tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34054548623557991522024-03-13T22:33:33.447+00:00Up The White Road'Who is the third who walks always beside you?/
When I count, there are only you and I together/
But when I look ahead up the white road/
There is always another one walking beside you.'
--TS Eliot, 'The Wasteland'D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-56805378223945831612012-11-17T23:16:00.000+00:002012-11-18T03:04:04.708+00:00The Light on The Land<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYn4axWHJdUVDQPdILO8CMKf1io5eSPEaUuc06reYG4lrFinT8EZbKPR0pME4sfKaMvHMcGfN3oshdPpd8-k4MKFK5RXCVdpKPRKNXR3q08lWQ3R_jex3Rf4c9SlKL-3Cw-EyBQIL3Fa8/s1600/mesa+verde.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYn4axWHJdUVDQPdILO8CMKf1io5eSPEaUuc06reYG4lrFinT8EZbKPR0pME4sfKaMvHMcGfN3oshdPpd8-k4MKFK5RXCVdpKPRKNXR3q08lWQ3R_jex3Rf4c9SlKL-3Cw-EyBQIL3Fa8/s320/mesa+verde.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The light on the land: Mesa Verde.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq_8poKjblD0WvVIAefrd0v3IcXe1oBPKBoYs_YQTkANVgjEu2akRztgvi-R_OrsYUsVXTSuPv3TMIHjwDpKM8_PpOob7vvMALazxDPmvbP1TZXMLNp175ts8yyoL6O-3xAWV5S6xL0w/s1600/galloway.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq_8poKjblD0WvVIAefrd0v3IcXe1oBPKBoYs_YQTkANVgjEu2akRztgvi-R_OrsYUsVXTSuPv3TMIHjwDpKM8_PpOob7vvMALazxDPmvbP1TZXMLNp175ts8yyoL6O-3xAWV5S6xL0w/s200/galloway.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Galloway. Home.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Southwest Scotland is approximately 6 degrees of latitude farther north than the most northerly place I've ever lived. For anyone familiar with American geography, Galloway is about on the same parallel as Sitka, Alaska. And for those of you more familiar with Europe, think Copenhagen or Moscow. In any case, that means it's lighter longer in the summer and darker longer in the winter than I'm used to. Th<span style="font-size: x-small;">is <span style="font-size: x-small;">will ta<span style="font-size: x-small;">ke some getting used to. I have b<span style="font-size: x-small;">een li<span style="font-size: x-small;">ving in S<span style="font-size: x-small;">cotland for <span style="font-size: x-small;">just o<span style="font-size: x-small;">ver two years now<span style="font-size: x-small;"> so <span style="font-size: x-small;">I've now been through two cy<span style="font-size: x-small;">cles of the light<span style="font-size: x-small;">. Love the s<span style="font-size: x-small;">ummer light. The win<span style="font-size: x-small;">ter, not so much. Thank god Galloway is absolutely gorgeous with its green rolling hills<span style="font-size: x-small;">, <span style="font-size: x-small;">amazing stone walls, and cu<span style="font-size: x-small;">ddly sheep. Not to mention the <span style="font-size: x-small;">shaggy <span style="font-size: x-small;">or s<span style="font-size: x-small;">tripey bovine selections <span style="font-size: x-small;">know<span style="font-size: x-small;">n as</span></span> highland ca<span style="font-size: x-small;">ttle and bel<span style="font-size: x-small;">ties. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvMvP10xXoK9NOYipT1jh-VSMaO7Z0a188DkuaR_Rec8_NTFKfDpVzeWa7Zb5ziB0cRPaLkubP9YzU89P9tj-vnu73qchI5MD0js6093AGMlmycv1gTB3OF8DN7oMlg53q_Q4WoMBxQAg/s1600/Border+Agency.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvMvP10xXoK9NOYipT1jh-VSMaO7Z0a188DkuaR_Rec8_NTFKfDpVzeWa7Zb5ziB0cRPaLkubP9YzU89P9tj-vnu73qchI5MD0js6093AGMlmycv1gTB3OF8DN7oMlg53q_Q4WoMBxQAg/s200/Border+Agency.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Border Agency <span style="font-size: xx-small;">docume<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nt. Courtesy J. C<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ormack</span>.</span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The three of you who follow <span style="font-size: x-small;">this blog will have noticed that the last two years have seen <span style="font-size: x-small;">a very sparse number of blog entries. <span style="font-size: x-small;">No doubt you have breathed a sigh<span style="font-size: x-small;"> of relie<span style="font-size: x-small;">f. Just to clarify<span style="font-size: x-small;">, it was not the move <span style="font-size: x-small;">up north which s<span style="font-size: x-small;">ile<span style="font-size: x-small;">nced me<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - you know, lack of light for six months of the year and all - but the fact that <span style="font-size: x-small;">I </span>became eligible to work and found a job as a chef in a local <span style="font-size: x-small;">hotel<span style="font-size: x-small;">/pub kitchen. I've ne<span style="font-size: x-small;">ver been very goo<span style="font-size: x-small;">d at balan<span style="font-size: x-small;">cing work<span style="font-size: x-small;"> wi<span style="font-size: x-small;">th<span style="font-size: x-small;"> wr<span style="font-size: x-small;">iting, so I blog when I can and try <span style="font-size: x-small;">not to worry to<span style="font-size: x-small;">o</span> much about the should haves and ou<span style="font-size: x-small;">ght tos<span style="font-size: x-small;">. A<span style="font-size: x-small;">nyway, in addition to being<span style="font-size: x-small;"> employed I spent a fai<span style="font-size: x-small;">r amount of time recently getting the next pha<span style="font-size: x-small;">se of my immigration paperwork<span style="font-size: x-small;"> to<span style="font-size: x-small;">gether. I<span style="font-size: x-small;">t's a long<span style="font-size: x-small;">, drawn out, expensive process immigrating to the UK. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm always amused by <span style="font-size: x-small;">xenophobic blowhards who <span style="font-size: x-small;">blather on<span style="font-size: x-small;"> a<span style="font-size: x-small;">bout all these people coming over here<span style="font-size: x-small;">, getting money from the gover<span style="font-size: x-small;">nment,</span></span> ta<span style="font-size: x-small;">king our jobs<span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span> Brits, you'd be horrified how much you sound <span style="font-size: x-small;">like the 'merican rednecks<span style="font-size: x-small;"> you poke fun at. I find it intr<span style="font-size: x-small;">igui<span style="font-size: x-small;">ng that a group of people can b<span style="font-size: x-small;">e <span style="font-size: x-small;">simultan<span style="font-size: x-small;">eously blame<span style="font-size: x-small;">d for being on bene<span style="font-size: x-small;">fits (for which immigrants are <span style="font-size: x-small;">in</span>eli<span style="font-size: x-small;">gible) and also taking jobs (<span style="font-size: x-small;">which immigrants are not allowed to ha<span style="font-size: x-small;">ve until they've spent a year in cou<span style="font-size: x-small;">n<span style="font-size: x-small;">t<span style="font-size: x-small;">ry). Can<span style="font-size: x-small;">'t<span style="font-size: x-small;"> hav<span style="font-size: x-small;">e it both ways, <span style="font-size: x-small;">guys. Oh, by the <span style="font-size: x-small;">way, immigrants are <span style="font-size: x-small;">different from the other groups of people you really mean<span style="font-size: x-small;"> to comp<span style="font-size: x-small;">lain<span style="font-size: x-small;"> about: asyl<span style="font-size: x-small;">um seekers (who<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>do need help and benefits), an<span style="font-size: x-small;">d EU citizens (who <span style="font-size: x-small;">have a perfect le<span style="font-size: x-small;">gal right to be in the UK taking your jobs, or <span style="font-size: x-small;">perhaps filling the jobs you lot are too uppity to do</span>). <span style="font-size: x-small;">You're welcome for the clarification. And you'll be hor<span style="font-size: x-small;">rif<span style="font-size: x-small;">ied to know I <span style="font-size: x-small;">am yours indefinitely. <span style="font-size: x-small;">My status is called 'Indefinite<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Leave to Rema<span style="font-size: x-small;">in<span style="font-size: x-small;">.' I<span style="font-size: x-small;">t means <span style="font-size: x-small;">I can stay in the UK as long as I want. Yay! It's a relief to <span style="font-size: x-small;">know I'm not going to chucked out an<span style="font-size: x-small;">y time soon. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8YNLo2bw_xgzVX3O1BSdTJgGNThyphenhyphen7YTlXh2R27Ci1MdLxi2isFrEmiNmZ9FZYDir-MGk8s_scct-HcSIhlwJ9laLw58m98m-vilPQGGZw-R2CusM4y3yxHiea-4CUC8OW-lIssMYDCs/s1600/pedernal.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8YNLo2bw_xgzVX3O1BSdTJgGNThyphenhyphen7YTlXh2R27Ci1MdLxi2isFrEmiNmZ9FZYDir-MGk8s_scct-HcSIhlwJ9laLw58m98m-vilPQGGZw-R2CusM4y3yxHiea-4CUC8OW-lIssMYDCs/s320/pedernal.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The O'Keeffe fan (left) and the Pedernal.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">B<span style="font-size: x-small;">ut back to the light and the land. Why, you mi<span style="font-size: x-small;">ght ask, does she ha<span style="font-size: x-small;">ve time now to bot<span style="font-size: x-small;">her us, er, update her blog? </span>I'm on holid<span style="font-size: x-small;">ay in the States<span style="font-size: x-small;">, t</span>hat's why. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, I said h</span>ol<span style="font-size: x-small;">id<span style="font-size: x-small;">ay, not <span style="font-size: x-small;">vac<span style="font-size: x-small;">ation. The Brit<span style="font-size: x-small;">ifica<span style="font-size: x-small;">tion is proc<span style="font-size: x-small;">eeding nicely. <span style="font-size: x-small;">We are visiting my father in western Colorado, or th<span style="font-size: x-small;">e Western Slope as we call it here. We ha<span style="font-size: x-small;">d a <span style="font-size: x-small;">t<span style="font-size: x-small;">wo week road <span style="font-size: x-small;">trip to Utah, Arizona, and New <span style="font-size: x-small;">Mexico as well and saw some <span style="font-size: x-small;">wonderful <span style="font-size: x-small;">places, truly marvelous landscapes to behold</span></span>. A<span style="font-size: x-small;">n<span style="font-size: x-small;">d that is wh<span style="font-size: x-small;">y I hav<span style="font-size: x-small;">e been thinking of the ligh<span style="font-size: x-small;">t and the land<span style="font-size: x-small;">. <span style="font-size: x-small;">As my partner in mischief is a painter and art historian who loves O'Keeffe, <span style="font-size: x-small;">she fell in love with the way the light and sh<span style="font-size: x-small;">adow <span style="font-size: x-small;">grace the land<span style="font-size: x-small;"> in the <span style="font-size: x-small;">A<span style="font-size: x-small;">merican southwest. It's easy to see why so many artists are drawn to it. So many times on our</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">r<span style="font-size: x-small;">oa<span style="font-size: x-small;">d trip we<span style="font-size: x-small;"> c<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">ame</span> across a<span style="font-size: x-small;"> magni<span style="font-size: x-small;">fic<span style="font-size: x-small;">ent sight and then just looked at each other an<span style="font-size: x-small;">d <span style="font-size: x-small;">laughed. We both felt so lucky to be able to see this for ourselves. <span style="font-size: x-small;">The pic<span style="font-size: x-small;">ture<span style="font-size: x-small;">s we've taken b<span style="font-size: x-small;">a<span style="font-size: x-small;">rely do it justice.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Radio <span style="font-size: xx-small;">telescope<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> at the VLA on the <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Plains of San Agus<span style="font-size: xx-small;">tin<span style="font-size: xx-small;">, NM.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Another interesting thing we discovered on our r<span style="font-size: x-small;">oad trip t<span style="font-size: x-small;">hrough the southwest<span style="font-size: x-small;"> is that the p<span style="font-size: x-small;">laces you hear about as being so wonderful are not always. And places you would not expect to be fabul<span style="font-size: x-small;">ous<span style="font-size: x-small;">, are. Sout<span style="font-size: x-small;">h</span>ern Arizona is not a vast <span style="font-size: x-small;">desert wasteland. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Even the <span style="font-size: x-small;">vie<span style="font-size: x-small;">w from the Inter<span style="font-size: x-small;">state is <span style="font-size: x-small;">stunning. You would expect that the best views are from the backroads, but <span style="font-size: x-small;">give old I-10 a try. No di<span style="font-size: x-small;">sappointment there. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">As for New Mexico, </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">give me Socorro</span>, Magd<span style="font-size: x-small;">a</span>l<span style="font-size: x-small;">ena<span style="font-size: x-small;">, a<span style="font-size: x-small;">nd the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plains_of_San_Agustin" target="_blank">Plains of San Agustin</a> <span style="font-size: x-small;">over Taos any day. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sedona? Meh. If you can possibly get outside Sedona, say up by the airpor<span style="font-size: x-small;">t on the bluff, and look down at it, then do so. It's a lovely view. But to be down in<span style="font-size: x-small;"> it? Not magical, not <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sedona,_Arizona#Vortices" target="_blank">vortexical</a>, and not full of p<span style="font-size: x-small;">sychic loveliness. Hey, that's <span style="font-size: x-small;">just my humble opinion. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqDXU2feGL1TWLP6GMNk3_PvT_BB1fxCu_v-0L4rf7SnYavyIobU3CNtWiCKyfceYor6033J4AArkgXBymfFnw-CARZ4BEih1ByBEislLYtPI-Dpjb12nmvBADFN4d8ngCKEm14CHg-0/s1600/sedona.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqDXU2feGL1TWLP6GMNk3_PvT_BB1fxCu_v-0L4rf7SnYavyIobU3CNtWiCKyfceYor6033J4AArkgXBymfFnw-CARZ4BEih1ByBEislLYtPI-Dpjb12nmvBADFN4d8ngCKEm14CHg-0/s320/sedona.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Overlooking Sedona, AZ.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMswSkNtGMORpTnLs12N9jqKgkEN6UEJtNRjG69koTQnJj6oH7CiP3tQFkPc5mt_35wvPMOEP6PHlwrWwtOzcYmspzfFi2otsSSlsQJwfPTkMSvOXO3AFRPG8l06KjRkyiUKps8m6QUOg/s1600/santafe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMswSkNtGMORpTnLs12N9jqKgkEN6UEJtNRjG69koTQnJj6oH7CiP3tQFkPc5mt_35wvPMOEP6PHlwrWwtOzcYmspzfFi2otsSSlsQJwfPTkMSvOXO3AFRPG8l06KjRkyiUKps8m6QUOg/s200/santafe.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Stuff to buy in Santa Fe.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Santa Fe, you a<span style="font-size: x-small;">sk? Yes. Lovely. Perhaps a bit on th<span style="font-size: x-small;">e retail therapy side of the <span style="font-size: x-small;">equ<span style="font-size: x-small;">ation, but it retains a certain charm. A<span style="font-size: x-small;">nd it is home to<span style="font-size: x-small;"> the <a href="http://www.okeeffemuseum.org/" target="_blank">Georg</a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.okeeffemuseum.org/" target="_blank">ia O'Keeffe </a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.okeeffemuseum.org/" target="_blank">Museum</a>, a must see even if the entry fee is a bit eye watering. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Just </span>think of it this way: it costs $4 less per person to<span style="font-size: x-small;"> tour the O'Keeffe mus<span style="font-size: x-small;">eum than it does to look at <span style="font-size: x-small;">that big hole in the ground in nor<span style="font-size: x-small;">thern Arizona called the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meteor_Crater" target="_blank">Barringer <span style="font-size: x-small;">Crater</span></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>. <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I<span style="font-size: x-small;">'m still qu<span style="font-size: x-small;">estioning my own sanity on that one. </span>However</span>, <span style="font-size: x-small;">you've<span style="font-size: x-small;"> got to look into a giant meteor crater if you have the opportu<span style="font-size: x-small;">n<span style="font-size: x-small;">ity<span style="font-size: x-small;">, don't you? <span style="font-size: x-small;">If you really want to see O'<span style="font-size: x-small;">Keeffe cou<span style="font-size: x-small;">ntry, though, you've got to <span style="font-size: x-small;">head north of Sa<span style="font-size: x-small;">nta Fe to Ab<span style="font-size: x-small;">i<span style="font-size: x-small;">qu<span style="font-size: x-small;">iu<span style="font-size: x-small;"> and <span style="font-size: x-small;">to Ghost<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Ranch. You will recognize<span style="font-size: x-small;"> the landscape<span style="font-size: x-small;">s from her paintings. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Inn at Abiquiu, near O'Keeffe's home.</span></span></td></tr>
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Do.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>I cou<span style="font-size: x-small;">ldn't help <span style="font-size: x-small;">but think of <span style="font-size: x-small;">kd lang's version of </span>the <span style="font-size: x-small;">J<span style="font-size: x-small;">ane Siber<span style="font-size: x-small;">ry song <i>The </i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Valley</i> as <span style="font-size: x-small;">I looked into the impossibly beautiful and impossibly deep <span style="font-size: x-small;">canyon of the Colorado <span style="font-size: x-small;">river. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Grand Canyon at sunset.</span></span></td></tr>
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it bring you joy or will it take it 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x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I th<span style="font-size: x-small;">ink of <span style="font-size: x-small;">the song</span> again as I watch the progress of the day <span style="font-size: x-small;">and the way the shadows mo<span style="font-size: x-small;">ve along the ridges of the mesas and mountains in my own little slice of th<span style="font-size: x-small;">e Americ<span style="font-size: x-small;">an west, <span style="font-size: x-small;">a little <span style="font-size: x-small;">town called <span style="font-size: x-small;">Parac<span style="font-size: x-small;">hute. <span style="font-size: x-small;">And <span style="font-size: x-small;">I do wonder, what in the <span style="font-size: x-small;">world will the world bring today?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RmDnJA8wNDyYI6JjQpU6ahw7ovq3eSCbUDWt723U9f14-XmXt8ni717QT02pbuBHzdaoQg8j76e01S-BGK4kRZX9wdcEWx9Qe0ijrSNqQ6wh7NYukoc3kdqr6wLv2n4y-c8AtEB7s_A/s1600/prachute+fire+station.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RmDnJA8wNDyYI6JjQpU6ahw7ovq3eSCbUDWt723U9f14-XmXt8ni717QT02pbuBHzdaoQg8j76e01S-BGK4kRZX9wdcEWx9Qe0ijrSNqQ6wh7NYukoc3kdqr6wLv2n4y-c8AtEB7s_A/s320/prachute+fire+station.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Par<span style="font-size: xx-small;">achute, CO. Courtesy J. Cormack.</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Here are some more fun pics from our road trip. Enjoy. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTX_IK4rrYwKIOstAvOrGBrF5fIs3yT0xwnl7l7ywuSi_B5aI84GEXRVdQKu-a1NC0zfCX7w_l-10V89a2V8wvuq_vTLToP145fxfO5MakeXXTrdlyOLstZoxVdQ7tNYueVH1CyExizNc/s1600/crater.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTX_IK4rrYwKIOstAvOrGBrF5fIs3yT0xwnl7l7ywuSi_B5aI84GEXRVdQKu-a1NC0zfCX7w_l-10V89a2V8wvuq_vTLToP145fxfO5MakeXXTrdlyOLstZoxVdQ7tNYueVH1CyExizNc/s320/crater.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Big hole in the ground, the Barringer Crater near Winslow, AZ</span></span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hXjogI97W0LFIwuwshJG59Uar5_Q3S5qTBsrBO9Pc1PT-Vne1btgLO-ap0tPM-322Apq8euzPO6uctH2KLQJxuO92aeIQVfj-bSaT04OSpyAJjxqpdFetFjc_BA29po7uM4ajDDDmY0/s1600/jicarilla.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hXjogI97W0LFIwuwshJG59Uar5_Q3S5qTBsrBO9Pc1PT-Vne1btgLO-ap0tPM-322Apq8euzPO6uctH2KLQJxuO92aeIQVfj-bSaT04OSpyAJjxqpdFetFjc_BA29po7uM4ajDDDmY0/s320/jicarilla.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Jicarilla Apache <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Nation</span> - one of their lovely mesas. Note warning to <span style="font-size: xx-small;">local bov<span style="font-size: xx-small;">ine.</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf23fxtQaJyElwur4Vgg7Jy9_qehwvWKuvQMxeUkpTzESpWkXH34KgqTQThBP_NhUOfCJywX3nLlWzrZqhbnTE4ICFYctiSGcSwEJb_kqwGCjX-3-MJVlsqTNNwhR-6WCmr-UUDJYyRH0/s1600/OK+wall.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf23fxtQaJyElwur4Vgg7Jy9_qehwvWKuvQMxeUkpTzESpWkXH34KgqTQThBP_NhUOfCJywX3nLlWzrZqhbnTE4ICFYctiSGcSwEJb_kqwGCjX-3-MJVlsqTNNwhR-6WCmr-UUDJYyRH0/s320/OK+wall.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Adobe wall <span style="font-size: xx-small;">surrounding O'Keeffe's home in t<span style="font-size: xx-small;">he old village of Abiquiu, NM.</span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FspYFjQS4cagIlsG4dpH32cSkhBb76UaKCVWsVa7LskGToRGObWuEr_iIy_BIuMJB218BTye7ubUpyUvKh9Xb7ovUt7m9P0AXmbATcgMAhHFAWleHoMend-HLG9otbAYtg_EwUA4ZzA/s1600/cactus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FspYFjQS4cagIlsG4dpH32cSkhBb76UaKCVWsVa7LskGToRGObWuEr_iIy_BIuMJB218BTye7ubUpyUvKh9Xb7ovUt7m9P0AXmbATcgMAhHFAWleHoMend-HLG9otbAYtg_EwUA4ZzA/s320/cactus.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cacti and thorny thing in Sa<span style="font-size: xx-small;">g</span>uaro National For<span style="font-size: xx-small;">est near Tucson, AZ.</span></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pj5Vd9988_9wRPwovEqatcKVB7SYWnC3T0o_Iz6K92l9QmVwf1fY4JAXbRNsyoUJfjjjdeLnLVccW5L86ncigyY3BoPc2ts08RRKIxBkf5Zk5BAdiKXoM-PXRtn9Xhn3joFADUNKy68/s1600/valley+of+gods.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pj5Vd9988_9wRPwovEqatcKVB7SYWnC3T0o_Iz6K92l9QmVwf1fY4JAXbRNsyoUJfjjjdeLnLVccW5L86ncigyY3BoPc2ts08RRKIxBkf5Zk5BAdiKXoM-PXRtn9Xhn3joFADUNKy68/s320/valley+of+gods.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Rock <span style="font-size: xx-small;">formation and small tribu<span style="font-size: xx-small;">te, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Valley of the Gods, U<span style="font-size: xx-small;">T.</span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
<br />D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-43328049465460634542012-05-03T10:10:00.001+01:002012-05-03T10:10:38.817+01:00Where to Stay in Glasgow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW77WCsBQP8NWmZFLo1LgKt5YqjRsi4AllU10bt-kiE-m8sRansRuDrz4EXOXKjbYn9yHhRxhpqof69Azg8Rg76vlz4kGXXDuU_EqfwV0JIsZQDIvENlGJPCwRPK53PuBASI0lCyy41nQ/s1600/citizen+m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW77WCsBQP8NWmZFLo1LgKt5YqjRsi4AllU10bt-kiE-m8sRansRuDrz4EXOXKjbYn9yHhRxhpqof69Azg8Rg76vlz4kGXXDuU_EqfwV0JIsZQDIvENlGJPCwRPK53PuBASI0lCyy41nQ/s1600/citizen+m.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I went to Glasgow for the first time last fall to have a look around and to see kd lang in concert (more about her in another installment). It was a great trip. We stayed two nights at a hotel called <a href="http://www.citizenm.com/affordable-luxury-hotels">Citizen M</a>. This is a concept hotel, which I think works really well. The one in Glasgow looks like a black box from the outside. The interior hallways leading to the rooms are not plush and the first thing you notice is that the doors are much closer together than other hotels. The rooms are nicely appointed, small, high-tech, and they provide nothing more than what you need...with one exception. You can change the lighting color in the ceiling panel of the shower, which is enclosed in a frosted glass wall visible from all parts of the room. You can change the hue of your room from green to red to blue to lavender to gold. Hours of fun. And it's done with a universal remote control, which also controls the lights, the blinds and the TV. Each room has a very large picture window under which the bed stretches from one wall to the other. It's a bit awkward having the bed surrounded on three sides, but the mattress is very comfortable.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDZSC-G5fHKwzU9twQ6WQfF9UTIZW8Kf9TbA-0Af3A6GXh3-mLEkvW7F4ohqrkkPq8Mc7W-52zLZgEVdo7PQyKltYPEHORugP0mg2CYevT9snMg22R5RjFKkt9Yz6ju93Yul9-5nhA1M/s1600/citizen+m+bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDZSC-G5fHKwzU9twQ6WQfF9UTIZW8Kf9TbA-0Af3A6GXh3-mLEkvW7F4ohqrkkPq8Mc7W-52zLZgEVdo7PQyKltYPEHORugP0mg2CYevT9snMg22R5RjFKkt9Yz6ju93Yul9-5nhA1M/s1600/citizen+m+bar.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The common spaces in the hotel are decorated with sleek modern furniture, but not the sort of modern furniture that makes you think 'how the hell do you sit on that?! <i>Is </i>it actually to sit on, or is it a plant stand?' There are oddly shaped chairs, but there are also comfy sofas and benches. The color scheme is bold: white, black and red. There are several big screen TVs and big screen Macs in the computer area to use. There are coffee table books about art and music and pop culture everywhere and it's clear they are meant to be perused. And there is a lounge and snack bar which is comfy and inviting. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Anyway, folks, if you ever find yourself in one of the cities where Citizen M operates, try it. I can't wait to go back to Glasgow and explore the city again, and I look forward to another stay at the same quirky, affordable, luxurious-in-all-the-right-ways hotel. </span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-73251003071003936362011-06-10T10:52:00.000+01:002011-06-10T10:52:58.498+01:00Twitter: Screaming Into the Electronic Abyss<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My two regular followers will notice something sort of new and perhaps unexpected along the left sidebar of this here blog: my Twitter updates. Yes, I've gone and done it. If you were unfortunate enough to have read a past blog entry called <a href="http://rhodestravelled.blogspot.com/2010/02/social-networking-angel-of-history.html">Social Networking and the Angel of History</a> without blocking out the experience as a psychological defense, you'll probably be wondering what the hell I'm thinking joining Twitter. I was, in said blog entry, just the teensiest bit critical of the boring use of Twitter and other social networking sites.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Okay. So here's how it started. It won't surprise any of you to be reminded that I am a kd lang fan. And I have been following her on a <a href="http://kdlang.org/">fan forum</a> for some years now. I learned that kd and her band have started using Twitter to upate their fans on her new album and tour. So that proved too absolutely tempting. It's easy and fast to make a profile and get started on this 'microblog' site. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">You have 140 spaces to say what you will. It is a good exercise in saying something concise and meaningful. There is something appealing to me about this forced use of poetic sensibilities. Of course, many users simply use texting abbreviations to pack in the most information (not all of it useful) that they can. So far, I have tried to abide by the no abbreviations rule.