Time of the Cicada

The recent muggy summer days have been filled with the haunting, prehistoric sound of the cicadas. I've heard them out my window in Washington Heights, on bicycle rides through the leafy lanes of the Bronx and Central Park, and on strolls through lower Manhattan. At times the sound is omnipresent and deafening.

The song of the cicadas is the sound of summer--its creaking timbre immediately conjures memories of the hot dog days of July and August. The hotter the day the louder the song.

But now, inevitably, the days are cooling off and getting shorter. And the cicadas are singing less and less. But I can still hear them in my mind; and that memory will warm me during the cold winter.

One Year Later

I began this blog a year ago tomorrow. It seems hard to believe--so much water under the bridge-but it is true.

A year ago I was hurriedly preparing to move to London for five months.

"The last few days have been hectic with packing and preparing our New York apartment for my departure. Furniture is being covered..."

A lot of that living room furniture is gone. When we returned last November we gave the living room a long overdue renovation: new paint, new furniture, new layout.

"...plants are being farmed out to neighbors..."

All but two plants left in the care of our neighbor died while we were abroad. Actually, they were murdered--left to die in the back patio when the frosts of November came. Our trusted neighbor, having had several spats with the co-op board, decided to take his revenge on our houseplants. I had chosen this guy to care for our green friends because he loved plants and animals--he had a real green thumb--and was a vegetarian. He turned out to be a petty plant killer. What does one call plant murder? Botanicide?

"...and the refrigerator cleaned out. I must be truly mentally ill: I found five opened jars of salsa in the fridge with varying dates of expiration and amounts of remaining salsa. In addition there were several nearly empty jars of old preserves at the back. Why? I vow to live more simply and efficiently."

Well, the ice box is full, but not as crammed as it had been. Levels of salsa and preserves are under control. Still, I threw out several pieces of cheese last evening that were like bricks! Simplicity takes diligence!

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to Heathrow we go

It is the morning of Friday, November 21 and our London experiment is coming to a close. Today John and I return to New York. It is very strange to be leaving this place. We've been here long enough to get used to it, pick up the linguistic differences, have favorite restaurants, know some local shopkeepers and, well, feel at home. But leave we must.

In no particular order, here's a list of things I will miss about the last five months:

• Being able to pop into a pub from time to time and enjoy a beer or a light meal
  
• The post office with the best exchange rate and the incredible services
  
• Being able to buy a copy of The Guardian every morning and The Observer on Sundays
  
• The efficiency and ease of the bus system, even if the 214 is crap!
  
• The British Museum, The British Library, The Tate, The Tate Modern - and all free
• The Tower and Hampton Court - not free!
  
• The 100-foot flat screen LG television set in the flat
• Having my own washer/dryer right in the flat even if it takes hours (we share laundry facilities with everyone in our building in Manhattan)
• The United Nations of restaurants and services a stone's throw from my front door
• Easy train access to the Continent. I have been to Paris, Rome, Tuscany, Brussels and NE France all within hours
  
• Great architecture: ancient, modern and everything in between
  
• Living amongst history
• Great labeling on food in grocery stores
• No high fructose corn syrup in our food
• Knowing that the National Health Service was always there if I fell ill
  
• Sharing my thoughts with you here

And now: back home.

Our Flat

In this, our last week living in London, I thought I should talk a little about the flat that has been our home away from home since the summer.

Naturally, I can't complain. I've been living rent-free for four and a half months in one of the most expensive cities in the world. The one-bedroom flat has been claustrophobic at times, but has served us well.

We are on the 2nd floor (3rd for Americans) of a building built in the 1980s on Albert Street in Camden Town. You can see the location of the flat in this photo: the three windows at the upper left. According to a local history book there used to be a small factory of some sort on this plot. The only remnant of that older building is a stone plaque set into the facade that says E.R. VII for Edvardvs Rex, the seventh (King Edward VII). The first two stories are occupied by the British headquarters of World ORT, a Jewish non-governmental education and training organization.

There is an L-shaped entry hall off of which are the bedroom to the left and the bathroom to the right. The living room is straight ahead, and the kitchen is off the far side of the living room. The space is much smaller than what we were used to having in New York (The living room here is about the size of our second bedroom at home). But the bed is comfortable, we have a high speed Internet connection and a lovely flat-screen TV (it must be 3 feet across) with a gazillion cable channels.

