Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Post Script

When I transcribed my Sabbatical Journal, not long after we returned from England in 1992, I knew it deserved an ending.  Soon, however, I began to get caught up in work and the depressing reality that the life I had escaped was with me still, and then some.  I struggled to rebuild my career and faced the reality of depleted savings, a big tax bill and much lower income.  I was no longer Joni Mitchell's "Free Man in Paris" but trapped in a prison of my own making, with financial responsibilities to my family that distracted me from taking the time to understand any greater truths, wisdom or understanding I had achieved through my sabbatical.  It didn't help that I spent some time talking to a colleague who had taken off a couple of years to travel in the South Pacific and Asia and confessed to being depressed several years after returning.  I retreated to my computer and took refuge in typing and editing my notes from the year abroad.

There did seem to be a new wholeness to my life.  Home and work were part of my one life, not separate worlds.  (I see now that this prepared me well for the world in which we now live, in which e-mail and the Internet are a constant presence, respecting no boundaries of time or place.)  I have felt that this wholeness was a positive result and one for which I am thankful.  Yet it hardly seemed the kind of dramatic conclusion I wanted that year to have.

I had learned through my sabbatical that dreams come true.  For many years afterwards my biggest challenge seemed to be the need to find a new dream, one worthy enough to risk losing my current life.  For awhile I was confused.  After our return I scanned the ads in The Wall Street Journal for employment opportunities that would bring me back to London.  It took awhile, but I finally realized that being part of a competitive legal community in London was not a real dream.  Days turned to weeks and then months.  My practice picked up.  I even had an incredible job offer to go in-house with a local Las Vegas company.  After much soul searching, I turned it down; mostly, I think, because it would have impinged on my independence and freedom to dream. 

Our home life changed quite a bit.  Cathy was way more depressed than me at being back home, but focused her energies on the children.  After one more year at Our Lady of Las Vegas elementary school, the children were enrolled at the Las Vegas Day School—the closest thing we could find to approximate St. John's.  It was a financial stretch—more than that, however, the thought had never crossed my mind that our children would not attend Catholic elementary school.  It took me some time getting used to, but we were extremely satisfied with our choice as the years went by and the children moved on from LVDS to high school.  Thomas became a member of the first group of students to spend 10 years at the Day School, from pre-K to 8th grade.  I may not have realized it at the time, but perhaps in a way our children became my dream—particularly as each of them moved on to the challenges of high school and going away to college.

I had always wanted to publish my Sabbatical Diary as the story of the planning and the living of a year abroad.  What stopped me, whenever I picked up the task, was the end of the Diary.  More than half of the book is a travelogue, the story of our journey together as we crossed the US, settled down in Saffron Walden and traveled on holiday throughout Western Europe.  The end of the Diary contains so many personal reflections that I hesitated to make it public, mostly for fear of boring my reader, but a little bit because it was so personal.   I started again last summer, sharing our travel story with the children on Facebook, and taking the time to add photos—something I wouldn't have known what to do just a few years ago.   Thomas graduated from college in May, 2011 and I thought it would be fun for them all to read about their year abroad, especially things they might have otherwise forgotten.  (Some parts, for example, Mara's rescue of Thomas in Vicksburg, have always been part of our known family history.) 

After I had been posting entries for several weeks on Facebook for just the family, it occurred to me that I could publish the entire Diary on the Internet, so I started over again, this time as a blog.  At some point it occurred to me that I was revisiting our trip on its 20th anniversary and as I got well into the posts the important thing seemed to be to complete the diary, not stop when it grew too personal. 

As I started to think of how to conclude my book, I first thought that I should write of the lessons I learned, how I felt when we returned and other nice ways to wrap up the story.  Later I realized there was perhaps a more simple conclusion.  The realization occurred to me that there are enough truths and wisdom in those many last entries to last me a lifetime.  Thoughts expressed on paper, typed and posted—as I have revisited each of them I have thought, yes, that's right, I had forgotten about that! 

Several years ago during an advent or lent Bible study class, the priest conducting the class said something that has stayed with me ever since: Our lives echo the journey of the Israelites to the Promised Land; we journey from slavery to freedom; like Moses we can see the Promised Land but never get there during our lives.  We continue to search for spiritual meaning and truths in our lives, thinking if only we can grasp that one essential thing we will have it made, we will get it.  When I read my journal, I realize that I get it, or, rather, I got it—yet I am no closer to the Promised Land than I was twenty years ago (in terms of spiritual achievement not age!).  Life goes on, day by day, sunrise by sunrise, each day different and the same.  In my case, I am accompanied by my beloved companions, my wife and children—and now son in law and grandchildren.  May each of us always be open to the truths and gifts that life offers!

January 2012

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

19. The End

Wednesday 19 August.  4:50 p.m.  Office.

I had meant to write more of my discoveries, rather my rediscoveries, of the USA upon our return, but our day in/day out travels left little time for thought or writing as we headed west (with, it seems to me, an impending sense of the inevitable, a grim sense of the loss of magic).








