gorgeous sunrise, temps freezing
Am lying in bed at 7am in one of my favorite hotels...the hotel alt in Quebec City. Actually, it's in a suburb of Quebec called Ste Foy. If it was actually in downtown Quebec City I'd stay in it and recommend it to everyone...but it's in the commercial strip. A not very attractive area of a stunningly attractive city. It seems the only people who would stay at the Hotel Alt are like me...here briefly on business that takes us into this suburb. Still, it's a shame since the Alt is great. Like a better designed W. Not quite so 'aware' of itself but simple, large rooms, with spectacular bathrooms...with a glass wall between the mosaic glass tile shower and the bedroom. My room is huge and from the bed i can see a glorious sunrise- which makes me think I'm looking to the East. At least, I hope I am. If not, there's something very wrong with the sky.
Had huge fun yesterday. Train between Montreal and Quebec City is fast and easy...a little over 3 hours. I always come by first class...publisher pays. But even when they're not I still plop for first class on trains. Not that much more, and so much more comfortable. And a quite nice hot meal. It's so peaceful to plug in to my music and watch the scenery.
Arrived just after 4pm. Dark already. Grabbed a cab straight for the CBC Radio studio's on rue Saint-Jean and did a fun 15 minute interview with Jacquie, who hosts the afternoon snow, Breakaway. Wonderful host. I like Jacquie a lot...and she was very helpful when we were here in the winter researching Bury Your Dead (book 6).
Then a cab to ste foy. checked into the hotel and scurried across to the mall where the bookstore is. La Maison Anglaise it's called. The English House.
Oh - breakfast just arrived. A little baffling, actually. I'd asked for bagel and cream cheese and coffee for two. But the cups are tiny and the pot looks more like a small pitcher of milk...with coffee in it. And - most perplexing- they sent up a toaster, which while my French might not be perfect I'm pretty certain I didn't order. Seems they want me to toast my own bagel.
I can see the reasoning...might even be considered the sort of kooky, brilliant innovation these hotels sometimes find...this way the bagel is definitely hot. However, I can't find a plug. Have resorted to plugging it in by the bed. Am squatting down, toaster on the floor. Bagel in. surely this isn't what the designers of this cutting edge boutique hotel had in mind? I feel like a caveman. Bending over fire. Toasting a bagel.
The event last night was great fun. I love La Maison Anglaise. Terrific independent bookstore...but mostly it's the owner, Guy Dubois and the people he has working for him. All very smart and keen and lovers of books. And it was wonderful seeing so many friends again. Heather...Larry, who sometimes comments on the blog, and his gorgeous 14 year old daughter Jodie. Marianna...on and on. Love events that feel more like a gathering of friends.
And Guy - lovely man - gave me a 'garland' of candy! Actually more of a cornucopia...this massive funnel of gummi candies. I think Guy - who has a wicked sense of humour - might have done it on purpose...so that I'd have to walk back to the hotel through this elegant city, carrying a massive club of candy. for sure no one bothered me. And it really is a delightful gift.
By the way - Edward Rutherford, who writes fabulous historic fiction - is doing an event at La Maison Anglaise next week I believe. He's in Quebec on holiday and offered to come because his latest book, New York, is out. I'm a great fan of his and would definitely go to the event, if I lived in Quebec and wasn't planning on being in the mental ward from eating so much candy.
Catching the train back to Montreal this afternoon. I'll be doing an event tomorrow (Saturday) organized by the Crime Writers of Canada, at the Pointe Claire Library in Montreal at 3pm, with two great crime writers...Michael Blair and Mary Jane Maffini. Hope to see you there!
Friday, 20 November 2009
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
ahhhh
sunny, cool, temps 4
Montreal - Yay! As wonderful as Britian was...and I could have happily stayed longer in London - it sure feels great to be home. Wonderful travel day too... not always a given. Heathrow was easy...helps to check-in on line. The Air Canada flight was almost empty so we got the emergency exit seats. We'd asked for them from the travel agent who assured us we had them, but they weren't the exit rows...indeed, she'd book us into the middle section...so not only were they not exit row, they were in the worst possible location. But we got really lucky and were able to switch once the plane was taxiing.