An interesting aspect about the flat is the artwork that greeted us when we moved in. It's as if it had been selected especially for us. In the bedroom there a print of John Lennon and Yoko Ono watching over us every night. As some of you know, John Lennon was one of my John's idols and he's a fan of both artists. In the living room over the sofa or settee there is a painting of calla lilies in a vase--they happen to be one of our favorite flowers. On another wall Steve McQueen grins at us atop his motorcycle that he rode in the film The Great Escape, one of my favorite WWII films. (McQueen, a motorcycle enthusiast, got the producers to change the storyline so he could steal a German motorcycle and try to jump over the barbed wire border with Switzerland.) Finally, on the wall above the TV is the beautiful visage of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's. She stares out at us directly wearing a black sleeve-less frock, long black gloves, a pearl necklace and diamond tiara, and is about to puff on her cigarette in a ridiculously long holder.

Our kitchen has been troublesome for us. John and I both enjoy cooking, but have felt sort of hamstrung in that department since we arrived. Although I brought some good knives with me we're missing a lot of utensils and pots/pans that we've grown accustomed to. The oven is a fan variety and works pretty well although cooking times have to be adjusted from a regular gas or electric one. The hob (stove) is a drag because it has electric plates; they heat up very fast, but you can't cool them down in a hurry. "Simmer" is a difficult operation on this hob. The fridge is very small. It fits below the counter and there's no freezer to speak of. It's a lot like the fridges we used to rent in our college dorm.

We have a clothes washer/dryer all-in-one unit in the kitchen, as well. One wash takes up to 2 hours, but is probably energy efficient. It sloshes the clothes around in about an inch of water! Then we line-dry the clothes or use the drying function in the unit. It's a slow process again, taking up to an hour and a half to dry a load.

Where's the Remote?

You’ve got to have friends, or so Bette Midler sang in the '70s. Well, I am afraid I have to disagree. I am not referring to social connections, people to hang out with and share your life with. I am talking about the television show Friends. This show is broadcast on UK television about 8 hours a day. When you change channels during most hours of prime time chances are you will come across an episode. When you don’t find Friends, you find a mattering of other American sitcoms from the past 20 years.

I know most of us think of UK television as something a cut about the average American fare. We have images of Monty Python's Flying Circus, Upstairs Downstairs, Brideshead Revisited, Keeping up Appearances and Are You Being Served. Well, not to shatter your illusions but those are all from a long forgotten past. Today British television is made of mostly of reality show, shows about reality shows and chat shows hosted by former reality show participants interviewing reality show participants. There are a few bright moments in between but they are the exception.

One show we have mentioned on a previous post is called Booze Britain. This chronicles young Brits as the set about destroying their livers, and sometimes more, on a night out. Last night we watch a group of 8 young men in tailored suits spend almost 2000 pounds drinking on one night. If you recognize yourself in anyone on this show, it is time to enroll in a program! A brilliant television executive must have seen an opportunity in spawned a sister show--Boozed Up Brits Abroad. How original! On this show they follow around groups of young Brits in the age of low air fares mostly in Eastern Europe as they binge beyond belief. I guess they don’t consider it so bad when it is done abroad.

There is another show that follows around a “celebrity” couple. This couple became celebrities by appearing on different series (seasons to Americans) of Big Brother. They met when they both participated in Celebrity Big Brother. They had become celebrities by virtue of appearing on Big Brother! Once they had been firmly placed in the pantheon of a real live celebrity, they were given their won chat show (talk show). When nobody tuned in the decided to move to California, following in the steps of Posh and Becks (yes they are huge here even if most American don’t have a clue who they are). The result was a new reality show following them around from one agent to another trying to be famous. Fame in California eluded them so they are back here in the UK appearing in tabloids at the newsstands everywhere!

We can’t wait to return to the land of Letterman, Mad Men and HBO.

(Creative credit: John Carroll)

Oh Where Oh Where Has My Zipcar Gone?

Yesterday morning in London was beautiful: sunny, crisp and autumnal. A world of difference from the soggy, rainy mess that greeted our eyes the morning before! The plan of the day was to pick up a Zipcar not far from our flat and drive John to his company's office in Basingstoke in the county of Hampshire, 50-some miles southwest of the capital. While he was busy with meetings, I would drive to Winchester to see the sights.

The plan hit the first hitch when I arrived to pick up the car--it wasn't there. Normally the Zipcar called Honda Jazz "Jonathan" is parked at All Saints Church in Islington, but all I found was an empty parking space with a sign telling me it was reserved 24 hours for Zipcar.

In a panic I called Zipcar.

