I Don't See Chaucer But I Have My Own Canterbury Tale, Part Five of London Calling 2024

The author in front of the Canterbury Cathedral

Naughty boy, I didn’t post the latest update on my trip last night. Truth is I was exhausted from having walked over seven miles through Canterbury plus my stomach was still not reacting well to the large and delicious lunch I’d had. Anyway it’s the morning of my last full day. I have to vacate the lovely rooms I’ve stayed in since Thursday and move to a hotel for my last night, the reasons are not worth bothering with here but related to our aborted trip to Spain. Speaking of which, if my wife had not fallen and broke her patella we would have “enjoyed” a lot of rain in San Sebastián. Blessing in disguise (well disguised mind you) I suppose. Here it is sunny, yesterday it was not.

I took the train from London to Canterbury. It’s a scenic ride of just under an hour. It’s amazing how you can go virtually anywhere in this country by train and that trains are running all the time. Not expensive either.

From the railway station it was a short walk into town and what a beautiful town it is. Inevitably it has been polluted a bit by tourism and so much of what you see there is blatantly directed to the tourist trade. But the town’s charm overcomes this. I loved Canterbury.

The must-do stop is the Canterbury Cathedral. A church was initially build there in 570 (it’s older than me!) but the Cathedral went up in it’s current form (give or take) in 1070. It’s a magnificent structure. I happened to get in just in time for one of the min-talks that are provided and it was on the topic most of interest to me among those offered: Canterbury Cathedral during World War II. Our lecturer was an older gentleman straight out of central casting. He was made for the role. He told us about the brave souls — mostly either boys or old men — who were stationed on the roof during the Blitz to put out fires. There was little that they could do about direct hits but there was a big job to do putting out fires from incendiaries. The Cathedral sustained little damage during the war although the library was destroyed. Fortunately they’d had the sense to clear out all the books, documents and artifacts housed there before hand.

The Cathedral is massive and there’s much to see. Both overly ornate and beautiful. Including the many who are entombed there. Sacred ground everywhere. 

After my visit I found a pub that served an appetizing looking plate of fish and chips. The plate I ordered came with a side of breaded scallops along with smashed peas. My god the meal was delectable. I had a pint of N/A beer with it. I was full. Very, very full. For the rest of the day full.

I then went in search of the Roman Museum. It was virtually under my nose both a few minutes from the cathedral and from the pub. But it was on a side street that I ignored so I managed to traipse all over the city in search of it at one point being given directions that sent me to the far end of town. No matter. I’d planned a stroll after the museum, this simply meant reversing the order.

The museum was fine. Lots of artifacts from when the Romans ruled the town, a fascinating era to be sure. There were also exhibits related to pre-Roman times during the Iron Age.

The Blitz was also mentioned here for some of the bombing resulted in many Roman ruins being unearthed. As also happened with the construction of the Marlowe Theater (Christopher the playwright, not Philip the fictional detective).

From there I made my way back to the railway station and returned to London. I felt like a native coming back. I knew how to get to the tube station, I knew which train to catch in which direction and then I knew where to get the bus home.

I’ll be checking out of here and into there later then I plan to go see the Wallace Collection. I’m sure you’ll look forward to hearing about my further adventures as I look forward to having them.

Where the Dickens Did I Go Today? All This and More in London Calling 2024 Part Four

Charles Dickens' Writing Desk

I’ve now stood in rooms once occupied by Charles Dickens. Visited the Dickens house today. There I saw Dickens’ bed (kind of short), his writing desk (functional) his toiletries (not too exciting), his commode (um…okay) his kitchen table (nice)  and, as they say in advertising, more. It’s one of those deals that’s everything and nothing. As a fan of the great writer since I was a teen I found myself awestruck and underwhelmed. I suppose it’s like that sometimes when you visit famous places or see precious artifacts. They were actually his! They were just things. I’m still glad I went. Dickens has meant so much to me. Sure as a writer but far more so as a person. I felt like I was honoring his legacy and impact even if it wasn’t wowed by his razors. 

(The downside of my visit to the Dickens House was the threesome of obnoxious American tourists who made up for what they lacked in erudition and sophistication by acting like total yokels. Woman walks into a room and says: is this just paintings? In another room noting shelves of original copies of Dickens novels she blurts out: did he write all of these? Picks up a key that is part of the display and not to be touched, holds it up and asks: aren’t these for a prison?)