What a difference it makes!
And the flight attendents we had were just great! Again, not always the case. Often they're so harried and stressed - and some seem quite embittered - that it just makes an already dismal travel experience as a passenger all the worse. But this trip was great. Louise (one of our attendents) was delightful and kind...her husband is also named Michael...go figure. And Daniel was amazing...when not flying he volunteers for his local SPCA in Quebec and goes on Puppy Mill raids...and helped set up this huge raid in the papers today where 100 huskies were rescued.
Fascinating man. And it was quiet enough we got to talk a little to these two lovely people.
The only distressing part was one of the passengers was clearly quite ill. Throwing up all the time. She - poor one - was two aisles away and fortunately fell asleep for most of the flight. Her husband seemed to abandon her - choosing to move to a whole other cabin section.
But she was well looked after by the attendents. though - selfishly - I did wonder if she had H1N1 or the plague...or by the end of the flight I had us all succumbing to terrible illnesses - and/or put in quarantine. But no one seemed to concerned and she left the plane with the rest of us.
My noon event at the curling club has been cancelled - at least, it goes on but they cancelled me, thinking for some reason that I wasn't coming...crossed signals. Still, it gives me the day off and I'm almost giddy with excitement. Can't remember the last time I had a day off...no writing, editing, social events, speaking engagements...so I've rented a few movies, bought lots of candy and will get into my sweats, get into my bed and put the Star Trek new release in the machine...ahhhh.
Oh, another bit of good news, The Strand Magazine named THE BRUTAL TELLING one of the years best books! ahhhh.
How lucky am I. Back home. An afternoon off. And great book news. Michael is feeling good too. Sad at times, but mostly trying to concentrate on the good.
Am off to Quebnec City tomorrow for a 7pm event at La Maison Anglaise. Hope to see you there. Except those of you in Australia and New Zealand. And India. And South Africa. But the rest of you I expect to see.
Montreal - Yay! As wonderful as Britian was...and I could have happily stayed longer in London - it sure feels great to be home. Wonderful travel day too... not always a given. Heathrow was easy...helps to check-in on line. The Air Canada flight was almost empty so we got the emergency exit seats. We'd asked for them from the travel agent who assured us we had them, but they weren't the exit rows...indeed, she'd book us into the middle section...so not only were they not exit row, they were in the worst possible location. But we got really lucky and were able to switch once the plane was taxiing.
What a difference it makes!
And the flight attendents we had were just great! Again, not always the case. Often they're so harried and stressed - and some seem quite embittered - that it just makes an already dismal travel experience as a passenger all the worse. But this trip was great. Louise (one of our attendents) was delightful and kind...her husband is also named Michael...go figure. And Daniel was amazing...when not flying he volunteers for his local SPCA in Quebec and goes on Puppy Mill raids...and helped set up this huge raid in the papers today where 100 huskies were rescued.
Fascinating man. And it was quiet enough we got to talk a little to these two lovely people.
The only distressing part was one of the passengers was clearly quite ill. Throwing up all the time. She - poor one - was two aisles away and fortunately fell asleep for most of the flight. Her husband seemed to abandon her - choosing to move to a whole other cabin section.
But she was well looked after by the attendents. though - selfishly - I did wonder if she had H1N1 or the plague...or by the end of the flight I had us all succumbing to terrible illnesses - and/or put in quarantine. But no one seemed to concerned and she left the plane with the rest of us.
My noon event at the curling club has been cancelled - at least, it goes on but they cancelled me, thinking for some reason that I wasn't coming...crossed signals. Still, it gives me the day off and I'm almost giddy with excitement. Can't remember the last time I had a day off...no writing, editing, social events, speaking engagements...so I've rented a few movies, bought lots of candy and will get into my sweats, get into my bed and put the Star Trek new release in the machine...ahhhh.
