18. The End

Saturday 25 July.  12:50 a.m.

The knot in my stomach awoke me this morning.  Tired still.  Cathy says butterflies.  It's a combination of things, one of which is we're not coming back, the other is we're running out of money; then, today, the Humana check for insurance came in.  The Lord does provide for us!  Yet this morning, try as I might, I found it difficult to be thankful for a day in which my parents left and we prepared to leave.  Still…  I surrender!

It's much harder to leave a place you probably won't come back to (Saffron Walden) than leaving a place (Las Vegas) for a year. Robert was hit hard about leaving his friends.

So tired!

Some of the Things We'll Miss

Monday 27 July.  1:25 p.m.  Westfield House.  Big white clouds against blue background, heavy breeze with wind.

Robert and I are here today, our last day at the house.  Like the Del Mar in 1964, when my mother and I went back to clean the vacation house.  What a great day!  I remember that day at the beach.  How will Robert recall?

I have strong feelings at leaving, it seems things are undone.  But not really.  The normal fear of flying and a steak dinner kept me tossing and turning last night.  I keep wondering, I suppose, if we will be back.  Perhaps not.  Of course, it's possible we may.  I realized today: we have no real home in a place.  If home is where we are all gathered, then we have learned that we need not have a place attachment.  I suspect the same thing was true when we were children, but why then the place attachment?

I'm having a Guinness draft in the can, waiting for the floor to dry and Robert to return from the town, where he is doing some last minute shopping.  Then we are back to London.  It will be fun to be back in the USA, the land of cheap gas and things!

Today is the anniversary of our arrival here.  It was better then, and how happy we were to finally have arrived at our new home.  I remember that good feeling more than I remember how we were running out of money at the time.  Just as we are now!

I fear for our plants, our hanging baskets.

We really felt at home here.  We moved in and we made it our own for the year.  Now it is easy to remember sunny days, but how many were cold!  Sitting at my desk trying to be Jack London or Graham Greene, and freezing till I finally buckled in and bought a fan heater.  Now all I have are the rather sterile photos, all of the souvenirs, etc., none as good as the memories, but a means to gain access to those memories.  I made a note to myself, a few days ago to that effect: "When do we stop collecting souvenirs?  When the possibilities end."

Monday 27 July.  Willett Hotel, 32-34 Sloane Gardens, London.  10:55 p.m. 

 Last night in London.  Proper reflection on all of this will be after we've been home awhile. 

What a lovely day: "fresh."  I will not be sentimental now.  I am just tired of being on the go and with so many worries, so many possessions!

What Will They Remember?

18. A Fireworks Concert; One Week Left

Sunday 19 July.  Outdoor concert, back lawn Audley End.  9:05 p.m.

The stage (west) is set against the back of the mansion.  With its towers and weather vanes like pennants, the house looks like the Tower of London.  Layer of clouds at the west, orange rim between the horizon and the clouds.  Otherwise clear.  Tchaikovsky's Romeo & Juliet, good sound.

Such picnics!  Tables and chairs, baskets, wine, strawberries and cream, trifle, china, champagne glasses, Bailey's samples (as close as we get to cream at home!).  Thermoses, coolers, umbrella staked out areas.  Bugs.  Casual dress, blankets.

Thomas: "Where does the music come from?"

Rolled down my sleeves at 8:30.  A sweater would not be out of place.

Mara and the boys: playing catch with a green tennis ball at the fringes.  We are in the southeast corner of the audience, in the back.

Fireworks at the end with the 1812 Overture.  Smoke blows by in patterns against a clear sky, like a plant or a flower, a weed seed, borne by the wind.  Purple, green and red smoke.  I can almost picture battle smoke blowing by Audley End years and years ago.  Red smoke, perhaps a spider mother laying eggs or babies.

Monday 20 July.  After 10 p.m.  Thunder, lightning (big, bold flashes) and rain for over an hour.

Reading Glittering Images by Susan Howatch.  Page 270 (Fontana, paperback) (Jon Darrow (confessor, abbot of Fordites in Grantchester) to Charles Ashworth, novel's hero):

. . . if you regard him [your early self, the one who did things you can't forgive] with sympathy instead of horror then a different image will begin to appear in the mirror.  Love and compassion breed understanding and forgiveness, and once a man's understood himself sufficiently to forgive himself for his mistakes, the unfitness is made whole, the unworthiness is redeemed -- and that's what we want, isn't it, Charles?  We want to restore your belief in your own work so that you can find the courage to set aside the glittering image [not the true self] and triumph over this tyrant who's tormented you for so long.