Having paid my respects I found myself near Russell Square which is a a very nice part of London called Camden that I’ve only passed through in the past. I strolled around the park on what was a very pleasant late morning. From there to the British Library. My second visit. I beheld the Magna Carta and other historic artifacts such as Henry VIII’s bible. I also saw the original lyrics of some Beatles songs such as A Hard Day’s Night and Michelle. There was Oscar Wilde’s original draft of The Importance of Being Ernest, the original copy of a poem by Sylvia Path, part of the third draft of George Eliot’s Middlemarch (in her own hand). But somehow what impressed me most was seeing Michael Palin’s original scribblings for the famous Spanish Inquisition sketch. Some of my favorites, The Beatles, Wilde, Plath, Eliot and Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Take that Magna Carta.

I returned home in mid afternoon so I could take a nature walk on the Parkland Walk which is a very short distance from where I’m staying. The missus and I walked it last year and it’s lovely. Check out my Instagram for photos from today’s stroll. (If you’re not a follower put in a request and I’ll okay you tout de suite. It was good to do something that did not involve riding somewhere, standing in a queue or being in a damn room. Fresh air and nature, call me a fan.

The trail was developed out of a former train track. The tracks there were in use through 1970. Many people use the Walk today as a jogging or running course while many others simply go for leisurely strolls often with dogs or children. As has been the case all over London I heard many languages on today’s walk and still more accents. The city averages 200,000 tourists a day (I begrudgingly admit to being one despite always feeling so at home here). In addition London is full of immigrants from all over the world. Plus there are a lot of international students here.

Now I’m heading out for dinner. A few days ago I walked by a restaurant that caught my eye — actually it was the sea bass on the menu that caught my eye. I’m going to check it out and perhaps eat it. Yum.

An Emotional Blogger Basks in Victory, Part Three of London Calling 24

Phot by author (that's me)

Outside the stadium after the match I was so happy that I almost wept. Instead I composed myself and called the missus. It was such a grand day that I had to share it with the love of my life.

I had worried far too much about getting to the stadium. And needlessly. It was as easy as it looked. Fifteen minute bus ride than an eight minute walk. All straight forward. I was there ridiculously early (somewhat by design) and started by popping into the Armory, Arsenal’s superstore, to buy some goodies — for myself. I could have spent much more than the seventy pounds our account was reduced by. Most important I got a new Arsenal scarf. Scarves are de rigueur among footie fans and have been for many decades. I left mine at home, it’s getting on in years.

My ticket had been purchased through the good folks at Champions Travel which means I paid a small fortune but got to seat in the club level among all the posh people. I note how especially nice all the employees are when you’re among the monied. Wasn’t going to fight the class war today, I excepted their deference. The ticket came with a meal. My choice was a Thai dish of glazed prawns. Yummy.

I love proper football (soccer to you Yanks) I played as a lad and all the way through college and was a very good player. A developing fondness for drink derailed my career. Later I coached and again met with considerable success. Coaching was one of the things I’ve enjoyed and done really well in my life. I miss it. 

I’m also accomplished at being a fan of the sport and since I was a lad and saw them on Wide World of Sports, I’ve been a supporter of North London’s Arsenal. I saw my first match 51 years ago -- an intoxicating experience. With the advent of the internet and Premier League matches being televised in the States I’ve been able to become absorbed in the game and particularly in my favorite team. I don't live and breathe Arsenal but -- never mind, I do. Today marked the sixth happy occasion I was able to take in a match in person this century.

There’s nothing that compares with the atmosphere of a British football match. The songs, the chants and the vibrant cheering are constant and send chills down my spine.

Today’s was a another dominant performance by the Gunners who currently top the league though having played one more match than their closest competitor. The final was 3-0 and it could have been much worse for the opposition.

When I finally tore myself away from the stadium I was, as described earlier, nearly weeping. It’s difficult to describe or explain the love one can have for a team. I have a deep undying love for Cal football and Arsenal. 

I strolled around a bit and found a pub filled to the brim with Arsenal fans. Wanting to soak up more atmosphere I entered and had a beer (non-alcoholic in my case). It was fitting and good that I did that.

I’ve now returned from a delicious dinner at a Japanese restaurant with the interesting name of, Wow Japanese. There’s something endearing about such a moniker. The two pieces of sushi, the salmon teriyaki and the passion fruit ice cream desert were all superb.