Oh, another bit of good news, The Strand Magazine named THE BRUTAL TELLING one of the years best books! ahhhh.
How lucky am I. Back home. An afternoon off. And great book news. Michael is feeling good too. Sad at times, but mostly trying to concentrate on the good.
Am off to Quebnec City tomorrow for a 7pm event at La Maison Anglaise. Hope to see you there. Except those of you in Australia and New Zealand. And India. And South Africa. But the rest of you I expect to see.
Monday, 16 November 2009
Last day in the Big Smoke
Partly cloudy, cool, temps 13
Quite a nice day...and while I say cool it is, I believe, still considerably above normal. Michael spent an hour or more in the garden, doing a watercolour while I finished this edit on book 6 - Bury Your Dead.
I like it. In fact, I really like it. Can hardly wait to see what you think of it.
We headed off for breakfast to the Wolseley - Michael had an omelet and and I had stewed prunes in orange and ginger. Divine! And pots and pots of coffee. Then to Fortnum and Mason for gifts. We decided we really must buy a small flat in London if only to be able to furnish it with some of these great dishes and cutlery etc. Perhaps not the wisest use of our finances. Indeed, as I mentioned earlier, it will almost certainly never happen, but it is fun to dream. Besides, we have a fabulous life waiting for us in Canada - that includes Trudy. We miss her on our travels.
We're heading to an early dinner with Teresa Chris, my agent and her husband Charles...who also happens to be Lord Brudenell-Bruce, the son of a Marquess. And an actor. In fact, he's shooting the latest Harry Potter. Such interesting people we meet in London. Going around the corner to a place called Papillion. Hope it's good.
Robin and Jamie Agnew, who run Aunt Agatha's bookstore in Ann Arbor and are very influential in the mystery and crime writing community have chosen The Brutal Telling one of the years 10 best mystery novels. Wonderful!!! And Marian Misters, at Toronto's Sleuth of Baker street has given it a fabulous review in their latest newsletter.
So, good things keep happening.
Though I was sad to read of the death of Edward Woodward...I used to watch The Equalizer, and had a small crush on him. He was also in one of my favorite films, Breaker Morant. Fabulous.
Fly back to Montreal tomorrow...have an event noon Wednesday, speaking at the Royal Montreal Curling club luncheon. then Thursday I take a train to Quebec City for a talk and signing at a terrific bookstore there...La Maison Anglaise at 7pm. Home Friday and an event Saturday from 3-5 at the pointe Claire Library in Montreal. It's with Michael Blair, another Montreal crime writer and Mary Jane Maffini- who is coming down from Ottawa. It will be a panel discussion and the books will be for sale. signed books make a GREAT christmas gift.
Hope to see you there.
Then, home...home! Saturday night.
Quite a nice day...and while I say cool it is, I believe, still considerably above normal. Michael spent an hour or more in the garden, doing a watercolour while I finished this edit on book 6 - Bury Your Dead.
I like it. In fact, I really like it. Can hardly wait to see what you think of it.
We headed off for breakfast to the Wolseley - Michael had an omelet and and I had stewed prunes in orange and ginger. Divine! And pots and pots of coffee. Then to Fortnum and Mason for gifts. We decided we really must buy a small flat in London if only to be able to furnish it with some of these great dishes and cutlery etc. Perhaps not the wisest use of our finances. Indeed, as I mentioned earlier, it will almost certainly never happen, but it is fun to dream. Besides, we have a fabulous life waiting for us in Canada - that includes Trudy. We miss her on our travels.
We're heading to an early dinner with Teresa Chris, my agent and her husband Charles...who also happens to be Lord Brudenell-Bruce, the son of a Marquess. And an actor. In fact, he's shooting the latest Harry Potter. Such interesting people we meet in London. Going around the corner to a place called Papillion. Hope it's good.
Robin and Jamie Agnew, who run Aunt Agatha's bookstore in Ann Arbor and are very influential in the mystery and crime writing community have chosen The Brutal Telling one of the years 10 best mystery novels. Wonderful!!! And Marian Misters, at Toronto's Sleuth of Baker street has given it a fabulous review in their latest newsletter.