Brian reportedly said, we should never have come.  A 180 degree change from last year.  Change of mind or just gossip?

We leave a week tomorrow.  Cathy working herself silly, but in bed by 10 tonight.  (I took a nap from five to seven.)  Saturday, I think it was, I felt as I did last year before we left Las Vegas.  I don't recall the exact feeling now, but I remember all of a sudden getting the feeling and remembering it from last year.  (Another deja vu recently: stepping out of the shower, getting dressed for London, like Dancing at Laughnasa?)  I also realize how I do not think much of the U.S., just our remaining time here.  Like last year, I did not think much of England before we left New York.  That is, I didn't spend much time dwelling on what England would be like, apart from the problems.  I was too busy focusing on U.S. problems before we left.

Storm appears to have passed, though still rain . . .

Story, novel idea:  our character sketches, e.g., nine children plus parents, small time frame, how you have all those points of view, disagreements, yet love keeps it all together.

Heard of short story that imagines characters in a painting!

Glittering Images again (p.272) Charles:  "If I don't feel unfit and unworthy, then I won't be so dependent on people liking and approving me and I won't need the glittering image to secure their liking and approval."

Wednesday 22 July.  8 a.m.

Glittering Images (p.403) (Ashworth): "I wondered dimly how anyone ever survived their families."

p. 415 (from Dr. Romaine, Ashworth's natural father): "It's only the unconsummated passions of this world which go on and on like a never ending gramophone record, and personally I always think it's better to leap into bed and have done with it . . .  ."

Thursday 23 July.  After 8 a.m.  Cool outside, blue sky with clouds.

My parents are up, as is Mara.  Everyone else still in bed on the first full day of summer break.

I have an occasional knot in my stomach as we prepare to leave; sad at goodbye, also fearful that we will run out of money somewhere on the way home.  I have to keep reminding myself that I must "trust in God."  (In quotes because last night my mother said, "As my mother used to say . . ." and my father got after her about this, repeating the phrase, making fun of her.  How often does she remark that I take the other side of what she says, but last night I came to her defense.  Mer was wise.  [Dad wanted Mom to say "As Robert says . . ." which she often does, though he claims never, perhaps never in front of him.]  Anyway, in quotes because one of the things I remember that Mer used to often say was, "Trust in God."  I can still hear her saying it.)

Of course I remember the same thoughts last year, worrying, when I really looked at what we were doing, about money.  How could we afford all this? Forcing myself to suppress the worries and believe that everything would work out; and of course it did.  (Miraculously!  Fabulously!)

Speaking for myself: I have not once looked back.  Never longed to be in Las Vegas, never missed "home"; nothing like that at all.  It therefore seems somewhat strange to say that we're going "home," when, of course, we are home right now.

Do I hate Las Vegas, or perhaps just actively dislike it?  I know when we first moved there I hated it.  Later, however, I grew to like it.  There was, after all, the attraction of family, and those magnificent vistas: clouds, mountains, sky.  (I often think how much I would enjoy living in a place as green as England, but yesterday, as I read a description, in China Lake by Anthony Hyde, about the Mojave desert, I thought of Santa Fe and roasted chili, and hungered for the desert, at least the Santa Fe version.)  After a few years, as family attachments to Las Vegas lessened (people went away to school, etc.) my economic attachments became paramount: the house, the nice income, the job, etc., as well as the prestige that attached to my job.  Thus, my place in life since 1968.

It is strange that I have not missed Las Vegas.  A sign that it holds no place in my heart.

Finished Glittering Images.  Perhaps I am used to stronger action/conflict.  It was essentially a slow unravelling of the inner psyche of Charles Ashworth, with a few twists and turns.  Written well, but not as wonderful or as great as I would have expected from the jacket blurbs.  Some good lines however.  I particularly liked at the end, with Father Darrow acting like an exorcist, responding to threats and anger asserted against him: that's the demon of guilt, that's your demon of shame, that's your demon of rage.  I felt as if those demons could have been my own and wondered how to exorcise them.

Funny how we form attachments at dinner conversations, going from one side to another.

Robert in tears last night, wants to see Seymours again.  They're leaving Friday for holiday in Cornwall.

In London for the Day:
the Sisley Exhibit and Grand Hotel

Above: A Party at the Seymours

Lunch in Cambridge

18. Leaver's Thoughts, Speech & Sports Day

Wednesday 15 July.  Lion Yard, Cambridge.  Cambridge notes:

1.         River just south of the Rose, on the road home.  All the green, the foggy nights over it, dark, too dark to see.