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Maybe it's because I am middle aged, or perhaps slightly past middle age, that I compare </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">my life as a young teen (way back in the day)</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> to what I imagine the life of a young teen to be like now. I work in a restaurant and many of the dishwashers, waiters and waitresses are very young. They will have cherished memories of stealing each other's phones and sending lewd text messages out in the name of the hapless victim. My cherished memories involving technology are about having a stereo and speaker system in my room that allowed me to tape record an album onto a cassette tape. My God! The freedom. This allowed me to have the very portable cassette tape of my favorite album, and what's more, it allowed me to make the highly prized mixed tape. Oh, yes indeed! With such advanced technology at my fingertips I could <i>stop</i> the tape, put on another album, check that the needle was set right, start the tape recording and lower the needle to the vinyl. How wonderful to make a tape that had <i>different </i>artists on it. At the time this was a staggering amount of musical freedom, it must be said. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">These days I couldn't be bothered with something as old-school as that. Now I simply adjust my iTunes playlists. But there was a time when the painstaking ritual of mixed tape creation was enough to keep me occupied for an entire afternoon (no wonder my homework suffered). I do wonder if the fact that back then you had to record things in real time meant that I have deep, almost tactile memories of what the experience was like, what my room was like, what the ritual consisted of, what it was like to remove the album from the cover and liner, how to flip a record over in your hands without touching the grooves, all those details. Today you can download a song anywhere and add it to your playlists within seconds. Do I remember where I was and what was going on and how I felt when I downloaded Ann Wilson's cover of <i>Immigrant Song</i> (arguably the best cover ever of that song)? Not exactly. But if you ask my memories of Blondie's <i>Heart of Glass</i>, I'll tell you all about our class camping trip and the little shop with the jukebox at Lake Sacheen, and how I developed an instant crush on Andy Davis when he said he loved that song.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The point of this saunter down memory lane is to say how quickly things change. Back when I was interspersing Heart, Fleetwood Mac, and Blondie songs on my cassette tapes, I could not have conceived of a world where I could broadcast my every thought and action to literally tens of people. I could not conceive of a world where I could send a friend a song using an electronic device. Here's the rub. If I <i>could</i> have conceived of a world in which these things happen, I would not have suspected that one day I would find all of it a little underwhelming. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That's where we are now, folks. Paris, London, Social Networking...boring. To quote the Pierces 'nothing thrills us anymore. No one kills us anymore.' Celebrities? Really boring. I got so fed up with the inane and/or constant tweeting that I dumped Annie Lennox, Kathy Griffin, and even (gulp) kd lang. Yep. I ditched them, axed them, blasted them off the page, stopped following them. And these are people I genuinely like and still have an interest in. But I just can't be bothered to scroll through their cryptic crap, their persnickety palavering, their political pontificating. Bah. Boring. One can only take so many admonishments to join this or that rally or attend this or that show. And, seriously, one can only take so many references to the movie <i>Harold and Maude</i>, with or without banjos (sorry kd). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And if that's how I feel seeing other people's inane posts - how must they feel looking at mine? Doesn't matter. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 2.5 followers. Is there anything good about twitter? Yes! My <a href="https://twitter.com/#%21/unrulysunne">partner</a> is funny. I like her posts. <a href="http://creepyquerygirl.blogspot.com/">Creepy Query Girl</a> posts links to her blog, and I nearly always click through to read her. She blogs about her writing life and she's funny and inspirational. I keep up with the latest <a href="http://maddowblog.msnbc.msn.com/">Rachel Maddow</a> stuff. I follow <a href="http://www.heart-music.com/">Heart</a>, my hometown girls. They only tweet the essential info. I also follow <a href="http://www.theselby.com/">The Selby</a> on Twitter so that I get little reminders to check his site. If you like photos of interesting people and their homes, you'll like his blog. But as for me, I can rarely think of anything interesting to post. I do feel sometimes as if I am screaming into the electronic abyss. However, as mentioned before, the challenge of 140 spaces to say something meaningful is there and waiting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-79069978835043756862011-02-17T13:30:00.002+00:002011-02-18T15:36:45.353+00:00Demolition is Fun<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: small;">Hi all.<br />
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Demolition is a lovely word. I got rid of a built-in bookcase which</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: small;"> took up too much space in our wee sitting room, and was, in fact, completely useless.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: small;"> It took a bit of muscle to get it out of there. I thought for a minute it might actually have doubled as a bomb shelter, so soundly was it constructed. Alas, the club hammer and pry bar proved too much for it in the end.<br />
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Do you know what I found had fallen behind and under the bookcase? Some neatly typed notes from the local Temperance Committee, circa 1952. I think that lends some credence to my notion that the interior of the house has not been updated since roughly the stone age. At any rate, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that the ladies were working diligently to '<span style="font-style: italic;">counteract the superstition that the coming of a New Year must be celebrated in whisky</span>.'<br />
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Alas, the whisky industry outlived the Temperance movement. Actually, the bookcase outlived it as well. Let's drink to that.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhux_nXPBvvYzYMhN_1DxR5-kdDOWjIu08Ut9j8pdqu_4kSR_MWL20g9K7kVkTwR4YDsNhAQmzb2eTmuHEAmtlq514-uV3JnbhGUmbE3_28GCTVVRWJocS-pBQ5ja7eQSbWEtbl3OhbEu4/s1600/IMG_3323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhux_nXPBvvYzYMhN_1DxR5-kdDOWjIu08Ut9j8pdqu_4kSR_MWL20g9K7kVkTwR4YDsNhAQmzb2eTmuHEAmtlq514-uV3JnbhGUmbE3_28GCTVVRWJocS-pBQ5ja7eQSbWEtbl3OhbEu4/s320/IMG_3323.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Before</span> </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigCqvXteIXDVipPlaVXb-ejMvNflv0Ib4zYA7d4NJ2mmCoMuRFoTcKms-hVUfCcipWnf0ZDlWaoQxrFUqHOuX6Hwb2FUrTklGSIf2ouyeoH2GjmUh55rtTYL3HxX1nWm3X0dzZs-3vcfQ/s1600/IMG_3324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigCqvXteIXDVipPlaVXb-ejMvNflv0Ib4zYA7d4NJ2mmCoMuRFoTcKms-hVUfCcipWnf0ZDlWaoQxrFUqHOuX6Hwb2FUrTklGSIf2ouyeoH2GjmUh55rtTYL3HxX1nWm3X0dzZs-3vcfQ/s320/IMG_3324.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">After. </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Notice the fireplace just to the left of the former bookcase. Can you guess what happened to all that scrap wood?</span></span><br />
</span></span></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-53927855414449280072011-01-20T17:29:00.005+00:002011-01-20T23:15:32.888+00:00What's Cookin'?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdY603-gNPUjICBQiaCiIlph1lPfdqeWBVNy9cPd9r548DOF3UIpvZn4zl4SYI7sLP6l7XfO0rIqw7KIBK08KAe-o4JRDMqKAJGw9t6RRyuWkvfnEb-BgG-ygq6eHbI8f7xPkIXYQjGbU/s1600/IMG_3649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdY603-gNPUjICBQiaCiIlph1lPfdqeWBVNy9cPd9r548DOF3UIpvZn4zl4SYI7sLP6l7XfO0rIqw7KIBK08KAe-o4JRDMqKAJGw9t6RRyuWkvfnEb-BgG-ygq6eHbI8f7xPkIXYQjGbU/s320/IMG_3649.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Christmas at Dalbeattie 2010</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_xKxjN15MJIRrMUsOjZHT1eEJPFJUP7NMxxO7HkNakOSIc0IPxxIqzDWCetR7tL1_coU0G1qDcGqcUzdiugwIFGDeAssQIuGRk_wkEd1Oo4LEy4JqKE6PKzZ8JTlQn09-ze0oW3lrfo/s1600/IMG_3674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_xKxjN15MJIRrMUsOjZHT1eEJPFJUP7NMxxO7HkNakOSIc0IPxxIqzDWCetR7tL1_coU0G1qDcGqcUzdiugwIFGDeAssQIuGRk_wkEd1Oo4LEy4JqKE6PKzZ8JTlQn09-ze0oW3lrfo/s1600/IMG_3674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a></span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Well, folks, the Holiday Season came and went without a post. And do you know what? According to the stats section, it was the busiest time yet for traffic to this blog. I was amazed to find that we've had visitors from the following nations in addition to the US and the UK: Canada, China, Columbia, France, Netherlands, and Slovenia. Welcome one and all!</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The reason I haven't posted is that I hit the pavement looking for work...and found it. I produced a little flyer advertising my kitchen services to local restaurants in the event they needed emergency or temporary help. A couple of local restaurants responded and I worked various shifts for them. One of the owners sang my praises to friends who own the <a href="http://www.anchorhotelkippford.co.uk/">Anchor Hotel</a> in Kippford (four miles from our little village) and pretty soon, I had a regular job doing prep and starters. I have found it's very helpful to have a background in kitchen work, because you can almost always find a job. Given the economy and given the fact that my data management skill set needs updating, kitchen work seemed a good option. Americans, I'm pleased to say, are seen as industrious, positive, and hard-working. So even if the average Brit is baffled by our politicians, they have a general fondness for the average American. And America is widely regarded for it's friendliness and customer service. The customer service is sadly lacking in many places in the UK, and I'm not sure why that should be as the people are generally polite, friendly and love to go out to eat and drink. You'd think it would be a customer service dream. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">What is the food like, you ask? Not as grim as you've been led to believe. I have found that the UK is a 'foodie' culture. The old stereotype of totally overcooked meat and veg is outdated. With the mix of cultures in the UK, the average Brit probably has a better grasp of ethnic food than the average American. There are many amazing restaurants in the UK. But you want to know what's on the menu at a pub/hotel, don't you?</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Standard menu items for starters include soup, pate, crab on toast, smoked salmon, fried brie, garlic mushrooms. Their sauce for prawn cocktail, what most Americans would refer to as shrimp cocktail, is a marie rose sauce (mayo, ketchup, worcestershire sauce) which is a bit creamier and less spicy than the cocktail sauce I'm used to. It's basically Thousand Island without the chunky bits. One of the more popular starters is nachos. As in America, it seems to be served in a variety of ways, but I think I can safely say, they don't have the same sense of what standard salsa is like. For example, the freshly made salsa where I work is an absolutely gorgeous deep red with tomatoes, herbs, and red onions in it. It seems to get its color from a sweet chili sauce, which is definitely an asian touch. It tastes wonderful and it would be familiar to the British palate as they do have a love of Asian and Indian foods here. But it really isn't what an American would think of as salsa. It's more like a chutney. Aside from nachos as a starter, there is very little Mexican influence on the mainstream restaurants here and Mexican restaurants are few and far between. I've daydreamed of opening a little Mexican food stand. I could call it Nacho Mama. I know. It's an old one, but a good one. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">For mains there are the usual fish and chips (most often haddock), steaks, burgers, and salads; you will also find steak pie (often a dish of beef stew with a square of puff pastry on top), curry, pork medallions, lamb cutlets, sea bass, and a fair amount of duck, pheasant, and venison. And they don't hold back on serving sauces and gravy. Delicious. Comforting. And definitely not dreary. What's the difference between the English pub food and the Scottish pub food? In a word, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haggis">haggis</a>. If you come to the Anchor and order the smoked duck salad starter, your strips of gorgeous duck breast will come on a bed of greens lovingly tossed with walnuts and a light vinagrette and topped with artistically placed deep-fried haggis balls. Arranged with special care by yours truly. Or if you are <i>very </i>into haggis, you could order the haggis fritters: two slices of haggis, battered and fried topped with a lovely gravy. What kind of gravy? No idea. Or if you are not into haggis but you are into deep fried things, you could order a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep-fried_Mars_bar">deep fried mars bar</a>. Sadly, that does not come with gravy. Not even chocolate gravy. </span></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">This is my home version of a starter from work: tower of smoked salmon, cucumber and prawn. Christmas Eve lunch.</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1bpjHWfhOME4WeYWUWFQzUgEi7r9YO3PICbjdTUkFK-AXhx7QOR1jBh4a3uVo7uXxMErnkunErYhyphenhyphenJtv3EmqIYssk6qSTOqxjz-zpsT7feSWVrMCaTWBOv0tDngdqUkFl8Pp95jtg-A/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1bpjHWfhOME4WeYWUWFQzUgEi7r9YO3PICbjdTUkFK-AXhx7QOR1jBh4a3uVo7uXxMErnkunErYhyphenhyphenJtv3EmqIYssk6qSTOqxjz-zpsT7feSWVrMCaTWBOv0tDngdqUkFl8Pp95jtg-A/s320/025.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Also this fall we said goodbye to an old friend, Lily (1994 - 2010)</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-47817217079460574832010-10-26T20:36:00.005+01:002010-10-27T20:07:30.976+01:00Kirkcudbright is 'Dy-no-mite!'<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.kirkcudbright.co.uk/">Kirkcudbright</a>, a recent destination for one of our famous day trips, is a lovely, arty town located at the estuary of the River Dee in Galloway.<br />
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First order of business: I had to learn how to pronounce the name properly. It is most definitely not pronounced how it looks: kur (to rhyme with fur) KOO (to rhyme with fu manchu) bree (to rhyme with tree). So that's kur-KOO-bree, emphasis on the KOO. I guess I should apologize for the title of this post, then. Sorry. Sorry Kirkcudbright. Sorry Jimmy Walker of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_Times"><span style="font-style: italic;">Good Times</span></a> fame. Sorry.<br />
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There are several noticable things about Kirkcudbright. The ruin of Maclellan's Castle dominates one end of the town, where</span><span style="font-size: small;"> Castle Street and Cuthbert Street meet. I didn't think the castle was particulary nice to look at, but see a nicely drawn town map </span><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.kirkcudbright.co.uk/images/townmap.jpg">here. </a><br />
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Another noticeable thing about the town, something I haven't seen much of in the UK, is wide streets. They aren't as wide as Salt Lake City's streets, or the streets in Las Vegas (which you need to file something akin to a flight plan before you cross), but they are very wide for British streets.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kirkcudbright has one of the more interesting WWI memorials I've seen. It is a statue of a man with a sword and shield protecting a small boy. Usually they are just a stone pillar with names on them. Something interesting to note is that the WWI memorials in these little towns have <i>a lot </i>(I'm not kidding) of soldier's names on them, about twice as many as WWII. I'm always moved by seeing those lists of names, especially when in a very small village. I look around and think <i>my God, nearly all of the men from this little town were lost. </i>And then twenty years later, another world war. It is sobering.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Another thing you notice is that the town does pride itself on being home to a lot of artists. I think a town that promotes the arts is a very good town indeed. </span><span style="font-size: small;">In keeping with the arty feeling, the citizens seem to have agreed that it would be really cool to paint their houses interesting colors, so you do get that seaside town feeling when you look around. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here are a few pics of Kirkcudbright. Enjoy. </span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1cVzOBaTkKFAvMjbhVWhFPjeOCkDzOnTTV8c6754KUZ0Emw6vy8_6VB3UEVYX93SiKZvs5ywBB9w-0uSXVYqm-qz6a_JVfFzTZWCXlDjObBO2MfLPQOC5tdeMVKTFNZhYJCwjduTJvQ/s1600/106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1cVzOBaTkKFAvMjbhVWhFPjeOCkDzOnTTV8c6754KUZ0Emw6vy8_6VB3UEVYX93SiKZvs5ywBB9w-0uSXVYqm-qz6a_JVfFzTZWCXlDjObBO2MfLPQOC5tdeMVKTFNZhYJCwjduTJvQ/s320/106.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Click for the larger pic and you'll see the house near the end of the street is purple</span></span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cHtrFhTPXD2pGFt-pfpu3znHe3GUBPgsflo-MS58qFrAW8sPdEvTuoG-Kf6GmT_wkfd5yMfwTMmsTGzNywaawI7ZE7aqsd2-X-FG7uw40nsHTRzhHf2VUMrFw4k91EwVsAPPMo2QiNo/s1600/101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cHtrFhTPXD2pGFt-pfpu3znHe3GUBPgsflo-MS58qFrAW8sPdEvTuoG-Kf6GmT_wkfd5yMfwTMmsTGzNywaawI7ZE7aqsd2-X-FG7uw40nsHTRzhHf2VUMrFw4k91EwVsAPPMo2QiNo/s320/101.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This lovely church was turned into several private flats</span></span> </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcACJinxJlR3Y7Y38V4t5pLe5AaU83T_9sN-Xx9DbUFb6rzUFOHJOskBq_dkTzP_pqxIG2MGN29qroLGo1W8A3xdLZuOgDSoG6gwJSnY1RunTilxBvuPg5Mw0qd9UczwqlFC_0os5Ipk/s1600/112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcACJinxJlR3Y7Y38V4t5pLe5AaU83T_9sN-Xx9DbUFb6rzUFOHJOskBq_dkTzP_pqxIG2MGN29qroLGo1W8A3xdLZuOgDSoG6gwJSnY1RunTilxBvuPg5Mw0qd9UczwqlFC_0os5Ipk/s320/112.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">You better not misbehave in Kirkcudbright</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span> </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRmRHtf6Iu9gjBPCJ7FJ1q6iHKAo-gN2rrXrU_C0lap9VEXhxx57zIfu_Ez-LjTybe7qI3fB1Q54zvLq5gtj48f-wav6MJYmM1DQbfR_rHd1i3cE-aEYzlunq1Mn6FTdn6bOYjL-3_-U/s1600/099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRmRHtf6Iu9gjBPCJ7FJ1q6iHKAo-gN2rrXrU_C0lap9VEXhxx57zIfu_Ez-LjTybe7qI3fB1Q54zvLq5gtj48f-wav6MJYmM1DQbfR_rHd1i3cE-aEYzlunq1Mn6FTdn6bOYjL-3_-U/s320/099.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Loved Ones Lost at Sea</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtzB4OqffCXaCWVu1_fN7z9viC0XCF40phoIa1pkDlaRtVbWetOcKdgCdtAvqgck_4Vh3rlsW6c7jss3Hskp0KvyNoIxsLk4uCfQNGjVjyg7uWk_Gh-8vGlvSruFvvlNO1aFbH4ZTNbc/s1600/092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtzB4OqffCXaCWVu1_fN7z9viC0XCF40phoIa1pkDlaRtVbWetOcKdgCdtAvqgck_4Vh3rlsW6c7jss3Hskp0KvyNoIxsLk4uCfQNGjVjyg7uWk_Gh-8vGlvSruFvvlNO1aFbH4ZTNbc/s320/092.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">'To The Glorious Dead: 1914 - 1918'</span></span> </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhssKSIAR2fgv26KCpCyElNOoGHWy4gzNlwzPd-fkUhsJphPr8fRRGq4NC2XVwha3hFrpS_myai1BD34CBuNuEC5UoIQApU2qgMrQsiIXAizgPhCdvtC6TrJUDzfCuQ9uF4l68OE1GyRX8/s1600/095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhssKSIAR2fgv26KCpCyElNOoGHWy4gzNlwzPd-fkUhsJphPr8fRRGq4NC2XVwha3hFrpS_myai1BD34CBuNuEC5UoIQApU2qgMrQsiIXAizgPhCdvtC6TrJUDzfCuQ9uF4l68OE1GyRX8/s320/095.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Fishing boat in Kirkcudbright Harbour along the river Dee</span></span> </div><br />
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</span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-56897897140966208652010-10-09T00:09:00.000+01:002010-10-09T00:09:07.733+01:00Beachcombing in Galloway<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigYsH0UmgfHIRC4Anbu2EMhQqy4Rx8mECrbeXo8vl38DYsTMucvfOzwA2HxBW2h_8YODSmSHHaNOASIHPvunw0FGTDMSnaC4KABQSbJ2Na_k8NYs4nGZlGMi5I4fTsaL1ztqBq7xstkmY/s1600/155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing on the beach looking back at Carsethorn,<a href="http://www.steamboatinncarsethorn.co.uk/"> The Steamboat Inn</a>, and shrouded Criffel.</td></tr>
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</a></div>Galloway is a wonderful place for beachcombers. In one visit to Kippford in June, we doubled the size of our collection of sea glass. Just the other day at the beach at <a href="http://www.dalbeattie.com/carsethorn/carsethorn.html">Carsethorn</a>, we doubled it again. Even found a chunky blue bit of glass. I wonder if sea glass just isn't a big deal here. The beaches all over Puget Sound are usually picked clean. I made some truly wonderful finds in the non-glass areas as well. We'll have a bit of show-and-tell just below.<br />
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And in a bit of related news for you, I have started a <a href="http://beachfind.blogspot.com/">new blog</a>. This one is dedicated to beach-combing pics with a little bit of info thrown in. It's a work in progress, but there are already pics posted. Please join in the fun. I'm looking to promote it and improve it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit of an Oriental ceramic piece, smooth to the touch</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3mxnu7KYrwAtT6WMh11I4zSyyCC5FoY9OHfLuJsMDd6A8ftlPcld3XMAwwPM2OzvrSFsRHr9psDsOQPBiDQwIirQ91U7rGi2Kq1e-P-OB6iTUs6VQroUP7aLZZGJhsZM65vRc3pwDmU/s320/170.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wonderfully faded Dutch ceramic piece, no bigger than a ten pence.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3mxnu7KYrwAtT6WMh11I4zSyyCC5FoY9OHfLuJsMDd6A8ftlPcld3XMAwwPM2OzvrSFsRHr9psDsOQPBiDQwIirQ91U7rGi2Kq1e-P-OB6iTUs6VQroUP7aLZZGJhsZM65vRc3pwDmU/s1600/170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gLfVMGYvF1EM5TXKtg6tLj7Gg9F2go6OTVSchIzENXQODNeMIYTagpKScxihusw6EtKyH9ERCJf9WwAmSmk_k9z1ysgJihs_7nGk6ZeU8SD3Qtah9Tcda6YadoMSiDrHA3qLefPFyIk/s320/134.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue row boat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gLfVMGYvF1EM5TXKtg6tLj7Gg9F2go6OTVSchIzENXQODNeMIYTagpKScxihusw6EtKyH9ERCJf9WwAmSmk_k9z1ysgJihs_7nGk6ZeU8SD3Qtah9Tcda6YadoMSiDrHA3qLefPFyIk/s1600/134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHgCE2o0R7XZH_mgttKEzGDU7Sqo_MAfXevgNj-LUYVx1U2-VKTs5fqxATUWOKoiwBW_6ZSOwbpRrKRh4e-Tk_pkFV78e6VFokZ6jMIHTrQ8LbiAzWiuWNCkPcxx1bTiChqFGGnzK6qc/s320/138.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's all about the blue.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHgCE2o0R7XZH_mgttKEzGDU7Sqo_MAfXevgNj-LUYVx1U2-VKTs5fqxATUWOKoiwBW_6ZSOwbpRrKRh4e-Tk_pkFV78e6VFokZ6jMIHTrQ8LbiAzWiuWNCkPcxx1bTiChqFGGnzK6qc/s1600/138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-3509741693220124402010-09-28T22:38:00.020+01:002010-10-01T13:35:42.293+01:00Village Life 2: The Sounds of Dalbeattie<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2BtwCZObJjOdzuZbNQEBmR6k5H9sfognq2SFwQF1AUk6S-iCeiQeJhJwM988-qcBkYqMBFasjJQ1FpdW4Up01cDTjH6T2MUHzYCF4xsAS3ErvH0rE5-fs-Cm1XTeZIk6A-P0DuT9Nlc/s1600/082.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2BtwCZObJjOdzuZbNQEBmR6k5H9sfognq2SFwQF1AUk6S-iCeiQeJhJwM988-qcBkYqMBFasjJQ1FpdW4Up01cDTjH6T2MUHzYCF4xsAS3ErvH0rE5-fs-Cm1XTeZIk6A-P0DuT9Nlc/s320/082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523015822015411266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">respice prospice.<br />learn from the past - look to the future.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />I notice sounds here in the UK even more than I did in the States. I think this is because everything is so new to me. I have to pay close attention; I have to listen well, particularly here in Scotland, in order to understand what people are saying to me.</span> The accents and indeed the vocabulary is very different from England and from the States. It takes a bit of getting used to, and I admit, if someone is a fast-talker I miss about half of what is said. I listen for key words and tone of voice, and look at facial expression to capture meaning in context; failing that, I look to my partner who very kindly translates for me. I am usually understood when I speak (though not always). I think this has more to do with speaking in a slow, western drawl than with the overall mildness of my accent. In fact, the very notion of my 'mild accent' is beginning to erode. It took me a while to admit that I even had an accent; my denials were met with guffaws. I switched to espousing the idea that, although I<span style="font-style: italic;"> might</span> have an accent, it is without question a <span style="font-weight: bold;">very, very mild one</span>. This was met with bemused looks, and pats on the head. Of course I have an accent. It is a western drawl of the North American variety. Okay. Fine. <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Let's move on.</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">By far the most pleasant sound we encounter is the friendly banter between locals that we hear from the downstairs café. It opens at 9am and by 9:30am a group of regulars are in and chatting. We can't make out what is said but we hear the tone, cadence and accent. It is punctuated with much laughter. To my ear it sounds roughly like: hee hah hoh ahhh, oh aye HAHAHAHAHA! It's like a babbling brook of friendliness. It always puts a smile on my face.<br /><br />And that last bit (oh, aye HAHAHAHAHA!) is standard and oft heard in Dalbeattie. As is the greeting 'HiYAHH.' Emphasis on the drawn out YAHH. It's not like a karate chop (HIYA!!) like Miss Piggy is famous for; and it's not as clipped as the greeting I commonly use (hiya). Anyway, we think it is a local custom. We haven't heard it said like that anywhere else.<br /><br />Another local custom is for the young of the village to hang out at The Cross on Friday and Saturday nights, into the wee hours of the morning. They chat, shout, sing, and slurr incomprehensibly as the night goes on. Living in noisy Canterbury with 40,000 college students was good practice for living at The Cross. To be fair, there isn't much in Dalbeattie for the young to do on a weekend, and the fact that they are out (in good weather) singing and laughing instead of texting or playing video games or creating teen pregnancies is something to be glad about. However, I must admit to sometimes praying for a rain shower that lasts from 11pm to 3am. They tend to scurry away when it rains. Which should be most of the winter, I would think. The sound of rain is a lovely thing in itself.<br /><br />Because we are in the center of town where there are restaurants, small supermarkets and pubs, we also hear the early morning delivery trucks roll in. We hear the drivers operating the tailgates and moving racks of things around as they make their deliveries. It's the sound of commerce; this, in a small town, in a difficult economy, is a welcome sound. Doesn't bother me a bit. Not even the especially loud 4am delivery truck.<br /><br />One of the most soothing sounds of Dalbeattie is the rushing of the burn. Note: burn is a Scots word to mean small river. The burn flows right through the center of Dalbeattie towards the River Urr. We like to walk along the bank and listen to the water. And there's always Dalbeattie Forest with it's chirping birds and chattering<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Squirrel"> red squirrels</a>. The forest is adjacent to the town, and once inside, it's amazing how quickly the sounds of human endeavor drop away.