My goodness but it’s been a bloody good day.

War, What is it Good For? A Museum! Part Two of London Calling 2024

Imperial War Museum, photo by author

The much anticipated meal was…okay. I was hoping for more than okay. I was also hoping for more food. The three oysters I got were evidently newborns. I studied them with a microscope. The main course was delicious — what there was of it. Desert was literally more filling. Thank god they gave me bread or I would left the joint hungry. I did enjoy my first ever non-alcoholic cocktail. The tab for this quick bite was seventy-two pounds. The night before the fish and chips I had that pub was about fifty pounds less and a better meal at that. 

Started the day with a trip to the Imperial War Museum. It’s one of the best museums of any kind I’ve ever been to. As much as such a place can, it brings home the horrors of war more than it glamorizes it. I was especially interested in and impressed by the World War I section which featured a replica trench of sorts. They have an amazing array of helmets, rifles, knives, uniforms etc. that were actually used in battle. Likewise in the WWII section. I also appreciate the time they give over to people of color who fought in the wars and the role of women. They further acknowledged atrocities committed by all sides. I’d be tempted to call them fair and balanced if that phrase hadn’t been coopted by a Rupert’s Propaganda Network. The Holocaust section was brilliantly done. A heavy emphasis is placed on showing the lives of Jews and Roma before the war (many of whom perished in camps) thus giving greater context for the whole awful mess. It would be too easy for Holocaust displays to feel exploitive or trivializing. Not an issue here. The museum also boasts some of the better gift shops I’ve come across. I am a sucker for museum gift shops.

From there I hopped one of London’s ubiquitous double decker buses for a short ride to Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and a slew of statues. I snapped many a photo of the sites there and in this I was neither a pioneer nor alone. I ambled over to Trafalgar Square then took quite a long bus ride home.

It rained virtually all day though never hard. I’ve been in London on at least seven different occasions and seen only a few days of worth of sunshine. At least it’s not too cold (it is May, after all) and the rain is supposed to take a rest for most of tomorrow. It works hard around here.

Speaking of tomorrow, I’ll be off to the Emirates to see some proper football. You can likely read about it on this space tomorrow. Something to look forward to.

I Barely Miss a Bus and Am Thankful, Part One of London Calling 2024

A Clock Tower in North London

I almost got hit by a bus. It happened so fast that it’s impossible to recreate exactly what transpired. I do know that it was entirely my fault. I was gathering wool and confused by an intersection — simultaneously. The driver broke just in time. He pulled to a stop and gave me what for, concluding with “yeah, you’re very lucky.” I suppose so.

(Note to self: be more careful when crossing streets.)

That moment — for that’s all it was — was a lowlight of the first 24 hours of what I’m calling London Calling 2024. There’ve only been a few others so far. As seems always to be the case when I travel there are WiFi issues. I’m staying at the same Air B&B the missus and I bunked at least year. Lovely place in North London, convenient to lots of things including eateries and transportation of the public variety. But I don’t recall an issue with the WiFi last year. In the booklet the host left there is listed the access server. Funny thing, you can’t find it when trying to log on. No problem, one thinks, for when letting me in and giving me the keys the “host” told me that if there were any problems someone was home “ninety-nine per cent of the time.” I seem to have hit what is a rather long one per cent. It’s been four hours since I last popped up and still no one’s home. A text has to yet be responded to as well. I know I can use my phone as a hotspot and likely will later to post this but that runs into money I already blew a king’s ransom on a cab from Paddington Station to here.

The flight was fine. It did not crash. There were three small children across the aisle including a baby and they made a bit of a racket but I’m not so much bothered by children making noise, although an occasional screech can be a turn off.

The meal was maybe the best I’ve had in-flight which is to say on a scale of one-to-ten it actually achieved a five. Maybe a six. I finished reading a book on the flight and slept pretty much the rest of the way missing breakfast in the bargain. After claiming my luggage (I hate watching a million suitcases go by before mine finally shows up) it was the Heathrow Express to Paddington and the million dollar — er, pound — cab ride.

Unpacked. Went for a stroll. Meandered the aisles of a bookstore as is my want. Found the fancy restaurant where I’m dining tomorrow (Mr. Bigshot here has a reservation). Bought some provisions: cereal, milk, yogurt and the like. Returned to the temporary abode before going out for din din. Or dinner as you sophisticates call it.