So, good things keep happening.
Though I was sad to read of the death of Edward Woodward...I used to watch The Equalizer, and had a small crush on him. He was also in one of my favorite films, Breaker Morant. Fabulous.
Fly back to Montreal tomorrow...have an event noon Wednesday, speaking at the Royal Montreal Curling club luncheon. then Thursday I take a train to Quebec City for a talk and signing at a terrific bookstore there...La Maison Anglaise at 7pm. Home Friday and an event Saturday from 3-5 at the pointe Claire Library in Montreal. It's with Michael Blair, another Montreal crime writer and Mary Jane Maffini- who is coming down from Ottawa. It will be a panel discussion and the books will be for sale. signed books make a GREAT christmas gift.
Hope to see you there.
Then, home...home! Saturday night.
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Death, thou shalt die.
Sunny, beautiful day, temps 13
Went to a tiny village called Tibenham yesterday for John Buxton's funeral. It was a beautiful event. Emotional, but didn't feel catastrophic. He was 75 and had seen his death coming, as had we all. And he talked about it easily, though admitted to Michael in private moments, that there were times he was afraid, and times he was in a rage about dying. And we felt that same way about losing him.
but finally, like with most death, it was a celebration of his life. And all the people he loved. And who loved him, including his wife Moira and children Jocelyn and Nigel and Dee and Patrick. And his grandchildren. And his friends and family. And Michael.
We sat at the back of the very old church. It's tiny and was crowded. The rafters and ceiling looked like the hull of a viking ship. It is a very simple, very clear church. Very lovely. And in the background were the bells John and Moira had had re-made a few years ago. The church was founded centuries ago by one of John's ancestors...another John Buxton. Many of his ancestors are buried beneath of the huge stones of the church floor. That wasn't possible for our John, but he did ask that he be allowed to lie there for one night, in his coffin, before being buried as close to the church as they could.
And so he did.
the service was simple as well, with his brother in law George doing a very lovely eulogy. And John's two sons reciting a Sonnet by John Donne - chosen by John. The one that begins, Death be not proud...
It was very moving to see his two boys, grown men now, so dignified.
Then the graveside service.
It was blowing a gale...the worst storms of the year for England. Rail service was disrupted, trees and electric lines down. Lashes of rain at the grave intermingled with huge leaves torn from trees.
It was very, very Gothic. I think we all appreciated how macabre and dramatic it was. Especially standing amid moss covered old tombstones beside the tiny church.
In fact, as we entered I noticed the marker commemorating the men of the parish who had died in the world wars. And I remembered that that was where I got the inspiration for the memorial window in the chapel in Three Pines. Beneath the list of names was written, simply, They Were Our Children.
After the service we went back to the Swan pub. Very old, half-timbered...small, comfortable rooms, each with an open fire. and out the leaded glass windows the storm continued. Then Peter, a friend of the family, who has helped us a great deal in the past two weeks on our visits to John and Moira, drove us to the train station. Thankfully our train wasn't disrupted. We made it back to Liverpool Street station, then home on the underground. By the time we emerged the storm was over. And today we awoke to a brilliant, sunny, new day.
Spent the morning on the last 20 pages...almost finished. Need to be so careful, so clear, at the end. We're off now for a Japanese lunch, then more editing this afternoon. I'm determined to be finished this draft by bedtime tonight.
Be well. Thank you for holding our hands through this, and coming to the funeral. We so appreciate it.
Went to a tiny village called Tibenham yesterday for John Buxton's funeral. It was a beautiful event. Emotional, but didn't feel catastrophic. He was 75 and had seen his death coming, as had we all. And he talked about it easily, though admitted to Michael in private moments, that there were times he was afraid, and times he was in a rage about dying. And we felt that same way about losing him.
but finally, like with most death, it was a celebration of his life. And all the people he loved. And who loved him, including his wife Moira and children Jocelyn and Nigel and Dee and Patrick. And his grandchildren. And his friends and family. And Michael.
