- no newspapers, no blog reading. How dare they make me work at work?!

Today, however, is just a half day so it should be more manageable. After noon I'll be a free agent for the next three weeks.

Some of you voiced surprise that our library allows talking. I think the days of strictly enforced library silence are over. There's a recognition now that libraries should be more friendly, active spaces -- more like community centers. That's certainly true of school libraries, and I think it's fine as long as there are some silent spaces offered. As I mentioned, we do have separate rooms for quiet and silent study.

Above is the entrance to the O2 shopping centre, near our flat. It's basically a mall with a movie theatre, a food court, some floundering shops and a big Sainsbury's grocery store. The whole thing is supposed to be torn down sometime in the not-too-distant-future for redevelopment, but they're still working out the plans. Meanwhile, I like its cheery neon Christmas vibe! (Disclaimer: I don't know whether those trees are real neon, or just neon-looking, but either way they work for me.)

Yes You Can

I came across this bizarre shopfront in London Bridge train station. Eye-catching colors, but activist teddy bears in tropical prints? With donuts?

We're having kind of a crazy week at work. It's a special daily schedule because the high schoolers are (in theory) taking final exams at the end of the term. But it seems like many teachers aren't giving exams, so the end result is a lot of kids wandering aimlessly around the building for several hours. The library has been packed with students waiting for something to happen. They're all chatting and hanging out and the noise levels have been setting my teeth on edge. We're not "shushers" in our library, unless someone's doing something really out of hand, so I don't try to keep them quiet. I just grin and bear it. Just two more days until break! (And tomorrow is a half-day -- woo hoo!)

1. Still waiting patiently

2. I wholeheartedly agree

3. Reputational privilege!
4. Proven inaccurate almost immediately after eating my fortune cookie

The Envoy and the Diplomat

We're taking a break from London today, and traveling both in time and space back to Washington, D.C., in the late 1970s and early '80s.

In those years, after I was about 11 years old, my mom, brother and I would travel from our home in Florida to Washington twice a year, to visit my grandmother, who lived in suburban Maryland. We had to drive through D.C. to get there, and we often took a route along New York Avenue to Bladensburg Road, in the northeastern quadrant of the city.

On New York Avenue we passed two motels -- the Envoy and the Diplomat. I remember them as clear as a bell. That's the Diplomat, above, on an old postcard. (All pictures borrowed from the Internet, obviously!)

And here's the Envoy, surrounded by acres of grass and parkland and visibly backing up to both the Capitol and the Washington Monument -- which is nothing like its appearance in real life. It actually looked like this:

The Envoy's sign was blue neon, as I recall, in stylish cursive lettering that lit up the vertical concrete slab atop the roof. I don't have an image of the Diplomat's sign, but in my possibly inaccurate memory it had red lettering on a sort of shield, something like the logo on its brochure:

I never stayed in either of these places, and in fact, by the time we drove past them they'd seen better days. A Washington Post article from 1977 describes the Diplomat as a hotbed of crime, and I suspect the Envoy was no better. Northeast Washington could be dicey back then.

I always liked seeing them, though. It meant we were just a few miles from my grandmother's house, and I loved their '50s neon charm.

Here's an image of the Envoy that I believe was taken from an old matchbook. If it looked that cool, you'd stay there, right?

Unfortunately, by 2009 the Envoy had been stripped of almost all its character. It had been boiled down to a bland paste bearing the Quality Inn brand.

And now it's gone altogether, as is, I believe, the Diplomat. (I couldn't even find images of it on Google Street View, unless I'm confused about its location and/or it's completely unrecognizable.)

So, as I think about Christmases past, I can't help but recall these two seedy but swank Mid-Century motels, and the way I always watched for them and their bright, colorful signs on our long car trips north.