The Owl at High Street Kensington

I'm sorry. I know there's been a lot of storytelling lately, but I can't let the best night on the Underground, ever, go without being told.

On my way home tonight, between Earls Court and High Street Kensington, the overhead crackled and the fumbling voice of the driver started . This is not unusual. Drivers get on the mike every now and again to tell you about a line closure, a delay, or any number of other things.

It usually starts and stops quickly, and gets straight to the point. Well, not tonight.

The driver started his 5 minute monotone presentation by telling us that there was an owl on duty at the High Street Kensington station. This owl, said he, was under contract for 5 mice a night. Tonight, he was 3 mice short, so would be looking for bags, trash and such to meet his quota. The Driver finished by reminding us that if anyone was an animal lover, they shouldn't leave their bags or umbrellas on the train or the owl might get to them.

This mid-twenties something, ipod-encrusted, boat-shoe-wearing Posh next to me kept making exasperated faces as the Driver explained his plea, and saying things like "F*@# me" and "this guy is extraordinary" (which, when said properly, kind of rhymes with Strawberry.)

I watched in amazement, and slight fear. If this guy was bored, it was hilarious. If he was drunk, it was quite frightening.

I got off at the next stop, Notting Hill Gate, and decided I had to see this Driver for myself. As quickly as I could, I made my way to the front of the train to see if I could get a glimpse of him through the window. I reached the edge of the platform, leaned a bit over the fence, and sure enough, there he was.

Grey headed, and a bit snaggle toothed, but not definitively drunk. Whew.

He caught me looking and I gave him a thumbs up. He opened the door, and slightly stuck for words I said, "I just wanted to thank you for your entertaining narrative."

He chuckled, closed the door, and took the train away and I walked home chuckling, too.

Happy Clappys

Last night I met my great friends Dan and Alisha Sanvicens at St. Mary's church in London for a smashing non-churchy church dinner of red curry salmon and spicy conversation.

I took the 27 bus towards Edgeware Road, got off at the appropriate place and then, as should be expected, walked around in circles trying to look nonchalant and not lost. Where, oh where, was York Road!?

So, I stopped an early sixty-something grey-hair and asked if he knew where St. Mary's was.

He replied in a rolling of the "R," high brow type of English, " Oh! The Happy Clappys!? That used to be my parish church until some other people took it over and made it all just a bunch of noise!" Directions followed and I made it there in good time.

Unfortunately, there was no clapping that night. I suspect I'll get my fill in the near future, at least if we want to live up to our neighborhood reputation.

MINI Mania

I think I have turned into a Roadway Adventurer like the Papa Joe of my youth.

Vacations as a kid took two forms:

1. Trips to the beach in the motorhome with Nana.

2. Driving around in the Volkswagon Bus with the rainbow on the sides, trying to get Cas to leave me alone, and stopping at random plaques on the side of the road so my Daddy could read about Historic Route 66, Lewis and Clarke's groudbreaking trek across the new world, or Juniperro Serra and the California Missions.

Oh, the California Missions. One such trip ended when Daddy asked me if I wanted to stop by a mission we were going to pass, and I replied with, "I don't want to see any more old, dead Indians." I was six. My, how I have changed.

This weekend, my friend Devra flew in from CA and we rented a MINI and ran for the hills with nothing planned but driving around, stopping at the pubs and churches and little towns that dot the English countryside above Oxford.


The only thing they had left was a stick. The last time I really drove a stick I was with Eric Blackshear in his topless jeep wrangler in 1997. He taught me the basics in the Vons parking lot, and practiced on the way to Ojai to get icecream. But, Devra prodded me through the nervousness with, "You can do anything. You beat cancer." You can't really say no to that. So, within 20 minutes of picking up the car, I was bumper to bumper in Notting Hill, and on my way to the M4.



We stopped for tea and sweets.


And, to check out the Nerd-a-licious site at this church in Stow-on-the-Wold (the actual city name, next to Bourne-on-the-Water, and Chipping Camden) where Tolkien hiked around and spent lots of time writing and sketching. The back door is storied as the inspiration for the Gates of Moria -- with it's two ancient Yews.

And, at at Englands Oldest Inn (947 ad) and Eighth Best ( read the small print.)

I stuttered and stalled our way home to London. We are, thankfully, still alive.

I think I might just have to get a MINI of my own when money allows.

Double Oh Dublin?

