Month: June 2007

The absolute most genius part of the entire trip:

Yesterday I was happily humming along, sweeping leaves off the top of my boat, and pulled the gangplank off to clean it. In a flash I was struck suddenly at the peculiarity that I am in charge of a gangplank, let alone a boat, and that of course dilated into a larger sense of astonishment that I live in Cambridge, England.

This town, more than most, is a transient sort of place. The student population – tens of thousands of people – swells and dissipates every few weeks, notable to me only insofar as it is sometimes hard to buy bread.

Old friends show up to marvel at the eccentricity of my life here, then they go home again. I make new friends, and they finish their degree or sabbatical and leave.

The people in my family scatter across the world and come back together in unpredictable ways. I spend perhaps a third of each year traveling. Most of my time when I’m in town is spent on a narrowboat – and though it is moored securely, I can pull up stakes and move any time.

Even the most serious commitments I have agreed to are contingent on the fact that I can, and will, make impetuous decisions and alter everything without warning. As far as I can recollect the choice to abandon my first career was made on a whim one afternoon.

Moving away from Portland, leaving Seattle, emigrating here – all completely random choices involving nothing much more involved than just saying yes.

Earlier this evening I said I didn’t expect to live long enough to have all of these new problems and concerns!

Byron replied I didn’t expect you to live this long either.

Then we watched a DVD of Pet Shop Boys videos Satnam pressed on us last night. I’ve never taken much notice of the band, but have officially Changed My Mind (this is what happens when you get old, I suppose). In fact, Being Boring made me cry.

I got over it.

Since I’ve only been in water something like three times in twenty years it would be a mistake to say that I have a typical swimming costume, but on the rare event I go in this is what I wear: all of my clothes. I stay covered neck to ankle, without exception.

I could claim that this is on doctors orders, but technically my physicians have issued strict rules including no sunlight whatsoever not to mention no chlorine, no exertion, no fun….

Ok, they never said the bit about fun, but really, I’m not supposed to go anywhere or do anything.

This time around I packed in a rush and couldn’t find a long-sleeved shirt at all, so my swimsuit consisted of cut-off tights, knee-length shorts, and a ratty shirt from one of my book tours turned inside out (I never wear my own merchandise). This perilous assemblage was augmented by several layers of sunblock and an umbrella.

In the interest of full disclosure, I did in fact swim in the pool – it was awfully hard to resist given that it was at the bottom of the cliff face, and there was the adorable child clamoring for attention, and my allergies can’t be that severe, right? Wrong. But I was careful! And yeah, I worked in public health long enough to know that is a stupid excuse.

But anyway, on the way up to the room I spied myself in a mirror, my hair all wet and wild, looking nothing at all like myself because the clothes are so far off what I’ve been wearing the last few years. For a moment I entertained the thought of ditching the dresses and digging out my Carrharts.

Though I gave Ariel my black hoodie (with the explicit reminder that it had major fertility vibes attached) and can’t imagine that I’ll ever be able to replace it, so never mind!

Lucky me, the day I made it to the beach was stormy and dark, so I was able to frolic without endangering my so-called health.

Byron didn’t get wet:

You didn’t really think I’d post a full pic of my idiotic outfit, did you?

Notes from the south of France, where it is raining! I find this quite excellent and ran around joyfully in the sea since the sun was hiding, but the other people huddled in the hotel lobby are not amused.

I was just doing something technical using a stupid PC (I never, ever touch Windows products if I can help it) and Byron offered to take over the task. I exclaimed Hey! What do you think I am?!

His response was instant: Decorative!

The other night in a very fancy restaurant I said Hey, did I ever tell you the story of how I learned to swim?

The assembled quorum of simultaneously informed me that the topic was Not Appropriate for Dinner.

What?! I think the story funny! Plus I didn’t die, obviously!

What is the one type of thing I love more than any other, in my travels around the world?

Well, obviously, a grotto!

Not just The Grotto in Portland, but also that cafe in Zurich, Casa Bonita in Denver, a dozen other precious false places…. and now to join the ranks, a Vietnamese restaurant in France!

The stairs to get in:

I failed to photograph a sufficient ration of the mirrors, false ceiling, fish tank walls, murals, and fake shrubbery everywhere….

In fact, I was so thrilled I went without lipstick most of the dinner:

The food was excellent – spring rolls and pho equivalent to the stuff I could get back home in Seattle living in the CD, which is rare to nonexistent in England.

The waiter found us adorable and lavished us with attention, treats, and presents, including a pregnant dolphin for my son:

Free sake for the adults served in naughty cups:

And for me, a fan: