I will often dream of returning......

Yes, I'm home.
I have supped full of images and ideas, sights and sounds of the various parts of England, and yes, if I have an opportunity, I'll return again.  And I encourage you all to go; or to return to it.

I don't think, even after a few days of sorting through the pictures and mementos of the trip, that I can even begin to put it into words, except to say this:  if you've ever been in a place you've never been, and felt comfortable....well, that's pretty much it.

What can I show you?

After exiting Paddington Station, I walked a block in one direction (my hotel was only three blocks from the station) and came across this sign on the side of St. Mary's Hospital.  My response was, "that's fortunate, for syphilis was invented on the floor below."

Iconic images abound.

Everywhere you look.

And Legends, as well, as I discovered as I stepped out of the Baker Street Underground Station.

And just so you know, I purchased a Deerstalker Cap at the Sherlock Holmes Museum.  And I sat in the great man's chair.

And I saw a show at the Globe Theatre on the Thames.  Dr. Faustus.  Pretty amazing.

I wish I could show you some of the sites from the road to Cornwall, but the roads and the tracks of the train are sided by large rock walls, or tall plant life, or both.  It kind of looks like this.....

There were a couple of times that I feared for my life.  But only a couple.

There were two surprises along the way:  The first was that around St. Austell in Cornwall, there is a walking path called, 'Clemo's Way.'  I believe it is named after a Cornish poet by the name of Reginald John Clemo, called Jack Clemo.  There was no sign indicating the path itself, but it did start here:



Every small and large town in Cornwall has a church as a centerpiece.  Truro's was especially beautiful.

But this is the image I enjoy the best; the one that just screams quaint and Cornish and country and city all wrapped up into one.



My poor photography skills belie the images in my head, of course, but I've done what I could.  And towards the end, the camera was not behaving, and I was forced to use my phone, and I haven't transferred those yet.

So, a few more days of rest, and back to work.  But boy, oh boy....I wouldn't have missed this trip for the wide world.



Saturday.

I was walking through Hyde Park, not far from the Marble Arch, and I saw this.

The first thing that I thought was, "Crikey! Someone made this park an offer it couldn't refuse!"

Yes, I actually thought the work "Crikey."

I blame Danger Mouse.

Greetings.

Your intrepid explorer has arrived at the crossroads of civilization; the heart of the Empire, where once the sun never set, but today it sets at around 2130.

London.  City of my imagination, brought into reality by this plane ticket, opened up by the use of this really cool looking money.

Those that know me, my good friends and comrades from days and wars gone by, know that I present a jaded facade to the world; but that false face crumbles when presented by the world made real.

My first vocal expression upon seeing this city for the first time from the air:  "Wow."

Even from high above, the dichotomy is evident, and almost heartwarming to know that the old can exist within, beside, and despite the desire for the new.  The streets keep their cramped quaint quality, while housing KFC and Burger King.  The Tower looms high over the river, and yet not far from there is the Eye, that strange and popular version of Ferris' Wheel.

If you'll indulge my giddiness, and my occasional lapse into the small-town boy I've been and hope to be again, I'll randomize some thoughts....

I haven't seen anything yet of the city; that comes tomorrow, of course.  But the hotel is charming and small; my room is, in fact, a hallway with a closet, a WC, and a bed.  Thank God for Wifi, because my Blackberry has NOT lived up to it's promises.

I stood in line with a couple of men, waiting to board the plane in Minneapolis, and they were returning to this country....I was allowing the ladies to step ahead of me in line, and all of a sudden, I was doing ten minutes of Music Hall banter with these two Goons.  We got laughs.  I was tired.  And they were clearly better at it than I was, but I held my own for a good three minutes before they took off the kid gloves.  I really enjoyed that.

The flight was, by any standard used to measure, abysmal.  A note to Delta:  you take an awful lot of my money...you charge me for bags, your markup for drinks is obscene, and you regularly overbook flights....could you perhaps take a few seats out and give some leg room to a fella?

