This post is part 1 of my travel series on our trip to England. You can also read about our first evening in the Cotswolds; seeing the English countryside by bicycle; visiting Cotswold villages and local farm animals; exploring Oxford and Blenheim Palace; our first day seeing the sights of London; seeing Soho, the Tower of London, and The Mousetrap; exploring Kew Gardens, the British Library, and the British Museum; saying goodbye; and other reflections.
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Friday, July 23—I have a 3:30 flight out of Cincinnati to start my almost 20 hours of travel. I spend the morning packing last minute items, washing dishes so we can come home to a mostly clean house, and making an emergency trip to Petsmart for dog food and Target for fruit and granola bars, before packing myself and the dogs into the Subaru.
I’m running late (surprise!), but still make it to check-in on time after dropping off the dogs for boarding. I opted for a series of short flights rather than a long layover so my first flight is to Charlotte (where my neighbor took my window seat and a quarter of my seat [grrr] but when asked about it I said “sure”) before flying on to Philadelphia. I got to chat online briefly with Jeff while waiting at Charlotte, making sure we were in sync on meeting up in country. I had a delightful hour-long conversation with my next seat neighbor, Steve, an independent financial planner from Youngstown, PA who specializes in working with American basketball players in Europe. We talked about traveling in Europe (he highly recommends Italy), college basketball, soccer, how to handle money, and how to make a difference through your day job. We had a surprising number of things in common, and the time flew by (sorry, couldn’t help myself).
Next up, the 7-hour trans-Atlantic flight. In the morning I will be in England! I can’t help but think about Lost as the attendants give the safety demonstration, but I’m not a nervous flyer. This time I sit next to a friendly older woman, Ruth, and her husband. They are from Key West, FL and on their way to sail around the coast of Scotland. They are avid (and I do mean avid) Harry Potter fans.
My first experience with an airline meal isn’t really that bad, plus we get breakfast (which I wasn’t expecting). Between chatting with my neighbor, reading some, watching Date Night and a random episode of Bones, and catching a couple hours of sleep, the time goes by pretty painlessly.
Saturday, July 24—I land at London Heathrow about 10am local time (it’s 5am back home) and easily make it through immigration and baggage claim. Then the real adventure begins. Heathrow is not especially confusing, but the signage is limited. I buy a slow (i.e. cheap) train ticket to Paddington Station and try to put together what I’ve read about the different rail systems with what I’m seeing. After some confusion about “which train exactly am I supposed to get on?” I figure it out and look forward to soon having Jeff with me to consult with.
I arrive at Paddington without incident (and thinking continually of Miss Marple) and again spend some time being confused about where and which ticket to buy next. By the time I get things figured out at Paddington, the rail system is starting to come into focus. It’s pretty simple really—just a new experience for me, plus I am starting to feel the effects of travel and lack of sleep. Fortunately, I have a bit of time before my train, which allows me to get cash from the ATMs (again, not as simple as it should have been) and lunch from M&S Simply Food (tuna with red pepper crunch on malt bread and berry juice).
The train to my first destination, Moreton-in-Marsh, takes just under 2 hours. I have to switch cars at Oxford because only a few cars on the train are continuing the journey. The train is quite comfortable—I rather like this mode of transportation. There is no air conditioning (not needed!), but the transom-type windows are open, letting in a lovely breeze.
Within minutes of getting off the train in Moreton-in-Marsh, I hear the familiar sound of Jeff’s voice. I turn around to see him coming toward me, luggage-in-tow, from another train car. I am wonderfully surprised to see him as I thought he’d taken the earlier train from Oxford. It turns out that the earlier train was cancelled, and we’d just spent the last 40 minutes two train cars apart.
Moreton-in-Marsh is a small town in the area of England known as the Cotswolds. The town is about 85 miles west-northwest of London, and about 30 miles northwest of Oxford. When you think of the quintessential English countryside of rolling hills dotted with sheep, stone cottages, and thatched roofs, that is the Cotswolds.
High Street, Moreton-in-Marsh on Market Day
High Street, Moreton-in-Marsh
We walk about 5 minutes from the train station, rolling our suitcases behind us, to our bed and breakfast: Warwick House (pronounced war-ick).
We meet our innkeeper, Charlie, and he helps us up to our room on the second floor (called the first floor in England). I can already tell we’re going to like Charlie. He’s very friendly and laid-back, yet professional, and clearly has a great sense of humor.
To be continued…
I have been busy working on a series of posts about our recent trip to England. I have about 10 posts planned: one for each day of our trip, one for reflections, and one for the cut together video/slideshow. This is the best method I can come up with for recording memories and experiences for ourselves, and also sharing our trip with family and friends who have been clamoring for pictures and details. I’m purposefully titling these England 2010 in anticipation of one day returning.