Dined at a pub called the King’s Head for the second time in two years. Best fish and chips I’ve had in many moons. A pleasant ambience too.

Surprisingly for London it’s foggy (I know, what are the odds?). But not too cold at all and so far the rain has held off. How long that will continue is not worth thinking about.

Listened to a podcast and made further attempts to get the WiFi issue settled. To no avail. I’ve had WiFi issues in Paris, Bologna, Amsterdam, Berlin and Neptune. The horrors of traveling.

I’m enjoying myself though I miss the wife who’s at home recovering from a broken kneecap (the patella to be specific). Traveling with her can be frustrating at times (mostly for her) but is always a great joy and integral to our wonderful marriage. Originally we were going to be here for a week and then head to presumably sunny Spain for two weeks with a stop in Bordeaux mixed in. Alas. The injury ruined all that. But she insisted I do the first third of the trip especially since I had a very pricey ticket to a football match. So here I am.

Tomorrow I’m planning a trip to the Imperial War Museum and Westminster Abbey and there’s that dinner I have reservations for but not about.

Maybe being on my own will do me some good. I traveled alone a lot when I was a young man. Did me no harm. This time I just have to watch out for busses.

I Can't Stop Thinking About This Photo

Okay, so you've got Sonny and Cher. Sonny is grinning and Cher is not. But then you've got, of all people, Bob Dylan with them and HE'S smiling with his arm extended beyond Sonny's head and his fingers doing I don't know what. Maybe he's reaching toward Cher. (Who wouldn't rather be touching Cher rather than Sonny?) We can see three people in the background no way of knowing who any of them are. One looks like he's drinking from a cup. One is a woman and the third is looking at the three people getting their photo taken. Looks like they could be in a studio or backstage. The photo had to have been taken in the 1960s. This would have been before the Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour which started in 1970. At least I'm pretty sure. I'm also pretty sure that Dylan was never a guest on the show because why would he be and he's not listed among the prominent guests the twosome had on the show.

I just don't associate Dylan with Sonny and Cher. I doubt he would have avoided them but he was fairly particular about who he hung out with and doubtless still is. Maybe they just "bumped into" one another after a gig. Maybe it was a Dylan show, maybe it was a Sonny and Cher performance, maybe they were seeing another act. Again, I don't know. Time to do a little research.

(Pause while the blogger opens another window and does due diligence.)

Here's what I found out (why I didn't do this before I began this post, I cannot tell you): the photo was taken in 1965 (told you!) at Atlantic Studios. That's all I could learn. I also was reminded of the fact that Sonny and Cher had a hit with a song Dylan wrote, All I Really Want to Do in '65. Maybe that's somehow related to the photo. 

Interesting trio. Cher went on to win on Best Actress Oscar, Sonny was elected to congress and Dylan won a Pulitzer. 

Anyway, I still find it odd to see them together and with Dylan smiling. The stuff you come across.....

"Just because someone is God doesn’t mean they’re perfect" -- My Exclusive Interview With God's Parents

Earlier this month I visited God’s parents. Though private people they graciously consented to an interview (they’re admirers of this blog). Floyd and Gloria live in a modest home in Arlington Heights, a suburb of Chicago, with their cat Bubby and a cocker spaniel named Fred. Floyd is a retired insurances salesman and Gloria still works part time as a middle school librarian. Floyd is an enthusiastic philatelist who admits using his son’s connections to bolster his stamp collection. He also enjoys puttering around in his garden, bowling and watching baseball. Gloria is an avid knitter and enjoys reading a good mystery. When I visited them Gloria served tea and oatmeal raisin cookies she’d baked that morning. 

Me: You must be proud of your son.

Floyd: Well, yes, he’s accomplished quite a lot, creating a universe and having all encompassing power is pretty impressive plus —

Gloria: But more importantly he’s always been a good boy, maybe a bit temperamental at times….

Me: What was he like as a child?

Gloria: Precocious. He was walking and talking almost from the beginning. 

Floyd: He was ahead of the curve on almost everything.

Gloria: Well, except for potty training, he struggled —

Floyd: Don’t embarrass the boy by talking about that.

Me: How soon did you realize that he had what it took to be the almighty?

Floyd: When he started creating creatures.

Gloria: Out of thin air, mind you.

Me: Would some of these be the animals that are with us today?

Floyd: Oh no, this was awhile ago. We’re talking now about dinosaurs. 

