Theft

These are a couple of older blossoms on one of our rescue orchids. I took pictures when it first bloomed last September, and I'm intrigued by the way the flowers have changed over time. The pink has washed out a bit, as if they've been laundered too much, and the green has crept in.

Apparently we had some neighborhood drama on Saturday night -- someone stole Mrs. Kravitz's car from her driveway. This happened once before, a few years ago. Dave said the police came to our door on Sunday looking for information, but of course we saw nothing. (We were either at Gordon and Donna's dinner party in Leyton at the time, or we were sleeping it off.) I heard Mrs. K asking the neighbors for CCTV footage, so maybe she'll be able to scare up some evidence, but my impression is that the police don't often catch the perpetrators in cases like this.

Once again, I'm so glad we don't own a car.

I felt about as tired as possible yesterday and barely moved off the couch. The weather was abysmal, at least in the morning, so I had no incentive to go anywhere anyway. I walked the dog around the neighborhood before the rain started, but that was it.

I finished Meryl Pugh's book "Feral Borough." I really enjoyed her use of plants, insects and animals in an urban garden or park as a way to discuss broader truths about life. There was something very Zen about the book's emphasis on living in the moment and the connectedness of all things, and of course I loved reading about ring-necked parakeets, Jersey tiger moths, bluebells and honesty. It was like a deeper look at our own garden.

This was right before I took our jade plant outside for its semi-regular shower. It tends to get mealybugs if I don't spray it down now and then. I love that corona of red around the edge of the leaves!

Apparently I'm Not Dying

Yesterday as I was walking around the house watering plants, Olga came into the dining room. She was smacking her lips as if she'd been chewing something. I didn't think much of it, because we keep dry food available to her all the time in her bowl.

But no -- she was eating bird food. When I came into the living room, I saw that she'd nosed her way into our stash of suet balls meant for the bird feeder. There was suet-ball shrapnel all over the floor. She's normally very good about not eating things that aren't meant for her, so I don't know what possessed her this time -- except that we keep the suet ball container on the floor, which in Olga's mind must have made it fair game.

Anyway, the suet and sunflower seeds haven't done her any harm.

Fortunately I hadn't yet cleaned the house, so that came next, as well as mowing the lawn. The picture above was taken before I mowed. I had to fence off our little teasel plot with string because Olga has decided it's a wonderful place to roll in the long grass, and I got tired of having to rehabilitate flattened teasels. You can kind of see my makeshift fence on the left in the background.

In between the cleaning and mowing, I sat out in the garden reading "Feral Borough" by Meryl Pugh, a book that I picked up when visiting blogger Linda Sue during her stay in Dulwich last December. It's an interesting volume about appreciating urban wilderness. Pugh writes about the history and creatures she encounters in her corner of East London, similar to the urban wildlife I often encounter here: birds and foxes and wandering housecats.

I also took Olga on our standard walk around the local housing estate, where she once again stalked the cats beneath the blue door. Every time I doubt her vim and vigor, she shows me she's still got it.

Finally, in the afternoon, I had to go for my endoscopy. You may remember I've been having a lot of stomach discomfort -- this is also why I had the CT scan last week. The endoscopy meant I couldn't eat after breakfast yesterday, and couldn't drink liquids after noon or so. Dave went with me to the hospital and after paperwork and explanations, I was zonked out on 50 micrograms of fentanyl. The next thing I knew I was waking up in recovery.

I've often wondered if I'd be able to keep up my blog, were I hospitalized for any length of time. I guess it's possible to take a colorful photo even in a hospital!

Anyway, the endoscopy apparently found nothing alarming. I say "apparently" because there are still routine biopsies being done, but the only thing the doctor noted in her report is that I have a hiatal hernia, as well as "non-erosive" gastritis. Which I take to mean that I don't have any ulcers or other visible deterioration of stomach tissue.

Of course this is a huge relief, because, y'all, I thought I was dying. I have literally been walking around like a zombie the past couple of weeks envisioning a terrible fate at the hands of my stomach. (Not that my stomach has hands.)