Starting tomorrow, I will publish a new post each morning. This is also the first and last post in this series that I will be publishing on Facebook. If you normally click-through from there, you’ll either have to check the blog manually, subscribe via email (see the little box on the right-hand side under the “Who I Am” section?), or subscribe with a blog/RSS reader. Or if you’re not into the whole travelogue thing, you know to stay away.
By way of background, you may remember how it was that this trip came about in the first place. Jeff spent a week working in Oxford (while staying at a hotel in nearby Woodstock) before I joined him for a second week of vacation.
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Update: Here are all the links in one place. Read about my getting to the first destination; our first evening in the Cotswolds; seeing the English countryside by bicycle; visiting Cotswold villages and local farm animals; exploring Oxford and Blenheim Palace; our first day seeing the sights of London; seeing Soho, the Tower of London, and The Mousetrap; exploring Kew Gardens, the British Library, and the British Museum; saying goodbye; and other reflections.
I haven’t posted a recipe in awhile so I thought I’d share this dessert I just made on Wednesday for a dessert fellowship at church on Thursday night. It’s basically like a swiss cake roll, only way tastier and with vegetables in it.
Chocolate Zucchini Roll
(from Taste of Home via Allrecipes.com)
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup baking cocoa
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup shredded peeled zucchini
Filling:
1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1/4 cup butter or margarine, softened
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup confectioners’ sugar
Additonal confectioners’ sugar
In a mixing bowl, beat eggs and vanilla. Combine flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt; add to egg mixture and mix well. Batter will be thick. Stir in zucchini. Spread into a greased and waxed paper-lined 15-in. x 10-in. x 1-in. baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees F for 10-15 minutes or until cake springs back when lightly touched.
Turn onto a linen towel dusted with confectioners’ sugar. Peel off waxed paper and roll up the cake and the towel, jelly-roll style, starting with a short side. Cool on a wire rack.
In a mixing bowl, beat cream cheese, butter, and vanilla until fluffy. Beat in confectioners’ sugar. Unroll cake; spread filling to within 1 in. of edges. Roll up again; dust with confectioners’ sugar. Refrigerate until serving.
*****
Now, the first time I attempted to make this cake, I failed miserably. Well, actually, I turned it into a layer cake and it still tasted good, but I was disappointed my cake didn’t roll. I thought this was because I let it cool too long before attempting to roll it. This time I was sure I could do it right if I rolled the cake while it was still fresh from the oven. Not so much. It started to crack again so I did what any self-respecting baker would do: I turned to the internet for help.
I found this extremely helpful tutorial, appropriately also from Taste of Home:
You see, the original recipe directions didn’t say anything about rolling the cake in the towel. Apparently you’re just supposed to know this. Magically.
Anyway, the recipe is actually pretty quick and easy. And delicious. So go forth and eat your veggies, chocolate cake style.
In my last post, I talked about how I am like my mother. There’s no denying the mother-daughter bond is a strong one, but I have quite a bit of my father in me as well.
Physically I am a blend of both parents, I think more so than my brother or sister. From Dad I get my fair skin and freckles, faint red highlights in my hair, eye color (mostly), and tall, lean build. Judging by the picture above, we also have the same nose.
The strongest personality trait I get from my dad is my detailed-oriented perfectionism. We both like to fiddle with things until they are just right. We both like lists. Dad keeps detailed records on just about everything it seems. I have tried to follow his example with my filing system, but it’s still a work in progress. His parents were both strongly analytical as well, and I think every job review I’ve had mentions my attention to detail.
I love my father’s dry sense of humor and wit and like to imagine that I inherited some of that as well. When I picture Dad in my mind’s eye, it is with a twinkle in his eye. I can’t count the number of times he’s winked at me across the dinner table as we’d share a joke (usually at poor Mom’s expense). It is from him that I learned to love puns (now to my poor husband’s expense).
When it comes to wood and nails, Dad can build anything. I have fond memories of trips to Kipling’s Ace Hardware on Saturday mornings. Now I have a long way to go in this area, but he has shared the Do-It-Yourself spirit with me. Why pay someone else to do what you can do yourself? He taught me that you can always find a use for that little leftover bit of something. And I have collections of ‘little bits of things’ in the basement to prove it. (Scary, huh? 😉
Dad taught me through his example, and occasional soapbox lectures, to be careful when spending money, to track where every dollar goes, and to save, save, save—but to also give generously to those in need.
I still remember the day I got my first email address: it was a Christmas present from Dad. He hid an envelope on the back of the Christmas tree and quietly told me to go looking for another present after all the other presents had been opened. That was back when the internet was still mostly text and separate, individual networks. I used to sit at his elbow, enthralled, as he explained the ways of technology to me.