Got a chance to watch some things on a little television in the seat in front of me.  I watched a couple of episodes of Nurse Jackie, starring Edie Falco.  I have a long standing crush on Edie Falco.  Long standing.  So, it more than makes up for the fact that the writing is okay, but take away the gratuitous cursing and the equally gratuitous sex, and it's another very special episode of ER.  But I'll need to watch more.  Y'know...for Edie.

Watched The Green Hornet.  I've been a fan of the Green Hornet since I was a kid.  The Green Hornet was created at WXYZ (I believe) in Detroit.  I resented the fact that they turned Britt Reed into a well-meaning idiot.  I liked the fact that Kato was more than a 'houseboy'.  I thought the villain was cleverly created.  But I really want to punch Seth Rogen in the nads.

Turned some dollars into pounds at the bank; I compared it to Las Vegas....I give you money, and as a reward, you give me less money in return...which is pretty much the story of my life in Vegas.  But it's pretty money.  And the coins make a very satisfying jingle jangle in me pocket.

The idea of seeing my old friend has gone by the wayside, sad to say.  After our initial connection, I reached out and did not receive a reply.  He's busy, being a composer of a hit show.  Still.

I'll go see his show, anyway.

I am here, by the way, with my two Brothers and my Father, and the various Sisters-In-Law and the Niece and the Nephew will arrive on Sunday.  I'm still on track for the Globe, the Tower, the Holmes Museum....and anything else I can get from the Red Bus Tour.

The summer rain is lovely and cold.

Monday morning is a train ride to Cornwall, where we'll go to Truro and rent a car.  In the event I have to drive, please somebody tell my wife that I love her......

More as it happens.....

Deep breath, and jump.

There is a certain kind of uncertainty travelling into the unknown.

Yeah, England is not Terra Incognita, but it's only a place of which I've dreamed.  I'm not even sure I can point to something I've read that doesn't paint that far-away city as the Land of Victoria.  In my dreams there are horse-drawn lorrys and flickering street lamps and Bobbys in funny hats.

When the reality meets my dreams, there will be a moment of "eep."

I'm reasonably prepared.  Today was a lot of housework, mowing the lawn, preparing the laundry, going to the store to buy a few things, and closely monitoring my health.  Tomorrow, I'll get up early and pack and by 5 pm, the adventure will have begun in earnest.  And by earnest, I mean I'll be sitting in a small airplane seat, looking forward to the 3 hour layover in Minneapolis.

I have a friend, whom I will refer to at the Amazing Becks, who plans EVERYTHING.  And she's just a little bit appalled that I'm planning almost nothing.  I'm pretty much playing it by ear.  The only thing that is really planned is that on Monday, I board a plane to go from London to Truro in Cornwall, and then the following Saturday, I get on a train to go back to London.  And then, of course, I'll get on a plane and come back here, hoping that the cities of Bismarck, Mandan and Minot are still reasonably above water.

Minot is in a bad way; the river jumped several feet, thanks to lots of rain in Canada.  If you got a minute or two, send some good thoughts their way.  It's may get worse before it gets better.

And I've warned family and friends; if I like it, if it sings to me like a siren without the rocky shoal, I'll send word...pack the cats, sell the house, come on down.

If that does NOT occur, you'll hear from me.  Transmission might be hazy; my hotel in London has
wi-fi of course, but I cannot be sure of the country manor.  I'll take pictures.

Talk to you soon.

Random thoughts, and a tribute.....

I watched a tornado begin to form over my house late yesterday afternoon.  It was simultaneously an exciting and terrifying sight.  It spun itself up, and then dissipated.  All I kept thinking was, "well, this is going to ruin my day."

Discovered that I DO NOT have tickets to see MUCH ADO with Tennant/Tate.  I am more than unusually unhappy about that.  I will attempt to avoid crushing disappointment by seeing LEND ME A TENOR, the Musical (music composed by my old friend Brad Carroll) and perhaps something at the Globe...they're doing Marlowe's Faustus.  I'd like to see the RSC, but it's a two hour train ride, and my time is limited in London to a Friday (as long as I can stay awake) a Two Saturdays and a Sunday.

If this goes well...I may have to do it regularly.

I have my twenty four lines memorized for ROMEO AND JULIET.  All the fights are choreographed, and I would be literally going down for the third time if not for my fight captain, Austin Flemmer, and the fighters.  They've allowed me to tinker and toy and I think they look quite nice.  And the really great part is, we don't open until the middle of July.

