Joyce and I are both quite proud card carrying liberal club members. As such we struggle with the whole concept of privilege and where we fit in. Make no mistake, we both individually and as a couple have used our many privileges to even be doing what we do. And it is an ongoing struggle for each of us.

Last week we rented a car from Enterprise for two days. First, Enterprise is never the cheapest, so if you are operating where price is your first, and perhaps only consideration, you should likely skip this post. However, one of my many privileges has allowed me / us to not make that the highest priority. I will always take value over price every time. We met a wonderful young man that became our “concierge” with Enterprise. It is part of their value differentiator. Jon, an American (the South) by birth, clearly has been in England for some time. He speaks like a local. I like to do things “in person”, so we had walked to Enterprise the week before our first rental. We sat with Jon, let him know what we wanted to do and we reserved a “compact” (yes, I fit) car, automatic (didn’t need that added variable) with in vehicle navigation (the marriage saver!). When we showed up the following Tuesday, Jon had upgraded (several classes) our car and we got a wonderful Lexus crossover (a model unavailable in the US). The whole experience was wonderful. Then, late last week, Joyce and I were in the garden and I suggested we had an open day on the following Tuesday and would she like to head South. She said sure. So, I emailed Jon late Friday afternoon. He made the same booking as previous. I realized this wouldn’t insure a similar class of vehicle, so I emailed Jon back and asked if he would upgrade to the class of the Lexus. Jon said sure AND that it was three times as expensive. Ahhhh, privilege. I said, book it Jon. We arrived yesterday morning to be greeted by a smiling Jon. And he had upgraded us again. This time a Mercedes. This made our drive covering 200 to 250 miles quite enjoyable. So, if you ever find yourself in Canterbury in need of a vehicle please look up Jon. He deserves the right to earn your business. Value over price every time for me!

I wish I had got a selfie with Joyce and Jon and me!

Well, we went north. We went east. We went west. We had to go south.

Today we headed to the south toward the coast through the villages and never hit a highway. I’ll tell the story of our day through the photos.

You’ll notice it was a dreary day, but the temperature stayed a balmy 70 degrees.

Our time in England is winding down…Enjoy one of our last days…

As we drove out to Dungeness, a tiny little beach town, we passed this church. I’m always in awe is how each tiny town has a church and you see if way before you see the town.

Made it to the coast.

We continued in to the “ancient” town of Rye. What a find! It was a very quaint (and busy) little town. Enjoy the photos.

As we continued through the countryside…

Another church?

I like to sit in a cafe, a park, a restaurant, a patio…anywhere where I can just observe interesting people or more accurately, ordinary people. I often make up the stories for these people whom I observe. Here’s a few I noticed today.

Glen and I went to the book store I just discovered last week. It has three wonderful stories with the first floor (second floor to Americans) housing a lovely large café with all kinds of seating plus coffee, tea and cakes for our enjoyment. This floor also happens to house the children’s department with books, toys, art supplies, etc. As I was reading a book (more on that later), I looked around and observed the people coming and going in the café.

First, there was a group of three brothers, ages 9-14ish with legs splayed out on the chairs and coffee tables. They each had a book that I could imagine Niels reading at that age. They seemed engaged in their own books with the occasional brotherly scoffing and poking. It was a reassuring feeling to see their easy camaraderie and their pleasure reading books on a lovely summer day.

Then there was the group of senior citizens, men and women, seated around a table. One had her walker and I observed that the others had varying degrees of mobility as they got up and moved around. They definitely had a long history together because their conversation did not indicate that they were there for a book study. Sounded a bit more gossipy to me!

As I continued to look around there were the usual individuals reading books, working on computers or iPads, writing in notebooks, etc. But the most interesting individual was a young man – maybe in his twenties?