<br /><br />The sounds of Dalbeattie range from the friendly banter of locals to machines of commerce to the soothing sounds of nature. All within a small radius, a ten minute walk.<br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdn_O9W3fLrNiw_hlfpw-vPxNH_Md0HrEI31b-eoireglp-UXS6jYWnt0EgNfBj0fE8a-kIl-iDoklISQRqWXAvZeGnR09J6InD8vVpJpIptMsV0LQnjxJBU2Mn3el2cCcgsRjoCJPYA/s1600/077.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdn_O9W3fLrNiw_hlfpw-vPxNH_Md0HrEI31b-eoireglp-UXS6jYWnt0EgNfBj0fE8a-kIl-iDoklISQRqWXAvZeGnR09J6InD8vVpJpIptMsV0LQnjxJBU2Mn3el2cCcgsRjoCJPYA/s320/077.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523011036809509778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">on the bank of the burn</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfHlahdPyl7mSGP5sCQpJiYkoSTg_wD_nOzJGYXoe3az_Ud-xYE5wg4QcnmCaZQNXksYlq8xIJkkbdzWwcAdljBK1_6Qsor-_eCxXIkCmndyrukvz99KoibWxXJW8oOVNJUbjcf598Iw/s1600/126.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfHlahdPyl7mSGP5sCQpJiYkoSTg_wD_nOzJGYXoe3az_Ud-xYE5wg4QcnmCaZQNXksYlq8xIJkkbdzWwcAdljBK1_6Qsor-_eCxXIkCmndyrukvz99KoibWxXJW8oOVNJUbjcf598Iw/s320/126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523011039707088722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">aprapos of 'HiYAHH' this is the<span style="font-style: italic;"> only</span> bit of graffiti i've discovered in Dalbeattie thus far.<br />note the artistic shadow of the camera and my hand.<br />for comparison purposes, see my past blog entry about graffiti, <a href="http://rhodestravelled.blogspot.com/2010/04/peace-of-wild-things.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">the peace of wild things</span></a>.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-3038420971428390832010-09-03T16:43:00.010+01:002010-09-28T22:21:41.865+01:00Village Life 1: Loads of Granite<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpnU0g1IQTYvl0cvWmSVrd_tNuWbKQFkLPLi9UIDjzUI62Kcycr6YJeaH55VpOuQHaiSdncJ974JlQs6u9k7sh0nTCik7c6d0i_K4Iy_TMiSmQc4CGlSuepHmbs-wF7QTIaiGIJhEGCgo/s1600/085.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_QUsYawveyUfFEXq07KSQ7nKRZjSUaXAqpzAwNROaYBO1S7cRvtg96RqXmHoRV3Cxrvz66ckk7Rac9QFHnxMgLvgxJDsEC0DYmgAtmfwS39GFsvbhXVhF5yzfmdWvQwEsgIiSnED4XU/s1600/075.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_QUsYawveyUfFEXq07KSQ7nKRZjSUaXAqpzAwNROaYBO1S7cRvtg96RqXmHoRV3Cxrvz66ckk7Rac9QFHnxMgLvgxJDsEC0DYmgAtmfwS39GFsvbhXVhF5yzfmdWvQwEsgIiSnED4XU/s320/075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522075229796982162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7WTcg6KCOpkauU92fpdk7sZb65fahSsFYTcPK081YIylEdKYzNdRHAdeqHd65RsbwgcecLVZd3pRk3AZTSe6uWHmFRlAm5CGC8sAPHyy_vCkmktEYm5lLvCk83y03s3ysSngwLxEXy4/s1600/074.JPG"><br /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As I write this, I'm looking out one of the windows at our place in southwest Scotland. Our granite building is a good couple of hundred years old and situated at the top of a T junction called The Cross, in the center of a little village called Dalbeattie. That's Dail Bheithe in Gaelic, meaning something close to 'valley of the birch trees.' The window glass is old and uneven and makes the village outside look a bit wobbly. I can see the stately granite building, marked 1883, at one corner, and next to it the bright blue building that houses one of the local butchers. Beyond that the steeple of a church points skyward. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On the other corner across the street is the Kings Arms Hotel, another granite building. It is a small hotel, restaurant, lounge and public bar. The public bar has its own entrance and that is where the men drink. You could go in there if you are a woman, but <span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> of the patrons will stop drinking, stop talking, and turn to stare at you. Not unfriendly exactly, but you can hear a pin drop. Ask me how I know this [smiles sweetly]. I do enjoy the locally brewed ale they have on tap. The staff is friendly, the lounge and garden lovely and the food gets an A.<br /><br />But back to the granite. Dalbeattie is famous for its granite, which is extremely hard and light grey in colour. As I'm sure you've gathered, many buildings in the town center are made of it. The local quarries supplied granite to places worldwide, including London, Liverpool, Manchester, the United States, and Sri Lanka (go figure). It has been used for buildings, lighthouses and roadworks (as crushed granite). Dalbeattie is the first place in the world where granite was polished on a commercial scale. This started in the 1830s and created a boom in granite polishing as Dalbeattie granite workers took their craft to various places around the world.<br /><br />Did you know that granite is a natural source of radiation? I prefer my radiation from natural sources.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7WTcg6KCOpkauU92fpdk7sZb65fahSsFYTcPK081YIylEdKYzNdRHAdeqHd65RsbwgcecLVZd3pRk3AZTSe6uWHmFRlAm5CGC8sAPHyy_vCkmktEYm5lLvCk83y03s3ysSngwLxEXy4/s1600/074.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7WTcg6KCOpkauU92fpdk7sZb65fahSsFYTcPK081YIylEdKYzNdRHAdeqHd65RsbwgcecLVZd3pRk3AZTSe6uWHmFRlAm5CGC8sAPHyy_vCkmktEYm5lLvCk83y03s3ysSngwLxEXy4/s320/074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522075224674292306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">we live above three shops: a wonderful little restaurant (with delicious food of the sort that makes cardiologists rich) and two undertakers. 'nuff said.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpnU0g1IQTYvl0cvWmSVrd_tNuWbKQFkLPLi9UIDjzUI62Kcycr6YJeaH55VpOuQHaiSdncJ974JlQs6u9k7sh0nTCik7c6d0i_K4Iy_TMiSmQc4CGlSuepHmbs-wF7QTIaiGIJhEGCgo/s1600/085.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpnU0g1IQTYvl0cvWmSVrd_tNuWbKQFkLPLi9UIDjzUI62Kcycr6YJeaH55VpOuQHaiSdncJ974JlQs6u9k7sh0nTCik7c6d0i_K4Iy_TMiSmQc4CGlSuepHmbs-wF7QTIaiGIJhEGCgo/s320/085.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522075235042991298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">small fern. big granite wall.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-40512457637205052422010-08-26T17:03:00.000+01:002010-08-26T18:53:55.084+01:00One Year On...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzxnQ0Z6mRC_wqPu62xtNt-oF3MKVdzxPlMgKCK8IzillC37Vw6llZsHyCPJL-82HMTy1VnSFW01l0_t-lPty66uQTFMuzp28juHC8fYs8s9tDAsRx41Dp0yYKRDzVX4roCOnmmzSKEQ/s1600/thistle+graphic.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY_fJX0xfHtLWgSwdF5VQfQmFdS4eoVXWSksjjFd1XEXqEmGeKz8imAzKyvununxuI9Vm24EkbXWXmmQXFWdaS-ADsDp6GJKr2LE0LfVqciK1ibFeCvf5Ya3f4hEIhhvvprSzis09J6vY/s1600/old+computer.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY_fJX0xfHtLWgSwdF5VQfQmFdS4eoVXWSksjjFd1XEXqEmGeKz8imAzKyvununxuI9Vm24EkbXWXmmQXFWdaS-ADsDp6GJKr2LE0LfVqciK1ibFeCvf5Ya3f4hEIhhvvprSzis09J6vY/s320/old+computer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509774311975684962" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hi folks.<br /><br />I've got the computer situation sorted finally. I have a little netbook. It's a Windows environment, which I haven't used for about four years. Has Windows gotten better in the last four years, you ask? Nope. But I'm running Windows 7 Starter which seems fine and is far less a memory hog than the full version.<br /><br /><br />Today is the one year anniversary of my arrival in the UK. Hooray! I've enjoyed it and the UK government has seen fit to let me stay for two more years, at which time I'll apply for Indefinite Leave to Remain. That sounds like mixed messages, doesn't it? Leave to remain? Huh? Another example of BritSpeak. There was one the other day, too, when my partner asked me if her car was centered in the parking place and I told her she needed to pull up about three feet. I meant pull forward and she thought I meant pull back. I couldn't figure out why she had reversed. We exchanged confused looks and then had a good laugh. It's never dull, except possibly for this particular blog. I apologize for the lapse in entries.<br /><br />We are right in the middle of our move to Scotland. All our stuff is in store waiting for the removal man to load it on his truck. I'm looking forward to settling in to a quiet life in the village. After busy Canterbury I'm sure it will seem quiet in our little town even though we will basically be living right in the center of the High Street. I'll update you all on our adventures refurbishing the property and getting to know the locals.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzxnQ0Z6mRC_wqPu62xtNt-oF3MKVdzxPlMgKCK8IzillC37Vw6llZsHyCPJL-82HMTy1VnSFW01l0_t-lPty66uQTFMuzp28juHC8fYs8s9tDAsRx41Dp0yYKRDzVX4roCOnmmzSKEQ/s1600/thistle+graphic.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzxnQ0Z6mRC_wqPu62xtNt-oF3MKVdzxPlMgKCK8IzillC37Vw6llZsHyCPJL-82HMTy1VnSFW01l0_t-lPty66uQTFMuzp28juHC8fYs8s9tDAsRx41Dp0yYKRDzVX4roCOnmmzSKEQ/s320/thistle+graphic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509774319068678882" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-31167689945241918842010-06-30T21:27:00.001+01:002010-07-11T16:30:27.435+01:00Southwest Scotland<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hi Folks. Here's the promised entry on our road trip to southwest Scotland. But first a couple of updates.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You might wonder how the coalition government I've written about is getting on. So far so good. They're planning to balance the budget within four years and create a surplus by year five. We'll be having cuts that will make Margaret Thatcher's government look generous, like Santa Claus even. There's no need to do this on such a tight timeframe, so it would have to be something political, like the fact that there will be another election in five years. Hmmm. I suspect that combining once opposing forces is causing some fuzzy thinking. The normally clear and concise Nick Clegg, leader of the GlibDems, wrote a recent Op-Ed piece in the Guardian. He trumps any of my bad sentences and wins the award for <em>Best Incomplete Sentence Using Both a Colon <strong>And</strong> a Semicolon</em>: </span><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A new government but, more important, a new kind of government: plural, diverse; a Liberal Democrat-Conservative coalition that defies the rules of old politics. </span><br /></strong><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Wow, Nick. Congratulations! </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In other news, the little laptop I've been using for the last 18 months (kindly updated and supplied by my wonderful partner) has had a nervous breakdown. Too much writing. As we have much to do to prepare for our upcoming move to Scotland, and as I can access the internet by hiking up to the University library, we are not in a hurry to replace it. So if you are not getting replies immediately to your fan letters, that's why. Just thought I'd let you all know... all four of you. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Our trip to Scotland was very good. We drove (and when I say that I mean my partner drove while I assisted with the map) up to Dumfries and Galloway to visit the flat we'll be moving to in a couple of months and to check out the area. If you have not been to southwest Scotland, it's lovely. After being in busy Kent for the last ten months, the first thing I noticed was how much less crowded that part of Scotland is. There is a lot less traffic, though they still drive like bats out of hell. At least they have more space in which to do it. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The landscape is generally rolling green hills sectioned by stone fences and dotted with sheep. Lots of sheep. There is a wonderful big hill in the area called Criffel, which is (brace yourselves) 1,868 feet high. It stands alone near the sea, so it actually is a very dramatic sight. Dare I say it? It's the Mt. Rainier of Galloway! Truth be told, it's a ways north, and even something as modest as 1,800 feet can humble you at that latitude if inclement weather strikes. So I won't poke too much more fun at Scottish mountains. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We visited the lovely shell beaches near Kippford. We spent time in New Abbey, where the world famous </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sweetheart_Abbey"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sweetheart Abbey </span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">is, and where we visited a beautiful backyard garden that made us feel as if we were miles out in the country rather than on the main road of a busy little village. We drove inland to the </span><a href="http://www.samyeling.org/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Samye Ling Tibetan Buddhist Centre</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, the first such place in the western world, established along the River Esk in 1967. It is lovely and I look forward to going back there. It's in a sparsely populated area and you do have to work hard to find it. It's both desolate and lush at once, and you really feel as if you are up in the high country somewhere. They have big hearty gardens there and they are working very hard on new construction of their buddhist college. They are also building a mandala shaped herb garden around a statue of Tara where they will grow Tibetan medicinal herbs. Apparently the climate in this part of Scotland is compatible for a number of Tibetan plants. The statue of Tara is very powerful. I think you'd have to be spiritually numb not to notice her and want to gaze at her. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The little town of </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dalbeattie"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dalbeattie</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> we will eventually call home is charming. It has a fairly bustling high street for a town its size and it is located in a beautiful area. I'll report more on our adventures there in future installments. For now, enjoy some photos from our trip.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkF26wAdCYlL4-iniyAdcvegiRMEhHaTwoQS26IFIqS5mJIIxm7jU_v04BDcwoIlIunH8KUb4TNHKR6EQmLDvpu6FWkv1SfBfSTrq0L6612aA6QvNN31ZSeN9K8OMgWwNAkKwbRYQQim4/s1600/SANY3063.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403718085416930" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkF26wAdCYlL4-iniyAdcvegiRMEhHaTwoQS26IFIqS5mJIIxm7jU_v04BDcwoIlIunH8KUb4TNHKR6EQmLDvpu6FWkv1SfBfSTrq0L6612aA6QvNN31ZSeN9K8OMgWwNAkKwbRYQQim4/s320/SANY3063.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >This is generally what the countryside looks like</span><br /><br /></p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXwN23N9emnzxtg_yF0WJmxUdJyOX5uxQagx3uoW-mKv67bvZ5Cf9iCxLFICYH13k5yMfZ83CNOuEWdRL5cyG-VJfql4Mrpoy6x915xgXFW0qjkAyd6yh4QBOIUULVcW0BZY0yR3SeqE/s1600/SANY3111.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403113608614034" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXwN23N9emnzxtg_yF0WJmxUdJyOX5uxQagx3uoW-mKv67bvZ5Cf9iCxLFICYH13k5yMfZ83CNOuEWdRL5cyG-VJfql4Mrpoy6x915xgXFW0qjkAyd6yh4QBOIUULVcW0BZY0yR3SeqE/s320/SANY3111.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Sweetheart Abbey, founded 1275</span><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW3NyjFvw7RrE6-3i9Ym6hjPM9EgZh8N_pu-69f8k-PuoiKpi3526miSntHqPs_Pv6VF9HboZFW5hGp67iB9sPdJ4SkCz1AC97n2-3nvccaLL6CfbSJOSU8TVGkCF4tkBRFzqa_73m65w/s1600/SANY3089.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403684468087746" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW3NyjFvw7RrE6-3i9Ym6hjPM9EgZh8N_pu-69f8k-PuoiKpi3526miSntHqPs_Pv6VF9HboZFW5hGp67iB9sPdJ4SkCz1AC97n2-3nvccaLL6CfbSJOSU8TVGkCF4tkBRFzqa_73m65w/s320/SANY3089.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >A backyard garden in New Abbey with Criffel in the background<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirI2FhGN7uBtGuIsoRA3MZlgnGc6-QFA35lxNdqxnpUPLHPB9H1zX8YCct6sk2wdvJp3uDYqYoLAwvyJPh_q5hQGsmxDN2SG4uE2TURzD9WZqLNMqnqFdfpoY7X6fcEC4UwkQ-OXCJSGk/s1600/SANY3075.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403105271931218" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirI2FhGN7uBtGuIsoRA3MZlgnGc6-QFA35lxNdqxnpUPLHPB9H1zX8YCct6sk2wdvJp3uDYqYoLAwvyJPh_q5hQGsmxDN2SG4uE2TURzD9WZqLNMqnqFdfpoY7X6fcEC4UwkQ-OXCJSGk/s320/SANY3075.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >The same garden as above, looking toward Sweetheart Abbey<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCKImI38_ImIvEa0aJx-ZUUQlgLC5LPjLt42asw15e1l66_OTkKDBnC38KPnppLVJE63h8X2ByNj_BSBp1ZorzNF3M1B709zTqTq4yLiyVI9jxOz220PkWyEY3rzpvEelaNiohGNQB0g/s1600/SANY3027.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403095787172066" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCKImI38_ImIvEa0aJx-ZUUQlgLC5LPjLt42asw15e1l66_OTkKDBnC38KPnppLVJE63h8X2ByNj_BSBp1ZorzNF3M1B709zTqTq4yLiyVI9jxOz220PkWyEY3rzpvEelaNiohGNQB0g/s320/SANY3027.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Detail of the shell beach at Kippford</span> </div><div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Yes, the entire beach is like this.<br /></span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIlTbMOpMp3u4eWErldQ79Z0A6AmwzXJ__pDKGgPijQQLEEDKC17e9zJCHmbHE663hK87oHOC_habqq7XyhQRAueu8APcMyyWzDVSR2a8XXk5bD8jmuGhFtDeML_EWSpaMFoHVzCEJS8/s1600/SANY3025.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403089125881970" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIlTbMOpMp3u4eWErldQ79Z0A6AmwzXJ__pDKGgPijQQLEEDKC17e9zJCHmbHE663hK87oHOC_habqq7XyhQRAueu8APcMyyWzDVSR2a8XXk5bD8jmuGhFtDeML_EWSpaMFoHVzCEJS8/s320/SANY3025.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" > The beach at Kippford<br /></span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogkcyRmhh71mrDA68te1skqZ_QgsJwMxgB_WZ0KwGdA8hSGD8WbV2lUwEF2G_9Lbv0LzzW2BSvHiSbJr8C8Pn7-B1IDbCcpJfx2UIKv-dIRLJGDQ51Lbx81BRprBUwinYCWyzeX_evbk/s1600/SANY3119.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403690107795746" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogkcyRmhh71mrDA68te1skqZ_QgsJwMxgB_WZ0KwGdA8hSGD8WbV2lUwEF2G_9Lbv0LzzW2BSvHiSbJr8C8Pn7-B1IDbCcpJfx2UIKv-dIRLJGDQ51Lbx81BRprBUwinYCWyzeX_evbk/s320/SANY3119.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" > Entry gate at Samye Ling (complete with traffic cones)<br /></span></div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMT0O7XLvEL02VHHjSZ8qe3NTAa9pK9B8DAFFxFp8mfdLi4VYjni71JJdlWyNSV1XuJz0LYU_LQ4Jc3Ocm8i7ahvuuDez-oYKSMIdR3-1TLN62J0hfQOQBmYTOgegu3myzyKnFfylHRY4/s1600/SANY3124.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403700233916242" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMT0O7XLvEL02VHHjSZ8qe3NTAa9pK9B8DAFFxFp8mfdLi4VYjni71JJdlWyNSV1XuJz0LYU_LQ4Jc3Ocm8i7ahvuuDez-oYKSMIdR3-1TLN62J0hfQOQBmYTOgegu3myzyKnFfylHRY4/s320/SANY3124.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >A garden at Samye Ling<br /></span><br /><br /><p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3kxuSxnX3hKO6pZZezN5-KN0L9S790vyrj638bEPV9eKhV-L3Lm5F7qIkOlUYyC2uczP3D_RweCSt_CtS2gbPqr5kRhjOAhbhYaUQx-ec6pfYdlo4hDCI4Ly7bJlpvVqfDsYCKaqWjQ/s1600/SANY3125.JPG"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403708515809138" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3kxuSxnX3hKO6pZZezN5-KN0L9S790vyrj638bEPV9eKhV-L3Lm5F7qIkOlUYyC2uczP3D_RweCSt_CtS2gbPqr5kRhjOAhbhYaUQx-ec6pfYdlo4hDCI4Ly7bJlpvVqfDsYCKaqWjQ/s320/SANY3125.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Prayer wheels at Samye Ling </span></div><div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Oddly, they are electric and spin on their own, so those among us who are very tactile were a little disappointed. But we're glad to know the prayers go out non-stop.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzaslWovgGFxlxz7Um7FMGaLzuxTOnMHTHpPNAs0_zCZ0b7xDl0-U5JCcn-rh4AnbLq9aPCvevOZ8rSXQiKaVTxZ3WJoE9l5bHXyLzjeuY1fHpsDkMHNJwf5TN5n5Vchbx6b_qMSWsbw/s1600/IMG_3126.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490403080478410994" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzaslWovgGFxlxz7Um7FMGaLzuxTOnMHTHpPNAs0_zCZ0b7xDl0-U5JCcn-rh4AnbLq9aPCvevOZ8rSXQiKaVTxZ3WJoE9l5bHXyLzjeuY1fHpsDkMHNJwf5TN5n5Vchbx6b_qMSWsbw/s320/IMG_3126.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Tara keeping watch above her herb garden which is still under construction<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-32211791525460605052010-06-16T13:09:00.008+01:002010-06-16T14:21:45.858+01:00June Smorgasbord<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We have several little nuggets for you this month. Thoughts on BP and the curious reaction of a select few Brits. A trip to the seaside town of Deal. And a foodie update.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-WWZHdibVZ2dMXS6Ql8hJPkEZrOgxBvlWGcmUVGW9uHGB9mLYAmWektlMk5OIidgFQV98foG9zk7xFWY1qR-H50faUQzYNCrX3q_N8XJ_gIE1-qy558tZTPCi40-YCQ3R_Us8nLlzR8/s1600/I-Want-My-Life-Back.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-WWZHdibVZ2dMXS6Ql8hJPkEZrOgxBvlWGcmUVGW9uHGB9mLYAmWektlMk5OIidgFQV98foG9zk7xFWY1qR-H50faUQzYNCrX3q_N8XJ_gIE1-qy558tZTPCi40-YCQ3R_Us8nLlzR8/s320/I-Want-My-Life-Back.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483354152642770306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oil & Politics (or Aw, Tony Wants His Life Back...)</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />President Obama should stop being mean to BP. After all, how was BP to know that there would not be nearly enough shore birds, shrimp, oysters, turtles, and dolphins to soak up all that oil? BP could not have predicted the serious lack of wildlife necessary for absorption, could they? For goodness sake, the Americans should have regulated things a bit better so that there were more fluffy feathers around. And now Obama’s anti-British rhetoric (the part where Obama says that Tony’s attitude would get him shit-canned in an Obama company) is costing British investors a little of their money. Outrageous! Share value could not possbly have dropped due to the fact that BP <span style="font-style: italic;">slightly</span> underestimated the amount of oil leaking from its well, or that BP’s efforts to cap the leak have not been made often or successfully. Couldn’t possibly be the millions of pounds worth of lost oil that weaken share price or the BP CEO’s perfectly understandable bout of throwing teddy from the pram and saying he wants his mommy or his life back or something. Or his finger pointing. That couldn’t possibly have made the markets doubt BP. It must be that anti-British Obama’s fault.<br /><br />And the American public! What about <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> pack of whiners? I mean, here they are getting all this free oil washing up on their shores and they do nothing but complain. It’s just like them. First they started throwing all that perfectly good tea in the harbor a few years back and now they don’t even want BP’s gift of free oil. Well that just takes the biscuit doesn’t it? Clearly Obama is trying to take the focus away from the more important business of the World Cup games (um, soccer for those of you who don't immediately know what I mean. England is planning to win it).<br /><br />Ah, well, what can be done? Today’s sarcasm moment was brought to you by BP. It seems there are growing cries from a few doddering old fools in the House of Lords, and some rich British CEO’s that President Obama’s rhetoric against BP equates to anti-British sentiment. They say he’s being unstatesman-like and that he is damaging our ‘special relationship.’ And he’s just being a big old meanie to poor Tony. At the same time, these people remind us that BP is a multi-national company, not specifically a British company.<br /><br />Without wanting to wear out my welcome here in the UK, I have just the teensiest complaint. Listen, poppets, you can’t have your crumpets and eat them too. Either BP is a British company or it’s a multi-national. If it is a British company, then take your lumps without being crybabies. If it is a multi-national, then stop being so hyper-sensitive. And, </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">to quote the venerable Mrs. Slocombe, </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I am unanimous in that</span>!<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisOMy7Lavxaw-HKdWdGWhSrnPgN-qhsd1JpYQTTYucYvS2VZtRVkIy2TVcNFnJWQQLp6EIJxkqQScitUncL6Wm9PO6VyoNm9hP_t4qbfRnUPESbszE-ktV-8X73zddZQw5AZP2Tu31osY/s1600/mollie_sugden_as_mrs_slocombe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisOMy7Lavxaw-HKdWdGWhSrnPgN-qhsd1JpYQTTYucYvS2VZtRVkIy2TVcNFnJWQQLp6EIJxkqQScitUncL6Wm9PO6VyoNm9hP_t4qbfRnUPESbszE-ktV-8X73zddZQw5AZP2Tu31osY/s320/mollie_sugden_as_mrs_slocombe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483354162007913362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Mollie Sugden as Mrs. Slocombe in <span style="font-style: italic;">Are You Being Served? </span><br />1970's Brit sitcom.<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Deal<br /><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We took a day trip to the seaside town of Deal the other day. Somewhat near the little towns of Ham and Sandwich. Yes, really. There was a cold wind from the north or possibly the east whipping along the shore, but the rocks of the beach had been heated by the sun, so from the knees down, it was actually a warm wind. I found several holey stones. Always a good thing. We had a beer in a pub called the Ship Inn. Lovely, warm and inviting. Then a stroll along the high street which had a combination of boutique touristy shops and everyday chains. The high street seems to meet the needs of tourists and the locals, which I thought was charming. There was something about Deal in the paper recently which said that the high street was 'v glum.' I don't agree with that. Note: Brits will sometimes abbreviate very to v. I find that v endearing. </span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-Toyt0tov-dai6ZU2F_Hx7onGGzOAxJloA30Ia99VKPgKMA_gh-XQyMm_zpJYpmRHCECpDfAvFfE3HT6BwI6hnFHUdmLi-IpXNpTiWUMUYibQbxlMLqIJMct0tiwOaNyBh8uk3E2bO8/s1600/SANY3001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-Toyt0tov-dai6ZU2F_Hx7onGGzOAxJloA30Ia99VKPgKMA_gh-XQyMm_zpJYpmRHCECpDfAvFfE3HT6BwI6hnFHUdmLi-IpXNpTiWUMUYibQbxlMLqIJMct0tiwOaNyBh8uk3E2bO8/s320/SANY3001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483356053223765202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Deal shoreline</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuyNQPyiamiqdA_U1m-q1535joDf9Mwinu3n4hYcKmcs_hhi0VZ8i2r42f64lIa44pHaa-Kk_sce_1x4z-iP0H2ncpRQ_xbfMBYuC1Xz5LWdN8VKSt5zbdwYpXK2QTdBk7-CGL1J25Vg/s1600/SANY2999_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuyNQPyiamiqdA_U1m-q1535joDf9Mwinu3n4hYcKmcs_hhi0VZ8i2r42f64lIa44pHaa-Kk_sce_1x4z-iP0H2ncpRQ_xbfMBYuC1Xz5LWdN8VKSt5zbdwYpXK2QTdBk7-CGL1J25Vg/s320/SANY2999_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483356047439120754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They're everywhere. I think the five second rule had long expired.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSh-w46dp5tO189R_pMEd_vvCKcIh6cdZW6YEv2iVTHTtXojW4hT-eBegvG_sJDxUI3gJfbFVV_-PezX-We8JudrfyBPwOOwko-Xs-p6F7_g-Z0zabsvd1f3jpPb5WYUUSfqBkXT7-5w4/s1600/SANY3004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSh-w46dp5tO189R_pMEd_vvCKcIh6cdZW6YEv2iVTHTtXojW4hT-eBegvG_sJDxUI3gJfbFVV_-PezX-We8JudrfyBPwOOwko-Xs-p6F7_g-Z0zabsvd1f3jpPb5WYUUSfqBkXT7-5w4/s320/SANY3004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483356057611614722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Yeah, buddy. Ciggies. 30p for a pack.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MmRktWVxATbtkr9RVXzDFg0Eh9ts6Wa-clU-5ymRa0uR1jVTX_lVDRs2edSwWRj8A5hg289gBtiDcsmsIfobWOKNQOLw9oQ8v0B39lzN4rYY2jx7vXBfHYggY7DZrrjMy5M7h-CA8nw/s1600/SANY3009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MmRktWVxATbtkr9RVXzDFg0Eh9ts6Wa-clU-5ymRa0uR1jVTX_lVDRs2edSwWRj8A5hg289gBtiDcsmsIfobWOKNQOLw9oQ8v0B39lzN4rYY2jx7vXBfHYggY7DZrrjMy5M7h-CA8nw/s320/SANY3009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483356073335885538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When in Deal, consider yourself politely warned against bad parking practices.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEq2tnqBn_Lj9VBnWoG7QvNar_G05EtN7Iiw1TqX7VOzAJL3MRXIeCVeHEWCqo6gjkSNfR4ohcDxfUNSlnXS4SV0_80Xqa-axLnhRed2PNQN-06MHUQxvFUfeaH1ISnHApplOyo707YY/s1600/SANY3008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEq2tnqBn_Lj9VBnWoG7QvNar_G05EtN7Iiw1TqX7VOzAJL3MRXIeCVeHEWCqo6gjkSNfR4ohcDxfUNSlnXS4SV0_80Xqa-axLnhRed2PNQN-06MHUQxvFUfeaH1ISnHApplOyo707YY/s320/SANY3008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483356067427344802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">A garden path in Deal</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Foodie Section<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And now for a food update. I do enjoy bringing a bit of Tex-Mex sunshine to the table, as mexican-inspired food is not quite as prevalent here as in the States. Here's me showing off. Steak Burrito dinner with all the trimmings: pico, rice, beans, guacamole, rocket salad.</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR88hIwznnrrLm3FCKzn65JZ5dhnDt1gqcn08_4j4uhFNfO2DvlaGiNGcpzuoC6FpbBUHbUuOrOTCc8p3iMt11AsI2GUyDrRI-OW1wTrER4LFO4AaGSKGTk05QIzGJj4iuzUH1a6HHzeo/s1600/SANY2941.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR88hIwznnrrLm3FCKzn65JZ5dhnDt1gqcn08_4j4uhFNfO2DvlaGiNGcpzuoC6FpbBUHbUuOrOTCc8p3iMt11AsI2GUyDrRI-OW1wTrER4LFO4AaGSKGTk05QIzGJj4iuzUH1a6HHzeo/s320/SANY2941.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483354172813727394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Before</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTR6EkasJy1emlD8JEFj7i2OuHC1BXVoSCbHiQWZQgWiU4mt30Sfb6PaQr9kfIZ2tdltN9t7XwoKcYR-aQir5oydlOfpukgW3odg-VwdBPHI9nUdKBTUmfHYDP7Lun0TA3LXNXfGN7tK8/s1600/SANY2950.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTR6EkasJy1emlD8JEFj7i2OuHC1BXVoSCbHiQWZQgWiU4mt30Sfb6PaQr9kfIZ2tdltN9t7XwoKcYR-aQir5oydlOfpukgW3odg-VwdBPHI9nUdKBTUmfHYDP7Lun0TA3LXNXfGN7tK8/s320/SANY2950.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483354175666047394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">After<br /><br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiji4npNWF-3fqqReBfJc5F7eT54oLygqXsfe_ect-Dc7_B1124b8_8PpyqP8AUUlIv8M9ry7pgZj32unCquyOHH1hZF9-8w4yinWdK0jlilMI8CMDoWV3YJQtmawjYr2033GU7byqUNsk/s1600/SANY2843.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiji4npNWF-3fqqReBfJc5F7eT54oLygqXsfe_ect-Dc7_B1124b8_8PpyqP8AUUlIv8M9ry7pgZj32unCquyOHH1hZF9-8w4yinWdK0jlilMI8CMDoWV3YJQtmawjYr2033GU7byqUNsk/s320/SANY2843.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483354163325429218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Mmmmmmm.</span></span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">That's it for now, folks. Stay tuned for a report from Southwest Scotland in a couple of weeks. We're headed up to a little town called Dalbeattie. Road trip!</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span></div></div></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-15550542048530013082010-05-12T09:59:00.005+01:002010-05-12T12:54:08.669+01:00Coalition Government<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qkNXheDScwaeAcyhDAzVrnsc8ykUfC4BDrMuLJNRy9m45AAYEXiOtaC57aeCkbqDUyP5ufJHxAyUYaCGN3vRD_nTn4a9hbaG7LTwnTZkDFTFORJf69BHqMpxdW4smJJQAamAED1WVG0/s1600/handshake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qkNXheDScwaeAcyhDAzVrnsc8ykUfC4BDrMuLJNRy9m45AAYEXiOtaC57aeCkbqDUyP5ufJHxAyUYaCGN3vRD_nTn4a9hbaG7LTwnTZkDFTFORJf69BHqMpxdW4smJJQAamAED1WVG0/s320/handshake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470347878814744786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Opposites attract: </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">new PM </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">David Cameron, Smug Tory, with </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">new Deputy PM </span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Nick Clegg, GlibDem<br /><br /><br /></span></span></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here we are, back again for an election update. I said I'd get back to you with the results.<br /><br />I was right about a couple of things. First, the Tories did secure the most votes, the highest percentage of the overall vote and the most seats. However, as predicted, they did not get the number of seats in the House of Commons required for an overall majority. They needed somewhere between 319 and 326 seats, depending on how you slice it. If you don't have a majority, you cannot govern effectively. They attained 306. They gained a huge number of seats in the election, around 90, and it cannot be denied that they made a major accomplishment with this. There are those in the Tory party who are disappointed with the outcome, largely due to the fact that a few months before the election, the Tories were expected to sweep into 10 Downing Street with a huge majority. Some of the old guard Tories are distrustful of David Cameron's youth and distrustful of his election team and they feel he fluffed it. They didn't like his complicated messages that seemed to change a lot during the campaign. They would have preferred the simple, overly repetitious conservative messages about reducing the defecit while cutting taxes for the rich and the married and keeping out those pesky foreigners. Do I sound a bit biased in my interpretation of their policies? I am, but you get the idea. Keep it simple, stupid. Instead Cameron talked about the Big Society in which government would back off and let people sort out their problems through a combination of volunteer work and private enterprise. Huh? The slogan kept changing, it seemed. Something like Change You Can Believe In...no, wait. That was Obama's slogan. Maybe it was something like Change You Can Spare, or Change that Changes Stuff. Or, considering that their largest donor who, instead of paying taxes, holds all his money in a central American country while simultaneously holding a seat in the House of Lords, perhaps the slogan should have been Change You Can Belize In. I digress.<br /><br />The other thing I predicted correctly was that Prime Minister Gordon Brown was finished. It wasn't exactly like I thought it would be, but that was the outcome in the end. Because the result of the election was a hung parliament, and because the Liberal Democrats held enough seats to give either Labour or the Tories a working majority (or nearly so), they were courted by both sides to form a coalition government. The first, strongest, and in the end, the best offer came from the Tories. I have to admit, I was surprised by what seemed to be an openness and willingness to compromise that I've never seen before from a conservative party. Being an American, I don't trust 'conservative' political parties as far as I can throw them because they actually are not conservative but right wing maniacs. Whatever happened to the old Republican party? I digress again. Anyway, Labour have decided that the best thing for them was to go into opposition, that is, to be the opposition party in the Commons. This will give them an opportunity to regroup and redefine the party, but also to hold the new coalition government made up of the Conservatives and Liberal Democrats to account. Gordon Brown knew that he would be a stumbling block to that happening if he tried to retain his position as leader of the party. He resigned as Prime Minister and as Labour leader, though it didn't happen by Friday morning as I had predicted (or let's say it wasn't announced at that point). He did have a duty to stay on for a few days until it looked certain that a coalition agreement could be struck. And it must be said, he was very statesman-like and dignified in his last few days in office.<br /><br />I have to say, I'm impressed that the Liberal Democrats and the Tories were able to strike a deal. I can't quite wrap my head around how parties with such opposing manifestos could move so quickly to compromise but I wish them well. It remains to be seen how long this coalition will last but I suspect a minimum of 18 months though I hope it is longer, perhaps a few years. And I hope that the ideas flying around about a new kind of government, one in which the politicians work together diligently for the common good, is more than just talk. I think a balanced parliament could be a very good thing. I have to admit, I wish this for America, that it will cease to be a two-party system of polarity, cynicism and corruption. I will be watching with interest to see how they get on with it here in the UK.<br /><br />One difference I noticed is that there is no shaking of hands and inviting the Prime Minister elect to 10 Downing Street for an orientation and welcome. The old Prime Minister moves out and within an hour, the new Prime Minister moves in and they don't see each other. As the timeline for elections is collapsed into weeks or months here, so the timeline for transfer of power is collapsed as well. Interestingly, there is a period of about half an hour when the country has no Prime Minister. The outgoing PM goes to Her Majesty the Queen and tenders his resignation and advises her that a new government can be formed. The incoming PM then has an audience with the Queen and she asks him if he is prepared to form a government. The answer, of course, is yes. And she invites him to do so and it is sealed with a handshake. This happened last night as the Queen welcomed the twelfth PM of her reign, David Cameron. Her first outgoing PM was Winston Churchill. Think about <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> for a minute; she's seen a lot since the early 50's. The official picture of last night's handshake, also called the kissing of hands (I have no idea so don't ask), was released to the press before Cameron even got out the door. Her Majesty has gone digital, baby. One has to keep up with the times.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9L1NerblmpinPPWw3bcwfmPOJXMRHB3G_tVngnBaR88aXJyotMPar2DnsH8khlm5F7bKcFWNTshIgNGenCIixZrNo3RAGgwOVUu1VEhNGU0m6Jl0EBERCvqj0LHwM8cx1N5xv1dfFEWA/s1600/kissing+hands.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9L1NerblmpinPPWw3bcwfmPOJXMRHB3G_tVngnBaR88aXJyotMPar2DnsH8khlm5F7bKcFWNTshIgNGenCIixZrNo3RAGgwOVUu1VEhNGU0m6Jl0EBERCvqj0LHwM8cx1N5xv1dfFEWA/s320/kissing+hands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470347880892812642" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-5230664000881874742010-05-05T13:46:00.005+01:002010-05-05T15:03:24.910+01:00Humpty Dumpty and the UK Election<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLAIXNN_m433PyKdpK6jAzS3YNn8HnYd3qm-UuIAGHPXvvlmPf4Z839AN6DlVndPcik9N5WBqvUH-pwMZVwtXVWiq1OCgeFAaBvjS7XTFgjeLTPHhXssctCQOk-Ke-in06SYqdP8SczI/s1600/humpty_dumpty_0002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLAIXNN_m433PyKdpK6jAzS3YNn8HnYd3qm-UuIAGHPXvvlmPf4Z839AN6DlVndPcik9N5WBqvUH-pwMZVwtXVWiq1OCgeFAaBvjS7XTFgjeLTPHhXssctCQOk-Ke-in06SYqdP8SczI/s320/humpty_dumpty_0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467781267155509682" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />We have an election coming up in the UK. It will determine which party will be in power and which man will be Prime Minister. I can’t pretend to know the intricacies of the British political system. I’m still learning. But I can show you what it looks like from my perspective (which I think we all know leans rather to the left). </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">First, let me say this. The election season is way shorter here. That’s a blessing. I’m finding myself able to listen to election talk because I know there’s an end in sight (and probably because I can’t vote anyway and am more of an observer).<br /><br />There of course is a lot of posturing and analysis, but it’s absolutely nothing like what you get in America. There is more candour and certainly more room for gaffes. From my perspective, the politicians still look like real people rather than media robots. That’s refreshing. Also, religion plays very little role in elections here. In fact, if you are religious, you have to be careful to say that you won’t let your religion get in the way of your duties to the law and to a diverse and multicultural nation. That, as you all know, would never happen in American politics. In American politics you must assure people of two things: a) you are from the Judaeo-Christian tradition (preferably the Christian part) and b) that of course you are devout and of course this influences your decisions. A huge, huge majority of the British public would be absolutely aghast if one of their candidates said anything like that.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here are the three main players in tomorrow's election:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Conservative Party </span><br />(aka Tories or as my partner likes to call them, Smug Tory Bastards)<br /></span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Slogan: <span style="font-style: italic;">Vote for change</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Labour Party</span><br />(aka Labour)<br /></span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Slogan: <span style="font-style: italic;">A future fair for all<br /></span><br /></span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Liberal Democrats</span><br />(aka LibDems or as I like to call them, GlibDems)<br />Slogan: <span style="font-style: italic;">Change that works for you</span> </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Those are the three main parties, with the Tories and Labour being the dominant (and diametrically opposed) parties. Until recently neither the Tories or Labour have taken the Liberal Democrats seriously. But the LibDem leader, Nick Clegg did so well in the first televised debate and managed to hold his own for the next two that there has been a groundswell of public support. Some pundits say it’s because they represent something different than the usual puppet show of Labour and Tories hitting each other with sticks and shouting incoherently. Other pundits suggest that the public really do want electoral reform which is a huge part of the LibDem manifesto.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Okay, Americans, before you get too bent out of shape about the use of the term <span style="font-style: italic;">manifesto</span>, you should know that all parties have them here. It’s not a commie thing, like we think it is. Manifesto equals platform. Anyway, the LibDems want to move to a type of political system called Proportional Representation or PR for short. You might have around 25% of voters who support a third party, let’s say the LibDem party just for kicks. But these voters are scattered around districts that are drawn in favour of Labour or Tories so even though you have a rather large percentage of people in the country who support LibDem ideas, they won’t be represented in Parliament, at least not at the rate of nation-wide support. The current electoral system here is ‘first past the post.’ Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? The Tories absolutely hate the idea of reform because they want to regain control of the country and Labour hate the idea because they want to retain control of the country. That also sounds familiar I bet. Polarised politics. America is steeped in it, and to a degree, so is the UK. But they have more support for a multiparty system here amongst the public than America does, and this election may bring it to fruition. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />There is a very distinct possibility in this election of what is called a hung parliament. Some might call it a balanced parliament. The Tories think this is a bad idea because they think that Labour and the LibDems will gang up on them in the school yard. Polls show the Tories with a lead but not a huge one and second place belonging alternately to the LibDems or Labour depending on the direction of the wind and who is doing the poll. In the event of a balanced parliament it’s possible that Mr. Clegg will hold the balance and agree to give his support to whichever party he can best work with and whichever party will agree to election reform. The Tories give mixed messages about whether they will work with the LibDems. For now they are content to try to scare voters into voting Conservative by saying that a hung parliament means that the UK will be immediately invaded by dark forces and that the British will be seen as weak and indecisive and the country’s credit status will be downgraded and society will descend into chaos. Blah, blah, blah...doom and gloom. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Too bad Winston Churchill isn’t around to hear those claims. As the highly readable and astute political columnist Andrew Rawnsley points out: ‘It is indeed a massive challenge, but not the greatest that has ever faced this nation. Britain’s time of greatest peril in the last 300 years was the Second World War. Winston Churchill successfully thwarted the threat of Nazi invasion and led his country to victory -- at the head of a coalition government.’ Then again, I would point out to Mr. Rawnsley that the current leader of the Tory party is no Winston Churchill. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The Labour Party is currently in power and has been for 13 years. It’s the party of a name most Americans who read newspapers will remember. Tony Blair. Mr. Blair is not the Prime Minister anymore. He’s busy writing books and making peace and discussing religion all over the world...and making loads of money. I think he took a page from President Clinton’s book. It might surprise Americans to know that Tony Blair is a very unpopular figure here. This is due to his support for President Bush’s war in Iraq. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mr. Blair stepped down as Prime Minister after a ten-year run, allowing his Chancellor, Gordon Brown, to ascend to the leadership role without an election.<br /><br />Gordon Brown is even less popular than Tony Blair. It seems he can’t do anything right. Even people who normally are Labour supporters seem fed up with him. Maybe it’s the economy - while he claims to have saved the UK during the world economic meltdown (a claim which may be true), it is also true that he presided over the UK economy as Chancellor in the lead-up to the meltdown and denied it was going to happen when criticised about his policy of being chummy with rogue bankers. So, you could say that he and his party have lost credibility. Having said that, Labour is the party which introduced Civil Partnership into law. They had the support of the other parties, even the Tories, but it’s highly unlikely a Tory led government would have introduced such a thing. They also brought peace to Northern Ireland, no small achievement. They have funded day-care and the National Health Service and a number of needed public support programs. Actually, it might be fair to say that if Labour had not engaged in the Iraq War, had better sense about bankers, and had chosen to get a handle on expense claims, it might still be well liked. They did do good things for the UK. And they faced an uphill battle to do it after 18 years of Tory rule.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />As the former party in power, the Tories had become unpopular themselves. They lost power in 1997 when the people finally became sick of conservative rule. Some people say that Thatcherism ruined the manufacturing base, broke the backs of the labour unions and effectively ruined the public transport system by privatising it. Others (namely the newer, kinder, gentler Tories) will argue that the Labour government has presided over unprecedented job losses, far worse a record than even Baroness Thatcher and her old Tory Party could have achieved. But they forget, or would prefer the public to forget, that it was more likely the job losses were a result of the continuing travesty of Thatcherism -- the plunder of the infrastructures meant to benefit everyone for the enrichment of the elite. You can’t have 18 years of that sort of government and expect it to stop on a dime. The falling dominoes of consequence don’t respect election day deadlines.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But whatever failing the Tories had, it’s been nearly matched by Labour. They did let the banks go unchecked. They did allow Tony Blair to come under the influence of the Halliburton -- sorry -- the Bush-Cheney regime, resulting in the invasion of Iraq, and they did continue the tradition of ridiculous expense claims made by Ministers of all parties. A lot of the expense claims were technically legal, but most of them were morally reprehensible all the same. Claiming expenses for having your moat cleaned? For building a duck island? For redecorating your house? And worst of all, Parliament tried to put itself above the law and not release the detailed figures under the Freedom of Information Act. They said the Ministers had a right to privacy. Well surely they do, but does it really extend as far as not telling the public how its money was spent? If the public purchases your china for you, don’t they have the right to know what pattern you chose? </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Someone on the radio recently said that this election was interesting because politicians are having to say how they would repair the Humpty Dumpty of Trust. Don’t you just love that image? The Humpty Dumpty of Trust has apparently been pushed from the wall by careless politicians jostling for some of those luscious perks paid for by the British public. Guess what? The British public now thinks all politicians are liars and cheats and general all-around arrogant bastards. Well, duh. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The main point is that the public, rightly so, is furious about the expenses scandal. And they feel just a bit smugly justified in their mutterings all these years that politicians really don’t give a flying rat’s ass about anything but themselves. We can all relate to that can’t we? But now some of the voters feel they ought to withhold their votes from politicians. And I think <span style="font-style: italic;">What? To punish them?</span> As if the politicians will be insulted somehow. As if withholding a vote really tells those politicians what for. Haha! You didn’t get my vote you lying bastards! That will teach you. Of course most sensible people realise that withholding your vote out of spite is a bit like saying you’re going to hold your breath until you get your way.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If a member of the British voting public really cannot abide voting for any of the main parties there are alternatives. There’s the Green Party, which I would highly recommend as an antidote to the status quo, because <span style="font-style: italic;">Fair is Worth Fighting For</span>. And there’s the Respect Party. I don’t think it’s Aretha Franklin’s gig. Their slogan is <span style="font-style: italic;">Homes, Jobs and Peace</span>. They are definitely left of centre and according to their website they’ve got a shot at picking up three seats.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />There’s also the British National Party, made up of raving fascists, which I would not recommend. There’s United Kingdom Independence Party or UKIP. I don’t know what their slogan is but it’s probably something like <span style="font-style: italic;">Making Damn Sure We Don’t Get Taken Over By Europe</span>.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />There’s also the Monster Raving Loony Party. They have three interesting policies in their manifesto:</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br />Good Heroes</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Make it illegal for super heroes to use their powers for evil.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br />Safe Tractors</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Ban tractors from driving on roads, they can drive across their fields.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br />Scary Terrorists</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Ban all terrorists from having beards as they look scary.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sounds good to me. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The election is tomorrow, 6 May 2010. Will I be making an election prediction? Hmmmm. Okay.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I predict that the Tories will squeak by winning the most votes but will fail to pick up the number of seats for a clear majority. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />I have no idea where Labour and the LibDems will come out, but I do think that the leader of the LibDems will be courted to form an agreement. I highly doubt that the Tories would be keen on forming an official coalition; that would be a better possibility with Labour and LibDems if Labour won narrowly. There may be a chance that the Tories would be arrogant enough to claim victory with a narrow margin and attempt to form an all-Tory government which will negotiate on a case by case basis with the other parties. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />I also predict that Gordon Brown will not only be ousted as Prime Minister but also as the leader of the Labour Party. If Labour win the election, this may take a while. If they lose he’s gone by Friday morning. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />I’ll get back to you all with the results in a few days. I know all four of you are dying to know. </span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-67112507901892453812010-04-28T14:43:00.006+01:002010-04-28T16:03:27.770+01:00The Peace of Wild Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpWhOoj6e0gvcxLqgX8Ih_BCJBoLVdVeS3y6UdzKnCbBzcDETkj2PJOqONPXVDlN5_KszwDR0IExPbuU1cDLDnhlnp9e05cGFwvhyJmqSYGLNYpUD12kRYpIznT8yy3NYKm4vXBh9evo/s1600/wall5.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpWhOoj6e0gvcxLqgX8Ih_BCJBoLVdVeS3y6UdzKnCbBzcDETkj2PJOqONPXVDlN5_KszwDR0IExPbuU1cDLDnhlnp9e05cGFwvhyJmqSYGLNYpUD12kRYpIznT8yy3NYKm4vXBh9evo/s320/wall5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465194204957889186" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I like graffiti. I like to take pictures of it wherever I go. Most of the graffiti I see falls into three categories:<br /><br />1. tagging (with subcategories of boring and wacky - both usually illegible)<br />2. mural (large or small scenes whether humorous, provocative, or nonsensical)<br />3. sticker or adhesive paper art<br /><br />Making graffiti is illegal in most places and while I don't condone breaking the law, I do think it is fascinating that there seems to be a common need to leave a mark on the world, whether by scratching your name into a tree or tagging a fence or producing a full-scale piece of 'illicit' public art. I always regret being caught out without my camera, because that's usually when I see the best graffiti. I make a mental note to go back and snap a pic when that happens. I have captured some very interesting examples here in the UK. I'd like to share some of them with you.<br /><br />Here are a couple of examples of sticker and adhesive paper graffiti, the skull from a London pub and the Tom of Finland meets Donnie Darko from Maidstone:<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIZPCIgp8gpli-EnLGDFXnsQP2zvnKqYA5yzocu59pEdbUKsAQaj7lPcXFykzTHavHAqfHpfCXt8wJ3GAaM50AvKKcqQF8tnsvi15dVTKSpQqpBu7IFoTMrFCGc4ZwB-YOVDwohpWgTk/s1600/tenbells1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIZPCIgp8gpli-EnLGDFXnsQP2zvnKqYA5yzocu59pEdbUKsAQaj7lPcXFykzTHavHAqfHpfCXt8wJ3GAaM50AvKKcqQF8tnsvi15dVTKSpQqpBu7IFoTMrFCGc4ZwB-YOVDwohpWgTk/s320/tenbells1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465200143657484402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">note: ASBO stands for Anti-Social Behavior Order and is a legal term in the UK<br /><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTql6Dn89sqESlzdVUxBH6tC0pEx4TADGjEY1EcOk5Esa96isVR4ri0QHUbC0lSngga7dKygi9E1P0YDXUsTXkMT5-KAvBLpJubx2HJ5IpU_Gb9TxSm_ear7keoWU3yYlI9b7Rxw9j7lM/s1600/maidstone.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTql6Dn89sqESlzdVUxBH6tC0pEx4TADGjEY1EcOk5Esa96isVR4ri0QHUbC0lSngga7dKygi9E1P0YDXUsTXkMT5-KAvBLpJubx2HJ5IpU_Gb9TxSm_ear7keoWU3yYlI9b7Rxw9j7lM/s320/maidstone.