Monday, January 30, 2012

19. Heading Quickly Home

Saturday 1 August.  We leave DuBois around 9 a.m. after having to go back for Cathy's watch and Mara's earrings.  We pass the day driving through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan (for lunch, accidentally), and Illinois.  We stop at Notre Dame for a walk around the campus and arrive in Chicago at about six o'clock.  Our total mileage for the day is about 520, most of it on the turnpikes in Ohio and Indiana.  Gas Mileage in VW 17-20 mpg.




The immenseness of America is immediately apparent, as well as the choices of things in the stores.

Sunday 2 August.  Noon mass at Paulist Center, then to Field Museum in rain (sprinkles), and after that to Shedd Aquarium.  Boat ride.  Swimming at hotel.

Monday 3 August.  Sears Tower, lunch, Art Institute, Water Tower Place, visit Patty (Hilary's friend) at Neiman Marcus.














*  *  *  *  *

Tuesday 4 August.  7:40 a.m. C.D.T.  Palmer House, Chicago.

The architecture in Chicago is lovely.  All the buildings seem different, individual, unlike New York, where the Avenues, with their tall buildings on each side, really do seem like canyons.  The lakefront area here is very pretty.  The weather yesterday was cool in the afternoon, the New York Times said it is 15° below normal here.  Showers yesterday while we visited Patty.

Newspapers here remind me of San Francisco, more provincial than the New York or Los Angeles papers.

Our hotel rooms are huge with two bathrooms.  Everyone says, "You're welcome."  It sounds funny.  The American accents do not sound unusual.  Everything seems normal here again.  I didn't miss a lot of it, but it all comes back so easy, not foreign at all.  What a checkerboarded mix of humanity in New York and Chicago!

New York is noisy.  In London I can still recall being able to hear the birds.  I'm sure the level of noise in New York is far greater than London.  Then too, there's the pace: all the lights on the Avenues turn at the same time, placing a premium on speed, a race down the Avenue.  Chicago is quieter, not as crowded, not as noisy.

*  *  *  *  *
States In:

1.         Nevada
2.         Arizona
3.         New Mexico (Santa Fe)
4.         Texas (Tyler)
5.         Louisiana
6.         Mississippi (Vicksburg)
7.         Alabama
8.         Florida (Panama City Beach, Kissimee)
9.         Georgia (St. Simons Island)
10.       South Carolina (Charleston)
11.       North Carolina (Morehead City, Nags Head)
12.       Virginia (Chincoteague)
13.       Maryland
14.       Delaware
15.       Pennsylvania (Gettysburg)
16.       New Jersey
17.       New York (New York)

States Out:

New York (New York)
New Jersey
Pennsylvania (DuBois)

18.       Ohio
19.       Michigan
20.       Indiana
21.       Illinois (Chicago)
22.       Wisconsin (LaCrosse)


23.       Minnesota
24.       South Dakota (Chamberlain)







25.       Wyoming (Gillette, Cody)










26.       Idaho
27.       Utah





 
Arizona
Nevada

Sunday, January 29, 2012

19. Car Trouble, Goodbye New York

Thursday 30 July.  At eleven Cathy's brother, John, takes me to pick up the VW in Queens.  The van breaks down on the way back, stalling in traffic.  I get it towed back to the dealership from the Mobil Station at 61st and York.  The mechanic says the engine just has to run the dirt out of the system, give it five tanks of super unleaded and things will be fine.  The accelerator cable is also broken.

After the car is towed by Phil (backwards), Cathy and I go to John's apartment.  It's on the first floor (American second floor) on tree lined street, 7th near ?  I think you have to be a New Yorker to appreciate the good points: Roof patio with nice neighboring gardens including a wall of ivy, cross ventilation, one of the stations of the cross inside the front door downstairs.  But it has bad parts too: neighborhood graffiti, a feeling (to me anyway) of scariness that comes with a lot of people standing around with nothing to do in the nearby housing projects.

From the flat we walk to Bombay for dinner.  Great music, bongos and sitar, we bring our own beer.  (Guinness lager.)

John's Apartment

No Explanation Necessary!


Friday, 31 July.  I attend  7 a.m. mass again at St. Vincent's on Lexington at 65th/66th.  It's a beautiful church with wooden altar carvings.  Thursday I stopped in before nine and heard priests/brothers (Dominican) singing a mass or office.  Lovely!

 In the morning I go for a run then walk to the post office.  When I return around twelve the dealership calls to say the car is ready.  Thomas, Jeffrey and I take a cab over to pick it up.  On the way back we are stuck in bumper to bumper traffic over the Queensboro bridge.  The car stalls again, just as we are getting off!  How thankful I am that the car does not stall on the bridge which has no emergency lane!

We make it back to the hotel and, though it stalls a few times, I manage to keep the car revved up enough to avoid problems, as we load up and head back across the bridge on our way out of town (no slowing this time).  We follow the route east through Queens to the Triborough Bridge, then head west and on to the George Washington Bridge.  The roads and bridges are in a very dilapidated condition, with litter everywhere.  Goodbye, New York, where life is hard and rough!

We leave around two.  It is a humid day with showers, but around 70°.  We have picnic lunches in the car with sandwiches from the Backstage Deli.  (The deli is just around the corner from the hotel; we had breakfast there as well.)  They have a real system for coffee with milk, plus fresh OJ at the market next door.

