Saturday, August 11: Howdy, London

I arrive at Heathrow in the afternoon and manage to successfully purchase an Oystercard for the Underground and board the proper train. I had no idea it would be an hour and 15 minute ride from there. Better that way. By this point I am a little tired. For some reason the train car is filled with young men in their mid-twenties. The one next to me is reading The God Delusion. The one across from me is reading God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. Hmm. I’m definitely not in Boise anymore.

Hillary meets me at my stop and graciously lugs my suitcase up the final set of stairs to the street. We are staying with her friend Alain, who lives in a beautiful flat in East London. Check out the view from his balcony:



I was in pretty good shape despite my jet lag, so I joined Alain and Hillary for a night out on the town with a large group of his friends and acquaintances. The group had decided to visit a very touristy area right near where all the theaters are, with lots of bars and clubs. Never having been to London before, my notion of what the people would be like was only informed by books, movies, and magazines. Much to my surprise, the women looked like they were all dressed from cheap mall stores that cater to juniors. The whole feeling was very frat house/sorority. A lot of people were drinking cocktails, and the only beers in sight were Coronas. Alain’s friends were very lovely, but the club/bar we ended up in did not allow for much conversation. After a bit we went off in search of food and left the rest of the gang to continue drinking and sweating in the packed bar. I had the best falafel sandwich of my life. Accompanied by a Turkish beer, it was a perfect ending to a very long day.

Friday, August 10: On My Way

The minivan left the house at the appointed hour, though, thanks to me, the gas tank was nearly empty. I also left the house unacceptably low on milk. The kitchen was a mess with the residue of the previous night's dinner of linguine and scallops, a surprising hit with the boys. Willem got tired of wrestling with the noodles after a while but ate every last bit of scallop. Nels was inspired to sing a modified version of "The Muffin Man" called, of course, "The Scallop Man." He pronounced it with a very refined British accent: skah-lup. I have no idea where he learned the song (Auntie Hillary?) and was mightily impressed that he recalled that the Muffin/Scallop man "lives on Drury Lane."

Saying good-bye at the airport was about as hard as I expected it to be. Nels was happy to be off to see his grandparents, so no problem there. Willem, on the other hand, cried like the baby he is. This was also to be expected, as the last time the minivan pulled up to the airport curb, Hillary got out, and he hasn't seen her since. He cried then, too.

While waiting for my slightly delayed flight I peruse a frivolous magazine and experience alternating emotions of elation and incompleteness as I watch other parents of young children waiting for their flights. I want them to know that I belong to their club.

We finally board the plane, and I am thrilled to discover that the seat next to me will remain empty for the next two hours. As we speed down the runway, I am deeply regretting that I did not take advantage of my flight delay by having a beer in the airport. I get very nervous when traveling apart from my family. To distract myself, I work the crossword puzzle in the in-flight magazine. The two-thirds of it that is left undone, that is. Instead of being annoyed that someone has filled in clues that I know, I am wondering about this person who knows (and doesn't) the same things I do. A "Dutch South African" is a "Boer" and an "S.E. Hinton novel" is "Tex." "My Name is (blank) Lev." "Asher," of course. We could be friends, mystery crossword puzzle filler-outer.

As I write, there is about 1/2 inch of chardonnay left in the second plastic tumbler of my complimentary beverage. I am tickled to note that the man across from me, who sports a ponytail, beard, Harley t-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, is also 1/2 inch away from finishing his second plastic tumbler of complimentary chardonnay. Cheers.

Back to Reality

We arrived home late this past Friday night, me weary from 22 consecutive hours of traveling and Shaun weary from a short flight from Portland that included such highlights as squeezing into the tiny airplane’s tiny lavatory with BOTH boys so Nels could go potty. Such a feat boggles the mind.

Upon our arrival, Shaun noticed the following:

a.) the street was freshly tarred
b.) our Honda was gone.