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465200148867265426" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />These are from an area of Brighton tucked out of the way:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8BMUiHF_LIVpxb8on7JKqQ9Y2TqSonTFFe49nwU1BN4OJVdkXXRlzUua6BRpdeUFjCsp73HO-96Y9Gwda-_GEABzGua5ERqacMaj6FTnPmMkM27RkvakwA0HKrU8hj2vYD88sc6g7KE/s1600/wall1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8BMUiHF_LIVpxb8on7JKqQ9Y2TqSonTFFe49nwU1BN4OJVdkXXRlzUua6BRpdeUFjCsp73HO-96Y9Gwda-_GEABzGua5ERqacMaj6FTnPmMkM27RkvakwA0HKrU8hj2vYD88sc6g7KE/s320/wall1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465197578545540114" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmHmFGo-jPM-LGzj_q2oLRVy0O__bEYsAfZfroQQNbuM5qVzxSqt_IA8DAdyhY7kH1FljtdWy40zCn6dgHIN3goPTLtMJ-Fo3YZC5K1O-8paS-Pbq8hVqBZSVu_jcoIBWGOisOH-XcVI/s1600/wall2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmHmFGo-jPM-LGzj_q2oLRVy0O__bEYsAfZfroQQNbuM5qVzxSqt_IA8DAdyhY7kH1FljtdWy40zCn6dgHIN3goPTLtMJ-Fo3YZC5K1O-8paS-Pbq8hVqBZSVu_jcoIBWGOisOH-XcVI/s320/wall2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465200118335080530" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bAknwBEGkA2xl9nw543huq-0IR_C-AtV6EgJ2NnDVqsYBd298whY7ym1xG9c2yPB_u4bisg22ZxTTJkz3FmzGDYJFgzm3GYi_dILQyt44ocuphyphenhyphen3SfEVdPu9pb2fuWH2xGjSvaU-zt4/s1600/wall4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bAknwBEGkA2xl9nw543huq-0IR_C-AtV6EgJ2NnDVqsYBd298whY7ym1xG9c2yPB_u4bisg22ZxTTJkz3FmzGDYJFgzm3GYi_dILQyt44ocuphyphenhyphen3SfEVdPu9pb2fuWH2xGjSvaU-zt4/s320/wall4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465200136257557282" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61O2i3lFy7yoTNZl3AjRNqOE3rQLXGCqBz1x-vPel8bChQ-Qkn6bXeAxGfXMBJFb4Gx2kwF-R6ZpXcCAfEpfvAMsTwxGNBTVF2kUwZgE1k5KoBCznNKDZx7ifXGOqK9tNpC1-4lHywAw/s1600/wall3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61O2i3lFy7yoTNZl3AjRNqOE3rQLXGCqBz1x-vPel8bChQ-Qkn6bXeAxGfXMBJFb4Gx2kwF-R6ZpXcCAfEpfvAMsTwxGNBTVF2kUwZgE1k5KoBCznNKDZx7ifXGOqK9tNpC1-4lHywAw/s320/wall3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465200122160812866" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />These three are all from the same train underpass in Canterbury:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FBgFulysmAY8Z0yhJz2tAVd6qMYL_RYe14DKiisnx_KwZECJsWUWIqDhTiBgJOpQbm16v5YZNBatEWtwjCs_Sj7Q0CW7e3-pyPA0-SOU5s_e8HRQNCA4z9Gme3f-iNTTPsdBpfthIj4/s1600/cbury2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FBgFulysmAY8Z0yhJz2tAVd6qMYL_RYe14DKiisnx_KwZECJsWUWIqDhTiBgJOpQbm16v5YZNBatEWtwjCs_Sj7Q0CW7e3-pyPA0-SOU5s_e8HRQNCA4z9Gme3f-iNTTPsdBpfthIj4/s320/cbury2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465194185954995090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWW3DMtqc__7jS5Enap5arTZJjinWWTeyY5feYwizUin8w6xqYCXHzvr0i4C3uoMojyC8wr-xiCarm5W3-AYIqyPZT0m2dEkae5GrkTzFHun-JK2y3ZMDTYIUpoyCbe_pIgdxcRyn5GpM/s1600/cbury1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWW3DMtqc__7jS5Enap5arTZJjinWWTeyY5feYwizUin8w6xqYCXHzvr0i4C3uoMojyC8wr-xiCarm5W3-AYIqyPZT0m2dEkae5GrkTzFHun-JK2y3ZMDTYIUpoyCbe_pIgdxcRyn5GpM/s320/cbury1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465194178174428674" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLf8AyPqJH_ahmLxvdESTADZ6qV89J4DfiUEbTrpwpd1sTpCMmR6Uiqmlp-rJgtqyWewsQMjMojRDZGVHXYf6rklIlR9pGfmQno8vwZkXyvkWAakYABAGquZxVibGErMEdyMl52ckbqGY/s1600/cbury3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLf8AyPqJH_ahmLxvdESTADZ6qV89J4DfiUEbTrpwpd1sTpCMmR6Uiqmlp-rJgtqyWewsQMjMojRDZGVHXYf6rklIlR9pGfmQno8vwZkXyvkWAakYABAGquZxVibGErMEdyMl52ckbqGY/s320/cbury3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465197566472027762" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This one below is special to me. It falls outside of the usual three categories. It is a poem written in the same Canterbury train underpass as the above pieces.</span></span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And no, it wasn't me. </span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtL_Zv2hVoZ0iP2CnBE62X_Gk4MmaMWrGeoFztmITWnOWGQ4ILkWGnGhp3YsYSTTCY-hhBMR4e6wCYb-vOq0FURsIkWB4E9CGBjMppNw_cFK4CeDwwovrbECamc1m-Ye476qGsP6xadA/s1600/cbury4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtL_Zv2hVoZ0iP2CnBE62X_Gk4MmaMWrGeoFztmITWnOWGQ4ILkWGnGhp3YsYSTTCY-hhBMR4e6wCYb-vOq0FURsIkWB4E9CGBjMppNw_cFK4CeDwwovrbECamc1m-Ye476qGsP6xadA/s320/cbury4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465194199371988066" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">It was hard to capture this one in a single frame. I loved this view of it. The words are from the following poem by Wendell Berry:<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The Peace of Wild Things<br /><br />When despair for the world grows in me<br />and I wake in the night at the least sound<br />in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,<br />I go and lie down where the wood drake<br />rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.<br />I come into the peace of wild things<br />who do not tax their lives with forethought<br />of grief. I come into the presence of still water.<br />And I feel above me the day-blind stars<br />waiting with their light. For a time<br />I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></span></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-65979056501417194342010-04-24T16:37:00.003+01:002010-04-24T17:05:25.691+01:00Two Trees<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have two favourite trees in Canterbury so far. I thought I'd share them with you. Having spent so much time in western Washington, surrounded by trees, I think I have taken them for granted at times. Spending time away in western Colorado, eastern Washington and now here in the UK, I really appreciate the amazing trees and forests of the Northwest. There are some amazing trees here as well, however, very few are as tall as Northwest trees.<br /><br />We don't know if these twin trees are really Cedar of Lebanon but that's what we call them.<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihSstzge2RiNlHmEr5twNowvsk7nvTMRIITvaFvQ1SjrUVPdy8Ap9aukJaqQc-FX3XaaEskLelYmlrNoqEaIHtcW3LM5AarO25MduQZwQbi-xAweaPTLLLU8Li0JhWRfj8Jz7SpEEKQcI/s1600/SANY2849.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihSstzge2RiNlHmEr5twNowvsk7nvTMRIITvaFvQ1SjrUVPdy8Ap9aukJaqQc-FX3XaaEskLelYmlrNoqEaIHtcW3LM5AarO25MduQZwQbi-xAweaPTLLLU8Li0JhWRfj8Jz7SpEEKQcI/s320/SANY2849.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463734397173058082" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />This lovely ornamental flowering tree is located in the cemetery near our flat. It's absolutely loaded with blossoms this season.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidU9bKI86FD9oi5ufPIFAEI2kQ8Y-vq4KGc5_X7BpD1nb0aVPwQcNoK_yHx2ZEUpyz4omH4KpAR-uHff_WKMvcyVAhDM5iPrbi2hhsARFZ5RHds7_XjhxnavOYZCwn06CpRBIh4d_l-dA/s1600/SANY2868.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidU9bKI86FD9oi5ufPIFAEI2kQ8Y-vq4KGc5_X7BpD1nb0aVPwQcNoK_yHx2ZEUpyz4omH4KpAR-uHff_WKMvcyVAhDM5iPrbi2hhsARFZ5RHds7_XjhxnavOYZCwn06CpRBIh4d_l-dA/s320/SANY2868.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463734413084031266" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Ny5_s0-NU1MUjH-GxTNOizpIn9u1q6wCnM4H2EZ3t8tatkckAlkImm_4P3CdRGNEfOo6ncoDSChqviGwpMdUfndWNslEuSU10zOzfCSZp8aNR3nlZFATFNaxgTamoHSyimT82cZG9Lg/s1600/SANY2866.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Ny5_s0-NU1MUjH-GxTNOizpIn9u1q6wCnM4H2EZ3t8tatkckAlkImm_4P3CdRGNEfOo6ncoDSChqviGwpMdUfndWNslEuSU10zOzfCSZp8aNR3nlZFATFNaxgTamoHSyimT82cZG9Lg/s320/SANY2866.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463734411468939090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFBzLyao8oochCzxeLZokmT9EJyXQzMjMJwnOiN916rT0pgIILW03yuRa3CSXqBKWFadtByuDpe4_brtz7FPEZt-BYkcsTxtI5yY2dwRxA_UUA0xhC9LeeBazQReSGwd9OmJg7DyjuFI/s1600/SANY2862.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFBzLyao8oochCzxeLZokmT9EJyXQzMjMJwnOiN916rT0pgIILW03yuRa3CSXqBKWFadtByuDpe4_brtz7FPEZt-BYkcsTxtI5yY2dwRxA_UUA0xhC9LeeBazQReSGwd9OmJg7DyjuFI/s320/SANY2862.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463734403428004210" border="0" /></a>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-10245038867900277712010-04-08T14:06:00.008+01:002010-04-10T09:23:48.159+01:00Easter in the UK<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQmmzYtaB3o_HrXVKJBeQsyB8Nsx90D6ojOQYd0p27Mh8ggvxmS8RORxMBjF2nZQ6yIO-lciIKcrAYVaIcYHysQchsYGpDCvff8csy1RTASZ72OoKj2Uznvf9N5zEaW7CWv8OAgHpa-M/s1600/SANY2809.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQmmzYtaB3o_HrXVKJBeQsyB8Nsx90D6ojOQYd0p27Mh8ggvxmS8RORxMBjF2nZQ6yIO-lciIKcrAYVaIcYHysQchsYGpDCvff8csy1RTASZ72OoKj2Uznvf9N5zEaW7CWv8OAgHpa-M/s320/SANY2809.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457764977132506498" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I hope everyone had a lovely Easter, or whatever spring holiday you celebrate.<br /><br />Easter in the UK is a bit different than the west coast of the USA. There is egg decoration and there are Easter egg hunts for the children. As much as I like hard-boiled eggs, I decided not to casually mug any small children for their spoils. However, I did make a silent vow that if I saw any likely targets (small children whose parents were looking the other way), I might snatch their chocolate bunnies. Are chocolate Easter bunnies universal? They might be.<br /><br />One thing they don't seem to have here is the big holiday family meal. I'm sure many families do gather for a meal but it doesn't seem to be the focus of the day. So...no ham feast like many of us have in Amerikee. And thus, no opportunity to complain in low tones 'That was <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> a quality ham!' Anyone familiar with the film <span style="font-style: italic;">Stewart Saves His Family</span> is likey rolling on the floor laughing at this point. Anyone not familiar with the film should see it. It has nothing to do with Easter.<br /><br />For a fairly secular society, though, the British do seem to take a lot of days off at Easter. First, there's Good Friday, and it seems like a great many people </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">have this day off </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(especially bankers as they certainly like to feel they are being crucified lately). The thing to do on Good Friday is to go to the store and buy lots of stuff and generally clog the aisles and make a nuisance of yourself. I say this because we went to the store on Friday in the middle of the day and that seemed to be what everyone else was doing. There were throngs of people. It would almost have been more efficient if we'd all worn our Easter bonnets and paraded through each aisle of the store in an orderly fashion and selected our items for purchase. Two birds with one stone. But they don't do Easter parades here. However, they do like to engage in home improvement projects. My partner informs me that the Easter holiday is a big Do-It-Yourself weekend for homeowners in the UK. I suppose secular Americans would think nothing of doing a project during this holiday; however, even though I would count myself among them, I still do feel an odd twinge at the thought that someone might go into Home Base or the local B&Q on Good Friday and buy some 4X4 timbers and some, oh I don't know, large nails. It would shock my American sensibilities.<br /><br />Then there's Easter Eve, otherwise known as Saturday. Lot's of sawing and digging and, um, nailing things. Then after that it's Easter Sunday. Church bells ringing across the land (all day, it seemed), and people walking to church. Pretty much the same ones that always go to church. So...no change there I guess. Well, that's that, right? No.<br /><br />They also have Easter Monday here. I don't know exactly what that's about. I have a suspicion that it has to do with going back to Home Base or B&Q to get all the items you forgot, or get replacements for the items you broke while doing your home improvement project. </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We witnessed this on Monday when we went for key supplies for our own home improvement project. The mission? Replacing a component of the toilet: the flapper. I'm proud to say I installed, in three minutes flat mind you, a replacement flapper for the Fluidmaster flapper-type flush valve. Don't ask. But don't you just love the idea that there's a plumbing item called a flapper?<br /><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwTGeRZITm7kpkLVDllvBAR3H5LVmccd5GZ2x6qPzd-HHp3Nl6oPpOyZNYo9lLuTKZxhPXRS1BVqPm4uqCmtQhrbaq6tihE0O_uU6OQICXICcak5xdObzNiXJ8JXHkCea-5MunVHw41Y/s1600/SANY2818.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwTGeRZITm7kpkLVDllvBAR3H5LVmccd5GZ2x6qPzd-HHp3Nl6oPpOyZNYo9lLuTKZxhPXRS1BVqPm4uqCmtQhrbaq6tihE0O_uU6OQICXICcak5xdObzNiXJ8JXHkCea-5MunVHw41Y/s320/SANY2818.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457765004230397698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The result of not immediately eating the two chocolate bunnies.</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4h2k2EpHFgt6YKTmleGWwhhKk5qiCflZg0P2mFv37HTXczdYAHiC5h6ZVTtbT2PMnbjR2NnonBAJF19wc6N7zGQTEBB6zbxq9bfy0yRpFm5h6zp3lMHnSClWZn8Hk_5y3l1ZCaMC710/s1600/SANY2813.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4h2k2EpHFgt6YKTmleGWwhhKk5qiCflZg0P2mFv37HTXczdYAHiC5h6ZVTtbT2PMnbjR2NnonBAJF19wc6N7zGQTEBB6zbxq9bfy0yRpFm5h6zp3lMHnSClWZn8Hk_5y3l1ZCaMC710/s320/SANY2813.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457764991207121746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A good start</span></span></span><br /></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-39409925116577866472010-03-23T12:30:00.005+00:002010-03-23T14:36:11.215+00:00Granite City<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKunlxWuWB5xPI8KAs-WomdJmVe-FFZUk3HSPEstC9l-sbLL950pYX-eT9msPTKxdNsglktFQ-V_GfSIspWponhkefKyMsu2k9p_ogmLNFFB_HTaZmy3qldXG1Thg4u3XOJTlw-dF5rFk/s1600-h/aberdeen+harbor.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKunlxWuWB5xPI8KAs-WomdJmVe-FFZUk3HSPEstC9l-sbLL950pYX-eT9msPTKxdNsglktFQ-V_GfSIspWponhkefKyMsu2k9p_ogmLNFFB_HTaZmy3qldXG1Thg4u3XOJTlw-dF5rFk/s320/aberdeen+harbor.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451817775580164722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Aberdeen Harbour</span></span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />We went to Aberdeen for five days in March. </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Aberdeen has a fascinating history - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aberdeen">see here</a>.<br />As it was my first visit to Scotland, I was thrilled. Here is a short travelogue.<br /><br />The trip up consisted of taking three trains. A regular train to Ashford station. A high speed train from Ashford to London St. Pancras (no not pancreas,<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Pancras,_London"> Pancras</a>). Then a saunter across the street from St. Pancras to King’s Cross to catch the train up to Aberdeen. Before you ask, platform <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Platform_9%C2%BE#Platform_Nine_and_Three_Quarters">9-and-3/4</a> had been temporarily relocated during a remodelling project. I was not able to test my theory that hurling myself at the brick archway would indeed allow me to enter a fantasy world: a world of unconsciousness and brain contusion. Next time.<br /><br />The high speed train is the same style of train that crosses under the channel into France. In England they travel at a whopping 120 miles per hour. Or at least that’s what my partner claims. I believe that’s accurate because we were <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> keeping up with the cars on the dual carriageway (see previous blog entries for commentary on the British propensity to drive like bats out of hell). If we had been travelling in France, however, I understand we would have enjoyed the ripping sound that’s produced by the train going 185 miles per hour. I’m looking forward to hearing that sound one day soon.<br /><br />A train ride of just a few minutes and you’re outside of the Big Smoke. The countryside is lovely. Flatter than I expected. The hills and mountains are, for the most part in the west. We were on the eastern line. One thing that surprised me was how the landscape seemed to change just as we crossed the border north of Berwick. There were rolling hills, stone walls, and evergreens. It was noticeably different in those ways, but also in some subtle and unnameable way that filled me with joy. A low cheer went up in the train car as we rolled into Scotland and our fellow passengers seemed to develop a sudden interest in looking out the windows. And we soon got our first glimpse of the sea. Sorry England, but the land is greener and more interesting in Scotland and the sea is bluer as well. The only disappointment was that the sign saying ‘Welcome to Scotland’ was no longer there.<br /><br />Aberdeen is a very walkable city. It perches on hillsides surrounding its small but formidable harbour; nothing is very far away. There are miles of golden beaches. The city is made of granite, which is at once imposing and reassuring. I developed a theory as we walked the streets that in ten thousand years or so, when humans are long gone and alien cultures have finally reached Earth, Aberdeen will remain as the glittering and solid testament to the existence of the human race. The buildings will still be standing. The alien visitors will naturally think Aberdeen was the center of human culture. My theory seemed to draw guffaws when I mentioned it; apparently that would be akin to saying that Spokane, Washington was the center of human culture. Ah, this is the self-effacing charm of the Aberdonian at work.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEw9m4wDMPtNV2egDXP3caHqa0aNVm91ZKXkjdYmhfTJWL-rwVnaYuCf-2yi2klqxS_yRXZySuk_cnekHeAxI9tBGetUTXoV3rZmS1kr-E2o69N6wXcoNkrZTKrqZt9wJyG5ep69uXDXw/s1600-h/aberdeen1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEw9m4wDMPtNV2egDXP3caHqa0aNVm91ZKXkjdYmhfTJWL-rwVnaYuCf-2yi2klqxS_yRXZySuk_cnekHeAxI9tBGetUTXoV3rZmS1kr-E2o69N6wXcoNkrZTKrqZt9wJyG5ep69uXDXw/s320/aberdeen1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451817787238968610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Aberdeen Harbour</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJUOliuiIMvN4iiFnMykkMCI4X1wU44QZR-nxkwQOX98hWzbjImexOC91ZE-Ukj74wsNzZljPyaEOAKAPvdLbit3Eji_0SQHgjxnJHy79eYgMEsZdOYO4EJd0hxWHpb9KhaVtnJjFZ2s/s1600-h/aberdeen2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJUOliuiIMvN4iiFnMykkMCI4X1wU44QZR-nxkwQOX98hWzbjImexOC91ZE-Ukj74wsNzZljPyaEOAKAPvdLbit3Eji_0SQHgjxnJHy79eYgMEsZdOYO4EJd0hxWHpb9KhaVtnJjFZ2s/s320/aberdeen2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451817793985239986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Shoreline north of harbour entrance</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />It was very nice to see the old haunts of my partner, as she is an Aberdonian by birth and lived there until she was thirty. The weather cooperated. It was either sunny or rained only when we were safely indoors. The season of extended daylight approaches. Aberdeen sits at very nearly the same lattitude as Sitka, Alaska. In the summer, it only gets as dark as twilight. But in the winter, twilight is about all the light you get. There are trade-offs to having so much summer light, I suppose.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHD8bDorXLBBByrpsH_B3-hqSoitKH6riCbpPlj9PpOB8yYCM1WQjK8eJ52-8DP0CYsI-ywSJ5eH2h-mivmc0HRghszgOSKZu2obANeqi0XZ8GyaKmbnlho2cst6iqs3rNUMq2QgSMxk/s1600-h/fonthill+terrace.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHD8bDorXLBBByrpsH_B3-hqSoitKH6riCbpPlj9PpOB8yYCM1WQjK8eJ52-8DP0CYsI-ywSJ5eH2h-mivmc0HRghszgOSKZu2obANeqi0XZ8GyaKmbnlho2cst6iqs3rNUMq2QgSMxk/s320/fonthill+terrace.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451828061087452930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fonthill Terrace, my partner's street: she climbed one of those trees as a child</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Aberdeen seems fairly bustling, though I suppose it had been even more so when fishing was good and when the oil boom of the 1970’s was in full swing. My partner says that when the North Sea drilling took off, Aberdeen was transformed from 1954 to 1974 overnight. Aberdeen, with its sleepy, post-war fishing town sensibility, suddenly found itself host to gregarious Americans and supermarkets and bars. Disco and the Village People were not far behind. This transformed the culture in ways that are still apparent. There are more hip retail shops than you can shake a stick at, and loads of different ethnic restaurants as well as a very diverse population.<br /><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNkbx68jdNgBieH77Fx68CXnXWugjYO2QBPGBBoEfQZDbSv37QD2ftp4Hw-hDSnen-haujg_CxvBkTdKCYrb9uuqsat5Ryp-XEFpL9xddcPwXoyQ5OscQvSwBvvcnjzPVvbW586fBjg0/s1600-h/fonthill+maternity.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNkbx68jdNgBieH77Fx68CXnXWugjYO2QBPGBBoEfQZDbSv37QD2ftp4Hw-hDSnen-haujg_CxvBkTdKCYrb9uuqsat5Ryp-XEFpL9xddcPwXoyQ5OscQvSwBvvcnjzPVvbW586fBjg0/s320/fonthill+maternity.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451828052721840130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fonthill Maternity Home: birthplace of a girl named A. Lennox<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkcsu1SfiWbEbpv-VUlocCugcu2gmiyNjCNLUacCrTJYKpOwiAkYAfbSox-qJSPe9wPMdsLm_q4aHFYG7Xn5M2Ei23p8s_ouUPWrrZeizF5VafwxuxUscoo3DD-JAttAQWqeCD_jWZA0/s1600-h/al.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkcsu1SfiWbEbpv-VUlocCugcu2gmiyNjCNLUacCrTJYKpOwiAkYAfbSox-qJSPe9wPMdsLm_q4aHFYG7Xn5M2Ei23p8s_ouUPWrrZeizF5VafwxuxUscoo3DD-JAttAQWqeCD_jWZA0/s320/al.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451835405833790738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">One A. Lennox: sweet dreams are made of this</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTQNRZlMQlCyPb-LknGHpvqBUclULLBHmfTrHagSj_o8UDfBPRwV9P0sn02rEphAbe4fTYOeTB5RxPm3kBWhwQwKL9cVOgthFoH183Qxkc1KpB-oyb5c-9E03Tip6FYkIVCqM48gANUY/s1600-h/arty+tanks+aberdeen.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTQNRZlMQlCyPb-LknGHpvqBUclULLBHmfTrHagSj_o8UDfBPRwV9P0sn02rEphAbe4fTYOeTB5RxPm3kBWhwQwKL9cVOgthFoH183Qxkc1KpB-oyb5c-9E03Tip6FYkIVCqM48gANUY/s320/arty+tanks+aberdeen.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451817800516400754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Arty tanks at the harbour<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiL0yiJmomnX6wg1BES1NFhRbBJH_O51rhNicWQZX7oncKOSa70Ga5TrPg0NshCxWbybAsS9eBpbpjFox8vQH_SuYyEIg6H8JzerBeySuBdRUDeTnHk39jjCpjq9qxXju76B4s567OdAo/s1600-h/aberdeen+copshop.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiL0yiJmomnX6wg1BES1NFhRbBJH_O51rhNicWQZX7oncKOSa70Ga5TrPg0NshCxWbybAsS9eBpbpjFox8vQH_SuYyEIg6H8JzerBeySuBdRUDeTnHk39jjCpjq9qxXju76B4s567OdAo/s320/aberdeen+copshop.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451817767854493426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">One of Aberdeen's local cop shops: do you see what I see?</span></span><br /></div><br /></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-52577245099048135662010-03-06T22:49:00.009+00:002010-03-07T11:28:38.374+00:00Pumpkin Pie in the UK<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd57CaJjEYZXdZZPzqiTOUANtZ7yeHGwrii0UozSOIHGFy3HU33kD1SezE60ptuPI8p5ie3mFYkI8TeqWuNfk1k5Xrn8IRj4zOgzVjYhXb2cS6Y3iQuV5INV_K_3N9tPA-DAkyaDHc9so/s1600-h/pumpkin+pie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd57CaJjEYZXdZZPzqiTOUANtZ7yeHGwrii0UozSOIHGFy3HU33kD1SezE60ptuPI8p5ie3mFYkI8TeqWuNfk1k5Xrn8IRj4zOgzVjYhXb2cS6Y3iQuV5INV_K_3N9tPA-DAkyaDHc9so/s320/pumpkin+pie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445676446092158402" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know this will shock some of you, but pumpkin pie (my favourite) does not seem to exist here in the UK. It's not as if they don't have actual pumpkins. It's not as if they don't have pie. But they don't have tinned pumpkin, or if they do, it's not to be found in Canterbury. Go figure.<br /><br />I have the good fortune of having some very cool friends in the States who learned of my plight and sent me two cans of pumpkin (at no small expense, I might add). Bless them. And God bless America. It isn't the holiday season anymore, but it is my mother's birthday today. I made a pumpkin pie in her honor. Happy Birthday, Mom!<br /><br />I thought a brief photo essay would be in order to document the occasion.<br /><br />First, I had to find a pie tin. I couldn't. So I got the UK version of a pie cooking thing. It's oval. It's super deep. It's Pyrex. It looks perfect for baking some sort of very meaty pie type thing, or perhaps a miniature turkey. Then I had to make the crust. Okay, I didn't actually make the crust. We bought Jus-Rol, a ready-made block of dough. Defrost it, smash it into shape and you're good to go.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBSM_tcT8ipctxjoDp4L5TnJBpi5yMUGQDkOuYfKZOALvePX4fS8N0qU-7MjRRdC-EmF5nnTDad3_76lU_W7Eyy4ikPk0kCeMWYlWQfdBmHfU9kUDfS7CNQpdwIb2PWxrgO1l9NETNJM/s1600-h/crust.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBSM_tcT8ipctxjoDp4L5TnJBpi5yMUGQDkOuYfKZOALvePX4fS8N0qU-7MjRRdC-EmF5nnTDad3_76lU_W7Eyy4ikPk0kCeMWYlWQfdBmHfU9kUDfS7CNQpdwIb2PWxrgO1l9NETNJM/s320/crust.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445676410762337618" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />To do the smash-the-dough-thing I needed a rolling pin. I didn't have one. Typical. However, I think you'll find, should you ever discover that you are rolling-pinless and yet have access to a store with a decent wine section, that a bottle of Rosemount Shiraz 2008 will work wonders with your pre-made crust. And thanks to the over-production of Aussie wines lately, it's a bargain at £4.49.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh946jmjcs4cxO8CbY9-5Pszu6Nmq9wX69HPk71DfIilfZIy91vh6bcb9fVMF57YiOtllTfskwSpacAKTJSUfWpNyLAEWjoRHkME83Co0JbqVYfZQJeONWCp8dxis1_0w4Q1O9N46Rk4mk/s1600-h/vintage+rolling+pin.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh946jmjcs4cxO8CbY9-5Pszu6Nmq9wX69HPk71DfIilfZIy91vh6bcb9fVMF57YiOtllTfskwSpacAKTJSUfWpNyLAEWjoRHkME83Co0JbqVYfZQJeONWCp8dxis1_0w4Q1O9N46Rk4mk/s320/vintage+rolling+pin.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445676710007954722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Once the crust situation was sorted, I moved on to the pre-heating of the oven and the mixing of ingredients. I didn't have ground ginger but found that grating a bit of fresh ginger with the microplane worked well. Two free hints from Chef Rhodes: 1. buy a microplane grater or three (they're wonderful - and very sharp) and 2. for easy grating, store your ginger root in the freezer and grate it while frozen - you don't even have to peel it. My lovely partner taught me both those things.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNA8Xf0RAHV2UQwO45AdUNlSLdhsFc7QX9JIgq06MIyxhWiUhvXfE_2q8GM7ldt3DZhUE6YqmN9TeRjmOdHi_2cGTV2CycifLhhwDAlVmBxXa3Anc0JKVltwojOKUrQvRqEChHcLbDu6M/s1600-h/mixing+ingredients.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNA8Xf0RAHV2UQwO45AdUNlSLdhsFc7QX9JIgq06MIyxhWiUhvXfE_2q8GM7ldt3DZhUE6YqmN9TeRjmOdHi_2cGTV2CycifLhhwDAlVmBxXa3Anc0JKVltwojOKUrQvRqEChHcLbDu6M/s320/mixing+ingredients.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445676438332304562" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />The depth of the pie dish was a bit of a challenge. I should have lowered the temp slightly as it needed to bake longer than it would have had I been using a nine inch pie tin. Live and learn. The pie is delicious. Thanks to J & L for the tins of pumpkin. I've still got one left. Hmmmmmm. Rosemount also make a decent Chardonnay which I feel certain would be up to the task of rolling out the crust next time...<br /><br /></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi9f0S6wT7umXcBjxCAMow01t6DNiqo4HoQjRHPx9SHqR0XhKBfCiC7Uat-z9mB7WkqcWyAo8NZX1vrYlaCgyH65o6_e8WPphBWYHRCseq6T35wXY_I4Y6Nh_0tAHXq0yQb_upAWut_8/s1600-h/guarding+pie.