There's still the gastritis to deal with, and as we've discussed my inflammation markers are elevated, so I'll talk to the doctors in my followup appointment about how to handle that. I'm cutting back on alcohol and I suppose I may have to watch my coffee intake as well. (Sigh!)

Ironic, then, that the first thing Dave and I did upon being released from the endoscopy unit was go to Starbucks. But hey, I was celebrating. And I was hungry. If I'm not immediately dying, I want to LIVE.

Which brings me back to Pugh's "Feral Borough," and a passage that spoke to me as I was reading in the garden yesterday morning: 

"To live in the feral borough then is to be in kinship with everything outside my door. Jackdaws on the bus shelter roof. Someone's snuffling dog, straining against the lead. Those feral pigeons -- a fitting emblem for this book -- following a buzzard over the terraced streets, keeping the predator firmly in view. That counterpoint between the rare and ordinary, wild and domestic and whatever lies between the two is part of what I love about my home. Living here has taught me so much: To be with both nature and the city, noise and quiet, life and death, to hold all that, all at the same time. Because we humans are feral too, and life is brief."

Bag-Blocked

We went to a dinner party last night at the home of our friends Gordon and Donna, who live in Leyton, East London. The street above is right around the corner from their house -- a quaint little road of colorful shops that has been landscaped and made pedestrian-friendly by the local council. It looks much nicer than it did about ten years ago, when parked cars lined the sidewalk and greenery was sparse, though it's always been a cute area.

I was pretty lazy yesterday. I sat out in the back garden with Olga and read "The Chocolate War" by Robert Cormier, a groundbreaking young-adult novel from the mid-'70s that has stirred controversy for decades. The New York Times recently had a story about how it defined Cormier's career as one of the most challenged books for young people. When I read that article I thought, "I really need to finally read this book!" I made pretty quick work of it, and as with most controversial books, I don't really see why it's such a big deal. It takes place in a boys' school so there are a few fleeting references to the kinds of things that would occupy the minds of teenage boys, and its overall theme is questioning authority. I guess that was enough to stir up trouble.

Meanwhile, Dave was in the kitchen making this:

It's Confit Byaldi, a variation on a traditional French ratatouille. There's a layer of roasted pepper and tomato sauce on the bottom, called piperade, and after Dave layered it with these colorful vegetable slices he put the whole thing in the oven. Then we had to schlep it to East London for the dinner party, which was somewhat awkward but we managed. (We had to carry a big bowl of vichysoisse too! Thank goodness for roomy canvas bags.)

We took the tube to Leyton, where the station has colorful filigreed support columns. Our friends Keith and Chris joined us at Gordon and Donna's, and we all had a dinner featuring Gordon's duck confit and Donna's margarita ice cream, in addition to Dave's contributions. I was the fortunate one at this event -- I didn't have to lift a finger.

We probably stayed way too late -- we didn't get back on the tube until about 12:30 a.m. On the way home we were surrounded by Londoners who'd all obviously been out partying. One guy got on the train wearing a backpack, and didn't step into the car far enough, so the door closed on his bag -- and of course the train won't move if the doors don't close. The occupants of the car kept telling him, "Your bag's in the door!" The conductor came on the PA and asked whoever was holding the door to let it go. And he just shrugged and acted like he couldn't do anything about it. Finally a big muscly passenger walked over and said, "Here, let me help you," and physically yanked the guy forward so the doors could close. Dave and I figured the bag wearer was either drunk or stoned. It was very weird, but amusing to all of us. The bag wearer just stood there for the rest of our ride, lost in the world of his phone and ear buds.

Doorknob and Dinosaur

This dramatically pruned but still beautiful Ceanothus blooms around the corner from us every spring, and every spring I have to take pictures of it. Especially on the rare sunny spring day when I also have dramatic light and shadow!

And with that, let's look at some more random photos I've collected over the last couple of weeks.

Remember that restaurant in St. John's Wood that got firebombed a year ago? Well, here's what the place looks like now. It's surrounded by plywood (painted black since I took this photo) and the moldering furniture is no longer lying on the roof. The restaurant's license has been revoked and I assume something else will be moving in -- but still no sign of a new occupant.

