Simple Perfections I

The sweet cozy bed where I slept at Ian and Traudel's, with windows I kept open at night, and a view out to their garden. Bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss. Shabby Rose Chic, from the garden at Hilltop, home of Beatrix Potter. The grave of Little John (yes, of Robin Hood fame, the very same!) -- at Heathersage. His home was here, and his stompin' grounds ... the original headstone is to the left, there, the other is a much more legible marker. The cottage where he lived is no longer in existence, but evidently one used to be able to see that as well. Me and stone, it's a love thang! This was taken at Fawe Park, which is ON a lake and used to be the summer home for Beatrix Potter and her family during her childhood. It's currently occupied, and quite fenced off, but I was able to peep thru holes in the fence and take a few photos. I'm a paparazzi for stone, Baby! A Classic. Also an escapee -- was wandering with his Mama, outside the fence, in the car park where we parked to go to a surprise view ... after I'd taken this photo and put my camera away, this fella moseyed over to a nearby bench and discovered a bottle of beer on the ground, which he then proceeded to lick, nuzzle, suck and fondle with great gusto, while I struggled to untangle my camera strap to get THAT photo. Didn't happen. Eesh. Classic, Too. Photographed in Castleton. Chatsworth, viewed from one of the myriad garden paths.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I'm moving slowly, deliberately, with these posts. I learned from my trips to France and Italy that if I don't allow myself time to first review, assimilate, ponder, reflect, re-live, and then WRITE TO MYSELF, I lose much of what I felt and saw, thoughts, inspirations, etc. So if it takes me until my next trip to post what I want to share from this one, so be it. Patience, my lovelies, patience!

England - A Familiar

Journal Entry, Evening, July 17, 2009

England didn't surprise me -- that's what it is. So different to Italy, to France, those landscapes where I surged wholly OUT of myself. England tilled the earth of me and presented upturned memory, re-imprinted the sense of place I inhaled and took possession of in Maryland. Towering old trees, deep with leaves, and vast blooming meadows tinseled with Queen Anne's Lace and yellow-red-orange-blue blooms I couldn't (then) and still can't name, stone facades - sooty, aged, rough, but mainly unpainted or hidden beneath their ivy finery. Every window a new story I wanted to hear, every doorway as individual as the occupant, 2-lane roads devilish with twists and riddled with echoes. My tales of England are my own history - how odd, how unexpected!

Yes, the green initially startled me, overwhelmed my breathing -- after 30 years in this sun-bleached desert, of course it did! But very soon I recalled the green of my growing up, the parks & fields & lawns & prairies. There is where I started; that is what I left behind (& agonized for) when I got to the moonscape of Phoenix. In all these years, I thought I had learned to 'let go', when in fact I took it inward and kept it close, like an inner layer of skin I mentally wore without realizing it. The rural dynamic of England, though different to the faces of Nebraska and Maryland, still kept true to that feel -- the way my eyes opened as my breathing slowed and deepened -- familiar amid the foreign. Home, with a twist, at once near and far.

Low-slung stone-riddled mountains, rivers with water actually IN them, hedges, smaller scaled everything, movements more regularly paced. Rain. Skies that changed every few moments, altering the light absolutely and begging me to photograph, again, the very subjects I'd just used a roll of film on. That sense of AGE, the ever-present companion of history permeating the 'now' -- this, too, I always felt in Maryland, and in the constancy of my own genealogy in Nebraska.

I've been so worried that the tales I'd have to tell would seem small -- no glitz, no glamour, blue jeans, the same jewelry every day, minimal makeup, a blister on my heel -- but instead I see their reflections internally, and I hear myself resonate. I photographed what I always photograph, what I always respond to: lamps, stone, windows & doors, where I was, a room, a bed, a beautiful tile or carpet -- and I realize I was adding to my personal library of images -- from old Eastern plantation houses to crumbling headstones, to the beckon of a home, a face, a plate of fruit or scones.