I have mixed feelings about Ryanair, the low cost European flight provider. For one, it's cheap. I mean dirt cheap. 50 bucks, including taxes, for a trip from London to Dublin kind of cheap. But, you get what you pay for. It's the only airline I've ever been on where you can actually pay 4 euro to board BEFORE woman, children, and the elderly. If there is a balance between the inconvenience and personal values you will deny in order to get a good fare and cost, Ryanair has just about perfected it. For 100 bucks, I would have said, "Up yours." But for 50? Give me my ticket, Bloke and move over, Granny.

At any rate, they got me to Dublin safe and soundly in time to meet Steve, for a bit of crack (uh, good conversation, for those not familiar with Irish colloquialisms...) in a pub in Temple Bar.
Steve and I have a bit of a funny history. He tells me we were introduced 4 times, over a ten year period, before I remembered who he was. Maybe that's because we were young, and I had no time for boys my own age in high school. Or, because he was always changing his hair.

Nevertheless, he didn't hold it against me and we had a lovely time hanging out at the Dublin Fringe Fest, the aformentioned erotic circus and with his many and varied friends in pubs across town where I made my signature face, featured below.


Dublin is a cool little town. Walkable, take-in-able, and beautiful, if somewhat rainy. I haven't perfected my Irish accent yet, but maybe that means I'll have to go back. Even if, at least according to Steve, all the time in England has only gotten me a bad stage version of an English accent.

"Get me one of them green jobbers, and baptize it."

If you know me very well, you have probably heard me tell Papa stories. If you've never met the man himself, most people think I exaggerate the slight southern drawl and hitched cadence I take on when I relay his stories. But, if you have, you know it's actually pretty accurate. Now, Brother Bear and Nick Blake are really the one's who know every minute Papa quirk, but I get a few good laughs on my own, too.

I took these photos at the Rancho before I left for London when I went out to feed the horses with Papa. I hadn't seen this concoction yet, but apparently he welded this beach umbrella to his Holland tractor to stay out of the sun whilst working.


The man himself with Midnight, and a Healthy Choice Chocolate Icecream Bar, a Nana and Papa favorite.

The "golf cart on steroids" and one of the shops littered with scrap metal, metal working machines, jigsaws, alfalfa hay and old washing machine parts. That "little" pup is Daisy, a Bull Mastiff puppy Nana and Papa picked up at the pound a couple of weeks ago only to find out, when googled, that Bull Mastiffs get HUGE. I mean, St. Bernard huge.

(** WARNING!! Potentially offensive political opinion shortly ensuing!!**)

Recently, at a dinner party, Nana was explaining that, through Google, they learned that Daisy would always be sort of lethargic and good natured due to her impending size.

To this, Papa added, "I knew that dawg was a Democrat the moment I laid eyes on her, cause she's lazy, and all she wants to do is eat my food."

A friend at the table retorted, "That's funny, Buddy. I didn't know dogs picked political parties."

To which Papa replied, "Well, then look at Hilary."

... Don't kill the messenger, just laugh at her jokes.

Mi Casa Bonita in Londontown

I've finally settled in London, after a few days on the couch at Dan and Alisha's and ten thousand frantic phone calls to anyone seemingly normal with a flat for rent in the London area. Finding housing always SEEMS like it's going to be a snap, but turns out to be more of a one-handed clap (read: next to impossible, unless you are double jointed like the guy at the erotic circus I went to this weekend... But, that's another story.)


This is my house, that window in the first floor on the right is my room. From it, I can see a little park and swing set across the road by day, and hear the sloppy voices of British gents returning from the pubs by night. It would be perfect, if only I could get enough water pressure to actually wash the shampoo from my hair.


This is my room. It's big and bright which makes me happy, but it also includes sleeping on a futon which stretches my sleeping character and makes me uncommonly cranky in the mornings. Well, uncommon might not be the exact right term, but cranky all the same.

I'm about two blocks from Portobello Road and a ten minute walk from the Notting Hill Gate tube station so I can be well dressed, and well traveled within walking distance.

Good Old Golda Meir

Almost forgot my favorite one...

New School Taggers sited in Tel Aviv

The last night in Tel Aviv, I took my camera, walked through the streets and took photos of the urban art. I must confess, I enjoyed this different style of viewing the city, but I still couldn't stop thinking of my middle school boyfriend who used to tag on the weekends. Somehow, I don't think he tagged smiley faces like this.




It took me a while to get the right light and angle to make this one visible... It' s high on a wall, between two buildings and I've only had a camera for about two months (with a ten year hiatus in betwixt my last camera.) Anyway, I like that there was "Know Hope" underlined by "broken hears recollect themselves while distracted."



This guy was hidden behind a big pile of trash.


I didn't "mean" to get the reflection, but it looks pretty good to me.


That monkey is listening to an ipod!