2.         Roundabouts more crowded the last few weeks.  Haven't had to stop until recently.

3.         Crowds of kids, university students last night walking back to the car after dinner.  Lots of foreign languages, including the strange sounding American.

4.         Horses and cows back in the fields near town!

Thursday 16 July.  On the Motorway to Gatwick.

Though I've lived in the desert for twenty years, I can't shake the feeling that I have been and remain a visitor.  When am I going to go home?  England seems more like home than Las Vegas, or is that just the way I look at Las Vegas from afar?  No.

My recent adult life has been a process of wishing to come to an adult understanding of childhood impressions and memories.

How quickly the green and yellow wheat and rape fields turned to gold!

Friday 17 July.  7:55 a.m.  Cloudy.  Rain awakened us for five minutes at 4:10 a.m.  All those times we awakened at 4:19 a.m. to day breaking, now 4:10 is pretty dark (sunrise at 5 now, or a little after, sunset still later, after 9.)

We see people lately, this week.  They ask, "How long?"   Last week it was three weeks (seems like last week was ages ago!), earlier this week two weeks, now all of a sudden it dawns on me: one week, really.  We leave on the 28th, but we leave the house Saturday, early, which is almost the same as Friday, and so departure arrives unexpectedly even when you know it's coming.  It is a comforting thought largely, fewer groceries to buy, fewer things to spend money on (as our money runs out!) but then, there are the windows to wash and the curtains to clean.

I waited for my parents at the airport for about an hour yesterday, watching people arrive.  My emotions ran up and down, happy at reunions; nervous, fearful when I heard an announcement that persons interested in BA flight 146 should see the desk (hijack? crash?).

Ijust realized my father's thinking is like trying to order off of a French menu: we know what the ideas are (the meat), but he describes them in such different ways that it's hard to figure out how he got there or that it's the same thing as we're talking about.

Later:  I will not miss "thunder flies."  "Leaver" is an English word (the school children not coming back next year).  Rubbish bins, dust bin liners, post box and posties (mail man).

From Speech and Sports Day, Saturday, July 18 at St. John's:

18. Things I Will MIss

Wednesday 15 July.  9:50 a.m.  Cloudy.  In an empty, of sorts, home, the movers came yesterday, Martin, Michael and ? (no teeth, the driver, cockney, per Cathy).

Things I shall miss:

·         All the green (running through Audley End yesterday, looking over the hills, the path almost growing over at the top, as the grass bends over, after a day of rain.)

·         Bustling market days, cries of vendors.

·         Birds noisily engaged, the swifts in summer, frolicking in the air, reminding me of moths circling, perhaps flies.  I do not think I will miss the insects: the feeling yesterday, running, of being covered in my hair with small flying bugs.  We both notice now how we don't seem to mind the dirty, insect splashed windscreen.

·         The handsome wood pigeons and the pretty speckle breasted -- is it a thrush?

Charity of the imagination little becomes me,

I think, face to face with my limitations
I have no time to rehabilitate a lifelong
image of myself as a rich breeder of worries.

From Friday at St. John's Smith Square:  It starts innocently enough. (At the stroke of seven, Big Ben, 10 July).

Crossing Frontiers.

Idea that dead people were real but does that make people I know (living) any more real?  How much can anyone know my internal life?

The countryside: in the Southwest, I was reminded of the Cotswolds, rolling hills, with hedges, but the hills seem more open and there are no stone walls.

Driving through Surrey from Bournemouth I was surprised at the dense trees, many seemed to be evergreen.  Bournemouth itself had many evergreens, you could almost feel a Mediterranean flavor.

Each time I drive around Cambridge, I am reminded of what a great place it is to run or ride a bike.  So flat!

Drove out to Haverhill on Sunday.  Pretty hillside/hills, good views.  I have finally figured out that the place where the American flag flies between Little Walden and Linton zoo area, on the top of the hill, is probably the old Little Walden airfield.  (This is the 50th anniversary of the "Friendly Invasion" of 1942, when the American airmen came over and operated out of the airfields in East Anglia.  Dad said he didn't come over until 1943.)

Thinking yesterday as I spotted a huge cloud to the west at midday, what if that were God?  My thought was, I wouldn't be afraid, he'd be too big to know me, know what it's like to be me, then the beauty of the plan that Jesus become a man, to know what  it's like to be me.  The thought of the Incarnation is absolutely staggering!  Then shortly afterwards, my mind running through my money worries.  I listened to a woman who worked on a sex line.  She was in her 50's, then would describe herself in fantasy underwear, etc, to male caller.  (She was reporter for the Mirror who obtained the job for a story.)  She said the fantasy was OK, it was when the man started groaning at the other end, often dropping the phone, she said she became physically ill.