Me: I’d imagine that could have been terrifying.

Gloria: Dear me, yes. I was almost eaten by one.

Me: Did he gave you any trouble as a child?

Gloria: Not really except that he pouted a lot. The school counselor noted he responded well to praise. I think we overdid it. “Nice job cleaning up after yourself,” “oh look how nicely you got ready for bed” “thank you for putting your toys away.”

Floyd: Yeah he got to the point where he didn’t just expect praise but was demanding it. It’s a problem to this day. You know how he wants a whole day set aside to honor him —

Gloria: He’s a gone a bit too far with all that and not saying his name in vain, I mean that’s a bit extreme. We should have put him in his place right then and there.

Floyd: We were too lax with the boy.

Gloria: Still he’s been a fine son and done a lot of good in the world.

Me: But what about all the famine and pestilence and war. I mean the Holocaust alone —

Floyd: Just because someone is God doesn’t mean they’re perfect.

Gloria: It’s easy to point out his mistakes but remember there are flowers, sunny days, mountains, beautiful creatures, music, all kinds of wonderful things.

Me: Bit of a mixed record.

Floyd: Now you’re getting into the whole argument about whether what humans do are his fault or theirs.

Me: Does he listen to everyone’s prayers? Seems a big job.

Gloria: Frankly no. He’s got a service. But they’re really good about getting important messages to him.

Me: Let’s talk about his son.

Gloria: Such a fine boy. 

Floyd: Very proud of him. Really sensitive kid. We were devastated when he died.

Gloria: But so delighted when he came back.

Floyd: Yeah, sure but then he ascended to heaven again. We rarely see him.

Me: By the way, where exactly is heaven?

Floyd: You head toward Saturn then take a sharp right at Titan — it’s one of Saturn’s moons, you know — and in a few light years you're there. Our boy’s a real stickler about people not coming unless they’re deceased. 

Gloria: He’s always been one for rules.

Me: Is there a hell?

Floyd: Are you familiar with CPAC?

Me: The Conservative Political Action Conference?

Gloria: Bingo.

Me: What do you call God?

Floyd: By his given name, Craig.

Me: He has a brother and a sister.

Gloria: Yup, Craig's the middle child. Our oldest boy Lonnie lives in Canada, runs a bait shop near a popular fishing spot. But you've met him. The baby is Celeste. She manages a Banana Republic in Stowe, Vermont. Divorced -- poor dear -- raising two lovely children.

Me: Does Craig visit you and his siblings often?

Gloria: Not often enough. Always claims to be busy overseeing the universe.

Floyd: You’d think by now he could leave a lot of the day-to-day operations to underlings.

Gloria: We do seem him on holidays. He particularly loves Thanksgiving. He has a fondness for my pumpkin pie.

Me: Is he married?

Gloria: Separated. 

Floyd: We liked LaShondra but they’ve had their troubles as some couples do. He can be pretty possessive.

Me: I sometimes hear people, athletes for example, say that all the glory goes to God. What exactly does that mean?

Floyd: It’s nice to hear your boy recognized but frankly neither of us can make heads nor tails of what that means.

Gloria: It’s a little much, if you ask me. I understand people thanking him for this or that but they do tend to go to extremes. He may be a deity but he puts on his pants on leg at a time just like everyone else.

Floyd: Well, actually now, dear, he can put them on two legs at once.

Gloria: But that’s just showing off.

Me: Is there predestination?

Floyd: I’ve asked Craig that a number of times but he just winks.

Gloria: You’d think he’d tell his own parents.

Me: Does he remember you on your birthdays?

Floyd: He’s very good about that. If nothing else a gift materializes in the morning with a card. If he has time he drops by or takes us out.

Me: Do people recognize him?

Gloria: Some do. 

Floyd: Not enough, though. He loves the attention.

Me: Are you religious?

Gloria: Yes, we’re buddhists.

Me: Really? How does your son feel about that?

Floyd: We try not to argue about religion.

Gloria: I don’t like arguing with him at all. He tends to take a holier-than-thou attitude.

Me: How does he feel about organized religions, specifically Christian ones.

Floyd: He likes the singing but isn't too crazy about some of the strictures religions often put on people.

Gloria: Yeah, for example he's fine with consensual premarital sex between adults. 

Floyd: the one that bug him the most is the Jehovah's Witnesses. He find the whole knocking on doors thing really annoying.