Dad also passed down to me a love of maps. I remember watching him pore over topographical maps, usually of Colorado. Today I can find hours of entertainment on Google Maps or looking through an atlas.
Mostly importantly, like Mom, Dad has demonstrated a love for Christ and reaching the lost. In my pre-teen and teenage years, he was the head of the missions committee at church. We were always at church for every special missions service or potluck dinner. We knew the details of every single missionary we supported… and there were a lot of them.
Thanks, Dad, for being such a great dad. I am proud to be your daughter.
As my parents celebrate their 41st wedding anniversary today (yes, I discovered last year that my parents were getting married while many of their contemporaries were tripping out at Woodstock ’69… it was truly the summer of love), it seemed an appropriate time to post a two-part series on some of the characteristics they passed down to me—both genetically and through their teaching and example.
There are, of course, the physical traits that identify me as my mother’s daughter: dark, curly hair… low, quiet voice… long, narrow feet… athletic ability, etc.
Some characteristics we share are a combination of nature and nuture. As I’ve settled into adult life, I’ve discovered great joy in gardening. I don’t remember specifically working in the garden with my mom growing up, but as I think back, her flowers (“Don’t crush them with the basketball,” she’d say) and vegetables were an ever present part of each summer. We always had fresh produce from the garden on the table: tomatoes, beans, lettuce, rhubarb, raspberries, apples. I have snapdragons in my garden today because I remember making them sing operettas out on the front porch steps as a little girl. My parents tell me this is in my blood.
I have many fond memories of reading with my mom throughout childhood. We started with favorites such as Pat the Bunny, Goodnight Moon, and Make Way For Ducklings, then moved up to The Tale of Peter Rabbit and A.A. Milne’s poetry, and eventually to Little House on the Prairie, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Hobbit. As I got older and past the age of reading aloud together, I would explore Mom’s bookshelves on my own. In a way we were still reading together as I devoured her copies of The Tanglewood Secret, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and Christy. Today she is still sharing books and authors with me.
Entering my pre-teen and teenage years, Mom shared with me her love of classic Hollywood films and BBC dramas. Inevitably, Dad would come in the living room on a Saturday night with a question about the checkbook or some such matter just as the villain was making his move in a Hitchcock film or Anne Elliott was reading Captain Wentworth’s letter (the crux of the romance!) in Persuasion.
We have a phrase in our house that surely reflects a shared genetic condition: “Mrs. Malaprop strikes again!” Mrs. Malaprop is a character in the play, The Rivals, and the origin of the term malapropism. She is known for accidentally substituting a word that sounds similar to the correct word, but means something completely different… as are my mother and I. Our saving grace is that the people around us seem to really enjoy this odd verbal malfunction we share.
Coming home from England, I learned another way I am like my mom: I need multiple days of quiet and not going anywhere to recover from a big event. Too much activity without a respite and I’m done for. I have multiple emails from Mom to the effect of, “Too much running around this week. I need to go read or something before I burn out.”
Most importantly, however, I hope I am like my mom in her love for people and heart to see the lost come to Christ. Mom is a fount of information about people. She knows the details of people’s lives. My parents’ fridge is covered in pictures of loved ones. Mom loves writing letters and notes of encouragement to the people in her life. The ledge abover her kitchen sink is covered with sticky notes and little slips of paper; many of them reminders to pray for people as she works around the house. She faithfully works with her AWANA girls at church, often going the extra mile to share the love of Christ with them.
Thanks, Mom, for being such a great mom. I wish we lived closer so we could see each other more often! I’m sorry I don’t email and call as often as I should. It doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you. Happy anniversary!
Watch out, Dad, you’re next. 😉
This whole planning-a-last-minute-trip-to-England thing really eats away at one’s time. Namely… MY time. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just that I have a compulsion to explain things unnecessarily. End result: I have been neglecting the poor blog.
I’ll try not to bore you, dear reader, with all the details, but here’s the cliff notes version of July (pre-England). As Inigo said, “Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.”
- The World Cup finished with Spain holding the trophy. Not the result I was hoping for, but a well-deserved championship for La Roja. It’s a good thing the greatest month of soccer is over—the dishes and laundry were piling up again and again.
- We didn’t have big 4th of July plans this year, but the holiday weekend managed to fill up anyway. We had our friend Megan and her friend Kristin over for games and dessert on Saturday the 3rd. It was great to meet Kristin, especially because she lives in our neighborhood. We didn’t do anything patriotic on the 4th—just a normal Sunday with church, luggage shopping, and a movie in the evening. We did have a last-minute party at our house on Monday: grilling, games, and hanging out with some church friends. Roper and Lynn even made the drive down from Cedarville.