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi9f0S6wT7umXcBjxCAMow01t6DNiqo4HoQjRHPx9SHqR0XhKBfCiC7Uat-z9mB7WkqcWyAo8NZX1vrYlaCgyH65o6_e8WPphBWYHRCseq6T35wXY_I4Y6Nh_0tAHXq0yQb_upAWut_8/s320/guarding+pie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445676433856437202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">the kitchen cowboy guarding the pie<br /></span></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAXvMXeF_Hd-BawYTf_jdDK8Z4CRh3BbmYi5VUan3FHfXraNzoxDa2cd4-nO6MoJyBeQ7v0gN0XVTMqARthoX0F-enSF5erJNNS0OnEby5JpuckM3W7w5IXUdBcPjlt8WrLpvd7rcHLcM/s1600-h/dirk+chilham.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAXvMXeF_Hd-BawYTf_jdDK8Z4CRh3BbmYi5VUan3FHfXraNzoxDa2cd4-nO6MoJyBeQ7v0gN0XVTMqARthoX0F-enSF5erJNNS0OnEby5JpuckM3W7w5IXUdBcPjlt8WrLpvd7rcHLcM/s320/dirk+chilham.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445676431645541314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Dirk Chilham, kitchen cowboy<br /></span></span></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-4296603343734620282010-02-25T17:24:00.007+00:002010-03-05T22:45:29.532+00:00Chilham<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Hi folks. Here we are in a lovely little village called Chilham. Dogsitting. It's nice that there are dogs here. It's especially nice that there is TV. I even got to see a bit of the Winter Olympics. Ice hockey was always the desired sporting event to watch, but you know, curling isn't half bad either. It's slower and the puck is much bigger and they use brooms instead of sticks. And if there are any fistfights in curling, I certainly missed them. Still, it's an okay sport.<br /><br />Chilham is a lovely little English village a few miles southwest of Canterbury. And like Canterbury, it's old. A number of the houses in the village, including the one we're staying at, are about five hundred years old. Many of them are Wealden Hall houses, which is specific to this part of the country. The Weald is an area in southeast England which used to be a huge forest. Weald is Old English for woodland. These Wealden Hall homes are timber-framed. With oak from...you guessed it, the Weald.<br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W1wr3XsxnzOCUGdFn1vPiziCqy0vZy5SR9NrNSaQbX2ft3XRGFEVbXNphys4hwOeC64kGP_duFrM2XJBsDrCjvCqmTpnUZbbP473ODVxD6D5nqJcE2K5slHhYh9y-tYXtCEwESuBsio/s1600-h/chilham.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W1wr3XsxnzOCUGdFn1vPiziCqy0vZy5SR9NrNSaQbX2ft3XRGFEVbXNphys4hwOeC64kGP_duFrM2XJBsDrCjvCqmTpnUZbbP473ODVxD6D5nqJcE2K5slHhYh9y-tYXtCEwESuBsio/s320/chilham.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445280680212507314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Chilham, star of the silver screen<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />The village square is beautiful, what you might call quintessentially English. Chilham is a popular filming location for that reason, especially for Jane Austen-y type things. Jane's brother lived a ten or fifteen minute walk from Chilham so it is very likely she visited the village. Just off the square is Chilham Castle. There is part of a Norman castle on grounds but the home that is referred to as the castle is actually a mansion built on the site of a castle. The grounds are extensive and can be seen when you walk along a lane that follows the boundary of the grounds. On the other side of the lane is, among other attractions, a beautiful rolling field.<br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxGtFadDo-tmJLNifQjm55xXVghJIr3PKPKgrHPZ1pJ-w-d5eRWkw-0-xIYl-dA9YoIULzwKaXgDSLGbNS58qdCXFGMt7yjL5J0bYp7YY7xaskFOdoPeCxyYfwnrVn_3bkFGBoEVShu4/s1600-h/SANY2667.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxGtFadDo-tmJLNifQjm55xXVghJIr3PKPKgrHPZ1pJ-w-d5eRWkw-0-xIYl-dA9YoIULzwKaXgDSLGbNS58qdCXFGMt7yjL5J0bYp7YY7xaskFOdoPeCxyYfwnrVn_3bkFGBoEVShu4/s320/SANY2667.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445280653979511218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;"><span style="font-family: courier new;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Chilham Castle horses are very large apparently, much taller than the castle itself</span><br /></span></span><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwvy5Zr55Hss0teuMbT_JdDIkwLTkYPDg7PeCy7yDdstOUKgg5DIy5yerpbZ6padCNOnbUzs_vki080necl2I7tpXr94F0mK9YH3ZCnOJs-68vs0ShyA8JnM7ESGuLtP-C_7z3lf1aSk/s1600-h/SANY2668.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwvy5Zr55Hss0teuMbT_JdDIkwLTkYPDg7PeCy7yDdstOUKgg5DIy5yerpbZ6padCNOnbUzs_vki080necl2I7tpXr94F0mK9YH3ZCnOJs-68vs0ShyA8JnM7ESGuLtP-C_7z3lf1aSk/s320/SANY2668.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445280661928349586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Castle grounds, complete with equestrian things, you know, for horses</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;"><br /><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SkQ9ZJLWIVFBjWOWyTsZUyarg5w2XZKoW8slQ43X8_zTubBO7c0hM4teek8KTwi3QT20-5Xe7Z2lOP9FOtqAeVHCnrQmjRrWHV-2iIL1LbfA3tdHiy7RvsxEnw3kP9IxQZLXCAOmKxY/s1600-h/SANY2672.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SkQ9ZJLWIVFBjWOWyTsZUyarg5w2XZKoW8slQ43X8_zTubBO7c0hM4teek8KTwi3QT20-5Xe7Z2lOP9FOtqAeVHCnrQmjRrWHV-2iIL1LbfA3tdHiy7RvsxEnw3kP9IxQZLXCAOmKxY/s320/SANY2672.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445280666181316994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">the field near chilham, afternoon<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />So, three cheers for Chilham and three cheers for TV and dogs.<br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkKO8ZPPR8CQxhSF2f2UxRzqe01DgCOowI__Kbg_Cj2YxsRknFqglAmZgUO40Dz9rIWe8o_dAmRSHRGJ9mHwfzasCY4nbyVYEBtQuIvhKJ7DkyGPA7nmfNC_x79_cVSob_q8D8OzR0TI/s1600-h/SANY2687.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkKO8ZPPR8CQxhSF2f2UxRzqe01DgCOowI__Kbg_Cj2YxsRknFqglAmZgUO40Dz9rIWe8o_dAmRSHRGJ9mHwfzasCY4nbyVYEBtQuIvhKJ7DkyGPA7nmfNC_x79_cVSob_q8D8OzR0TI/s320/SANY2687.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445280674270477682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">the beasts watching TV<br /></span></span></div>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-84957247206620759662010-02-18T07:18:00.014+00:002010-03-07T00:26:51.384+00:00Social Networking & The Angel of History<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRHWsQaixBqb_cxlrAmCcA5nLm5sHrOL5_y2a1Ir3GIfip_S4dGDUNV-Gr_AY9WRngMvvWXuQkBhG9X0c32Z8J9YC1tf2aHAV0TOEounol4sYHUuyZPPZd2Ep4wJEMvuUPiScbUKniWI/s1600-h/tweet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRHWsQaixBqb_cxlrAmCcA5nLm5sHrOL5_y2a1Ir3GIfip_S4dGDUNV-Gr_AY9WRngMvvWXuQkBhG9X0c32Z8J9YC1tf2aHAV0TOEounol4sYHUuyZPPZd2Ep4wJEMvuUPiScbUKniWI/s320/tweet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442550832500258034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> cartoon by <a href="http://clifmims.com/site/">Cliff Mims</a></span></span><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Greetings, my public. The three of you, anyway. When I started this essay for you, there was a right blizzard occurring just outside my front window - well, probably out back as well, but I didn’t check. The blizzard is long past and I have gone on several tangents. In any case, I give you a long-winded blog in two parts.<br /><br /><br /></span> </span><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Part I<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Electronic Intimacy: Dispersion and Constellation</span><br /><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think we can safely say that months-long inclement weather causes introspection (best scenario) or possibly depression (worst scenario). In my case, I think it causes too much dependence on the internet. Ah, that magical world of information, interconnectedness and social networking. I’ll be honest. I’ve been struggling with the social networking part of it lately: the quarrels and quibbles, the aspersions and allusions, the fawning and fraternising, the colluding and colliding, the humour and humouring. Sometimes it’s a bit much. Or, I should say, I’ve made too much of it.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Exciting community dynamics notwithstanding, social networking has lost much of its allure since I don’t rely on it anymore for communicating with my partner. When it was one of only a few ways to communicate overseas with her, I suppose I overlooked some of the more disquieting aspects of life in the net. And, frankly, we were both very good at communicating with each other in that format, and had a ball doing it, if I do say so. But now I’ve become increasingly wary of two things inherent in my experience of social networking: a) my dependence on it, and b) how the sheer banality of the way it forces me to communicate, for the most part, in </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >byte-bites</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">* flattens my personality, dumbs down my own sense of myself.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJG4ZtBf1zso7sf3Z8pFHy4tpjJkMeGqbYNEaSVdz8jD_3pdem2VQtGDwJ_x6Za5GftFzEfuDyah32WMLpyjWKUyaqtnW_3WPQ_D1oEwgyFGXFRpv6ptq2XRPuSstFeXE83UsVMQBGRAw/s1600-h/myspace_sucks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJG4ZtBf1zso7sf3Z8pFHy4tpjJkMeGqbYNEaSVdz8jD_3pdem2VQtGDwJ_x6Za5GftFzEfuDyah32WMLpyjWKUyaqtnW_3WPQ_D1oEwgyFGXFRpv6ptq2XRPuSstFeXE83UsVMQBGRAw/s320/myspace_sucks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442552118479622706" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thrillingly, after a long session of hanging out online in my communities, I know that so-and-so and so-and-so have commented on each other’s photos, and that someone I vaguely know has become friends with someone I’ve never heard of - lol. No really, lmfao. After such a session, I can’t remember what it was I was supposed to be looking up online. What was the information I needed track down? My other projects suffer as a result of this. Yet the first thing I do online is race to those communities to see what’s going on. Um, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >nothing</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> is going on, Rhodes. Get that through your head.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyKw-hR4jrkKf05E4qppVRSSZ-oFDgtJg9Tj1qP63gskT8HcP5HyVvPb1uPkTmGEz5PvAPWNJkgkvuhU3Z4-R3PvlDoSLxLwlvWLJ6hwawdREWsDPYPpnJMdYZ45Y1Hr_DYyujlsT5RQ/s1600-h/facebookSucks.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyKw-hR4jrkKf05E4qppVRSSZ-oFDgtJg9Tj1qP63gskT8HcP5HyVvPb1uPkTmGEz5PvAPWNJkgkvuhU3Z4-R3PvlDoSLxLwlvWLJ6hwawdREWsDPYPpnJMdYZ45Y1Hr_DYyujlsT5RQ/s320/facebookSucks.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442552109892605442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Let’s be clear. I am not saying that the very real people on the other end of my e-connections are in any way dumbed-down or banal. Far from it. I can only assume they have their own lives and pursuits. However, the fact that I assume this rather than know it unequivocally, points up another unsatisfying experience. My use of social networking sites does little to help me understand much about the lives of people I know, to say nothing of the people I am “friends” with but whom I don’t actually know. I’m more often than not baffled by the in-jokes on status lines, and I’m guilty of making in-jokes myself. I am bemused by the snarky bitterness I sometimes encounter (ouch! guilty there, too).<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Does it sound like I’m blaming social networking sites for my inability to manage my time and energy? That would be like chugging a few beers and then blaming the brewery for the fact that I stagger and drool unappealingly. Nope. It’s not the internet’s fault that I’m uncomfortably hooked on it. To be fair, there are useful things about the internet and social networking sites. As I am an expatriate without an international calling plan, I do rely on the internet for vital information. Since moving to Canterbury, I have been informed of two deaths, a hospitalisation, a surgical outcome, and biopsy result, via the internet (both by e-mail and by social networking sites). And, it should be noted, I wouldn’t be lucky enough to be an expatriate, were it not for the internet. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The more I think about it, the more I realise my dependence on being involved with online communities has to do with the fact that my family and friends are scattered all over the world. I settle for byte-bites in the absence of more thorough communication. It’s faster and more up-to-date than letters or e-mails, and more convenient than scheduling transatlantic skype calls. Folks, there is something to be said for that. However, perhaps because I did not grow up plugged-in, I miss, in the absence of face-to-face conversation, the dying art of letter-writing.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Enter the blog. For what is a blog, but a letter posted on the internet? So, while my status line may cause you to wonder about my mental state, or why I’m being such a bitch, these letters should let you know that I’m a real person with full-blown (or possibly over-blown) thoughts and concerns. And as I know each of you are real (the three of you, anyway), we do then have a real connection. As my friends and family do not, to my knowledge, have their own blogs, it feels like a bit of a one-way connection, but a connection nonetheless. Just as if the blog you were looking at was a letter, (illegibly) hand-written, stamped and addressed specifically to you. Isn’t that one of the key questions concerning the electronic intimacy offered by the net: is this connection real?</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Let us first consider the definition of cyberculture. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The Oxford American Dictionary that is included on my Mac iBook says this when I look up cyberculture: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >No entries found.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh. Moving along.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />According to Free Online Dictionary cyberculture is: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >the culture arising from the use of computer networks for communication, entertainment, work, and business. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />That makes sense. Wikipedia agrees with this definition and adds to it: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >...it is not just the culture that results from computer use, but culture that is directly mediated by the computer. Another way to envision cyberculture is as the electronically-enabled linkage of like-minded, but potentially geographically disparate (or physically disabled and hence less mobile) persons.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUu90IrXIxJ0EN1LwCESDnC0DX954FEdssPRYfJANbo2aiZzM-mIjjAdI-R1bIaDfw1lZMclbTNOXkUPSiJnnU2x-Dt_ZT43Sf0IUKD5Mx1P8Uhz9is-5dI45qQCDdVcJFkvjUUljzg8w/s1600-h/trio1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 165px; height: 379px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUu90IrXIxJ0EN1LwCESDnC0DX954FEdssPRYfJANbo2aiZzM-mIjjAdI-R1bIaDfw1lZMclbTNOXkUPSiJnnU2x-Dt_ZT43Sf0IUKD5Mx1P8Uhz9is-5dI45qQCDdVcJFkvjUUljzg8w/s320/trio1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442543393895023314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />What do the experts, those trendy, cutting-edge, post-modern, post-colonial, post-srtuctural, post-human cultural theorists have to say? Hmmm. See if you can decipher it. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />This is what the scholar N. Katherine Hayles has to say about the development of cyberculture in her paper titled </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Virtual Bodies and Flickering Signifiers</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">:</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Information technologies do more than change modes of text production, storage, and dissemination. They fundamentally alter the relation of signified to signifier. Carrying the instabilities implicit in Lacanian floating signifiers one step further, information technologies create what I will call flickering signifiers, characterised by their tendency toward unexpected metamorphoses, attenuations, and dispersions.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, that clears it right up, doesn’t it? Floating signifiers? Sounds dangerously like potty humour; I’m going to steer well clear of it.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The author does touch on a very good point, though, which is that information technologies are more than just a change in how we produce and distribute the written word, the illustration, or the photograph. You cannot accurately compare the invention of the printing press to the development of today’s information technologies. IT, and therefore cyberculture, is explosively and expansively different than the printing press situation, important as it was, because of at least one fundamental difference: the common citizens of the industrialised world can easily obtain laptops and internet connections and publish their ideas to a potentially huge audience, whereas it never was the case that large numbers of people could have done the same with the printing press. Furthermore, what we still quaintly call the ‘written’ word can now be manifested instantly before our eyes and endlessly edited, tweaked, deleted, reconstituted, toyed with, and otherwise altered before ever actually becoming the ‘written’ word or, in the case of blogs and status lines, the pixelated publication. This hugely chaotic and too-long paragraph I’m writing at the moment - does it exist? Well, yes. Just not in the same sense as if I had to typeset it, roll up my sleeves and print it using my printing press, praise the fact that I didn’t have to write it on a clay tablet, and then ride my horse into town and nail it to the side of a building. But yes, it exists.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />And what do we make of the fact that we can, if we choose, instantly publish our personal headlines? This gets back to my discomfort about the byte-bite culture I experience online. Even if I don’t much care for it, it is still amazing that the technology exists (and the will to consume/use it) such that I can let everyone who cares (and many who don’t) know that I’m going to go pick up my dry-cleaning. And it’s amazing that online news sources might actually, if I was a person of some notoriety, report that I had ‘tweeted’ (good god) this information to my adoring public. We have camera surveillance (the UK is the most heavily surveilled society on Earth, I believe), why not self-imposed textual surveillance? Or, if you’re the broadcaster, would that be considered textual exhibitionism? Hmm. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > Texthibitionism</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">* anyone? Definition: the compulsion to tweet your boring-ass bullshit to everyone and their dog. You know, I loves me some celebrities, but I’m not sure I give a damn what any of them are doing this </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >exact</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> moment. Does this frantic need to post up every little thing create a sense of continuity and community in our busy lives, or could it be just information pollution? I’ve digressed into my personal dislike of some aspects of cyberculture again, haven’t I? It’s okay. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >No one</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> could </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >possibly</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> have continued reading up to this point. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Next let’s see what the experts have to say about the community aspect of cyberculture. Is cyberculture made up of communities with participants engaged in real relationships?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Roger Clarke in his early-days-of-the-net paper </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Encouraging CyberCulture</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> made suggestions as to how people can work towards a mature form of cyberculture: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >there is a burning need to build on our understanding of culture more generally, and map culture onto the new medium. People in cars don’t see people; they see other cars. We need to find ways to help people see other people when they use the net...</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Clarke says that</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > ‘culture exists when a group of people exhibits cohesion through the sharing of values, language, rituals and icons.’ </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">His suggestions and arguments are predicated on the idea that people can achieve culture/community by means of the internet. I ask you, how is it possible to resist that bright-eyed vintage 1997 enthusiasm for cyberculture? I can’t. I think the connections and the communities that have sprung up are real, and I think it’s important to treat them as such. I may have my preferences about how to communicate, and I may dislike the electronic small-talk about who has joined what Facebook group about as much as I dislike reality TV and shredded coconut, but that doesn’t mean that the relationships are any less real. It simply means I am an old curmudgeon, online and off. The real world is all around us, including online.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">N. Katherine Hayles, in an audio interview with Arthur Kroker, recorded in 2006, had some interesting observations about culture and technology. There was a discussion of the way that culture has shifted over time from speech to writing to code (some people would say computation). She brings up an interesting point that with the shift to code, code itself has two addressees: the human and the intelligent machine. I thought that was a very interesting thing. On the one hand, code is written (or perhaps built would be a better word) by humans, or at least the original codes were. But to be understood by another human an intelligent machine is required to ‘read’ and perform the functions specified in the code. This idea of two addressees, one of them non-human, is fascinating. Hayles mentions that at any given time in ‘computationally intense’ cultures, most humans are unaware of up to 95% of the data flow between machines. There must be so many layers of code running at all times. As we become ever more dependent on our computer technology, it does make me think that he who controls the formation of code, controls everything. The geek shall inherit the Earth. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Hayles goes on to say that our technology can help us think through the complexity of our world if we choose that. She says that how we choose to explain the world has material effect on who we are. I have to say I agree with her there. We only have to think back a few hundred years to the Church’s absolute control of information to confirm that position. Who are we? Are we the creations of the one true God who gave us complete dominion over the animal and plant world? Or are we complex beings in the interconnected web of life, responsible to current and future generations? How we explain our world does indeed have material effect on who we are. And how we explain our world relies largely on how we interpret our history.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On that note, on to Part II, which, not coincidentally, is related to one of my attention-deprived projects I complained about above.<br /><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQQ0616RSudUgcle6neqb47PLg0GAXR_TvMpD2K492S65wEHn14484z1NmKombgxTN0p5Y8D1PkLASX8O5tU79pHrKmm899AW0nlDtBCPhFZipEanvnz0ov8qxPz3IH_c1lqII1TidhI/s1600-h/sleeping-at-computer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQQ0616RSudUgcle6neqb47PLg0GAXR_TvMpD2K492S65wEHn14484z1NmKombgxTN0p5Y8D1PkLASX8O5tU79pHrKmm899AW0nlDtBCPhFZipEanvnz0ov8qxPz3IH_c1lqII1TidhI/s320/sleeping-at-computer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442554602147825682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No, really. Keep going. The second half is at least as exciting as the first half. </span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span> </span> <div style="text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Part II</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At The Feet of The Angel</span><br /><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Some of you will recognise what I’m about to write about as D’s old Angel of History thing. Yes, I am still fascinated with it. Onward. Have you ever heard of a philosopher called Walter Benjamin? Have you ever heard of a painter by the name of Paul Klee? Have you ever heard of musician-and-much-more Laurie Anderson? Have you heard of the poet Carolyn </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forché</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">? They have each other in common. Some of them might have met each other, though none of them ever met all of them. How are they connected? And, is the connection real? </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />If you’ve made it this far you probably have insomnia or like boring reading; you’ll also likely know that I’m going to say yes, the connections are real. If real relationships and connections can exist in cyberspace, where responses can take seconds or months to occur and may be from users separated by rooms or continents or oceans, why not then across history? Why not between and through ideas? Let me try to explain what I’m getting at. We’re going to leave the online world for a while, but not the web of interconnectedness. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Consider Walter Benjamin’s position on the notion of history. That is, history as a philosophical problem. You didn’t know history was a philosophical problem? In philosophy, as in math, <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span> is a problem: a problem in the sense of being a question meant for academic discussion. Right. Back to the topic at hand. Benjamin’s position on history. Benjamin’s writing-style is surprisingly accessible, but his meaning is at times impenetrable, and I don’t think this is all to do with issues of translation from German to English. I shall do my best to present him in a minimally boring fashion.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Benjamin considered himself a historical materialist and took a stance critical of what he calls historicism. In his <span style="font-style: italic;">Theses on the Philosophy of History</span> , the seventeenth thesis starts out with this:</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Historicism rightly culminates in universal history. Materialistic historiography differs from it as to method more clearly than from any other kind. Universal history has no theoretical armature. Its method is additive; it musters a mass of data to fill the homogeneous, empty time. Materialistic historiography, on the other hand, is based on a constructive principle. Thinking involves not only the flow of thoughts, but their arrest as well. Where thinking suddenly stops in a configuration pregnant with tensions, it gives that configuration a shock, by which it crystallises into a monad.</span></span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />What is a monad, you ask? Yeah, I asked the same thing. A monad, not to be confused with nomad, is a noun meaning a single unit, the number one. Not a poetic word in my book. Can you imagine Three Dog Night singing ‘monad is the loneliest number...’ No. Not really. In philosophy, a monad, according to my computer’s dictionary (the same one that had no listing for cyberculture), is an indivisible and hence ultimately simple entity, such as an atom or a person.