What I see is that England showed me more of what and who I am, where I began, my roots. Nothing is ever lost, or abandoned, just submerged, overlaid by the realities, patterns, infusions of the day-to-day present. How fecund I am -- all I've seen and known, touched and met, the travel, the dialogues, the food & flavors, the airports & alleys, the dreams, the walks, the dusks and dawns, the cups of tea & coffee, the glasses of wine or mugs of beer, the dogs I've petted and the cats I've said "meow" to in multiple languages!

How immense! To recognize that I am a constant -- that I am THE constant. It really is subjective, travel -- what goes in, how it's filtered, or consumed (RAW). No discos or wild cavorting or scaling of peaks, no 'big deal adventures', but this is who I am -- quietly taking it all in and still making SOMETHING of it. I'm not interested in others' ideas of a great travel experience. I forge my own way, find experience even in a rose that buds pink but blooms white with pink speckles, or a miniature-sized jug of milk, a piece of wallpaper, a parking ticket stub, a friendly white Westie named Dugan, a hand in mine on the sofa as we watch Cash in the Attic, laughter in a room full of newly-met but somehow always-known people, driving on the wrong side (to me) of the road, roundabouts, days of the week socks, salmon with hollandaise for lunch.

It all opens me to more -- it all reiterates "ME", it all stays MY tale, this green English one.

England - Day 1

Klaus 'collected' us from the Manchester airport, then turbo-whisked us away, and through town. On the way to take me to Sheffield ... ... he pulled over and parked, still in Manchester. Lovely lamp post, I thought, looking up at it and not paying attention to anything ahead. I walked forward a little, past a bench ... And then I saw THIS! St. Michael and All Angels Church. My photo didn't turn out, but the view from here? Gah. I've realized my shooting style is in three's: same subject, three different angles, and ESPECIALLY doors and windows. Part 1 of this Trio. Part 2 of the Trio. Part 3 of the Trio.
Clearly someone special - this grave was set off on a separate side of the lawns, and enclosed with this beautifully weathered, almost crusty, wrought iron. Approaching the church from the car park, past the ancient parish building (foreground). Trying to shoot the worn engraving - quite difficult! You can see the date: 1697 ... and this was one of the 'newer' headstones. Dates were SO hard to make out, but I did see one that said 12?8 (I couldn't read the 3rd number). And so so many children - heart wrenching! Because these headstones are so old, no one remains living to tend them. When they remained upright, they drooped, sagged, tilted, and so ultimately they were laid flat. Such an odd feeling, that, to approach a graveyard of this age and see this. Close-up of the engraving on one of the lowered markers. Most of the very old ones have worn away almost completely. Someone watching me, watching him. A little eerie. Goodness knows how old this stone is but such a patina! Pointing the camera UP, at the tall tall narrow windows.

England Travel Journal - Peep Show - Scene 1

Drawings in the airport, en route to Chicago from Phoenix, and to Manchester from Chicago. Fuchsia blossom from Ian and Traudel's garden, and a sheet of etchings from gravestones, including the name EYRE. Ephemera items found on our walk to the 'surprise view', and the calling card from the cafe where I had my first scone with clotted cream! Various items from a day spent in Derbyshire with Ian and Traudel. Woman image from a brochure for an upcoming art event in Manchester. Ian saw this and said the woman's 'smarties' are showing -- can you figure out what that means? Butterflies to remind me of the two red and black winged lovelies that Traudel found, one of which let her catch it, then sashayed up her palm onto my finger, where it posed for a solid 30 seconds before flitting away. The swirly black stamps here are the re-entry stamps for Chatsworth. Calling card and bread stick wrappers from San Rocco, where we enjoyed a sumptuous Italian meal one evening, before going to meet Kurt, Alison and their family. Chatsworth receipts, ticket, sugar packet, calling card from our lunch spot in Derbyshire, receipt from post office where I bought Air Mail stickers and postcard stamps! Top and bottom: images from Chatsworth brochures which evoke the sensations and moods I felt there. Blue and gold foils are from the candies Traudel handed around in the car as we drove!