For context, there was a display right in front of us with those fancy animals that can be bought in upscale toy stores. I think they are made in Germany. They come without packaging and are purchased separately, choosing the animals that will encourage imaginative play. Farm animals? Jungle animals? Ocean? The display was two-sided, each side had seven shelves, and each shelf had about six rows of different animals that were lined up from the front to the back of the display case. As you might expect, the shelves were messy with animals mixed up, turned backwards, lying haphazardly, and generally disorganized.

The young man that I mentioned, carrying a water bottle, spent 45 minutes silently and methodically organizing the animals. He moved the animals around to put them in the correct category and grouped them so that the sheep were with the sheep and the alligators were with the alligators. Several times he stepped back and looked at his work and I thought he was done, but evidently there was more to arrange because he got back on his knees and went back to work. Once he was finally done with that display, he moved to the book table displays and silently started reorganizing those. I never asked an employee if he was a “regular”, but I got the feeling that he is and that they not only allow him to contribute his skills, but that they are pleased to have his assistance.

Also today, I was sitting in our patio which is behind a six foot brick wall separating our yard from the street. There is really very little car traffic as the street is a dead end and there aren’t that many reasons to go down it. There is a LOT of foot traffic because at the end there is a pedestrian tunnel that goes under the roundabout that takes you to High Street which is the shopping district and the historic part of town.

I love to sit out there and just listen to the world going by. I’ve mentioned before the students who go up and down every week day. I just told Glen this morning that now that school is out for summer break, I miss the rhythm of the day that they provided. There are also plenty of tourists walking through the neighborhood during the day and night and every morning and I also notice a lot of the locals walking to their jobs in the town. You already know that there’s a pub right across from our front door and a sandwich shop next to it so we get plenty of people coming to those two establishments for refreshments throughout the day and night. As you might imagine, lots of the walkers are in pairs or groups and it’s fun to hear snippets of their conversations. Hmmmm…

This afternoon I could hear an English couple walking along arguing. As they got closer I could hear the argument. Seems that his shoes were making a sound and his wife didn’t like it. She kept asking him if he could hear it and he said they weren’t making any sound and then she described it as a “whoosh, whoosh” sound which he denied. It went on and on so I finally had to get up and surreptitiously open the gate to see them.

Oh my. They were a little old couple – maybe in their 80s. He was balding with a shock of white hair, dressed in khakis and a long sleeved button down shirt with some sort of brown loafer. She had white hair and was wearing black slacks and a vivid red blouse with black shoes. Now it sounds like I’m describing Glen and me, but the old man was too short ;-).

By the time I opened the gate they had walked past me so I was seeing them walk away. As the woman continued to complain, she stopped walking so that he could just hear his own shoes. I don’t think he noticed that she’d stopped because he kept right on talking and walking away. She eventually “hustled” to catch up to him and took his hand as they continued along…arguing about nothing like they likely had been doing for 60 years. (Ouch. Sounds a bit familiar!)

Oh how I wish I’d taken a picture…

And speaking of pictures…You know David, our next door neighbor. Well he steps out several times a day and always early in the morning. I recognize his footsteps and I always look up to see him go past our window. Remember that we live on this little street where our house walls and windows are literally right on the sidewalk that isn’t even two feet wide. I love to see 82 year old David as he “hustles” along at his quick pace. I finally asked him where he goes every morning. As I suspected, he walks to the store around the corner to buy his daily paper. I think he’s gone for a total of seven minutes max.

The other day I could hear David coming, but he was talking to someone which is unusual. Turns out he was walking with his housecleaner, Teresa who you “met” when he forgot his keys.

And I think I’ll use this opportunity to pinch myself and remind myself of the privilege we have to spend this time listening to the world around us as we travel to different places. Not only the privilege of travel, but the privilege of time. Time to slow down. To relax and to just be.

Right now I’m listening to the cathedral bells tolling.

Pinch me. (Not too hard, please!)