Gloria: Matter of fact the last time he was here some came to the door and he told them to take a hike.

Floyd: Slammed the door

Me: Some people claim that hurricanes, earthquakes and the like are God's retributions for people's sins.

Floyd: Hogwash. Craig has never figured out how to start or stop natural disasters. He's got some tech guys working on it.

Me: How does he feel about sinners?

Gloria: He's used to sinning. I mean, aren't we all?

Me: Have you ever been really angry with him?

Gloria: We were furious when he turned Lot's wife into a pillar of salt. We grounded him for a week for that. But lately not so much.

Floyd: We got a little peeved about AIDS, the ebola virus, Covid, things like that but he's grown man now, what can you do?

Me: Does he ever ask you for advice?

Gloria: Not about running the universe but he asks me about cooking and Floyd about bowling.

Floyd: I love my son but he's headstrong about his work. Thinks he knows everything just because he's all-knowing.

Me: Still you must be enormously proud of what he's done.

Gloria: Creating a universe and so many species is something to hang your hat on, that's for sure.

Me: Thanks so much for your time. I really enjoyed meeting you.

Floyd: Well, we’re such fans of your blog that we’re honored to have had you as our guest.

Gloria: This was fun. Next time you're in the Chicago area come by again.

Me: Thanks and give my regards to your son.

Floyd: You can always do that yourself with a prayer.

Me: Oh no, I meant your other son Lonnie. Him I believe in. 

Remembering Steven, A Bright Shining Light That Passed Through My Life

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”  -- from On the Road by Jack Kerouac.

I was reminded of this when someone mentioned Orange Julius:

Steven, who was a very distant cousin and good friend and mentor (in the fields of alcohol and drug intake) along with a friend of his from Finland (Matti) were staying with me for a few weeks in the summer of 1972 at my parent’s place in Berkeley. We were prone to long evenings of debauchery and had just enjoyed one despite the fact that Steven had an early morning class at Cal.

Steven returned from the class noonish and told us the following: “I was sitting in the Orange Julius before class drinking a coffee. I was totally spaced out staring into the void in the throes of a vicious hangover. Someone came up to me and said: ‘it’s far out that you’re tripping, man, but try not to be so obvious about it.’” Steven then fell into paroxysms of laughter as did Matti and I.

I’ve always cherished that story. It’s so very reflective of Steven who was so singular a personality that I made him a character in my latest novel. He had a huge impact on my life starting the day I met him when I was fifteen (he was just short of twenty, incredibly old to me at the time). Steven (never, ever Steve) was the first openly gay man that I ever knew. I grew up in a very different time in which homosexuality was not discussed as anything other than a perversion. It wasn’t so much that I and my peers grew up homophobic but more a matter of queerness not even being acknowledged. Learning that Steve was gay — which happened a few years into our friendship — made homosexuality seem not just acceptable but somehow exotic and interesting — though nothing I wanted to experiment with.

To say that Steven had a facility for languages would be a massive understatement. He learned Finnish — starting with zero words — in a few months. And he was soon fluent. Not surprisingly he got an undergraduate degree in linguistics. I don’t know whether he completed a post graduate degree but he easily could have with minimal application.

Toward the end of his life Steven was a homeless advocate. I know little of those years. I lost contact with him when I “settled down” and got sober, married and entrenched in a teaching career. I don’t know whether his drinking continued apace but he was only 43 when he died, perhaps of AIDS.

Back to the day I met him. I was at a large July 4th gathering in Marin County at which there were many Finns including a few of my cousins. I was seated at a large table on a lawn with two of my cousins desperately bored when Steven appeared (the fete was, after all, at his once and future home). It was as if Mick Jagger had entered the room. Though not a conventionally handsome man he had the presence of a rock star. Charisma oozed from his pores. Noting that we were drinking lemonade, Steven produced a bottle of vodka and proceeded to spike our drinks. 

My first experience with intoxication was something of a case of love at first sight — or sip. The experience was enhanced by Steven who possessed a ribald sense of humor. He was instantly impressed by my ready wit and perspicacity. Steven was further impressed that I could sing along to Springtime For Hitler from the film, The Producers.

Over the next ten years I saw Steven sporadically often visiting him in Marin, sometimes bringing along a current girlfriend. The July 4th gatherings continued but moved to Mendocino. There was a small community of Finns dominating a tiny town inland from

Mendocino called Comptche. We regularly visited there and Steven was often there as one of the residents was an aunt. 