Fish & Chips Take Second

I'm at lunch, eating the first Mexican food I've had in just over 3 weeks. Bliss. Chile relleno with carnitas, rice, beans, chips, 3 kinds of salsa, guacomole. Did I say bliss? The fish & chips were outta sight, but nothing will ever surpass Mexican food for me, I guess. BIG shout out to Greg for going to pick it up for me today!

I'm blog surfing as I nosh, and have come upon some other sources for/of bliss:
Rachel Lake Holt Great photos and just a cool, chatty, welcoming vibe. I read almost all the way back to the start of her blog and feel SO relaxed, now, cheery!
A Field Journal - gah. I wish I wish I wish my journal pages would ever once be this clean, this simple ... and gorgeous photography here, also.

Folks - Bonus

Holly is third from left. Hannah is second from right and Alison (their mom) is on the far right.

Occasion: Midnight Wander
The two young ladies between Holly and Hannah lost their mother, age 46, to a brain tumor 2 months ago. The walk was meant to raise money for the Hospice which assisted her/them. Per Klaus, who sent me this photo, the event raised a total of £165,000.

The Folks

Twenty odd years ago, my bros Cam and Chris joined their friend Patrick and flew off across the pond to open and run a Mexican food restaurant. Kate, Ian and Traudel's daughter, was married to Patrick. Cam and Chris stayed with my hosts, Kate's folks, Ian and Traudel, before finding their own digs (across the street!) Hence was born my family's connection with our UK folks. Ian. One of my hosts in Sheffield. He of the world's most perfect "Oh Crikey"! He who turned me on to the American jazz singer Melody Gardot (RUN to check HER out!!), he who forced me to say, in true British style, "I have to go to the toilet!" instead of using all the American euphemisms (restroom, bathroom, ladies room, etc.) Traudel. Mutti, the quiet center, Ian's wife, she who allowed me to take over her sink and wash dishes and NOT be a 'guest' (eeewwww), she who both gives and accepts oodles of hugs, she who gave me a gorgeous blond-braided doll I've christened Liesl. Klaus. My Lovely Mother's host in Manchester, and Traudel's brother. He who has met us in Paris, and twice in Italy, he who KNOWS about wines, he of the continuous hand gestures and goofy jokes. Kate. Ian and Traudel's youngest daughter. She who joined us on the night of our arrival to share champagne, and she who so graciously shared her son, Luke, with Toni-the-Colonial. Luke and his Daddy, Keith. The young lad for whom I'm leaving Double BB, and his handsome father, Keith, who does (in fact) have an entire head. Chalk this photo up to jet lag! Dave. Ian's brother, first met on this trip and instantly befriended, he who has days-of-the-week socks (proof to follow), he who drives a cool Prius hybrid but LOVES his wife's red Smart Car, he who bestowed upon me numerous WWII-related gifties for my WWII-crazed bros. See? True story. My Lovely Mother. Isn't she, though? Lovely, I mean! Yours truly. Enthroned in a plush red leather chair [such as I covet for our living room] at Chatsworth, surreptitiously photographed by My Lovely Mother. Blame this photo on her!

Not pictured (chalk lack of photos up to camera being in wrong place at wrong time):

Karen, Mick and Sarah: Ian and Traudel's eldest daughter, her husband, and their daughter.

Tracy: Dave's wife, who looks like I want to in my next life: beautiful, voluptuous brunette with brown doe-eyes and one of the warmest, most accessible personalities in the UK, I suspect! She who woke up early after 3 days traveling for work in order to accompany Dave and Ian in taking me to the airport, after only having met me one evening, earlier in the week.

Kurt, Alison, Hannah, Holly, Johnny and Jamie: Klaus' eldest son, his wife, their daughters, the daughters' boyfriends, who welcomed us into their home and LUSCIOUS garden one evening for chatter, laughter, and conversational exchange of a deeper level. Alison told me, as we were leaving, "I feel like I've known you forever!" The most meaningful and reciprocated compliment I've received in a long time!

Luke - My New Not Secret At All Crush ... because it's a heart-melting picture and because I CAN! I taught him how to 'give me some fist' and Ian has promised to maintain the tradition!