I was almost sickened myself, thinking of such promise we have and how low we can sink!  I have sympathy for both the women and the callers.  One needs money, the other needs help (be it lonely, etc.).  It is a form of therapy.  The real culprit is the investor, the company that sets up something like this, the regulators that turn a blind eye.  Liberalism is a heavy burden: you want to support freedom, encourage it, yet this is what becomes of it!  The change, however, must be from within.

I prayed a lot this year for my future, not knowing exactly what sort of future to pray for, I prayed for help, guidance, wanting to make my own way as a writer, yet not wishing to tie my future up in a predictable way.  I'm not sure if I have any answers.

Noon.  Still cloudy.

I began this year, I remember, wondering how I might come to know God.  I thought often, how can I love someone I do not know?

The steady refrain which has come back to me this year is that God is all around me, visible through his creation.  And I have wondered at the beauty of God, coming around to the idea that perhaps heaven, eternity, is not such a bad place.  Perhaps I would not be bored if it were beautiful, if I think of heaven like a garden.  I often wonder about myself, how sometimes I see, hear, smell things so beautiful I wish my life could be spent contemplating those things, and nothing else, just appreciating natural beauty.

(Robin on the clothes line.  They are much smaller, half the size of ours, tall, spindly legs, like toothpicks.)

God's beauty is all around.  Yet Jesus says (I have been thinking of this lately), "My kingdom is not of this world."  Some say the kingdom is here and now.  Perhaps if I think of heaven as love of family?  Family always has been the most important thing to me, though I have not always realized that (perhaps, however, I sensed it).  A family in perfect harmony, father, sons, grandfather, grandchildren--if they had nothing to keep them apart!  Though perhaps I am sentimentalizing.

Recently, as I spoke with Mara or one of the older boys, I realized that there was not much I remembered about friends in England.  How good a friend was Michael W.?  Did he ever spend the night?  Were we just nearby neighbors?  Were there any other boys I was friendly with?  (Were there very many boys in the school?)  Recalling 1958-59: I do not remember ever really missing Peter, except perhaps at the beginning.  Was that because I was distracted by so many new things, because I was surrounded by so many brothers and sisters, or because I was at last happy to be on my own?  I seem to remember that I developed a fondness for solitude in the Palisades, sort of in response to being away from Peter and the group in Malibu, at a new school, a bit shy.  Lately, I have wondered, perhaps I was always the solitary type and either too entertained by Peter, too weak to resist his demands or simply unable to say no to someone in need.  (I have the same feeling nowadays when I receive a renewal request from a magazine!).

(The robin is back for ten seconds, then gone, after a glance at me, or perhaps, as it looks, begins to look, like rain, it has things to do, eat perhaps, before it gets wet.  I notice the birds are now very quiet.)

I'm not sure of the meaning of my new interpretation.  It does seem to offer a more unifying theme to my life, and specifies Peter as the change, rather than the change coming after Peter.

 Later . . .  still in the dining room.  It has been a busy year.  Cathy and I agreed yesterday that we never felt we sat around that much.

 "Grandmas sit in chairs and reminisce." ("The Beat Goes On.").

 I'm sure I've said it before, but, to be sure: God is an optimist (Is this merely love, steadfast love?), always expecting us to choose Him.

18. The Movers Coming; First Communion Pictures

Thursday 9 July.  10:30 a.m.  Cloudy.  Rain expected.  Thomas and I home alone.

 The Lost Generation.  The attraction I had always felt for Hemingway and the so-called" lost generation" of the 1920's expatriates in Paris struck home when I saw several of my classmates, Class of 1968, Loyola High School: Brian Green, Steve/Peter McMorrow (one of them) and a few others "correctly" identified in the school newsletter as x, y and z of the class of 1957!  In the same issue, few, if any notes on the 1960's graduates.  (What happened to us?)

 Other indications of a "lost" generation: the student strike in college in 1970, the bomb scares, the bomb drills in grade school.  I never saw an announcement for my college reunion, class of 1972.

 Friday 10 July.  8:25 a.m.  Cloudy, almost cold.