- We finally took my lappy into the Apple Store (remember my hard drive died?) after unsuccessful attempts to retrieve my data. It completely stinks to lose that much work, but some good things came of it. Namely, Apple replaced my hard drive (which ended up being an upgrade) and the battery for free.
- Saw Toy Story 3 in 3D (for free!) with our good friends, Adam and Mary. And yes, I cried at the end. Great, great movie.
- We celebrated Jeff’s birthday a little early this year since we weren’t going to be together on the actual day. We went to Benihana for dinner (sign up on their web site for a free birthday dinner!). They took our picture and printed it out right on the spot and also gave us a free dessert. After dinner I had a scavenger hunt for Jeff to find his gift hidden around the house: Death Note manga series, 13 volumes in all. We finished the evening by sampling a variety of mochi.
- Saturday the 17th found me driving up to Cedarville to see my good college friend, Megan. And I got to meet her precious baby Bennett, born in March. Megan spent a couple years working in China after graduation and now lives with her husband and son in Texas so it was a special treat to see her while she was visiting in the Midwest. We only got to visit for about an hour—way too short a time—but it was so worth the drive.
- I started a new temp project job on the 20th, just in time to work 3 days and then leave for England. The job is supposed to last 4-6 weeks, which is pushing the limits of how long I want to work a job like this. It’s a bit strange being back in the [very] corporate world, and it’s a bit of a hike from our house, but I’m thankful for a little extra income. This time I’m working in data warehousing and marketing analytics, which is mostly interesting as long as there is actual work for me to do.
Multiple posts on our England trip should start appearing by next week. I have over 900 pictures to sort through and many thoughts, observations, and reflections to record before they start to slip away. Until then, cherrio!
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
I would really like to give this book 3.5 stars. Three just doesn’t seem like enough to express how interesting I found the title’s namesake or how the story kept me on the edge of my seat. Yet four seems like too many for a book not particularly well-written. Let me explain.
The title character, Lisbeth Salander, immediately piqued my interest. She is one of society’s fringe-dwellers, and one about whom most would immediately categorize upon sight and file away in a neat little box. But like most people, there is more to Lisbeth Salander than meets the eye. The other main character, Mikael Blomkvist, had to grow on me. I found him rather ordinary at first, but he picks up steam not quite half-way through the book.
Unfortunately, the first half of the book is mostly about Blomkvist and his career as an investigate financial journalist. While not completely uninteresting, I kept waiting for things to get good, to see more of Salander, and to get on with the intriguing story dangled in front of me in the prologue.
Once the murder mystery part of the book picked up, I had trouble putting it down. Even after the mystery gets interesting, it still takes awhile before our two protagonists meet and form their unlikely partnership. The book is subdivided into four parts, and each part starts with a statistic about the abuse of women in Sweden. Even this theme was slow to develop as we spent time with Blomkvist and his journalistic pursuits. It’s no secret that the author based Blomkvist’s character on himself, and I think the book suffers from its strong initial focus in this area.
The mystery itself is gripping, on-the-edge-of-your-seat entertainment. Actually, entertainment is probably not be the best word to use, as Blomkvist and Salander unearth many gruesome, heinous facts and behaviors along the way. However, this is the point of the novel: not to entertain with plot twists and unexpected discoveries, but to expose the horrific, silent abuse and crimes suffered by women. In that sense, it was both hard and good to read.
A warning for anyone who is squeamish: this books deals heavily with aggravated sexual assault. There is much discussion of past crimes as well as scenes of assault happening “live.” I am curious to see how the Swedish film handles this (and the upcoming Hollywood film). I don’t mind reading about such things, but I would hate to see it played out in front of me. There’s also a decent amount of promiscuity and foul language (more of the former than the later).
As to the main reason I docked this book a star (or half a star): Stieg Larsson is not a great composer of words. Great literature this book is not. I wonder how much, if any, it suffered in translation. His dialog was very believable, but his descriptive passages could have used some work. At almost 600 pages, I’d say there was room to trim things down a little.
Another point in favor of the book: it made me think. I’m dying to find someone else who has read it to discuss the views Larsson posits and the questions he raises.
I also found it fascinating to read a book set in Sweden and written by a Swede. My paternal grandmother was Swedish, and I’ve always wanted to visit the country of my ancestors.
I’m planning to read the next book in the series, The Girl Who Played with Fire, if only to see where Lisbeth Salander goes from here. I have heard that it’s a bit better than The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
One side note: ads for the book and movie version where everywhere in London, especially in tube stations. It was fun to be reading it while there! Also, I love the name Lisbeth.