Calling all Cards

Will everyone who got her postcard from me leave me a comment or shoot me an email, pretty please? I'm curious to know if any made it, and if any arrived before I actually got back to Phoenix. THANKS!

Hushed & Slowly Coming To

She feels her feet beneath her, but
lilting above the return,
still in the clouds' own landscape,
soft, so soft.
Below, the steady flare & flash of duty,
normalcy, usual, routine,
but dulled, still,
by the veil of transition, a mere whisper denied by the thrilling
melody of memory, impression,
sound, fantasy, all at once &
everywhere. Experience flows through her,
a clear pure outpouring,
cascades without shape but cool,
passing one hand to the other,
circling again, resounding, drowning out the summons,
rinsing off (for a rare few moments more)
the palms and voices pulling her down,
seeking her. Far away is she, yet,
where the road loops & loops again,
the hedges caping every turn, throwing
leafy promises, glistening with
the past, the present, and the imagined.
Away she is, where accents transport her
inward, backward, & call forth
someone inside who has been waiting. The stories can't be told while she is still listening within.
Her heart beats, breaks, bursts,
then again, too full, so fine, fervent with response, and she can only yearn to who and where she was
until her voice returns.


[all photos mine, taken at Chatsworth, Monday, July 6, 2009]

The Woman is Back in Town!

And here I am again, back for the hottest weekend Phoenix has had yet this summer (114 degrees expected today)! These photos are compliments of my host, Ian. This is Luke, Ian's grandson and my LOVE -- I've already told Double BB I'm going to be forced to leave him for a 2 year old British lad. What a darling!!! In the garden at Ian and Traudel's. This spot became my patio roost while I visited, far superior in terms of scenery than my own roost at home, too, I must say! The green clogs are Ian's, on loan to me whenever I went outdoors! I'm sentimentally attached to those shoes now!

I'm doing laundry and still unpacking, sorting everything. My own film (18 rolls) won't be ready until 3 p.m. today. I cannot WAIT to see the photos. I'm already speaking in my newly-acquired British accent, complete with phrases and terminology I noted in my little travel journal, making my guys laugh and doing a pretty good job of it!

Oh, have I got tales to tell, tales to tell!!! ... soon.

Uber Airport Cool, & Adios for Now!

Going ...
Going ...
will be gone Friday, July 3rd thru Monday, July 13th ... This is how good Tonia's gonna look gallivanting over the pond. I've got all these fashion elements, just not precisely the same [except the trench/rain coat - mine is London Fog, not Burberry]. Step back, Sienna Miller!!

Meanwhile, since I've been having a continuous Friday here at work since LAST Friday, and it's a short week (holiday) and I'm going to be gone a week and then when I get back my BOSS is going to be gone a week, tomorrow I'm not going to have the time Dorothy gave the wicked witch to melt in order to give you all a Ta Ta For Now Shout Out ... so this is it. Parting is such sweet sorrow -- sorta!

Kiss Kiss, Maties & Chums & Wenches alike -- talk to you soon!

Wishcast Wednesday

Our question today, from Ms. Jamie: "What do you wish to nurture?" See this? This, seriously, is what my head has felt like the last three weeks -- an explosion of colorful, wonderful, exciting, vivid, and vast ideas --- with flight potential. (& I have a pair o'shorts like that, too, love me some cargos!) My journal is bursting with scribbles going every which-way, trying to jot down, AND FAST, this geyser of goodness for when I return from England.

I wish to nurture creativity -- my OWN. My fledgling creativity brought me to blogging (along with Miss V's endless nagging -- hee!). That creativity connected me with some of the most meaningful people I've met in life's journey so far. And it's also given me myself in ways I hadn't known, prior ... or anticipated. And now what seems to be occurring is that it is, and I am, growing exponentially, the circle is enlarging, my ability to express it is keeping UP with the growth ... Each idea is, and each of you are, one of these happy soaring brilliant balloon faces!

I wish to nurture it all. The creativity, the growth, the circle, the friendships.

[all images compliments of Google]