It is encouraging to me that I woke this morning thinking about writing. It hasn’t been that way much so far for this adventure. Frankly, the combination of a lousy night’s sleep, a chronic pain due to neck, back and chest struggles, knowing I have a day filled with what has become of my eating and with little outside adventure (I know, by choice and my choice). And, I’m feeling this is changing. Thanks Canterbury for being that place of evolution for me.

Maybe it is the Chartwell adventure? That will stay with me for a long time.

Maybe it is the anticipation of seeing Blair in a weeks time. I really miss my kids. Being honest, I haven’t always liked them, nor them me. I really think we’re liking each other more these days. I miss sitting on the couch and listening to them talk.

Maybe it is my buddy Jim “burying” his father today? The circle of life continuing around the bend.

Maybe it is the anticipation of heading to Paris in a week. Joyce and I were last there in 1989 on our honeymoon. Wow, that was a lifetime ago. So much has changed. And all of this change gets me to thinking. That period of European excellence from the late 19th century and into the first half of the 20th century was quite amazing. Paris was a magnet. I’m enthralled by it. And being in Paris and enjoying Paris one can’t avoid it. The biggest part for me is the way Paris celebrates art. Its amazing museums. I’m so excited to find my new way of spending time in these incredible places. And at the same time, I ask myself, what “museums” will Americans leave to “document” our period of excellence?

So, as I sit in our lovely little English garden eating my breakfast and typing this post, I ponder our last week here in Canterbury. Everything serves a purpose. I’m better understanding mine.

Leave it to Glen. Whether you know him well, know him slightly, or just know him through me…you’ve learned a little (maybe more than a little) about him through his open, honest, thoughtful, drifting, heartfelt, deep, and yes, sometimes morose or melancholy posts.

Yesterday’s journey was important. The deep connection Glen has with this complicated man was palpable as we drove up to the estate. I could feel his anticipation and desire to make this day work. For us both.

Me? Who doesn’t love a beautiful old, brick English manor with incredible gardens – rose gardens, vegetable gardens, plantings from around the world (it reminded me of the castle in Brodick that I visited earlier this month), ponds, water features, croquet, a huge grassy hill surrounded by paths throughout the woods? I’d be fine.

As I traipsed along in my singsongy, “isn’t this so pretty” way, I could feel Glen feeling the place. Feeling the man; his impact on the world. Glen’s mind was on the stories he’d learned about Churchill and as he looked around, I felt his emotional reaction to being there.

So after visiting Churchill’s painting studio (about the size of our house), we parted ways for a bit.

I headed off to see the views, the woods, and the gardens.

Glen meandered around the grassy hill.

When we reunited, it was for our timed entry to the house. Glen alluded to the fact that for most of his life, Churchill struggled with finances. As one of the stewards in the rooms pointed out, all nobility had to spend a certain amount of money to keep up appearances. This got a lot of nobility into financial trouble. Churchill was not immune. At some point (1940s, I think), the government offered to purchase the estate and allow him to live in it as long as he liked. In this way, he was able to live his lifestyle, keep up appearances, and not worry about finances.

So while the house is stately, large and lovely, it’s very livable and cozy. It really feels more like a country or mountain home than a home for a statesman. As we toured the rooms that are furnished with much of Churchill’s things, Glen was struggling with his dizziness. Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure how much of his wobbliness was emotion and how much was the dizziness. Thankfully, in the best British way of hospitality, each room had a chair for guests to sit in. (It was likely for the steward, but graciously offered to guests.) Glen entered each room, found the chair and then sat and absorbed the space. He frequently engaged with the steward, sharing in the story of the man and his life. For me, I enjoyed the tour, but I really enjoyed seeing Glen getting to do something that clearly was so meaningful for him.

When we exited the house, I think we both paused and looked out over the grassy hill and reflected on our experience at Chartwell.

While we were there together, I’m pretty sure we got different things out of it. And I’m grateful for that.

The choice of Canterbury to spend 30ish days has been glorious. Back when the decision was made and the unit booked, I really only had one thing on my list of must do. And yesterday, we did it.