This bluebell flower is in the process of becoming one with the pavement.

Spotted off Regent Street a couple of weeks ago. "Oh, we're just out walking our dinosaur."

These ornate doorknobs feature on a rather grand but dilapidated building on Finchley Road. It's the one where the pigeons roost. I think it used to be an old telephone exchange -- and maybe it still is. Anyway, great doorknobs.

It was surprisingly difficult to keep Olga from walking too close to this fence -- a risky proposition given that she is mostly white. I guess we should have taught her to read.

Another mysterious sticker, once again from a football club -- this time Bayern FC in Munich. According to Google translate, the message says, "What counts in the end is friendship and solidarity." Am I the only one who thinks that gang looks vaguely threatening? Or maybe that's the joke.

I may already be enough, but I'm tired and smashed and need some water.

The Kinderbus

Well, as expected, yesterday didn't turn out to be very illuminating health-wise, at least not immediately. I got to the CT scan appointment with no problem, even though it was at a hospital way up in Finchley rather than the Royal Free in Hampstead, where we usually go. (Apparently the CT scanners at the Royal Free are being refurbished.) I took a single bus north for about 45 minutes and then walked a short distance, et voila! I was there.

After the scanning they told me the results would be available in  7-10 days, which seems like a mighty leisurely approach to me, but it is what it is. Then I went out to catch a bus back into London, and as luck would have it, a gaggle of about 45 school children were all waiting with chaperones to board the bus with me. I guess they must have been going into town on a field trip. And then another gaggle of school children showed up too.

I think only one of the groups got on my bus, but that was enough. It was HELL. I sat down in the upper front seat and they poured into every available seat behind me, and it was like being in the middle of an elementary school pep rally. I put in my earbuds but the silky vocals of Astrud Gilberto singing Brazilian bossa nova just couldn't complete with 200 screaming kids.

That bus crawled. And to make matters worse, there was a crane fly trapped inside, fluttering helplessly against the windshield in front of me. I hate seeing an insect struggling to get out of a window, and it wasn't in a place I could catch it. Argh! I hadn't eaten before my test, so as we approached Temple Fortune I decided to get off and find breakfast. I disembarked near a Costa coffee shop, leaving the 600 munchkins and their overwhelmed chaperones behind.

I bought coffee and a croissant from a cashier who asked lots of questions about where I'm from, and when I said Florida he said, "Oh, I have a friend from Tampa." I was like, "THAT'S MY HOMETOWN!" What are the odds? Of course I still think of Tampa as the sleepy southern city it was 50 years ago, not the glassy metropolis it has become. I guess the odds really aren't that small.

Anyway, eventually I got to work and all was well.

In the afternoon I had a video appointment with a lawyer to talk about estate planning. Dave and I have to write wills and there were some other questions I had regarding taxes, blah blah blah. It was minimally helpful but he didn't seem to think we need a UK will because we really have no property here. All our assets are in the states. Back to the drawing board.

My brother sent me this photo in an e-mail yesterday with the subject line, "Good picture!" This was taken in December 2016 on my brother's patio in Jacksonville. Left to right, it's Dave, me, my mom and my brother. It definitely has an air of "happier days" about it, given Dave's ensuing Crohn's drama and my current health questions, and of course Mom is no longer with us. It is a good picture, though.

Last night, Dave and I watched a documentary on Amazon Prime called "The Thief Collector," about an eccentric couple and their apparent theft of a priceless Willem de Kooning painting from an Arizona museum back in the 1980s. They were never caught and the painting was only recently recovered. Blogger Sharon went to see it, and her post tipped me off to the film. It's a fascinating story. Thanks, Sharon!

(Top photo: The roundabout in Golders Green, taken from the bus window, with the war memorial on the traffic island at center left.)

