I’ll start this one with a few lines from the Sufi poet, Rumi.
Do you think I know what I’m doing?
That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?
As much as a pen knows what it’s writing,
Or the ball can guess where it’s going next.
That’s what you feel like when you show up at the theater in London just in time for the curtain because your bus is 45 minutes late and get heat from the box office because your name isn’t on the reservation list and spend ten or 15 minutes to find out you’re 24 hours early. Better than 24 hrs late, I guess, and we were in Piccadilly Circus, one of the most magical places in the world, but still . . .
Gathered interesting info and found evidence that her spirit still floats in the environs.
It was an equally tranquil train ride from Bath. Arriving in London, Rachel showed us to our hotel, and after a short grocery shopping trip, we adjourned to the Manley’s for supper. By the way, the folks that brought you the Bloomingdale’s, etc. Mall on market and Powell in SF also bring you the giganticest mall in northern Europe right across the street from us. Comforting to know that even though the empire has collapsed, there are other kingdoms still alive.
G&R’s London home is a tidy little place, and it’s handy to the hotel and all, so we’re well fixed. To me, London’s one of those world power cities that pulse and throb with excitement. NYC is like that. So is Paris. I sensed it in Bejing. it doesn’t have to do with beauty. SF is prettier. Portland, too. Edinburgh for that matter, because I think it takes hills and water to create those breathtaking views. There here are obviously beautiful areas. But as a whole, they’re noisy, dirty, full of contradictions and races and babeling languages and so completely alive they encompasses humanity. The place just plain has it.
Or perhaps these cute British signs, one of which we tried not to take personally.
We fly out day after tomorrow, so this may be the last post. Or it may not.