We sat at the back of the very old church. It's tiny and was crowded. The rafters and ceiling looked like the hull of a viking ship. It is a very simple, very clear church. Very lovely. And in the background were the bells John and Moira had had re-made a few years ago. The church was founded centuries ago by one of John's ancestors...another John Buxton. Many of his ancestors are buried beneath of the huge stones of the church floor. That wasn't possible for our John, but he did ask that he be allowed to lie there for one night, in his coffin, before being buried as close to the church as they could.
And so he did.
the service was simple as well, with his brother in law George doing a very lovely eulogy. And John's two sons reciting a Sonnet by John Donne - chosen by John. The one that begins, Death be not proud...
It was very moving to see his two boys, grown men now, so dignified.
Then the graveside service.
It was blowing a gale...the worst storms of the year for England. Rail service was disrupted, trees and electric lines down. Lashes of rain at the grave intermingled with huge leaves torn from trees.
It was very, very Gothic. I think we all appreciated how macabre and dramatic it was. Especially standing amid moss covered old tombstones beside the tiny church.
In fact, as we entered I noticed the marker commemorating the men of the parish who had died in the world wars. And I remembered that that was where I got the inspiration for the memorial window in the chapel in Three Pines. Beneath the list of names was written, simply, They Were Our Children.
After the service we went back to the Swan pub. Very old, half-timbered...small, comfortable rooms, each with an open fire. and out the leaded glass windows the storm continued. Then Peter, a friend of the family, who has helped us a great deal in the past two weeks on our visits to John and Moira, drove us to the train station. Thankfully our train wasn't disrupted. We made it back to Liverpool Street station, then home on the underground. By the time we emerged the storm was over. And today we awoke to a brilliant, sunny, new day.
Spent the morning on the last 20 pages...almost finished. Need to be so careful, so clear, at the end. We're off now for a Japanese lunch, then more editing this afternoon. I'm determined to be finished this draft by bedtime tonight.
Be well. Thank you for holding our hands through this, and coming to the funeral. We so appreciate it.
Friday, 13 November 2009
Afternoon Tea....again!?
cloudy, lots of rain, very mild temps 16
Teeming rain today. Poor Michael went out to get the papers while I edited and came back drenched.
Quiet day...decided to go back 200 pages and smooth out and read the delicate thread in Bury Your Dead. Very worthwhile. It also made it clear where to add the new scene. then moved forward.
Have 20 pages to go - hope to finish Sunday.
Went out for afternoon tea to a wonderful little hotel on Basil Street, behind Harrods. It's called the Capital Hotel...not, I think, a very promising name...but a beautiful hotel. The tea was a suggestion of Erika. The room where tea is served only has about five tables. It feels like a study, with bookcases...and silk lined walls. Very fresh feeling and intimate and comfortable.
Yummy tea. I had Rose Petal Gong Yu.
Actually skipped the sandwiches and pastry stage. Wasn't hungry. But am now so we have reservations at an oyster bar on Sloane Street in half an hour. Not a bad way, all in all, to spend a Friday.
Tomorrow we're off early to catch the train from Liverpool Street to take us to Norwich and John's funeral.
All in all not a great way to spend a day - but we're sure glad to be here for it.
Must head off...probably won't blog tomorrow...won't be home until late. But will speak to you on Sunday. Hope you have a good weekend.
Teeming rain today. Poor Michael went out to get the papers while I edited and came back drenched.
Quiet day...decided to go back 200 pages and smooth out and read the delicate thread in Bury Your Dead. Very worthwhile. It also made it clear where to add the new scene. then moved forward.
Have 20 pages to go - hope to finish Sunday.
Went out for afternoon tea to a wonderful little hotel on Basil Street, behind Harrods. It's called the Capital Hotel...not, I think, a very promising name...but a beautiful hotel. The tea was a suggestion of Erika. The room where tea is served only has about five tables. It feels like a study, with bookcases...and silk lined walls. Very fresh feeling and intimate and comfortable.
Yummy tea. I had Rose Petal Gong Yu.