I will forever associate COVID-19 and the pandemic with a number of things. Many not so great and some really good ones. Near the top of my good ones was my “journey” through William Manchester’s epic (my choice of word) three volume biography of Winston Churchill. It is not for those uncommitted. It exceeds 2,500 pages and takes you through incredible detail of his life. And what a life it was. My journey to “The Great Man” is a bit windy.

Back in late 2008 and early 2009 when I was recovering from cancer and cancer treatment I ventured to read Truman, David McCullough’s wonderful biography. I knew Harry S. as our 33rd president but not much else. Why this book. Not 100% certain, sometimes you just get to places and know you were meant to be there. I am a lover of biographies, especially presidential biographies. (If you’d like to borrow one or two of my favorites, just let me know.) Truman was president as America was emerging as a leading world power and economic force. And how he became president is fascinating. Very early in his presidency, Potsdam occurred. At Potsdam he conferred with Stalin and Churchill and set the world I have lived in motion. Yep, those three men pretty much, from a macro economic and geopolitical perspective, created the world myself and anyone reading this post has lived. So, from this, I have this during need to learn about these men. First, Truman. After all I am an American. Next came Sir Winston Churchill. So I devoured (if that is the right word for something that took nearly two years) the three volumes.

Make no mistake, Churchill is a Victorian man. His views of the world are of that era. As they said during the Victorian era, the sun never set on The Union Jack. Born of an American mother and an English father, his childhood was quite typical of lower level nobility. I came to learn through reading Manchester that it was very typical of Victorian women to be the philanderers. And his mother was such. And he loved her dearly. His father died from the longterm effects of syphilis. And yes, research has concluded he got it from his wife. Another trait of lower level Victorian era nobility is their life long financial struggles.

Winston’s love of his life, his wife of over 50 years was Clementine, aka Clemmie, aka Cat. (Winston was Pug to Cat.) Pug had nicknames for all of his family members. Imagine calling a daughter Mule? Pug and Cat had an incredibly complicated marriage. There is no doubt they loved and were committed to each other. They had 5 children, 4 daughters and a son. Their 4th daughter, Marigold, died when she was 2. Winston was a loving parent that used to love nothing more than playing with his children. Things became very dark when Marigold passed. So, in a true Victorian way, Winston purchase an estate an hour or so south of London. Clemmie hated Chartwell.

Churchill spent much of his “alone” years (late 1920s to late 1930s) at Chartwell. The main house was there when it was purchased by Churchill, but not much else. Largely with his own hands he built much of the grounds. Remember, money was scarce. It is at Chartwell that Winston wrote. You see, up until after WWII (mid 1940s) Winston supported his family as an author and paid speaker. One reason Americans love him so is not just for his American heritage, but of his many pilgrimages to The States to make money on the lecture circuit. The Churchill family could not afford Chartwell. It is at the essence of why Clemmie, the financially prudent one, really was not fond. Chartwell was also where, as he says, painting found Winston. And an accomplished painter he was. For a man that struggled with being idle, painting was therapy for him.

It is my opinion that Abraham Lincoln was the greatest American. Some were close (I’d put Alexander Hamilton in that small room). But, as Malcolm Gladwell states in his book Outlier, success is the product of opportunity and effort. The 1860s provided the opportunity for Lincoln. And boy did he meet the challenge. We (US) would not be the US were it not for Lincoln. In my humblest opinion, The world would not be as we know it (good and bad) were it not for Churchill. In the first half of that amazing century, Winston “saved” England, Europe and all of western civilization from the fascists.

I’m attracted to Churchill for many reasons. His greatness. His conviction. His oratory skills. His story telling. His incredible human-ness. And I think the thing I find most alluring was Churchill as a friend. The man knew how to do relationship. He was friends with so many people. And it was at Chartwell that many of those friendships were nurtured.