There are a surprising amount of hills as we leave New York.  After New Jersey we drive into the Poconos: very pretty, passing over the Delaware River as we come into Pennsylvania.  We drive on and on, through tornado watch weather, and make it to the Ramada in DuBois, PA (pronounced "dew bwas."  Similar to the "wils barry" pronunciation for Wilkes Barre.)  We go for a swim before a dinner of very spicy chicken wings.


Thursday, January 26, 2012

19. Heading Home

 The Final Itinerary:
 

Day
Date
Activity
Mileage
Time
(hours)
Saturday
July 25
Cathy, Robert and Mara to London (Willett Hotel), Michael, Jeffrey and Thomas to Calais


Sunday

July 26
Michael, Jeffrey and Thomas to London           


Monday
July 27
Michael and Robert to Saffron Walden for the day


Tuesday
July 28
London to New York City (Barbizon Hotel)


Wednesday
July 29
New York to DuBois, PA (Ramada)
300
6
Thursday
July 30
DuBois to Chicago (via Sturgis, Michigan for lunch and Notre Dame) (Palmer House)
530
10.5
Friday
July 31
Chicago


Saturday
August 1
Chicago


Sunday
August 2
Chicago


Monday
August 3
Chicago


Tuesday
August 4
Chicago to LaCrosse, WI (via Milwaukee) (motel)
305
5.5
Wednesday
August 5
LaCrosse to Chamberlain, SD (motel)
442
8.5
Thursday
August 6
Chamberlain to Gillette, WY (motel) (lunch at Mount Rushmore, etc.)
392
11
Friday
August 7
Gillette to Cody, WY (car problems in Gillette [back hatch]) (motel)
256
5
Saturday
August 8
Cody to Ogden, UT (via Yellowstone, Jackson) (motel)
491
16
Sunday
August 9
Ogden to Las Vegas  
469/8

469
8


TOTALS
3,185
70.5

 Tuesday 28 July.  We take an aborted ride to Kew, not leaving hotel until about 11.  We arrive around 11:50 (a 25 minute Tube ride from Sloan Square, no changes), but, confronted with a long queue, we immediately turn around and go back to the hotel.  Our minicab, a Volvo wagon, picks us up at 12:45.  We all fit: with suitcases on our laps and on the floor, me in front, five in the back seat.  Nice Pakistani fellow, studying management at Manchester University, sister is an anesthetist, brother a physician at Harvard.  Easy check in at the airport, very early; I have a bitter at cafe/bar.  The plane leaves about on time, lift off at five o'clock.  Lovely views of checkerboard countryside, then west England and eastern Ireland before the clouds take over and we settle into the movies. There were three on each channel!  I watch "Medicine Man," "Shining Through" and "Wayne's World."  The best is last, worst was M. Douglas and M. Griffith.  Pretty good service, I use my earphones, more comfortable than usual.

 We arrive around 7:15 p.m. but have to wait for plane door to be fixed.  New York is humid, but not too hot.

 Customs.  We walk down two very long, empty corridors (alone, almost, as we are the last off the plane).  We retrieve our bags and hem and heave through customs, putting $3500 estimate of value, paid $110 duty.  Customs agent (avuncular, slightly stern, but not bad) asks to inspect luggage.  The first one he chooses is the dirty laundry!  Then Robert's.  He passes us.  We take a $70 van into the City.  It is the first night on the job for our driver, a woman, a friendly New Yorker; she tells us, not to worry, she used to be a tractor trailer driver.  She doesn't turn down the CB and we hear loud NY voices, "brusque" and getting angry at the end, "Pick him up he's waiting."  Thomas's eyes light up at the New York skyline as if he remembers.  We have the same rooms at the Barbizon.

 Wednesday 29 July.  We have a marathon day at the Met, splitting up, Cathy and Mara take a taxi, the boys and I walk (Lexington to Park to Madison to 5th, then 63rd to 82nd).  There is a Rodin rooftop display.  There are so many rules in New York!  From highway restrictions to the roof.  Don't stand on the benches!  No children on the shoulders!  No eating!  We wish we could have more time for the museum, particularly the American wing.  But we do see Vermeers, Rembrandts.

 I walk back with Thomas through the Park and see a rat cross the path!  It's crowded.  I have another hot dog with mustard (money and hot dogs interchange in the hands).  It is very hot and humid at the end of the Park near the Plaza.  With Thomas in the John Lewis push chair (now transformed into a stroller) I walk down 5th Avenue to St. Patrick's and then to Brooks Brothers.  I think he might nap during the walk, but he seems to be fascinated by the sidewalk scene.  At the entrance to Brooks Brothers I accidentally tip Thomas over in his stroller! 

 Wednesday evening.  Upon Tara and Pasqual's recommendation (and as their guests) we see "Blue Man Group Tubes."  Lot of noise: drums, spitting paint balls, squeezing stuff out of suit.  No talking.  Short on content, what there is is good, about reading into art, etc.  Gross.  Sort of stuff we tell kids not to do.  Loud.

The Departure Lounge, Heathrow

Virgin Atlantic