 Attended "Fruit and Wine" party at the Pythagoras College at St. John's, honoring staff who are leaving, primarily Sheila Hayward, who has been there since 1965.  Leaving as deputy head, to be the head at a school in Oxford.  She seems very capable, a quiet, restrained British woman who reminds me of "Miss Judson" though perhaps the updated version, not quite as stern.  The menu was strawberries, raspberries and loganberries (?) with cream and sugar (someone should tell them about powdered sugar!) accompanied by champagne or orange juice.  It rained lightly and we gathered under the marquee.  We spent some time talking with Mrs. Moffat, who looks like John Denver (she is the Group 3 [girls] teacher, and was Mara's teacher for a week until Mara was restored to her proper spot in Group 2); after that, Mrs. Cairns (pr. Kens), Mara's present teacher, who spent ten years in the states in New York.  Both women are interesting, and we talk about weather (Mrs. C.: weather is not dependable here, it has been better over the last ten years than ever before), cross cultural things like consumerism, etc.

 Also talked to Brawnwin Von R. and a French gal with died blonde hair in her 40's or 50's, who Cathy says drives a Roller.  Saw Tim S. who says Robert is doing best in classes and bravo for Agassi, mustn't we be celebrating.  I think of Tim as the opposite of me (Mary as well), so un-selfconscious.  Tim is the former athlete, you feel so comfortable with the two of them, how do they manage?

 Dreamt I was travelling across country, Russia.  Had to go through very cold area (I was cold in the night.) during one part I flew home and came back for the car ride.

 Meeting Josts today for lunch in London, Mon Plaisar on Monmouth Street.  My first meeting with fellow employee since June, 1991.

 Finished The Woman in White.  I couldn't put it down!

 Saturday 11 July.  4:30 p.m.  My life is impressionistic.

 Sunday 12 July.  3:55 p.m.  Very cloudy.  Threatening but no rain expected.

 Notes:  To cry out to God, not be independent (from  Glittering Images).  War/self defense as the easy way out?  i.e., have we ever completely tried Jesus' plan?

 Monday 13 July.  10:30 a.m.

 "Rota":  list of people.  Rotation, as in a roster.  (People having things to do in that order.)

 "Hustings":  parliamentary election proceedings.

 "Crikey!":  expression of astonishment, corruption of "Christ."

 Later in the day:  Rained 7 to 10.  Light to moderate, beginning with sprinkles.

 Thinking, as I read the Psalms: As one moves away from a pure obedience of the 10 commandments, or away from the strict "don'ts" of the Catholic church, one becomes more uncertain of the path to God.

 There was a very good reading yesterday from Deuteronomy.  It was Moses speaking and it was to the effect that: how blessed, happy are you!  You do not have to search for God's laws, here they are! (referring, I take it, to the 10 Commandments).  What an extraordinary thing: to have the "law" delivered directly from God!  What could be easier than keeping His laws, now that you know what they are!

 The next reading was Paul, and I forget its point, but the Gospel was the story of the lawyer who asks Jesus what is the law, the way to heaven.  Jesus asks him what he thinks it is and, being the good lawyer, he deduces: love God above everything and love your neighbor.  After the lawyer asks (I take it not with entirely wholesome motives) who is my neighbor, there follows the very beautiful story of the Good Samaritan.

So we have gone from the laws handed down from heaven to the laws which address, purely, our relationship with God and neighbor, not a commandment or a law, but a description of the state in which that relationship must rest: love.  It is at once easier (we know the end in mind, the goal, the perfect, not just the borders beyond which we must not go [the "don'ts]) yet, at the same time, harder, because it is the ideal, which leaves us the large middle ground.  The question lies between the two: how far short of the goal is permissible?  Even as I write that, I know it is not a good question: how much can I get away with?  How difficult for all Christians; exactly when must we behave as the Samaritan?  Today's life, particularly in the City, is a good example.  Is a homeless person like the injured traveller?  Today a member of the homeless community might very likely be the cause of waylaying a traveller. 

I do not know the answer.

Yesterday, as I sat in church, I realized it was probably time to admit to God that I do not have all the answers.  Actually, I should say "complain" to God, for that is a much better way of putting it.  Usually, I tell myself, wait things out, God's will be done, etc., I can bear anything.

But I thought I saw yesterday that when I say, "go ahead, deal it out, I can take it," I'm holding myself out as not needing God's help.  I'm saying, I can go it alone.  It is not the voice of the child of God, it is the voice, if not of pride, then of the stubborn child.  I recall often the words that I must trust in God, and I have learned through my children (more than I ever dreamed I would) what this means.  I must recognize that I am dependent on God for everything I am and everything I do.  So, that includes not just my daily battles (my wants, my needs, my fears, etc.), but my attitude toward victory in those battles.