Actually skipped the sandwiches and pastry stage. Wasn't hungry. But am now so we have reservations at an oyster bar on Sloane Street in half an hour. Not a bad way, all in all, to spend a Friday.
Tomorrow we're off early to catch the train from Liverpool Street to take us to Norwich and John's funeral.
All in all not a great way to spend a day - but we're sure glad to be here for it.
Must head off...probably won't blog tomorrow...won't be home until late. But will speak to you on Sunday. Hope you have a good weekend.
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Inspiration
mainly sunny, mild, temps 15
Really, this is stunningly beautiful weather...quite a surprise for London. Have only used the hot water bottles twice and Michael's used his long underwear once...and I haven't yet.
thank you so much Lee Ann for your very beautiful post yesterday. It was only last night when we were in bed that Michael turned to me and said, 'You know, you never did identify Lee Ann as the woman blogging today.' I thought about it and realized he was right. I am sorry if it has caused any confusion!
We had a lovely day yesterday. Breakfast around the corner at Jak's, on Walton street. Then home to edit some more. Another 50 pages. Paused at 11 for a minute's silence and quiet reflection...and, in the words of Bert Finney, to do my sums.
Not totally happy with what I'd done yesterday. It was right...but there seemed something missing. A layer. Last night Michael and I joined our friends Mike and Dom for dinner at a restaurant called Moro. A Spanish/Moroccan fusion. It had just been named the Observor's Restaurant of the Month. Packed...quite a scene. Wonderful to see the two of them again. Dom works in marketing...mostly perfumes and cosmetics. Very high end luxury goods and is brilliant. Creative and thoughtful. Mike is a senior editor at The Guardian. He used to be the host of the CBC Radio Montreal morning show. So it was a gas to get all caught up.
But getting to the dinner meant taking a bus (we could have taken the tube but we prefer busses) across London. Took an hour, as we expected. The number 10 from Knightsbridge, along Hyde Park and ending up at King's Cross. Took an hour. We sat upstairs on the double decker and stared out the windows at this dazzling city. At - great good fortune!! - at the Christmas lights that had just been put up. Harrods all outlined in season green lights. But the most spectacular was Oxford Street toward Oxford Circus. We really hadn't been expecting it and so were stunned at it's beauty. Apparently hovering over the brilliant street were all these Christmas gifts...huge and lit....and candy canes...and trees....for blocks. The department stores were dripping in cheerful lights. We felt like children...wide-eyed and giggly, pointing out one beautiful sight after another.
It also gave me time to gaze out the window and think, gently, about the edit...and find the solution. A few scenes I want to slip in. Short, but I believe crucial. Always amazes me when such inspiration visits. it never 'strikes' me. More like a kindly friend who I suddenly notice is sitting beside me.
This morning I slept in to about 9 then we hopped onto the number 22 bus on Sloane Street and it took us to Piccadilly, where we went, once more, to our new favorite breakfast spot in all the world. The Wolseley. this time we got a table in the huge main room...all white and black...art decco. Huge arched windows. Fabulous coffee in a silver pot. Warm, frothy milk also in a silver 'creamer'. I had french toast and bacon...Michael had Cumberland sausage.
We're going back Monday for breakfast. As I said in an earlier post, I realize that is just who I am. I find what I like and pretty much stick to it. Not very adventurous...but wow, does it ever give me pleasure.
Michael then took me to the Anish Kapoor show across Piccadilly at the Royal Academy. I loved it! Very, very modern. Scultpures. Seems at times serious, at times playful. Very dynamic. Indeed, for reasons that I can't possibly explain, there were times I was almost in tears. of delight. Joy. It just felt so alive. So compassionate and inclusive. Divine...way more divine than the scalding at of 1600's Spain we saw earlier.
Then over to Fortnum and Mason's - which also almost brought me to tears....candy, tea, chocolates, jams, cookies everywhere.
then home on the number 14...and now we're back. Quieter day tomorrow...editing. Hoping to finish this edit. Will start the next on Sunday. By then I think it will be more polishing than anything else.