Land Shrimp

We're having quite a crazy morning, weather-wise. I was awakened about 4 a.m. by thunder and lightning, and I got up early to take a video -- which isn't very exciting, but lightning is such a rarity in our part of the world. (Compared to Florida, where it's practically a daily occurrence at certain times of year.) It's become more intense over the course of the morning. We got a crashing clap of thunder a few minutes ago that made Olga sit straight up -- and she usually ignores thunder! The rain is coming down in buckets.

I'm not thrilled about this because I have to catch a bus at 7:30 to go get my CT scan. My appointment with my GP this week wasn't very illuminating -- she just told me what I already knew about my blood work. In fact when she saw I was already following up with the specialists she basically admitted she hadn't really needed to call me in at all. Oh well. I got an hour or two off work. This CT scan should be more telling, but I don't expect immediate results.

That's a wood louse, above, on one of our lupines. You may also know them as sowbugs or, as we called them when I was a kid, roly-polys. (The ones in Florida roll up into a spherical ball, which I just learned is called conglobating.) Apparently there are lots of different types of these critters, and according to Wikipedia, they're crustaceans whose ancestors emerged from the ocean in prehistory and colonized land. Land shrimp! Who knew?

Of the several honesty plants that grew successfully in our garden this year, this one is probably the nicest. It's big, robust and covered with flowers. I have found that both foxgloves and honesty do best when they grow in place from seed -- as opposed to being sprouted in a seed tray and then transplanted. I have pretty much stopped messing with seed trays. I just sprinkle the seeds around the garden and hope for the best.

I finished "Prequel," which I really enjoyed. I'm trying to talk my boss into adding it to the library, because it really is a very straightforward historic account of right-wing American politics in the years leading up to World War II. My boss is wary of adding a book by someone as outwardly opinionated as Rachel Maddow, though -- she's concerned about courting accusations of political bias. So I may just give it to any colleague who wants it. Now I'm trying to catch up on my New Yorkers -- as usual, I have a small stack!

Let the Sunshine In

Finally, FINALLY, we had a day of bright sunshine yesterday. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until I was walking to work and seeing those dramatic shadows everywhere, tree branches spidering across the pavement. It was fairly warm, too; I was able to wear a short-sleeved shirt with no jacket. Woo hoo!

Apparently food production in England has taken a nosedive because of all the rainfall we've experienced over the past couple of years. Since October 2022, we've had 67 inches of rain, which is a record for an 18-month period in England. (It doesn't seem like that much spread over such a long period of time, but I guess it is.)

Olga was missing the sun too:

This is where she goes on sunny mornings -- the dining room. The windows face east and get a dose of direct sun until about noon, and she can usually be found in there on the carpet. Sometimes we go in and find scratch marks in the rug, where she's been "digging" to make her "bed." (It doesn't damage the rug, at least not visibly.)

When I came home from work Dave and I sat out in the garden, which we haven't been able to do in a couple of weeks. As we watched TV in the evening, sun streamed in through the patio doors. I love sitting on the couch and feeling its warmth, even though it's hard to watch the TV with the sun in my eyes.

Now, this morning, it's gray and foggy and more rain is due this afternoon and for the next several days.

Did you hear about the sword attack in East London? Apparently some guy went on a rampage and attacked random strangers in the street with a sword, killing a young teenager and wounding several others. One of the witnesses said he was ranting about God, which sounds like a sure sign of mental illness, but we don't know much about him yet. Last year, a mentally ill guy killed a couple of uni students and another man in Nottingham; in New York City we've recently seen several people pushed onto subway tracks by mentally ill suspects. Our society is failing people with acute and/or prolonged mental illness, which potentially endangers all of us. Our method of providing care is often to do nothing, thanks partly to the elimination of public mental hospitals and the underfunding of programs to serve those people. Something must change. At least here in the UK they don't usually have guns.

Dave is taking the morning off because he doesn't have a class to teach until right before lunch. I have a doctor's appointment this morning to talk about my recent blood tests, which I don't expect will be very illuminating, but then I'll be going in to work as usual. Remember how I inventoried all the books in our library? Well, I'm supposed to do the same for the Lower School library over the next couple of weeks. Should be fun!