Fortunately, he noticed later in the weekend that the car was parked down the street. No ticket or anything. This may be due to the kindness of our neighbor, who was asked by The Powers That Be In Charge Of Removing Cars Which Stand In The Way Of Street Improvements what she knew about the car. She informed these Powers that we had been, and continued to be, out of town. Thanks, neighbor. We owe you one.

No kindly neighbor could rescue me, however, from today’s latest installment of “Willem Martin, Poop Explorer.” As I scrubbed Willem down in the bathtub, I cursed myself for not having cut his fingernails recently and reflected that four more days in Paris would have been just about right.

While I was gone, I was FAR too busy packing in the fun to actually post anything, so I will do a little retroactive blogging. My industrious sister has already done so, so feel free to check out her version, which I can guarantee will be far more concise. If, however, you prefer to be bludgeoned nigh unto death with details and anecdotes and sentences of patience-trying length, by all means, check back in here over the coming week.

I See London, I See France!

Well, I'm about to, anyway. I'm flying to London tonight and then it's on to Paris. Will I blog while I'm gone or wait until my return? That remains to be seen. See you in a week, Boise!

Disappointment

"Mom, could you teach me to fly?"

"No, honey, people can't fly."

"Mmm? That's sad."

Thanks a lot, Peter Pan.

Web Nugget of the Day

Here's an article I quite enjoyed about why some sci-fi/fantasy works transcend genre and end up being loved by people who wouldn't touch an elf with a ten-foot pole. Link courtesy of Pop Candy, one of my daily guilty pleasures.

Miscellany

I don't have much to write about (oops--tipped my hand) but I think it's time we all had something new to read, so here goes.

1. I have a reason to love Boise. Clue number one came via our friends' encounter with some Rwandan refugees in a local grocery store. Clue number two came from a story I heard on National Public Radio about the first official Iraqi refugee in the US and his family's relocation --to BOISE, Idaho. Clue number three wasn't really a clue. It was an article in the Idaho Statesman about a boy who started soccer camps for refugee children here in town. In it I learned that Boise has three major refugee resettlement organizations and is home to approximately 5,000 refugees.

I love that. I love that every few weeks in church the bulletin has a new request on behalf of these organizations. They need school supplies, conversation partners for the adults learning English, people to help with unfamiliar errands like grocery shopping, even families willing to open up their homes until housing can be found. I can't imagine a better opportunity for a person such as myself; a person lacking in initiative but wanting to do good. For now I'm finding it quite challenging to take proper care of my OWN family, so I figure I'll start with providing some school supplies and work up to something more meaningful like conversation partner. Once the boys are in school.

2. Crest White Strips. Anyone? I'm on day 4, and they don't have to tell me twice that it's the same stuff that dentists use. It tastes like the dentist. Twice a day. For 14 days. The wages of a lifetime of coffee and tea drinking and a later affinity for red wine is yellow teeth. And now I pay the piper, who takes the form of gel-laden clear plastic strips that make my teeth hurt. (Normal and to be expected, the piper assures me.) I think it's working. Please, please let it be working.

3. Before I had children: "How can any mother leave her children at home in the care of another and go off to work unless it were an absolute financial necessity?"

After having children: "Hmm...never once, in any job I ever had, did I have to make the request, 'Please don't spit.' And never did anyone approach me with an outstretched index finger and make the solemn, accurate pronouncement: 'booger.'"

4. I joined the YMCA this week. They have a very nice facility very close to our house. The people there are so friendly that it's borderline alarming. I spent about an hour and a half getting an orientation on the weight machines that involved much discussion, and I realized that I am so starved for adult conversation that I didn't even mind that it was on the subject of fitness.

5. I feel I am still recovering from that deflated let-down that one gets from tearing through a long-anticipated good book in one go. I speak, of course, of the final Harry Potter book, and of the dreariness of finishing it. Quite good, and well worth neglecting the children for.

So there you have it. This week I will be getting ready to fly the coop. Off to Pair-ee on Friday and I'm trying not to dwell on it so as to at least get a few winks in between now and then.

Here's to all of us getting all the winks we need. I speak to you, parents of babies. God bless you.