Speak to you tomorrow...hope you're well. And Lee Ann, we thought of you yesterday. And today. Thank you again.
Really, this is stunningly beautiful weather...quite a surprise for London. Have only used the hot water bottles twice and Michael's used his long underwear once...and I haven't yet.
thank you so much Lee Ann for your very beautiful post yesterday. It was only last night when we were in bed that Michael turned to me and said, 'You know, you never did identify Lee Ann as the woman blogging today.' I thought about it and realized he was right. I am sorry if it has caused any confusion!
We had a lovely day yesterday. Breakfast around the corner at Jak's, on Walton street. Then home to edit some more. Another 50 pages. Paused at 11 for a minute's silence and quiet reflection...and, in the words of Bert Finney, to do my sums.
Not totally happy with what I'd done yesterday. It was right...but there seemed something missing. A layer. Last night Michael and I joined our friends Mike and Dom for dinner at a restaurant called Moro. A Spanish/Moroccan fusion. It had just been named the Observor's Restaurant of the Month. Packed...quite a scene. Wonderful to see the two of them again. Dom works in marketing...mostly perfumes and cosmetics. Very high end luxury goods and is brilliant. Creative and thoughtful. Mike is a senior editor at The Guardian. He used to be the host of the CBC Radio Montreal morning show. So it was a gas to get all caught up.
But getting to the dinner meant taking a bus (we could have taken the tube but we prefer busses) across London. Took an hour, as we expected. The number 10 from Knightsbridge, along Hyde Park and ending up at King's Cross. Took an hour. We sat upstairs on the double decker and stared out the windows at this dazzling city. At - great good fortune!! - at the Christmas lights that had just been put up. Harrods all outlined in season green lights. But the most spectacular was Oxford Street toward Oxford Circus. We really hadn't been expecting it and so were stunned at it's beauty. Apparently hovering over the brilliant street were all these Christmas gifts...huge and lit....and candy canes...and trees....for blocks. The department stores were dripping in cheerful lights. We felt like children...wide-eyed and giggly, pointing out one beautiful sight after another.
It also gave me time to gaze out the window and think, gently, about the edit...and find the solution. A few scenes I want to slip in. Short, but I believe crucial. Always amazes me when such inspiration visits. it never 'strikes' me. More like a kindly friend who I suddenly notice is sitting beside me.
This morning I slept in to about 9 then we hopped onto the number 22 bus on Sloane Street and it took us to Piccadilly, where we went, once more, to our new favorite breakfast spot in all the world. The Wolseley. this time we got a table in the huge main room...all white and black...art decco. Huge arched windows. Fabulous coffee in a silver pot. Warm, frothy milk also in a silver 'creamer'. I had french toast and bacon...Michael had Cumberland sausage.
We're going back Monday for breakfast. As I said in an earlier post, I realize that is just who I am. I find what I like and pretty much stick to it. Not very adventurous...but wow, does it ever give me pleasure.
Michael then took me to the Anish Kapoor show across Piccadilly at the Royal Academy. I loved it! Very, very modern. Scultpures. Seems at times serious, at times playful. Very dynamic. Indeed, for reasons that I can't possibly explain, there were times I was almost in tears. of delight. Joy. It just felt so alive. So compassionate and inclusive. Divine...way more divine than the scalding at of 1600's Spain we saw earlier.
Then over to Fortnum and Mason's - which also almost brought me to tears....candy, tea, chocolates, jams, cookies everywhere.
then home on the number 14...and now we're back. Quieter day tomorrow...editing. Hoping to finish this edit. Will start the next on Sunday. By then I think it will be more polishing than anything else.
Speak to you tomorrow...hope you're well. And Lee Ann, we thought of you yesterday. And today. Thank you again.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
In Remembrance
Louise, bless her heart, has invited me to blog again on Remembrance Day, the anniversary of my son Thomas’s death. I’d like to talk a little about Thomas himself this time.