The drive into the Chartwell Estate is captivating. So English. Narrow roadway with greenery on the sides that seems to want to grab and hold you there. We parked and as Joyce was taking care of the pay machine (I’m sure Joyce at some stage will post about those!) I made my way down to a bench. I sat down and on the neighboring bench was an English gentleman (about our age) that appeared to be someone that had brought a group there for the day and was just biding his time. He said something in my direction and with the door opened I jumped into this wonderful discussion about England / US / Churchill / Chartwell, etc. Joyce wandered up and sat down. By this time she had our tickets for the day. (I am so lucky!) My new found friend announced to Joyce that I had talked his ears off. He wasn’t wrong, and he was the one that opened the door. We shook hands, likely to never have our paths cross again.

Having read Manchester, I had a real good feel of what to expect of Chartwell. So, the house, the studio, the ponds, the labyrinth of streams with amazing stonework wasn’t surprising. There were two surprises. Often I build up in my mind such a high level of expectation, that I am disappointed that the reality does not stand up. Not here! The second thing is the topography. I had in my mind that the Estate sat in a large valley. Oh no, the house sits on a hill looking to the north and London. The views from the decks and yards immediately surrounding the house are spectacular.

What a glorious day!!

It is with a wide range of emotions that I look forward to tackling Stalin. If anyone out there in the blogosphere has a recommendation, it would be greatly appreciated!!

Just thought I’d tag on to Glen’s post about our day without a plan in Kent. I mean, we sort of knew which direction we were heading and we’d heard about a good place for a view…but that was it. And this is pretty unusual for us. We like a plan. We’re trying to be more spontaneous from time to time. Today worked.

One of the first things I noticed on our drive was that all along the way, seemingly in the middle of nowhere there are these little signs that say “footpath”. We just toodling down a one or two lane road along a field and whoosh, there’s that sign again. The English are VERY serious about their walking lifestyle. I guess these paths have historically connected the villages. I wish I could just pop out in the country and see where they lead me. I’m not brave enough to do that alone! I’ve got “FOGL”. Can you figure out what that is…?

We first wandered to Sandwich where I jumped from the car and headed into the tiny cobblestoned streets while Glen wandered at the river. I immediately came upon a lovely wall. Walls are made of all sorts of interesting things here. I might have to do a collage…

From the wall I immediately came upon an opening into a church with a … you guessed it…cemetery where I snapped a few pictures and then thought to myself…there’s nothing to differentiate this extraordinary cemetery from the next (I’m clearly becoming very jaded) so I cut back into the town and immediately came upon another church.

The second church (literally a stone’s throw away from the first) had a very inviting blue door, a garden, some small bistro tables and it was just calling to me to go on in. So I did.

It was not what I’ve come to expect of churches in small medieval towns. This one has been turned into a sort of charity thrift store. Even on the altar, on top of the baptismal font, and all along the niches with statuary there were stalls or booths with china, clothing, books, art…you know the general stuff that no one wants anymore…until someone does. Some of the displays were surprising. As I wandered about the “church” a gentleman who was working there greeted me and I mentioned that it was a very unusual use for a church. He proceeded to tell me the history of the church including its original closure in 1942 and its uses since then. He said that in the 90s it became apparent that there were just too many churches in the area and the community could not support them so they’d have to find other ways to fund renovations or they would all just start crumbling. When this church became vacant again after being used by a school, the townspeople came upon the idea of collecting and selling other people’s “junque” in the church itself. The storyteller was very proud to share that they’ve exceeded their wildest dreams and now other churches are modeling their “thrift stores” after this church. He also shared that other churches had been happy to raise 12,000 pounds last year while the Sandwich church had raised…44,000! More than enough to do repairs and fix up the garden, purchase the bistro tables and chairs and provide a wonderful place to sit and enjoy a spot of tea or even a coffee…It’s really an amazing story of ingenuity.