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Benjamin had a favourite painting, which he owned. It is called <span style="font-style: italic;">Angelus Novus</span>, by his contemporary, Paul Klee. Klee was a prolific Swiss-born German painter who was influenced by expressionism, cubism, and surrealism. He taught with Kandinsky at the Bauhaus school and, like so many other artists, ran afoul of the Nazis who included his work in an art show, Degenerate Art, in 1937 some four years after he moved back to the country of his birth. According to Wikipedia, his tombstone reads: <span style="font-weight: bold;">I cannot be grasped in the here and now, for my dwelling place is as much among the dead, as the yet unborn, slightly closer to the heart of creation than usual, but still not close enough.</span> He stands outside of time, near to creation. There is something in that which resonates with my understanding of Benjamin, though I find it difficult to articulate exactly what. Benjamin was very taken with the painting and purchased it from Klee in 1921. <span style="font-style: italic;">Angelus Novus</span> inspired his ninth thesis, which reads:</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing in from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such a violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Perhaps Benjamin took <span style="font-style: italic;">Angelus Novus</span> to be a monad of sorts, at least to his own understanding of history. His ninth thesis reemerges in poetry and music in the late 20th Century, notably in the works of Laurie Anderson and Carolyn Forché.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Laurie Anderson released an album in 1989 called <span style="font-style: italic;">Strange Angels</span>. This project was somewhat of a departure from her previous work in that she focused quite a bit on singing and a bit less on the spoken word and multimedia pieces that had come to define her style to that point. She included a song on that release called <span style="font-style: italic;">The Dream Before</span> in which she merges a retelling of <span style="font-style: italic;">Hansel and Gretel</span> with a cogent and concise version of Benjamin’s Angel of History. This was my introduction to the Angel of History and to Walter Benjamin. It’s worth taking a look at the lyrics in the event you are unfamiliar with the song, and it’s most definitely worth buying the music if you don’t have it already:<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The Dream Before<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hansel and Gretel are alive and well</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And they're living in Berlin</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />She is a cocktail waitress</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He had a part in a Fassbinder film</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And they sit around at night now drinking schnapps and gin</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And she says: Hansel, you're really bringing me down</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And he says: Gretel, you can really be a bitch</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He says: I've wasted my life on our stupid legend </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />When my one and only love was the wicked witch.<br /></span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">She said: What is history?</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And he said: History is an angel being blown </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Backwards into the future</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />He said: History is a pile of debris</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And the angel wants to go back and fix things</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />To repair the things that have been broken</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But there is a storm blowing from Paradise</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And the storm keeps blowing the angel backwards into the future</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And this storm, this storm is called Progress</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAxQtAmS0JDyymSTk4SquOqSKY6fFblCD-zop5uL367RagCFOpKi4YNO-XWNpSsXdOTmx_MZrbpnHuBbrCa8VIHqDT0QxzOEmEvvWi_gxvEgG-V8biEKkjAe28SPDrbHB1b1L21rHhOw/s1600-h/Hansel-and-gretel-rackham.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAxQtAmS0JDyymSTk4SquOqSKY6fFblCD-zop5uL367RagCFOpKi4YNO-XWNpSsXdOTmx_MZrbpnHuBbrCa8VIHqDT0QxzOEmEvvWi_gxvEgG-V8biEKkjAe28SPDrbHB1b1L21rHhOw/s320/Hansel-and-gretel-rackham.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442554608712624210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Carolyn </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forché</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> is a poet well known for her willingness to stand and deliver on political topics. However to say she is chiefly a political poet or that she writes political poetry would be far too broad a stroke. She does not shy away from the difficult or explosive or political topics, but, as she makes clear in an interview with poet/blogger Christopher Nelson, she’s does not necessarily begin with a particular stance in mind:<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">In writing certain poems I know where I am, but I don’t know what the poem is going to be. I’m in a moment imaginatively which usually begins with an image, or a glimpse of something, or something fires off from the past, or something flashes before me and I start writing toward someone. </span> </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Like Anderson’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Strange Angels</span>, </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forché</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">’s <span style="font-style: italic;">The Angel of History</span>, published in 1994, was a stylistic departure, in terms of voice, from her previous poetry. Her previous poetry was lyrical, and single-narrative in its presentation. In <span style="font-style: italic;">The Angel of History</span>, she utilises what some might call polyphonic narrative. It’s difficult to tell sometimes who is speaking, and it isn’t the same characters or locations throughout, although the overall tone of lamentation does provide continuity, in my opinion. I was interested to learn from her interview with Nelson, that this style choice, although I’m sure conscious in some ways, was really dictated by her frame of mind. She refers to a time of intense stress when she was living in Beirut and came under fire, shells exploding all around as she hid in her basement: <span style="font-weight: bold;">for a while I felt that my mind was behaving as a kaleidoscope. I couldn’t sustain a thought the same way , and when I wrote, I couldn’t sustain the speaker on the page...The breaking up of the language in The Angel of History started because I was writing in that mental state.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of the speakers in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Angel of History</span> comes through this way:</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">She has always been afraid to come here.</span></span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br />It is the river she most</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >remembers, the living</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br />and the dead both crying for help.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br />A world that allowed neither tears nor lamentation.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Sometimes it does seem as if the atrocities and complications, both personal and collective are piling up at our feet as we helplessly look on. And in our fast-paced world I do wonder if we have created an environment which leaves no room for tears or lamentation. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Both Anderson and </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forché</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, if they were explicitly referencing Benjamin’s Angel of History and assembling their own complementary narratives, must have felt they understood what he was getting at. Perhaps they each had a stop-thought moment when they first read the thesis or otherwise heard of Benjamin’s Angel. To see if we can get into Benjamin’s head a bit, let’s think of our own monad, a shoe perhaps. Show me an abandoned shoe on the highway - how <span style="font-style: italic;">does</span> that happen? - and I will show you, from our collective past, intertwined narratives so poignant, so imbued with sadness or strife, courage or abject horror, that one or both of us may weep (I assure you I did):<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Think Nazi death camp, the huge piles of shoes stolen from the dead and warehoused.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Think Montgomery Bus Boycott, the black citizens of Montgomery walking the soles off their shoes that whole long year. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Think John F. Kennedy’s funeral procession, the boots placed backwards in the horse’s stirrups.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Think soldiers’ boots, as singular memorials and as public protest to the Iraq war.<br /><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQ-bQ0og57ojvayWAUvj8H7ju6gdU82oBAnPRTxyaPergzk2Ina_Lc-NoApBawsnTmnit3rGuAM_adcd5wp5jZxLMO20Il3n5WlHkM3V_FLeiH_R1x8x8QGKfuizkz5kiKrE4TMMlWm8/s1600-h/quad1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 353px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQ-bQ0og57ojvayWAUvj8H7ju6gdU82oBAnPRTxyaPergzk2Ina_Lc-NoApBawsnTmnit3rGuAM_adcd5wp5jZxLMO20Il3n5WlHkM3V_FLeiH_R1x8x8QGKfuizkz5kiKrE4TMMlWm8/s320/quad1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442543398884617906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Think about the following as well if you want to bring those images mentioned above into even sharper relief: think about the Reagan-era directive to the poor to pull themselves up by their bootstraps; think about Imelda Marcos, the dictator’s wife, and her 3,000 pairs of shoes; think about Charlie Chaplin’s film <span style="font-style: italic;">The Gold Rush</span> in which the tramp eats his shoe; think about the term jackboot used to signify authoritarian rule; think about the shoe thrower, the reporter who threw his shoes at President Bush; think about the shoe bomber; think about the old adage <span style="font-style: italic;">walk a mile in someone else’s shoes</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Believe me when I tell you it did not take all day to think of this list. It took minutes. It isn’t because I have a linear list of the history of shoes or the history of sadness in my head. It’s because along the way, the shoe has cropped up again and again as an object inculcated with emotion, a symbol of struggle, of sadness, of anger, of the horror of genocide, of the fallen. I give you these snapshots of history based on the concept of a single abandoned shoe because along the way I, or we, have come across the images of a shoe or shoes, or perhaps the actual artefact(s), and come to a full stop, thought arrested by the importance of what is witnessed.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Again let’s turn to Benjamin’s Theses. This from the sixth: <span style="font-weight: bold;">To articulate the past historically does not mean to recognise it ‘the way it really was.’. It means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger. Historical materialism wishes to retain that image of the past which unexpectedly appears to man singled out by history at a moment of danger.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We interact with our past, and our collective history whether we want to or not. Certainly Anderson and </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forché </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">both interact in the realm of ideas with Benjamin, as did Benjamin with Klee. But can it be said that Benjamin and Klee interacted in some way with Anderson and </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forché</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">? Yes, in a certain way they did, because they produced art and writing which survived to have influence on those who came later. In Benjamin’s case, as we shall see, we have to give more weight to the argument that he interacted because he <span style="font-style: italic;">hoped</span> his writing might survive. He could not have taken it for granted that his work would survive.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of the questions I’ve been asking throughout this very long blog entry has to do with connections: connections between people in social networking sites and the internet, and connections between people and ideas through time. Looking again to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Theses</span>, Benjamin addresses this somewhat in the thirteenth thesis in which he continues his critique of historicism: </span> <span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Historicism contents itself with establishing a causal connection between various moments in history. But no fact that is a cause is for that very reason historical. It became historical posthumously, as it were, though events that may be separated from it by thousands of years. A historian who takes this as his point of departure stops telling the sequence of events like the beads of a rosary. Instead, he grasps the constellation which his own era has formed with a definite earlier one.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />I’d like to explore this notion of <span style="font-style: italic;">constellation</span>. But first I think it might be helpful to interject a little more information about our doomed philosopher. Here we’ve been on a total bender of materialistic historiography thanks to Mr. Benjamin, but perhaps you don’t know any of his personal history. Perhaps it would help you understand him to know that he was a German Jew in the Nazi era who <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> made it out. His invocation of danger in the sixth thesis, as quoted above, makes sense in this context, doesn’t it? Much of the text of <span style="font-style: italic;">Theses</span> is concerned, understandably so, with resisting fascism. Benjamin fled first to France and then, hoping to get to America where he’d been offered a teaching position, fled to the French-Spanish border town of Portbou. He walked through the mountains to get there and was reportedly feeling very ill upon arrival. He was told by Spanish authorities he would be denied passage across the border. He died in a hotel room, having overdosed on morphine, on the night of 27 September, 1940. His friend, the political theorist Hannah Arendt, escaped via the same town a few months later. Benjamin had sent Arendt his unpublished <span style="font-style: italic;">Theses</span> back in the spring of that year; she safeguarded it and it was later published in his memory.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcNC0XxFFcDEDv2G_Mp2fxOgle9kjzSstwJb9cAHo8PFGC_mmrXtxED68T5scfyjF5myYr1z0NgoVq0Z7_yYM9NrqMnNBCL4zKXXF4ce9uouhvc-J_0Xjg7ccHiOITSEkWV-aFW4eQhY/s1600-h/wb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcNC0XxFFcDEDv2G_Mp2fxOgle9kjzSstwJb9cAHo8PFGC_mmrXtxED68T5scfyjF5myYr1z0NgoVq0Z7_yYM9NrqMnNBCL4zKXXF4ce9uouhvc-J_0Xjg7ccHiOITSEkWV-aFW4eQhY/s320/wb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442543403359087634" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Bearing in mind the fact that Benjamin’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Theses</span> could easily have died a quiet, anonymous death with the countless other works, ideas and hopes of his six million unlucky contemporaries in the Holocaust, let’s return to the idea of constellation. I may not be reading it precisely as Benjamin intended, but I take this idea of constellation to mean disparate elements connected by a theme rather than a necessarily linear causal relationship. Thus, in my mind, Benjamin is connected to Klee, Anderson and </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forché</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> (who are all three connected to each other) because of his Angel of History and the artefact that inspired it. This connection, coalesced around a theme, exists regardless of whether I recognise it, however, when I do recognise it, I enter into relationship with this constellation. The relationship is a very real one, insofar as I believe and act as if it is a real relationship. I don’t know whether Benjamin would heartily agree with that, but I think he would like the part of it that flies in the face of historicism.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">That’s my take on the idea of constellation in the historical materialist sense and, indeed, in the cybercultural sense, but it’s important to consider that the term constellation, while it can be defined as a group of related things, does also refer to a group of stars forming imaginary lines of mythological figures. The stars themselves are lifetimes apart and from some other vantage point in the galaxy, our mythological mapping of them would simply melt into an unrecognisable pattern. The stars throw their light, their high speed information, out in all different directions at once. Towards what? Towards nothing. Towards the observers. And the light that was sent out in any given star’s present, is received by the observer as the star’s past, the long-gone light of the heavens . Perhaps this can be said of history as well, that the points of light don’t align or realign, it’s the historians who do, each drawing their different mythological beasts on the face of the historical cosmos.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Alas, my readers, we’ve come to the end of <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> long beast. Somewhere there’s a digital angel watching the pixels of this essay stack up alarmingly high. And we both have our backs to the future.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYi8tkKIYuvP17rJ_WzyQMISPXyDz983AzGwjlrEmpcrToFkUmuMqsLHTzKI6J-RlCpjezVMcUnvdWbGrjNcSQN24DvT319rFigY7Mcfbc0IchVET-URdC3hi3WgYhfhRkryl_tzr50q8/s1600-h/LO28906_AngelusNovus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYi8tkKIYuvP17rJ_WzyQMISPXyDz983AzGwjlrEmpcrToFkUmuMqsLHTzKI6J-RlCpjezVMcUnvdWbGrjNcSQN24DvT319rFigY7Mcfbc0IchVET-URdC3hi3WgYhfhRkryl_tzr50q8/s320/LO28906_AngelusNovus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442543405395199218" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*Coined any new terms lately, Rhodes? Why, yes I have. The term <span style="font-style: italic;">byte-bite</span>, I’ve decided, means something similar to the term sound-bite. In the e-world, byte-bite is the abbreviated communication style favoured by inveterate texters, whether or not actual abbreviations are used. the byte-bite is the enemy of eloquence, the obliterator of nuanced and layered meaning. Grrr. It’s convenient, but evil.</span></span> <span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" ><br /><br />Then there’s <span style="font-style: italic;">texthibitionism</span> (not my original term, I’m sorry to say) which I described gruffly above but thought I’d mention again as the act of posting personal headlines on the internet for the purpose of attracting attention to oneself. </span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-45437549349745427462010-01-07T13:45:00.010+00:002010-01-11T17:55:18.971+00:00The Glory Through All the Noise
<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I love lists. I enjoy making lists and I especially enjoy randomly finding lists others have made. I recently saw this list on the inside of a friend's front door:
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<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Hq3z9-XEFG26A6vDbvACSGVUhGrjeiPGZm8pxVCO4WO_T5_cGtgEKVGmKuLgz-hmU3WYCMigZ0xjJH5nM6Dt3QQgWB4UpNiaw1rcTq-AGQuVOV1QzYUTzE6r6sDgPlO1z_LhfDpLv_Q/s1600-h/IMG_2839.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Hq3z9-XEFG26A6vDbvACSGVUhGrjeiPGZm8pxVCO4WO_T5_cGtgEKVGmKuLgz-hmU3WYCMigZ0xjJH5nM6Dt3QQgWB4UpNiaw1rcTq-AGQuVOV1QzYUTzE6r6sDgPlO1z_LhfDpLv_Q/s320/IMG_2839.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425538641325002674" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Cheese. Fridge. Duck. What could it mean? No idea, but I had to have a picture of it.
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<br />I've been keeping lists since arriving in the U.K. Well, I've been keeping lists for a long time but not seriously or maniacally like I do now. What is the psychology of maniacal list-keeping, do you suppose? I think it's probably a very reasonable stress response to all the changes happening in my life. Moving across the pond has been wonderful, but not stress-free. One way to feel more in control is to make lists. Often my list-making has to do with things I need to accomplish. I make lists for who needs a return e-mail, groceries, what needs to be done on my walk into town, and scenes that need to be written in my screenplay. </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Completing my application for Further Leave to Remain (BritSpeak for permission to remain in country) involved complex list-making tasks: lists and sublists, each with little check-boxes to tick when I'd completed the task.</span></span>
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<br />But in addition to making lists of things I need to do, I find I'm keeping lists of things I've done. And it's not only satisfying, but encouraging. I've read eleven books since September of '09. That may not sound like many to some of you, but for me it's amazing. To say I'm a slow reader is a bit of an understatement. As a slow reader, I often get discouraged about it, but when I look at my list, I see success and I'm encouraged to read more. This in turn makes me a better writer. Now, here's where it's a bit over the top. I've stared an Excel workbook to track my ongoing lists. Keeping handwritten lists in my calendar became a bit unwieldy. Here are the headings of the tabs in my cherished Excel document: Books, Film, Pubs, Beer, UK Towns, Richard Serra. Most of the topics are self-explanatory. Richard Serra refers to which of the Richard Serra sculptures I've seen in person. Serra does rather large, anxiety-producing sculptures in thick steel plate. UK Towns refer to those I've visited so far and could include locations of interest other than towns.
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<br />I have developed certain rules about my lists. For example, in the films list, I'm keeping track of films I've seen since summer of '09, whether in cinema, on telly (yes, I said telly - I'm becoming more British by the moment) when we housesit, or on DVD. I am allowed to track a film I've already seen but only if it's one I haven't seen for a long time. So the Bourne films, Star Wars, The Sound of Music (yes, yes I admit it) and other flicks I watch again and again don't count. It's not meant to be a life-list, it's just to help me keep track of what I see from now on. I have a bad memory for things like this.
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<br />That brings up an interesting point about lists as memory aides. I can remember certain images, say for example, the time I was driving on East Harbor Road in Freeland on Whidbey Island and I saw a black cat walking on a frozen pond near some cattails and miserably bent reeds. I'll remember that until I'm senile - it might be the last thing to go - and I'll use it in at least three poems. But I can't remember what film I saw last week. That's a problem because I love films.
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<br />Ooooh, but what about the delicious concept of the afore mentioned life-list? I do have one for birds, though I haven't yet put it into a spreadsheet. I can hear each of you snickering, you know. Is it the idea of birdwatching, </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">or is it the concept of putting it in a spreadsheet that makes you laugh? Well, you're just jealous. Come on, you'd love to have a neat Excel file of cool stuff you've seen or done, wouldn't you? I do have aspirations to have complete life-lists of certain things: addresses at which I've resided, books read, films watched, cars owned, all the people I've ever met, an exact accounting of air travel, lakes I've swum in, types of trees I've seen, every song I've ever heard. Alas, the moments, too many of them, have passed.
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<br />Here's what that desire for lists boils down to: I want to be aware of my surroundings and of my experiences. I want to be aware of, and to commit to memory, the daily experiences that are the building blocks of a life. But there's so much whizzing by, so many details that go by at such a ferocious pace as we get older, that I fear I will glaze over a bit and miss most of it. I don't have the sort of memory that tracks the details I find interesting. But making funny little lists serves that function for me. If it's written down somewhere I can leave room in my poor, limited brain for the other important but not easily listed memories. Like the memory of hearing my first canyon wren, </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">that melodical tumbling-down-the-scale whistle, and how </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">unromantically close it was to the highway near Twin Falls, Idaho. My partner and I stood looking over a dramatic, sage-filled canyon straining to hear the little bird as trucks rumbled by behind us. That's life, isn't it? Straining to hear the glory through all the noise.
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<br />For any interested parties, here is a selection of the lists I've been keeping since September 2009.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Books:
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">
<br /></span></span>The Accidental - Ali Smith
<br />Hotel World - Ali Smith
<br />Fugitive Pieces - Anne Michaels
<br />Netherland - Joseph O'Neill
<br />English Passengers - Matthew Kneale
<br />The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
<br />Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit - Jeaneatte Winterson
<br />Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
<br />A House by the Shore: Twelve Years in the Hebrides - Alison Johnson
<br />City of God - E.L. Doctorow
<br />Insight Guide: Scotland
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Films:
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">
<br /></span></span>The Watchmen - Cinema
<br />Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - Cinema
<br />GI Joe - Cinema
<br />Grease - Drive-In
<br />Moon - Cinema
<br />Sunshine Cleaning - Cinema
<br />North By Northwest - Cinema
<br />Four Weddings and a Funeral - DVD
<br />Eurythmics Greatest Hits - DVD
<br />The Prestige - DVD
<br />Flame of the Barbary Coast - TV
<br />The Watchmen - DVD
<br />Tipping the Velvet - DVD
<br />Pushing Tin - DVD
<br />True Blood: Season 1 - DVD
<br />Tim Minchin: So Fucking Rock - DVD
<br />Top Gear: US Special - DVD
<br />Top Gear: Polar Special - DVD
<br />Top Gear: Botswana Special - DVD
<br /></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Tutti Frutti - DVD</span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Top Gear: Vietnam Special - DVD
<br />Lara Croft Tomb Raider: Cradle of Life - DVD
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UK Towns:
<br /></span>
<br />London
<br />Canterbury
<br />Chilham
<br />Margate
<br />Maidstone
<br />Brighton
<br />Ashford
<br />Whitstable
<br />Hastings
<br />Rye
<br />Romney Marsh
<br />Dungeness
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pubs:
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<br /></span>Hobgoblin
<br />The Old Coach & Horses
<br />Ye Olde Beverlie
<br />Thomas Becket
<br />The Unicorn
<br />The Monument
<br />The Parrot
<br />Bramley
<br />The Blind Dog
<br />Rose & Crown
<br />Bell & Crown
<br />The White Horse
<br />The Woolpack
<br />The Duke of Cumberland
<br />Garrick Arms
<br />Ten Bells
<br />That one on the beach in Brighton...