My own blog is titled “We Remember” which is a phrase that pops up everywhere once you start looking for it. Most of what I have remembered has to do with the way we have handled the time since Thomas’s death on November 11, 2004. It is hard for me to believe in some ways that it has already been five years since the day he died. It either feels like this has always been our reality, or like he was just here yesterday. He himself had a very sophisticated view of time, being the kind of kid who shut himself up in his room to secretly read St. Augustine’s Confessions. He understood Augustine’s concept of eternity as being all of time at once: hard for us mere humans to encompass. But it is a comfort to me in a way to think that in some sense at least he exists just as I remember him, as a chunky baby, as a thoughtful kindergartner, as a boy growing toward manhood.
People who did not know Thomas are always astounded to hear that he told us in July before he left for Iraq exactly what he wanted done if “anything happened.” (We could not bring ourselves to even say “If you don’t come back.”) He stood in the hallway while I clutched a basket of laundry and told me that he did not want to be buried in Arlington National Cemetery, that he wanted to be buried in civilian clothes, and that he had decided to pay for the higher level of life insurance available to soldiers, figuring that it was only a few dollars per month. I argued about the clothes but ultimately told him I’d do what he wanted, just don’t make me do it please. It was a gift in a way: when they came to tell us that he was gone, we knew precisely what we had to do.
And his view about time was also a gift: a few months later, his high school English teacher, Tom Tobin, was interviewed by the Washington Post as part of a series about the aftermath of soldiers’ deaths. Tom recounted a conversation in which Thomas revealed just what a remarkable kid he really was, how he had explained Augustine and eternity to his fellow students and teacher. Tom was amazed and impressed and it was the beginning of a friendship that lasted to the end of Thomas’s life.
It may be hard to believe that a kid who could contemplate his own death with equanimity and discuss St. Augustine with ease could also be described as a good soldier. But there they were: his Purple Heart, his Bronze Star, and his Good Conduct Medal all witnessing to his life as a professional soldier.
He had volunteered for his final mission, no surprise, in the end, to anyone who knew him.
My own blog is titled “We Remember” which is a phrase that pops up everywhere once you start looking for it. Most of what I have remembered has to do with the way we have handled the time since Thomas’s death on November 11, 2004. It is hard for me to believe in some ways that it has already been five years since the day he died. It either feels like this has always been our reality, or like he was just here yesterday. He himself had a very sophisticated view of time, being the kind of kid who shut himself up in his room to secretly read St. Augustine’s Confessions. He understood Augustine’s concept of eternity as being all of time at once: hard for us mere humans to encompass. But it is a comfort to me in a way to think that in some sense at least he exists just as I remember him, as a chunky baby, as a thoughtful kindergartner, as a boy growing toward manhood.
People who did not know Thomas are always astounded to hear that he told us in July before he left for Iraq exactly what he wanted done if “anything happened.” (We could not bring ourselves to even say “If you don’t come back.”) He stood in the hallway while I clutched a basket of laundry and told me that he did not want to be buried in Arlington National Cemetery, that he wanted to be buried in civilian clothes, and that he had decided to pay for the higher level of life insurance available to soldiers, figuring that it was only a few dollars per month. I argued about the clothes but ultimately told him I’d do what he wanted, just don’t make me do it please. It was a gift in a way: when they came to tell us that he was gone, we knew precisely what we had to do.
And his view about time was also a gift: a few months later, his high school English teacher, Tom Tobin, was interviewed by the Washington Post as part of a series about the aftermath of soldiers’ deaths. Tom recounted a conversation in which Thomas revealed just what a remarkable kid he really was, how he had explained Augustine and eternity to his fellow students and teacher. Tom was amazed and impressed and it was the beginning of a friendship that lasted to the end of Thomas’s life.
It may be hard to believe that a kid who could contemplate his own death with equanimity and discuss St. Augustine with ease could also be described as a good soldier. But there they were: his Purple Heart, his Bronze Star, and his Good Conduct Medal all witnessing to his life as a professional soldier.
He had volunteered for his final mission, no surprise, in the end, to anyone who knew him.
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