The parties in Mendocino were wild, sprawling affairs with oceans of booze and large barbecues. I managed a number of sexual conquests there, except when showing up already with  a girl. When not satisfying my carnal desires I was in revelry with Steven and others.

There have been few things in my life that have indulged my ego more than the fact that Steven liked me so much. In addition to my wild and imaginative sense of humor he appreciated my ability to drink throughout the night and remain ambulatory and with the power of speech (if somewhat slurred). We were peas in a pod — one flooded with liquor.

Steven was a party waiting to happen. So was I. Between us we put Dionysus to shame.

I suppose given that I am a recovering alcoholic one might claim that Steven was a bad influence. Poppycock. First of all I would have embarked on a nearly twenty-year drinking career even if I’d never met the man. Steven provided me with some of my favorite memories of my late teens and early twenties. 

I don’t know what adjective best suits him. Many are required. Unique doesn’t suffice. I’ve used singular and it’s okay. Hilarious. Genius. Brilliant. Loquacious. Charming. Certainly flamboyant. Sometimes prissy and a little prickly. Insightful. Occasionally silly. Well-read. For me he was inspirational. He made me want to be smarter. He made me want to enjoy life to the fullest. He made me want to revel in what was special about me. To be true to my nature. 

I should add that Steven was — like the rest of us — far from perfect. He suffered occasional depression (I don’t know if it was as bad as mine). I know that despite loving, long-term relationships he fought against his own true nature and tried to be “cured” of homosexuality. I’ll never understand this. But he enriched my life and did the same for those around him. He never said anything dull or expected. He was an exploding star.

Anytime I hear a reference to Orange Julius, I think of him. Extraordinary chap. 

Plans Go Kablooey After a Serious Fall But I'm Soon London Bound

They’re called the best laid plains and it’s said they often go awry. No kidding.

The wife and I were going to fly to London on May 1 and spent five days there. Then we were going to take the train for San Sebastián Spain for a week in this glorious coastal town where we were going to do very little that did not involve either sitting on the beach or eating in one of the city’s many renowned restaurants. From there we were going to return to London stopping for a couple of days in Bordeaux, France on the way. It was all simply too marvelous.

A week ago today everything fell apart as my darling missus fell and broke her kneecap. Our lives were turned upside down. Yesterday I quit my job to stay home and tend to her. My daughters had alternated staying with her since last week but they have careers to return to. My spouse faces a surgery in about a week and then a long rehab. 

The worst of it all is over for her. There was great pain, there was being loopy on pain meds and there was dealing with the fallout from the fall. She’d spent 11 months meticulously planning the trip including finding just the right places to stay and mapping out our various train journeys. A woman who never has the blues faced horrible pangs of depression especially as she blamed herself for ruining a vacation I’d so looked forward to.

She’s better now.

So am I.

I was mostly crushed about what she faced and the tedium of being mostly bedridden as she is for now. I also felt the loss of the much anticipated trip.

However darling wife has insisted I still go on the beginning portion of the London part of the vacation and see the football (soccer to you, Yanks) match I have a ticket for. I have not yet fully transitioned from disappointment of the upturned vacation to excitement of the bit of it I get to enjoy but I imagine that will come soon enough.

At the emergency room and the orthopedic office I continued to be impressed by health care workers whether it is a nurse, an x-ray technician, an orthopedic surgeon or even a receptionist. They’re lovely people merely for doing the kind of work they do. Especially given that not all their patients are the most charming, patient, erudite of individuals. Waiting rooms can be depressing places.

I also had a medical appointment yesterday. Went in for an ultra sound that revealed that I have a hernia. This was not a surprise given the preliminary exam at my GPs and my own research after discovering a lump in my lower abdomen. It’s small and for now harmless and the feeling is that I should monitor it (while continuing normal activity). If it starts to change in negative ways then I should  perhaps schedule a surgery. The woman who performed the ultra sound was very nice. She put some warm goo on the area (which is not too far from what I’ll refer to as my private parts) then rubbed a doohickey of some sort over it — as was done when my wife was pregnant -- and looked at a monitor which recorded the images. The whole procedure lasted about seven minutes. One of the easier appointments I’ve ever had.

So there you have it. The latest update from your faithful correspondent. More to come in the coming days as I am free from work — and paychecks. More time to write and read and tend to my significant other. What a lovely woman!