January 2013 - Home to Home - Part I

Clock Tower near Birmingham, England

 An epic journey home to the West Coast of America marked the beginning of my holiday hiatus.  Thinking to be quite clever, I spent a bit more on tickets, choosing to fly to Amsterdam and then take a direct 13 hour flight to Portland.  Alas, arriving at Birmingham hours early to accommodate international travel, I was greeted with the news that it was snowing in Amsterdam.  Lovely, I innocently thought.  Not only will I see the country of my forefather's origins but it will be very Christmassy!  This is, however, when I learned that planes do not fly in the snow if they can help it and that one of the things that the Brits do best is "queue."

Used to American efficiency and a certain amount of impatience in being thwarted by one's travel plans (did I say that nicely?), no one else in line seemed to be at all surprised when we had to wait for someone from KLM to show up to reroute us... all 200 plus of us.  I fortunately was in the beginning of the line (early arrival has its perks). The someone from KLM showed up and was just that... one...  someone.  There were actually two but one was shunted off to the side to handle elite ticket holders, class will out!

 I met the loveliest people in line: a young blond, blue-eyed student going home to Finland and three British South Africans journeying to visit family.  The nearly three hours in queue passed pleasantly.  I was rerouted to Dublin, a four hour layover, then Boston, and finally home.  Flight time was up 50%.  So much for expensive tickets.  But at least I was going home or so I thought.

Flight into the morning

Arriving in Boston, I was told to take the shuttle to the ticket counter.  Being inexperienced, I did.  "I'm sorry, madam, but your gate is closed."  "Yes," I replied hopefully.  "Call them and tell them I'm here and have them hold it please."  "That is not possible.  The gate is closed."  "My luggage is on that flight.  I've been in these clothes for 24 hours.  I have no American money with me. Can I speak with your supervisor?" My American impatience was beginning to crack. Failing to impact Boston, I began to cry (didn't work!).  "I don't even have a toothbrush," I exclaimed.  Boston mumbled something about not scheduling adequate time between international and domestic flights, arranged to put me in a hotel overnight, gave me a toothbrush and a small packet of sundries, and a $6 meal voucher for dinner and another for breakfast.  I walked to the hotel, dropped what little I had in my room and went downstairs to eat.  $6 voucher + Boston prices = a very nice dinner salad and since they didn't take pounds Sterling, I now have $1.42 on my American Express card.  The next day I was rerouted to Atlanta, Georgia, before being sent homeward.  Fourty-six hours all totaled!

And the hours traveling faded like dew on a sunny morning when my little three-year-old grandson rounded the corner of the kitchen and saw his Nana sitting on the kitchen floor playing with his cousin.  He looked like a young fawn startled in a thicket.  I raised my arms.  He ran and buried himself in my lap.  The journey... what journey?  That moment filled my heart, healed my aching body, and brought me fully home.

Please join me next week for Part II of "Home to Home" or "What I Did On My Christmas Vacation."  See you then.

Week 7 & 8 - Remembering

November 4th - It snowed during our early afternoon visit to the Rollright Stones in Long Compton, which is about halfway between Stratford Upon Avon and Oxford.  When visiting here in 2008 with a college class, it was just a little side trip, a blip in a well-planned theatre tour itinerary, a gift from a bus driver who thought we ought to see standing stones.  Yet it sparked an idea for a novel, which formed part of my application to Aberystwyth and is currently being completed for my PhD Thesis.  Our journey through life form a complex tapestry.

As I walked around the stones and counted them - the legend states that they cannot be counted three times with the same number - I was drawn to the magic of being in Wales and in England.  The very ground of the United Kingdom breathes myth, mystery, and magic.  NOTE:  These are two separate countries that form part of the UK!  As well as Scotland and Northern Ireland and there IS a great deal of national pride.  Do not refer to Wales as part of England - It's like saying Oregon is part of Texas!)

King Stone

 

Whispering Knights

Greeted with snow, rain, sodden ground, and a cold that penetrated our winter jackets, we retreated to the Crown and Cushion in Long Compton for lunch by the fireside. Again I was struck by the very British tradition of visiting.  One eats and then one sits and shares their life, thoughts, dreams, news, family, and self.  A table near us was filled with a collection of locals, raising a pint as they laughed and talked.   We in America rush through life with instant this and that.  What shall we remember at journey's end?  I take more time now to see, to listen, and to enjoy.  

After lunch, a warm sit within the cozy atmosphere of C & C's pub, and clearing skies, we journeyed back and visited The King Stone and were delighted to find David Gosling’s newly placed art installation, the witch who tradition says turned the king and his men to stone.  Our photo fairy was working overtime as we got just the right angle to see the witch look eerily out of the branches that compose her body.  

The Whispering Knights are across the road from the King Stone and a field away from the King's Men stone circle.  It is said that you can hear your future if you listen quietly to the whispers of the Knights.  Evidently the legend holds, as the fallen stone in front was liberally peppered with coin of the realm from pence to pound.

Late that night, we watched the Cotswold Druids perform their Samhain Ceremony, circling the stone with drum and rattles.  Calling for the four portals to be opened, they honored their kindred dead, shared refreshment, and danced beneath the cloud covered sky.  Researching, I sat unobtrusively on a fallen stone and watched three female Druids dance with fairy lights to what sounded like a medieval rendition of "My Lady Sleeps."  Eerie, haunting and beautiful.

British Sky

Week 8 was taken up in intense classes back on campus, while I tried to unpack the impressions of the Druidic celebration and to convert emotion into text, imbuing words with the magical setting I had witnessed, and trying to remember, to capture, and to give form to the gift of this experience.

The colors are changing and this past week-end was spent just outside of London with new friends, a road trip of colors and comraderie.  I was introspective as I thought of the passing of life, remembering my loved ones who have passed the portals of mortality, combined with the joy of the present as I see my two newest grands learn to crawl and my first grandchild accept a mission call to Brazil... at 4 AM... on Skype.  Life is good.  

London LDS Temple Grounds

Remember to live, to love, to witness life.  One of my daughters gave me the gift of a song years ago.  It is by Leeann Womack, "I Hope You Dance."  I'd like to recommend the lyrics to you... "... and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance."  See you on the dance floor.