THE UNTOUCHABLES is currently playing on the television.  I can remember seeing this with my Uncle during a Christmas break....I can recall it being a little melodramatic, but it had a really cool soundtrack....oh, and Sean Connery.  My feelings haven't changed:  melodramatic.  Sean Connery.  Good soundtrack.

Here's an open question....if you had a small amount of money to do something theatrical, what play would you do?

It's Father's Day.  In all the random thoughts, I'd like to take the time to speak of my Father.  He gave me my first Trumpet, which was his.  He gave my second car, and forever reminds me that I've pretty much destroyed every car I ever owned, or borrowed.  He tells the story of when my parents brought me back from the hospital, he somehow managed to destroy the paint on his car by scraping it along a snow fence.  He swears that the Car Gods were not after him...they were after me.  He attended all my early attempts at acting; and a few after I learned what I was doing.....He saved me from a swarm of bees when I was a kid; he taught me to relish the simple quiet that the cabin could provide.  He took me to baseball games, and bought the pizza during Superbowls.  He made the best chili I ever ate.  He grounded me when I was a rotten kid; he gave me a work ethic I carry to this day; he put three kids through college; and he's, bar none, the strongest man I've ever known.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Books for Schooks.

Well, it's that time of year again, where I take a book off the shelf that I've tried on several occasions to get through, to no avail.  This year, it's SHAKESPEARE'S DOG by Leon Rooke.  I saw an adaptation of this book in play form in Chicago many years ago; I was dating a woman who was the stage manager for the production.  I liked the woman more than I liked the play.  The play was okay.  The woman was like finding a lee in a storm.

The book is like wading through cement.

I've been through this before, though.  I'll read a review of a book, and think that in order to justify my reputation as an erudite fellow, I need to read that book....and then I pick it up, and after a few pages here or there, I realize that being thought of as erudite is vastly overrated if I have to admit to liking this steaming pile of cr*p.

I'm not going to mention any titles.
A CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES. 

Oops. 

Now, it took me several years to get through that book; and several more to learn enough about life to begin to understand it.  And six months after that to understand why the author only wrote the one book.

So.

Here I go.

Chapter one.

ZZZZZZZ.

Mr. Northrup's in the Field of Dreams, hittin' 'em where they ain't.

Jim Northrup, a hero of my youth, passed away a few days ago, at the age of 71.

He was a ball player.  I was seven years old when he hit the ball over Curt Flood's head for a triple, scoring Horton and Cash, breaking a scoreless tie in game 7 of the '68 world series.  The guy could put a hurtin' on the ball; I think he hit more grand slams than anybody I knew.  He always came to play.

Quite a eulogy for a ball player.

It got me thinking about the nature of the games.  In light of Dallas' victory over the highly touted and apparently overpaid Miami team in the NBA Finals, I begin to wonder if the quest for a championship begins to overwhelm the simple idea of playing the game.  Enjoying the game.

There is a legitimate argument that if the ring is all you want, then you tend NOT to play the game at the highest level all the time, as you would if you simply LOVE playing the game; when a championship is on the line, you play hard, but if you're behind in the game and the game doesn't matter in your quest for a ring, then all of a sudden you're not running out the grounders or moving quickly back onto defense.

Which means, you're really only playing hard when the spotlight is hard upon you.

What a sorry state that would be.

I can remember when I played the game as a boy.  We'd play all day, often until it was far too dark to see the ball.  Every pitch was an opportunity; there was joy with every crack of the bat. 

I can remember a quote which I will attribute to Leroy "Satchel" Paige, quite possibly the greatest pitcher who ever took a mound on a summer's day.  "I feel so good," he'd often say, "I think we should play two."

Oh, Satch.  The Spirit is willin' but the knees are weak.

Give me no awards or accolades, my friends; give me no rings to wear or trophies to put on a mantle to gather attention and dust.

Give me a sun-filled Saturday on a green, green diamond, with real wooden bats and leather gloves.  And a gleaming white ball.

And when the sun goes down, let me dream of the glory of those times.