In one sense, however, I suppose a real child thinks he can do everything himself!  Certainly I see that in Robert!  A younger child is more dependent, so much so that he or she does not spend any time worrying: he or she knows the father and mother will provide.  Occasionally the child complains, often does his or her own thing.

It is hard to concentrate on things with the movers coming tomorrow.

I suddenly realize, suddenly see, as I think of how difficult I have always found writing in the summer, that this past year has been like one long summer.  I have had spots of diligent craftsmanship, and I think I am better off for that.  I have tried, and if I didn't necessarily fail, I wasn't very successful either.  Still, I wrote things, I worked through some ideas and saw what became of them when I put them to the test.  (Not much!)  The next steps are the same, but I hope also they will be progressive, and I will not have to retrace my old path.

As I watched the Sound of Music the other night, in particular, the arguments of Uncle Max to Georg to go along with the Nazis, to at least appear to go along, I thought of how brave Georg was in steadfastly resisting the temptation to take the safer, easier path.  I thought how in my own life I face similar temptations.  For example, to go along with the idea of wealth and all it brings, to be seduced by the importance of things I work on.  How easily is it to fall into these traps!  Another article I read recently mentioned how the devil's work is behind the idea that we are too busy to do the things we should, to concentrate on what we must.

I read the Psalms and read of David's praying about battles, about the Lord arming him and protecting him in battle.  Shouldn't I be thinking of my own life in terms of such battles?

As I near the end, I remember my stay in 1967, when I neglected my diary at the end and how that time is now a tantalizing mystery.

I look forward to going home, to have a change of scenery, make life a little more simple here (after the movers leave) (until life becomes incredibly complicated back home!).  I suppose one might tire of a summer with too many days like today (July!): cold, wet, windy; but we will miss them back home, though I recall wonderful rainy summer days in the desert, oh, the smell!

Hob nob creams, hot coffee and

in the kitchen on
a cold, windy, damp day.

Jeffrey's First Communion
June 7

18. Saffron Walden in a Year

 Wednesday 8 July.  Noon.  Cloudy.  Sprinkled for 5 minutes at 10, not cold.

 As I walked across the common, down from Shire Hill, where I had dropped Thomas off at school, I began thinking of how things have changed here in Saffron Walden over the past year. 

 The Waitrose Store has expanded, moving its liquor department to the north end of the store and providing for another access via a stairway.  The coffee and tea store went out of business and the florists expanded into the vacated space.  Several stores in the high street (news agent, Italian restaurant) went out of business.  The Coop changed its name to Leo's.  The vacant large store has sort of reopened; it now houses various sellers of merchandise, sort of like an indoor flea market.  The Saffron Hotel took down its scaffolding and remodelled its dining room.  The model store moved, a salon went out of business on the corner of Church Street and was replaced by a tea shop.  The Indian restaurant up by Debden Road was remodelled and opened, the video store further up the road moved, leaving behind a dead bird just inside, past the mail slot on the floor.

 Cleales remodelled its gas pumps, Blythe and Pawsey moved.  Audley End took on scaffolding.  The Newport Road was widened and resurfaced.  The parking rates at Audley End Station went up.  Dorringtons remodelled (though it's hard to see how), Eadon Lilley doubled its size in the market square.  Hill Street (the main one leading up from High Street to Market Square) then up to Church Street was resurfaced with a new water line put in, together with new pavement and pedestrian (stone) crossings. 

 Two stores opened behind Boots, Gluttons and Saffron Walden Interiors; a decorator store left its spot in George Street below Waitrose.

 The Swan Meadows parking lot began with construction of an access road by the golf course.  Trees were trimmed in the church yard; a clock arm fell off the church tower clock.  One or two small charity shops went out of business, but the Oxfam store opened a books only store.  Adtax and Princes taxi merged and made West Road/South Road their HQ.

 The road into Saffron Walden from Stump's Cross changed numbers, from an A road to a B road.

 One of my questions is whether there is now a better cup of coffee in town?  I don't know.  I gave up after my first purchase.  Perhaps the reason the English drink tea is that they can't make coffee?  The most disappointing thing about England remains its food.  How often do I get my hopes up, only to be more often than not disappointed!  On the other hand, Cathy, thinking the worst is yet to come, is often pleasantly surprised.

 I realize I am entranced by the details of life, all the things I save, seeming to represent the very everyday-ness of life: scraps of paper, receipts, pictures, newspaper items.  They really are the artifacts of daily life, but I keep sensing that I must be missing something.  I'm not sure what it is I'm missing, perhaps the only way to find out is to get rid of all the things I save and see where or in which direction my attention is turned.