"Are you sure you're in the right place?" asked the customer service nimrod at Zipcar.

"I'm where I'm supposed to be but your car is not here!" I shouted. (The wind was blowing into my cell phone.)

"All I can do, sir, is give you another available Zipcar. There appears to be one at a Travelodge on Museum Street, near High Holborn, about a mile from you. We would be happy to reimburse you for the expense of a cab."

What was I to do? I needed the car and the plan was rapidly falling behind schedule. Then the plan hit a second snag: when I called John on my English pay-as-you-go cellphone to give him the bad news, the phone told me I only had 2 minutes left to talk. Great! John heard panic in my voice and told me to calm down. I told him I was off to find this new car and would call back...somehow. Believe it or not I have not used a pay phone in four months in the UK.

Cursing Zipcar.com under my breath I started walking toward the King's Cross/St. Pancras area at the height of the morning rush to catch a bus, the Tube or a cab. I reached the new car's location by bus and foot. By the time I got back to Camden Town to get John, we were more than an hour behind time. Luckily we were going against the commuting stream and made good progress through London and into the 'burbs. We pulled up to his company's office at a quarter past 11 o'clock, so he was fifteen minutes late for a meeting.

Then I was off to Winchester, 16 miles away. This historic cathedral city is worth a visit. Ancient capital of England, it was the home of Saxon kings including King Alfred the Great. I made first for the huge Gothic cathedral. The building of the current edifice began in 1079, replacing a much older minster. It has one of the longest naves in Europe. It was once an important pilgrimage center: the ancient Pilgrims' Way traveling to Canterbury began at Winchester. I also visited the 13th-century Great Hall, the only part of Winchester Castle that Cromwell didn't have blown up during the English Civil War. Inside is "King Arthur's Roundtable." Though it's not old enough to be the real one, it's still charming to see.

The highlight of my day, however, was visiting the tiny village of Littleton on the outskirts of Winchester. It was here around 1615 that my ancestor, William Fifield, was born. Most Fifields in the US descend from this one man. William sailed from England on the ship Hercules in the spring of 1634 to Ipswich, Massachusetts. He became one of the original settlers of Hampton, NH in 1638 and died there in 1700.

I decided to look around the village church, Church of St. Catherine, for clues of Fifields. I'd just gotten to the front door of the church when I found a Fifield tombstone just to the left of the entrance! It was the grave of the wife a one Richard Fiffild. Then I found more and more Fifield graves around the churchyard. It was very exciting. It seems Fifields lived there for centuries.

Click here to see all my Winchester photos.

November 11

Today my mind was on the men and women who served in World War I. And those who perished in that cataclysm who, to quote Eric Bogle, were "a whole generation butchered and damned." For my own selfish existential reasons I am grateful that both my grandfathers survived unharmed. I know that millions of families were not so lucky.

There was another ceremony at the Cenotaph in London today at which the last three surviving British veterans of the Great War "laid" wreaths. At ages 112, 110 and 108, respectively, these ancient men couldn't stand, let alone place a wreath on a monument.

The French don't have any WWI veterans left. At the Verdun battlefield, President Sarkozy and Prince Charles laid wreathes. In a last bit of WWI posturing Sarkozy had changed the memorial service to Verdun from the traditional Paris. The English were wondering why a purely Franco-German battlefield was chosen over an Anglo-Franco-German place like the Somme. And German Chancellor Angela Merkel canceled plans to attend. She is said to be furious the change of venue to the site of German ferocity. The war is over but it's still going on in a way.

I will leave you today with the thoughts of my Grandfather Grant Willard.

Monday, November 11, 1918:

The [82nd] Division is moving today and so are we. I reported back to our HQ. this A.M. and found them packing up. We left about noon for Clefmont on the main road between Neufchâteau and Langres about 35 km south of Neufchâteau.

While we were en route the news that the Armistice had been signed and all firing had ceased at 11 A.M. today was received and the towns were wild all the way down. Everybody was smiling. It’s hard to realize. I haven’t grasped the idea yet. How joyous everyone is!

When we reached Clefmont we went down to the school house and helped the kids ring the bell. We are the only soldiers in the town so we have things pretty much our own way. Our Frenchmen are busy making a hit with the French people around here. Luyx, Hap, Johnnie, Fraze, Eric, Titchmer, Schmittie, McGuire and myself ate in town this evening. We had chicken, french-fried, omelet, bread and raspberry jam and champagne to celebrate the armistice. A merry party.