Wednesday 25 September. 6:55 a.m. Began this morning at 6:20, still dark. The day is gradually lightening up to what looks like high clouds. I stopped for a moment to make a note that the birds began singing about five minutes ago, though they are quiet once more. Went for a 30 minute run to Littlebury.
Thursday 26 September. 7:15 a.m. Boys have left, Mara readying herself.
Ready to keep ploughing ahead to conclusion in my book. Doing some rearranging, rewriting, more willing to take things out.
Second first communion class in the evening.
Friday 27 September. Worked on book. Reception at St. John's for new parents. Very nice, lots of white wine, Perrier, red wine and hors d'oervres. Chatted with Anabel Brunner, Kevin Jones (he has Mara figured out) and Mrs. Jacques.
Monday 30 September. 11:10 a.m. Late start today as I catch up from the Federal Express pack from Candy on Friday, discussion with Cathy on vacation plans (!), and read some magazine reviews, etc.
The spider webs around here are wonderful. They have an average size of something close to a pancake (which we had yesterday).
Later. I keep on wanting to say, "back in Pacific Palisades," to the children instead of, "back in Las Vegas." Wouldn't that be hard to figure if I let it out by accident! Last night I told Cathy how strange it would be to go back to Las Vegas for a visit and return here. She agreed.
Tuesday 1 October. 7:55 a.m. Drawing room. Cloudy and breezy. Brief shower half an hour ago.
We had a discussion yesterday about "conkers." Like other English schoolboys, Robert and Jeffrey have taken to the sport of putting a conker on a string, and swinging the conker against another boy's conker. The winner being the boy whose conker smashes the other conker to bits. I had thought the chestnut fruit was called a chestnut, but Robert and Mara corrected me. Now that I look at it more carefully, I seem to recall them from England the first time: that wonderful hard, smooth, interesting formed nut! Perhaps some of the magic of England is being able to find toys such as these on the ground when one goes out for a walk.
In reading what I have written about Las Vegas, I notice a lot written about the wind. I compared it to the beach wind and tied the two together. England is also a breezy country. It is not a windy country like the desert, but a breezy one, as the fronts move across the island from west to east. Is this something I can recall as an eight year old? How does an eight year old think? Jeffrey, who will be eight next month, is my best example. In contrast to my memories, which I remember with an adult's point of view, looking at Jeffrey reminds me that an eight year old thinks like an eight year old!
Impressions:
· Small and smaller cars.
· Many, many magazines, few seem serious.· Newspapers: The Times, The Guardian, The Observer, The Telegraph, The Daily Mail, The Sun, The Express, and I'm sure there are others. Saturdays and Sundays there are magazine supplements separately available.
· Whisky (whiskey) served neat.
· Our yard: apple trees. Elsewhere: orange pyracanthas, many bushes with red berries, even the shiny kind that look plastic and that I associate with poison.
· Toilet handles on wrong side, small bowl, narrower bowl. (I still reach for the American side.)
· Not as much selection at the market in cereals and soaps, though Tesco is close.
· Beef has a different taste.
Cathy read the first three chapters of my book and liked it. Rewarded myself with a visit with Cathy and Thomas to Cambridge to the Fitzwilliam and a walking tour of Cambridge.
Wednesday 2 October. 6:11 a.m. Clear and windy. Strange dream last night: I had to return to Las Vegas. Doug Crosby was going to marry my sister, Jan (I kept wondering what had happened to Doug's wife, Bonnie, but not Jan's husband, Bill). Doug was then going to be off to take classes in Moscow. Tony Gordon was leaving to join the RCMP, and I had to go back to work!
Friday 4 October. 9:06 a.m. Sunrise 7:05, Sunset 6:33. Clear and nice outside. Breeze is gentle. Cathy getting Thomas ready to leave for school. This week has been fairly busy with things other than writing. We have settled our midterm break (Ireland), arranged a weekend in London (this week), been on the Cambridge walking tour and, yesterday, visited Wimpole Hall, taking the tour and having a nice lunch. We also booked tickets for a play and for some of the concerts in November's Mozart festival in Cambridge.
We loved the Cambridge tour, given by a charming old guy with a marvelous sense of humor and great stories. We visited the Rutherford laboratory and the oldest church, both in Saxon Cambridge, south of the river. The Romans used Cambridge as a port and built a wonderful city which the Saxons liked so much they made a point to let it alone. We wrapped up the tour with visits to King's College, Clare College and its gardens, and, lastly, Trinity, home of Sir Isaac Newton.
This week I have taken to an early morning walk, leaving here between 6:20 and 6:40, returning by 7:20. I have a cup of coffee and wake the children before I leave, before sunrise, and walk down to town, saying my morning prayer and trying as well to say the rosary this month of October. I like to end up on a bench in the graveyard outside the parish church, where I feel, surprisingly, as though I am in good company, which I suppose I am. The scenery is very pretty, the sky just lightening, the grass green, trees still green, though one is changing. I have found conkers every day as well. The clock face is black with gold letters, which glisten as do the arms (which also wiggle) in the first sunlight.
In return for the company I am happy to include a remembrance of the dead in my prayers, almost as a kind of thank you and blessing for the visit. This morning, as I looked around, I noticed that one of the tops on a pair of stone tombs was broken. With some trepidation I looked in. Surely, I thought, either the dead are buried underground despite the above ground monument (shaped like a stone coffin) or the parish has noticed this hole long ago and removed the body, but I wasn't quite sure. When I looked in, however, I saw nothing but darkness.
Churchyards
I wouldn't have guessed that the graveyard would be
A happy place to sit and stay awhile, beneathThe tall tower of St. Mary's with three faces
On the clock, marking off our time determinedly
In every direction but east, where the sun itself
Makes time in the morning. How many, oh how many souls
Have gone to rest beneath my feet, their tablets
Smoothed by time, and moved against the walls
No longer any indication of a name, just the fact
Of Christian death. One morning I was so bold
That I peered inside the black withins of a stone casket
Wondering whether the worms had done their work or
Whether it was just a more expensive way to say goodbye.
but all in all I have to say I've come to know you all as friends
Kindred souls on different journeys leading the same place;
If you can do it, so can I, I think, then pause and say a prayer,
Hoping I can find a place like you and a friend like me.
In addition to the conkers I notice "whilst" walking, the ivy (what I would call Virginia creeper) seems to be everywhere turning an autumn red. It reminds me of the side of our home in the Palisades and or the side of Mer's house at Flintridge.
The English trees:
· Horse chestnut, which now have spiky balls (harder and fewer spikes than a sycamore) with the conkers inside.· Lime tree: large leaved trees that seem to be very popular.
· Sycamore trees. There is a separate listing for London plane trees. Ironically, what we have in our backyard in Las Vegas!
In the morning there are beautiful song birds in the trees. They are hard to spot and quite unlike the solitary mockingbirds at home. The local songs are also harder to follow than the mockingbird's, which always seems to have a recognizable refrain.
Cathy says she has too many interruptions and can't get things done. I feel the same way. Among other things, worked on genealogy details as we think about Ireland.
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