<br />Eight Bells
<br />Carpenter's Arms
<br />The Dolphin
<br />The Horse & Groom (know to locals as The Hearse & Gloom)
<br />The Old Brewery
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<br /></td> </tr> <!--EndFragment--> </tbody></table> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-25163648977618612152010-01-06T16:21:00.008+00:002010-01-06T16:53:39.725+00:00Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes...<span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span><meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <link style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" rel="File-List" href="file:///Users/jancormack/Library/Preferences/Microsoft/Clipboard/msoclip1/01/clip_clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:"Trebuchet MS"; panose-1:0 2 11 6 3 2 2 2 2 2; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:justify; line-height:18.0pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:14.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment--> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-size:78%;">Does anyone remember in the movie The Sound of Music when Maria teaches the children not to fear thunder storms? She sings <span style="font-style: italic;">My Favourite Things</span>. I’ve always loved that movie, and pretty much any movie with Julie Andrews. That might be the subject of another blog, however. For now, I’d like to share a few of my favourite things, discovered in my relatively short time in Britain.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">
<br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Clothes lines and traditional airers.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Everyone knows what clothes lines are in their various forms. Many of us know the pleasure of drying laundry outdoors in good weather: the smell of fresh air in your clothes and linens.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >Ahhhhhh. In case you aren’t aware, though, a traditional airer is a handy device made up of wooden slats attached to cast-iron fixings and a pulley system that allows the lowering and raising up of the device. These are indoor systems for drying laundry. The huge benefit of clothes lines and airers is that they don’t require the use of electricity. Tumble dryers, while they add a level of convenience and speed to the processing of laundry, also use quite a bit of power and make one’s carbon footprint that much bigger. </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4WJvir3r1oZLoAZ5bktr42pPEQM4np0jDMZTVJ6nlitEmER370TKWf8izIUJR13gcwpIFJdjQ-tkZPxNKgq4X9HjV5AF-LlevDQyyRU9YrA9yHdheZwVYLRvBSrONQp569XyOFUDiS8/s1600-h/airer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4WJvir3r1oZLoAZ5bktr42pPEQM4np0jDMZTVJ6nlitEmER370TKWf8izIUJR13gcwpIFJdjQ-tkZPxNKgq4X9HjV5AF-LlevDQyyRU9YrA9yHdheZwVYLRvBSrONQp569XyOFUDiS8/s320/airer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423664730947546210" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Speaking of carbon footprint, another thing I like about being here in the U.K. is that I do much more walking than driving. I’m fortunate to live at the moment in a town where I can walk everywhere I need to go. In fact, we really only use the car about once a week, maybe a bit more in inclement weather. It’s good for the environment. It’s good for the bottom line. And I must say, it’s good for the waistline as well; I am literally tightening the belt.
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<br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Another admirable thing is the continuing use of old locks on doors. Which isn’t to say that there aren’t plenty of modern locks. But I really love that I have at least two old-style keys on my keyring. Where I’m from, we call these skeleton keys, although to Brits that term might suggest a master key that could open many different locks. When I held them up and asked my partner what they were called here, she replied ‘Keys?’</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_98IjVDHE3ky8HfCNxIea3eYWEP8ndDNaGIG2qQfI2m9etQgvNL8sZL3NjW0r6psYPkSvcbM46RkaDUlbFvFYkuxqYFNYacj16XMtqcKcq54_SMl4d4sZAl6A1pZRNbstDhcT6inQHTk/s1600-h/skelkey.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_98IjVDHE3ky8HfCNxIea3eYWEP8ndDNaGIG2qQfI2m9etQgvNL8sZL3NjW0r6psYPkSvcbM46RkaDUlbFvFYkuxqYFNYacj16XMtqcKcq54_SMl4d4sZAl6A1pZRNbstDhcT6inQHTk/s320/skelkey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423664736426846850" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">
<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;" >I like pubs. There are many nice pubs to visit. And since I also enjoy trying new varieties of beer (it’s all about moderation, folks), that’s a very good thing. The number of pubs and number of new beers available to me is the subject of an upcoming blog entry, but suffice it to say for now that one of my favorites is a Belgian beer called Leffe. You can only buy it in wee glasses as it is very potent – and really, you wouldn’t want to drink very much of it as you would end up face down in the front garden. These lovely Leffe half-pints are pictured at a pub in London called The Ten Bells. Speaking of which, any Jeanette Winterson fans out there? Well, Ten Bells is just about a block away from Winterson’s London residence. The ground floor of the building she owns is a tiny, tiny shop called Verde & Co. It sells coffee, artisan chocolates and food, and select fresh fruit and veggies. Indeed, oranges are not the only fruit.</span>
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<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" face="trebuchet ms"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAcdei9YmXeHYf4xZnmC35wyWkIkZY1auNM_ASHMRtTKcvmIEw4VG9NrZhxlvJzbutJKO-AbYTtDGj0TE_lxgODlpM7xQnkz_HO2LWmxaZaR2xU9yEnCHN0A62n_toF1ZGvxp1K_jmXU/s1600-h/leffe.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAcdei9YmXeHYf4xZnmC35wyWkIkZY1auNM_ASHMRtTKcvmIEw4VG9NrZhxlvJzbutJKO-AbYTtDGj0TE_lxgODlpM7xQnkz_HO2LWmxaZaR2xU9yEnCHN0A62n_toF1ZGvxp1K_jmXU/s320/leffe.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423664727427584210" border="0" /></a></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal" >
<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="trebuchet ms"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Now we come to a delightful seasonal thing called mince pies. They’re tiny and tasty. I love mince pies and I can’t wait for Christmas to come again. I have to admit, I had a bias against the very notion of the mince pie because I thought it might be similar to my grandmother’s horrible mincemeat pies. Sorry Gran. If it’s any consolation, Grandpa told me once he loved them and was happy to have my portion. I can’t tell you how awful they were – I think she put finely diced pork in them. But I’m not sure if it’s that they really were awful or if the whole concept of a meat and fruit pie is just plain creepy. Fruit pies should be fruit pies and meat pies should be meat pies and ne’er the twain should mingle.</span>
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<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Anyway, I’m happy to report that there usually is no meat in the modern British mince pie. When I initially expressed my disgust about mince pies, my partner assumed it was because I thought there would be meat in them (I did, but not for the reason she suspected). To understand how funny this was you have to know that the term mince in BritSpeak actually does refer to meat. Beef mince or pork mince or turkey mince would be ground beef, ground pork, or ground turkey in American parlance. So... my dear, sweet partner thought it was simply a language barrier – you know, the whole Mark-Twain-two-countries-divided-by-a-common-language thing. She thought I had visions of a hamburger and raisin pie.
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<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">When I informed her that the mincemeat pies of my past did indeed have meat in them, she thought I meant actual mince, as in ground meat. And she was horrified to think maybe hamburger and raisin pies actually exist in America (even more disturbing, I can’t verify that they don’t). The possibilities for miscommunication are vast in a transnational relationship. Hilarity is a near daily experience. Which is another thing I love about being here.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVm1lEmqnY_li2XKzLBXE5mGvVHeZ-EXTtopUzLm3uR15CuA9moo5V8CcoOF46AM91HOIqK9_M4PkRE1iQh6Ca_XGYdpXa87Unat7pgMaX5iBQ70D_Qfq66hrNs6omFUQtfcCOjd7Wq1k/s1600-h/SANY2625.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVm1lEmqnY_li2XKzLBXE5mGvVHeZ-EXTtopUzLm3uR15CuA9moo5V8CcoOF46AM91HOIqK9_M4PkRE1iQh6Ca_XGYdpXa87Unat7pgMaX5iBQ70D_Qfq66hrNs6omFUQtfcCOjd7Wq1k/s320/SANY2625.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423664743235993122" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style=";font-family:";font-size:10pt;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-88359842595274623312009-11-29T14:26:00.017+00:002010-01-06T17:06:21.480+00:00Visits to the Sea: Kent and East Sussex<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Since arriving in England in late August 2009, I've made a few visits to coastal towns. Margate and Whitstable are both on the northeast coast of Kent. Whitstable is north of Canterbury by about six miles. Margate is northeast of Canterbury by about 20 miles, give or take. Brighton is a coastal town in East Sussex, which is quite a bit southeast of Canterbury. For those of you who glaze over at too much geographical detail, just think southern England coastal towns. </span><span style="font-size:85%;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Let's deal with Margate first. Margate is one of those towns that, on first glance, you might think was down and out for good. The seafront businesses nearest the train station look abandoned, except for the gents drinking a pint at 9am at one of the few open establishements. Maybe they work the night shift somewhere? Hmmmm. Don't listen to me. Perhaps I am only envious of their leisure, their morning-imbibing insouciance. Where was I? Oh, yes. The arcades, which look as if they were loads of fun for young seaside resort goers, have been shuttered for a while now. There are a great many shops with plywood over the windows. It has the look of a town that was once a destination. As I understand it, Londoners used to come down to Margate in droves to bathe in the sea. Granted, we were not there in the height of summer, but I had to wonder <span style="font-style: italic;">where have all the tourists gone?<br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I liked Margate. I like places that scream potential, and Margate surely does...loudly. If you look beyond the first impression of boarded up shops, there's a lot to be said for Margate. It's an affordable place to live according to locals. There is the Theatre Royal Margate, second oldest in the country, which is said to be the most haunted theatre in Britain. I went inside the theatre alone, in the dark, and found it to be lovely and peaceful. But I must say, I did not feel alone in there. And even though the jury is still out on whether the 'orbs' that sometimes appear in pictures are indeed paranormal or simply a phenomenon of particulate and flash, I can tell you I captured numerous of these orbs (and never have before), which in successive shots, taken within seconds of each other, disappeared. I doubt the photos will reproduce well on the blog, but I do have a couple of nice general shots of the theatre which I'll show you.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSEcvh2VXp4LFwvuvdHD-qo9CetPCsBevF6-_n0a3k5wXvk0aMqmFRKekmdoD96pVWvK2AzoGO7mAcrVkV7CUjm-ihOs2QiieXbK1B3xtQvVB0qmF6tZKDxzzcJAiamaIPkch2xTPwvI/s1600-h/trmfromstage.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSEcvh2VXp4LFwvuvdHD-qo9CetPCsBevF6-_n0a3k5wXvk0aMqmFRKekmdoD96pVWvK2AzoGO7mAcrVkV7CUjm-ihOs2QiieXbK1B3xtQvVB0qmF6tZKDxzzcJAiamaIPkch2xTPwvI/s320/trmfromstage.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159966304104498" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2z2QcfB_SYz51LMi2hvsDA-lUovEM_BLs5Gu7qqRmBdm6hHaoY1SVZLEx6gTxx3C7cyx4gJ7buzLN8gd7BDOm3toCKPDndoFQ3UGmRSWKouqUAXGOoQwn0m6yEXh2hCYbg2Vp2NR7Ik/s1600-h/trmbalcony.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2z2QcfB_SYz51LMi2hvsDA-lUovEM_BLs5Gu7qqRmBdm6hHaoY1SVZLEx6gTxx3C7cyx4gJ7buzLN8gd7BDOm3toCKPDndoFQ3UGmRSWKouqUAXGOoQwn0m6yEXh2hCYbg2Vp2NR7Ik/s320/trmbalcony.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159951080116450" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />What else is nice about Margate? It has a lovely beach. It's big. It's sandy. It's clean. I think it's far superior to Waikiki. Then again the weather is preferable in Hawaii, but we won't go too deeply into that depressing subject. I think Margate just needs a few entreprenurial gay men who don't mind the cold and it could be dressed up and decorated as the Miami of south England.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTHo8We-1R5QVxaccYefdl03npUl1EOhh0dl27nDn_sETa1RTRJNdh_z9AFe-5pOHN9gjDxDuXYXbPv2CXDOl59_X7YgIi61GKZY4LFaEh1N3G-jN5H99dbwcDwnItLBhTd4nnNZ0l4Ag/s1600-h/margatebeach.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTHo8We-1R5QVxaccYefdl03npUl1EOhh0dl27nDn_sETa1RTRJNdh_z9AFe-5pOHN9gjDxDuXYXbPv2CXDOl59_X7YgIi61GKZY4LFaEh1N3G-jN5H99dbwcDwnItLBhTd4nnNZ0l4Ag/s320/margatebeach.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159459809190642" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Also near the beach is a place of special interest to me, the Nayland Rock Shelter. You might remember from my introduction to this blog, that this particular beach shelter is where the poet T.S. Eliot came to sit each day during his 1921 stay in Margate. He was recuperating from a breakdown and general exhaustion. Anyway, he composed part of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Wasteland</span> at the shelter and even namechecks Margate in this passage:<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On Margate Sands<br />I can connect<br />Nothing with nothing<br />The broken fingernails of dirty hands<br />My people humble people who expect<br />Nothing</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Um. Did I mention he was recovering from a nervous breakdown?<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkLJhINvSbWN6xIviH26S68NrMfg7BA9zHmGpCQ1kzd9kHSvndHu0Eq2FfT11yjrboC8ZozaWpZ2tttKKyG_kGWSSkfqkKKKvB2M19qEVxn3lfwFCjvpFT2x4MdrvdX9gAlysNVaL2Vs/s1600-h/tseliotshelter.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkLJhINvSbWN6xIviH26S68NrMfg7BA9zHmGpCQ1kzd9kHSvndHu0Eq2FfT11yjrboC8ZozaWpZ2tttKKyG_kGWSSkfqkKKKvB2M19qEVxn3lfwFCjvpFT2x4MdrvdX9gAlysNVaL2Vs/s320/tseliotshelter.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159961504601378" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />We visited the town of Whitstable, which even in a rainstorm was very charming. It bustles with activity even on a dreary day. Some of you may know Whitstable as it is referenced Sarah Waters' Tipping The Velvet. The BBC did a film adaptation of Tipping The Velvet and part of it was filmed on location in Whitstable. The main character of the story grew up in an oyster house there. Whitstable is famous for its oysters.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJhByiw6H9dL9Vze5Ea7E6peWFIPUdlxjw0-D_1r0Z8wYtTEFykL9gjpwRigyVJDrVt6NMppaI_0ZTCy_ucpm9B-HEEvslWBrdTe36TscLg8hn5rWmdODVOrGCI703UeiFUmM_GeY1JQ/s1600-h/SANY2565.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJhByiw6H9dL9Vze5Ea7E6peWFIPUdlxjw0-D_1r0Z8wYtTEFykL9gjpwRigyVJDrVt6NMppaI_0ZTCy_ucpm9B-HEEvslWBrdTe36TscLg8hn5rWmdODVOrGCI703UeiFUmM_GeY1JQ/s320/SANY2565.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412160977187953522" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9V-0gY07-35FEqKpAM382Q83EPgnU-5quy-og8FFBflv3iJyeJxa2gs8n1Hn_mwRgJe-MbJYajalrW7OEQOZOjHLFIjjuihAGpc2VY5H82IVsXzMArJuJPLmHWrMnyuviJ_6zcoozqOQ/s1600-h/SANY2564.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9V-0gY07-35FEqKpAM382Q83EPgnU-5quy-og8FFBflv3iJyeJxa2gs8n1Hn_mwRgJe-MbJYajalrW7OEQOZOjHLFIjjuihAGpc2VY5H82IVsXzMArJuJPLmHWrMnyuviJ_6zcoozqOQ/s320/SANY2564.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412160985326322658" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7E6kLU6jSwEX8LFNABHX_UpKbTJpd_FEquIV2fXCq6yXwXk95pebET85vmAY0PslBRFCR5u5-11g0y2ba3fdC2wfMo8Btqa_0-BqO_vXAtz9mmpmDhxf3qvbZsjMwiumq2Wo5w0EhxA/s1600-h/SANY2579.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7E6kLU6jSwEX8LFNABHX_UpKbTJpd_FEquIV2fXCq6yXwXk95pebET85vmAY0PslBRFCR5u5-11g0y2ba3fdC2wfMo8Btqa_0-BqO_vXAtz9mmpmDhxf3qvbZsjMwiumq2Wo5w0EhxA/s320/SANY2579.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412160980777858674" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />In keeping with our ghosty theme, I should mention that while visiting a small bookshop I bumped into...nothing. Well, what I mean is this. I went to back up to get a better view of the bottom shelf of books and my foot was stopped abruptly in mid-step. I thought I'd bumped into someone or something and turned to discover I was alone in the room save for the assistant behind the counter. There were no obstructions on the floor and I have no idea what it was I bumped. But I can tell you, it sure felt solid. The area has been inhabited since the paleolithic era, whatever that means, so perhaps it isn't surprising that there might be some unseen force there, an imprint of old times, a resonance of sorts.<br /><br />It's easy to see that boating and fishing are still a big part of the goings on in Whitstable. We were there on a blustery day and enjoyed listening to the wind sing as it blew through the masts and rigging of the sailboats in one of the marinas. There are a lot of very sweet little beach cottages all perched together at the shore. Unfortunately, it's obvious that many of them are owned by what the locals call DFLs (Down From Londoners). The blinds were drawn and they looked sadly empty. I suppose if you live in the Big Smoke and could afford a cottage out of town, you wouldn't think anything of it. But it does tend to price locals out of the market and make for bleaker winter surroundings. That's probably an issue for any tourist town on the sea.</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> A few miles off the coast, you can see, if you look closely, the abandoned sea forts used as anti-aircraft gun towers during WWII. Condos anyone? </span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6rGNTEuryMj15PmjAWEiaFYD4RnpTU_pf-cIsh0JWZavzLE0CjTBoHseqYDo9c-jjNTJ5IWYJFshfDotGcd2yqfLOquk7txAOGJ8jFO5Nc1mXQ9_NTMgJnM2AxdymZw6Y8l3213x3Pw/s1600-h/Maunsell_Army_Fort.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6rGNTEuryMj15PmjAWEiaFYD4RnpTU_pf-cIsh0JWZavzLE0CjTBoHseqYDo9c-jjNTJ5IWYJFshfDotGcd2yqfLOquk7txAOGJ8jFO5Nc1mXQ9_NTMgJnM2AxdymZw6Y8l3213x3Pw/s320/Maunsell_Army_Fort.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159461614998002" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />We took a nice train ride down to Brighton on the coast of East Sussex. It was an incredibly dramatic day for cloud cover, but luckily it didn't rain on us. Brighton is supposed to be the gay capital of England. I suppose it is. But it's not over the top like some districts in gay-friendly cities in the States. I think I saw a few rainbow flags or banners displayed. And we did wander into a gay shop which had a back room full of leathery things and many unmentionable objects of interest primarily to the men folk. All I could think was <span style="font-style: italic;">ouch!</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">no friggin' way! </span><span>Um, </span>let's move on shall we?<br /><br />Brighton has several hundred thousand people living in and around the city. It is a major seaside destination on the south coast, boasting many corporate conventions and millions of visitors each year. I suppose most of them come in the summer, but there is something for everyone there all times of year. It has loads of shops, restaurants, pubs, and nightclubs. There is a pier with arcades and fun houses, which, except for the weather, rivals the Santa Monica pier.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4m09lWL5ssGPJL3lLnoU0tdZdO6GpzrWymhXdFRlcCrd7wV_w5Amc-sIx2lPmJR32m5ioEmA4Lj1k3Ana8BuZIc_l85bgNbUeOKr20MDu980XmrWSASKP-Qgrdd1QZQ0VxocAOqEabA/s1600-h/SANY2382.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4m09lWL5ssGPJL3lLnoU0tdZdO6GpzrWymhXdFRlcCrd7wV_w5Amc-sIx2lPmJR32m5ioEmA4Lj1k3Ana8BuZIc_l85bgNbUeOKr20MDu980XmrWSASKP-Qgrdd1QZQ0VxocAOqEabA/s320/SANY2382.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159473748201426" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Were there any interesting people, you might ask? Oh, my yes. I'm sorry to say I missed the photo op of one fellow who was strolling the beach in his pants and a T-shirt. At this point it's important to note that the term 'pants' in BritSpeak refers to </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >under</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">pants. So, back to the beach...this fellow was strolling along in his designer tighty-whities and T-shirt. And why not? Even though it wasn't exactly a warm day, he clearly didn't need to fear any shrinkage issues, if you get my drift. </span></span></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Curiously, he was walking along with girlfriend and mama, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And even more curiously, his mama reached into a bag she was carrying and handed him his trousers. At this point he hid behind a nearby sculpture while dressing. Modest? Hmmmmmm. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There was a hotel called Queens Hotel visible from the beach. I thought that was funny for obvious reasons. The beach itself is lovely. It's a shale beach which looks pink or orange depending on the light. We looked for, and found, several holey stones</span></span>. <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">These are highly valued by wiccans and pagans. And anyone who likes beachcombing, I would think.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh58_DvYnGti4NQZKntFvi1hdDsDRv3O1Bqp4H3xAIgwxNecO8RorWg8YkOCxTQEdSj-jwHDsMt7m_YPcW90LrVCXCHBRlufJIvW3DqqpW3RiJDdQhXa9147zeizkYSwlx1dmDyBkWvBVw/s1600-h/SANY2400.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh58_DvYnGti4NQZKntFvi1hdDsDRv3O1Bqp4H3xAIgwxNecO8RorWg8YkOCxTQEdSj-jwHDsMt7m_YPcW90LrVCXCHBRlufJIvW3DqqpW3RiJDdQhXa9147zeizkYSwlx1dmDyBkWvBVw/s320/SANY2400.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159483364580002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYQOhf-f-H9NWrYIAb2tWac2vNufVslBPfFuM6MABAabgH4nSO6RBcnOtL64YWKEB49tUCTes-KY_57RgdWAstLQs7vjyCYcbgfSIunlDOW8Y1C1HFreTQbKqoZPGWNHR4LcwEOJDZOo/s1600-h/SANY2399.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYQOhf-f-H9NWrYIAb2tWac2vNufVslBPfFuM6MABAabgH4nSO6RBcnOtL64YWKEB49tUCTes-KY_57RgdWAstLQs7vjyCYcbgfSIunlDOW8Y1C1HFreTQbKqoZPGWNHR4LcwEOJDZOo/s320/SANY2399.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159481815763490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />My favorite stop was a pub right on the beach. And what could be better after a day of looking at shops and beachcombing and dodging the kids on the pier? A pint of Stella at the seaside pub. Perfect.</span></span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcuRvCDyhJJUZx36e-n3ZNx_D-d_IHyXumjvkUyRqaq-oQ7GBksKkba9Oi-p9kwSrukquBG-Mc-lHopoTx7QPiOGWdO6czKl2K7Z2JYwCRN7Auk0n1MyDIIO_UhwhwPV5Whm6AjSV8TTM/s1600-h/SANY2421.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcuRvCDyhJJUZx36e-n3ZNx_D-d_IHyXumjvkUyRqaq-oQ7GBksKkba9Oi-p9kwSrukquBG-Mc-lHopoTx7QPiOGWdO6czKl2K7Z2JYwCRN7Auk0n1MyDIIO_UhwhwPV5Whm6AjSV8TTM/s320/SANY2421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412159945377832354" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3405454862355799152.post-113442158242550862009-11-26T16:10:00.003+00:002009-11-26T17:15:05.422+00:00Fun With British Road Signs<span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Not that British drivers slow down long enough to look at road signs, but here are a few fun ones:</span></span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This one lets you know that there are men having difficulties with their umbrellas ahead.<br />Calling Mary Poppins!</span></span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERYEuzI3EaqxGO2pTK2TDP7-NMDOSJyXV9zl_wTRTm4AQmldi62TvTFiwkjQptRtRWQbsAhlLXipMOQRWU34GaJrPojWnbrncPTXtXtsxnEC0ZVdLU8iUVPvRSe0A8jGx4JgYT_G06oA/s1600/men_at_work_sign2.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERYEuzI3EaqxGO2pTK2TDP7-NMDOSJyXV9zl_wTRTm4AQmldi62TvTFiwkjQptRtRWQbsAhlLXipMOQRWU34GaJrPojWnbrncPTXtXtsxnEC0ZVdLU8iUVPvRSe0A8jGx4JgYT_G06oA/s320/men_at_work_sign2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408456023520336290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">This one lets you know that there are elderly ladies of questionable morals<br />and extremely forward behavior ahead. </span></span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIbfDWGwkXLf-vmDSe8cio-igEq8WdDUtHpYAFVK5QbWf6EU97yggA2nP-Wy8iChRET7e-7oCV2yUoHuxKD9YANmGHtUgjKnHJPBDSCC5ceOwmflGBr6L9I8_IBGE6K4m2bOh4i4ARsY/s1600/goose.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIbfDWGwkXLf-vmDSe8cio-igEq8WdDUtHpYAFVK5QbWf6EU97yggA2nP-Wy8iChRET7e-7oCV2yUoHuxKD9YANmGHtUgjKnHJPBDSCC5ceOwmflGBr6L9I8_IBGE6K4m2bOh4i4ARsY/s320/goose.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408456032758848930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">This one lets you know that Evel Knievel will be performing just ahead.</span></span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVRPpA3uVvZDi2ihXvckiG2sTvwYeqFjoF6b1bpbGln7w_DE2tbaICkQ2ZgJ8oLjKhAjZnhyClEfQZNvLhAKCxpp7ug4hfCBzV4BrdZ6sjWkOKVM6olVEajLL0k3Q7DKXnMR6JufoKhA/s1600/no_motor_vehicles.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVRPpA3uVvZDi2ihXvckiG2sTvwYeqFjoF6b1bpbGln7w_DE2tbaICkQ2ZgJ8oLjKhAjZnhyClEfQZNvLhAKCxpp7ug4hfCBzV4BrdZ6sjWkOKVM6olVEajLL0k3Q7DKXnMR6JufoKhA/s320/no_motor_vehicles.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408456030988039906" border="0" /></a>D. Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04323416007003244861noreply@blogger.com0