 Re Wilkie Collins.  I am at a spot now (p.420) where I am desperate to keep going.  Why?  The pace is a little slow, but these characters you feel are trapped in Victorian situations which wouldn't exist today.  You want to be able to tell them, Can't you break out of it!  Be suspicious, etc.!  So I read on, hoping to speed up our heroine's success by reading faster, getting to the parts where she will get out of her fixes!  4 p.m.

 I was wondering today (as I return to the Book of Job) about wisdom, thinking that wisdom is a gift of the Holy Spirit, Holy Spirit is God, is love.  Does that somehow mean that wisdom is tied into God, into love?  Perhaps God's love, perfect love, includes wisdom as one of its component parts?

18. Bournemouth; the Easy Way Out; Freedom

Monday 6 July.  We leave Lyme Regis at about 11, and drive to Weymouth, where we wander around a busy little harbour after lunch at a TGIF type place.  We are the only ones for lunch.  Food was OK, burgers like shoe leather.  Afterwards we walk down to the diving museum, which is quite good and has an interesting display on the Titanic.  We watch a boat unloading crabs, then it is time to leave.  Robert and Jeffrey try to win £5 by riding a funny bike/scooter, but fail.  (What is the secret?)  It is a lovely day as we drive through Wessex, Thomas Hardy country.

We leave Weymouth at 3:55 and drive to Bournemouth, getting there at 5:10.  We find what we have been looking for: a long, broad, warm sandy beach.  We find plenty of parking spaces nearby as the crowds have thinned.  Lot of kids, French, Norwegian, Russian or some other east Europeans, even a topless 45-55 year old woman.  Thomas goes nude, Mara topless in her underwear, Robert and Jeffrey both in their shorts; it is lovely and relaxing.  I even bring out the Hermes towel again!  We finally leave at 7:25 and have a spirited ride home, arriving at 10:15.

Tuesday 7 July.  Home at Saffron Walden.  12:15 p.m.  Unpacking the trunk and sorting through papers, inventories.  Getting ready to leave.

Cloudy, after a crystal clear evening last night as we drove up the M-11 to Saffron Walden from the south.  I have just sat down to write in the middle of packing and cleaning.  (I knew Cathy would return with Thomas as soon as I sat down!  Back late from Waitrose and horseback lessons.)  I thought I would note some fleeting thoughts over the past few days.

The precipitating moment for writing this morning is as follows:  I was in the garage sweeping, thinking about packing, recalling that I packed the same way last year, little by little.  Each time I packed away all but the "necessaries."  As the week passed until the next packing, the necessaries became fewer.  In other words: each time I packed I was able to discard more from my immediate needs.  I realize it is only packing, but it shows how we can get used to things.  When we first came over here, indeed for several months, I used to think, wouldn't it be nice to bring back a BMW, a Merc, etc. or, best yet, an old right hand drive Jag.  Now I think: I hope I do not have to buy a car for many years, and when I do, I'll buy one of those cheap but nice VW's.

So I think we've learned to get along with less over here.  When we return we will, however, once again get into the habit of using our "conveniences" again: microwave, coffee grinder, VCRs, cable TV, etc. and I will soon notice that Brian has a nice new car or Gary has a new suit or whatever, and I will feel myself pulled into the same old whirlpool of consumption.  Will I be able to restrain myself?

The Easy Way Out.  This morning I was looking through the "Legal Appointments" section of the "Business Times" (Part II of the paper, which, by the way, split into three parts while we were here, taking out some from first and putting into "Life and Times" section, or something like that).  As usual, I did not see anything in the Legal Appointments for American lawyers (in contrast, lately there have been ads by U.S. law firms for solicitors).  Later, as I was sweeping in the garage, I had a major insight!  It occurred to me for the first time that perhaps I might be able to understand M. Fridolin, Fr. Van Dorn.  I thought, as I cleaned, that by looking through the "adverts" for legal jobs, a job I don't really want, I am taking the easy way out.  What I want to do is to be able to support myself by writing, so I can concentrate on the children and birds and nature and Cathy, all the personal things in life; but that is very hard!  (I have no need to remind myself.)  Perhaps that is how I came to be a lawyer.  It was the easy way out. 

I was thinking about all of this right after I had been filling out the customs declaration for our return and thinking about having to pay thousands of dollars in duty.  What should I do??  Then this morning the thought came easily: just fill it out correctly; "do the right thing," and don't give it any more thought.  Perhaps this was a clue to my thoughts a few minutes later on why Fridolin and Van Dorn said I took the easy way out.  At that time that's what I did: in the form of thoughtless, smart aleck comments designed to please my neighbor, entertaining myself with baseball games, music, etc.

I have also been thinking, since I went to confession last, with Jeffrey in London, when I had a conversation with the priest regarding temptation, noticing women (though, as I have told Cathy my--chased out a black lab!-- thoughts rarely, if ever, go beyond just looking.  They are very limited fantasies, wondering what's beneath the clothes, perhaps more symbolic of my desire to see inside other people more completely than humans are able.  I know Cathy, Robert, et al. I cannot ever know their hidden beings, that must be left to the next life, I suspect, and that is the one thing of heaven that begins to interest me, especially when I consider that heaven promises to bring a closer relationship with God, the mind of all minds!).  Anyway, ever since that day at confession, when I answered my own question by saying, "I suppose it just takes discipline, doesn't it?" my thoughts have been heading in the direction of where they ended up this morning regarding talent and potential.

I understand a little better now.  I have wondered, worried a lot why these people did not tell me what my talent/potential was.  How was I supposed to know?  And there is some truth to that, when looking at things from the mind of a young teenage boy.

As I look back to Fr. VanDorn's class, however (though much of it was spent in a daze), I remember wanting to learn more about Teilhard and do more volunteer work.  I just never followed through.  It is hard and it remains hard to figure out what we really want.  (It has taken me over 20 years to figure out where I fit in, though I am not concluding that I have solved my problems, only that I have recognized to a better degree what others saw in me, and realized that, while sometimes it is hard to know what I want, if I think about it, pray about it and just let it come, it will come.)  Harder still is putting something into action with a singlemindedness of purpose and effort which I tend to shy away from.

Last night on the M-way, I was also thinking that I used to pray for wisdom and that I do feel as if my prayers have been answered.

Somewhere, sometime in the past few days, perhaps it was also on the drive home last night, I heard or read that, "he was educated and not much good for anything, what else was there for him to do but write?" or something like that.  I felt it fit me accurately.

To conclude this spate of wisdom:  discussing with Cathy at dinner Sunday night, how, in the "old days", i.e., pre-20th Century, there was much more concern in daily life with survival.  Marriage and children were important enough that it made sense to marry for worldly success of family or successors, to marry for money or the prospect of children, things that might ensure the success of the family; and that love did not necessarily enter into things.  Having a mistress (or the male equivalent) tended to creep into things as the human emotions constantly bubble to the surface, requiring the individual to deal with it somehow.

Today, we have a more serious task facing us than in the old days, because we are no longer saddled with the continuation of our families/race (at least not in the same manner as before; saving the planet is extra-family).  These days we are faced with the much more serious task of looking for and finding love, which is why, I think, there are so many unhappy people.  It is much easier to make a successful physical and material match than a love match!

No More Old Rules.  A follow on thought suggested itself to me, as I sat on the beach yesterday with Cathy, at Bournemouth, watching the children in the water, at a lovely, sandy beach:   Before our times, when marriage or anything else was important for survival (for example, history and art and education) it was attended by pomp and circumstance.  There were ceremonies because of its importance.  Society rightly acted tough, placing an emphasis and importance on these things.  Now these once crucial human activities are not as important.  Why?  In marriage because the human race has managed to survive and increase, and continuing our race is not as important as it once was.  In the case of art, history and education, perhaps because of the ease with which knowledge, which we mistake for wisdom, can be ours.  We can watch a movie tell us all about ancient times or life around the world.  We also live in times so much more materially advanced that it seems we are at the pinnacle of human achievement, and that pinnacle reaches higher and higher every day, making last year's achievements (let alone last century's) pale in comparison.  So the whole picture of what has gone before becomes much less important, as today's achievements are glorified in the daily media.

With the lessening importance of what were once revered customs, ceremonies, events in one's life, there has arisen a complete freedom to do what one pleases.  The social constraints are off (sex is a good example of this) and we are no longer beholden to old fashioned rules.

What does this mean?

It has its analogy to my own life.  I told the priest, yes I must be disciplined, and I think that is true with our lives.  The church, to take one example, has treated sex with great respect, knowing the power it can have over us if unleashed without any rules.  The problem confronting us today is how to deal with our freedoms, how to keep our sights set on the higher goals we humans are capable of and not, as Fr. Van Dorn once said, succumb to taking the easy way out.