As we were driving through the rural countryside – in and out of fields and forests on little roads where Glen had to dive to the edge where the plants pushed in my window so that a car could pass. (I took a video with my window down so I could show you how I was getting whipped by the plants, but alas…too cheap to pay for ability to upload videos!) As we drove through the wee villages, we came upon my first thatched roof house. Luckily right after we passed it there was a small turnout and Glen stopped so that I could run back and take a photo. I know…dang American tourist. And I got caught! As I took a couple photos and turned around to head back to the car, I saw this lovely British couple watching me with smiles on their faces. I laughed and apologized and said, “Sorry! It’s just so beautiful!” They laughed and said that they thought so too. And then the gentleman said, “Do you want to buy it?” I laughed, said “Not today” and ran back to the car. I really don’t think that they minded my photo-taking. It was a lovely little out of the way spot and I doubt that there have been a lot of me there.

Before we headed to the coast, we stopped at Royal St. George’s. Glen wrote about it yesterday. I was glad to get to see through his eyes what his time on these links golf courses mean to him. We also stopped by the hotel that he stayed at on his journey. What a hilarious name! I wonder its origin.

We eventually arrived at the beachside town of Deal on the English Channel. It was a great deal larger than Sandwich and was definitely a summer destination for Brits as the promenade was lined with small hotels, restaurants and pubs all catering to visitors. There was a lot of activity in town, but strangely, the beach was almost vacant. It was overcast in a beachy sort of way, but it wasn’t cold out. Maybe it’s the rock beach instead of sand? Or the water that didn’t look like it was safe for swimmers?

We carried on to the small enclave of St. Margaret’s Bay which is near the white cliffs of Dover. As we had been told, on a clear(ish) day you can…as Glen said…I see London, I see France…(there were no underpants viewing on the beach today). This was a great stop for me as the breeze was warm and I made my way past the sign warning me of the danger of “death” for approaching the water’s edge. I stuck my hand in the surprisingly warm water, my first in the English Channel. Glen rested his back by stretching out on the warm grass/weeds, I got an ice cream cone and for the moment, all was well in the world!

We meandered our way back to Canterbury by way of wheat fields, corn fields, tiny communities, blue skies, scudding clouds and a “road” that was…until it wasn’t!

Lovely day!

What a great day!! Joyce and I spent the day driving about in Southeast England. Draw a line from Canterbury to the west and Sandwich, then to the south to just north of Dover and then back up to Canterbury and you’ll have the triangle we traveled today. We’ve both written about the marriage saving powers of in-car navigation. Well today it did not fail.

After a brief stop in Sandwich for Joyce to explore the old town and me to enjoy a bit of quiet next to the canal we headed on to one of my favorite spots. The panoramic photo above is taken from the western edge of Royal St. Georges. You’re looking eastward out to the English Channel and over one of the most sacred grounds of British Open golf and Kent. With buddies Jim Gebhardt and Tony Velez we double looped this amazing track on the most amazing of English days in 2004. When one first arrives, the first instinct is to shrug and say, “they play golf here”? Yes, HERE! This was the location of my first ever round of international golf. My first round in the UK. I just didn’t know. What looks to be a simple piece of flat ground meant to graze sheep turns about to be one of the most interesting tracks in English links. More bumps and hollows and strategically placed bunkers than one could imagine. We were shepherded around by John, our trusted looper. We learned sometime before we finished that, it was in fact, John’s 60th birthday. And John offered to meet up with us later for a proper celebratory drink with he and his daughter. What a great day and evening.

I began to be overwhelmed by emotion as I took the photo above. My body doesn’t allow me to play golf any more, so some sadness and grieving of a part of my life I no longer enjoy. A ton of joy for having had that amazing experience with two of the best lads ever in Tony and Jim. An appreciation for getting the chance to share it with Joyce in some small way and just enjoy it differently in this version of life. A deep respect for the English and how they have kept it much the same as it was 18 years ago. And supreme confidence that it will remain such for generations and likely centuries to come!

Some days the best I can do is sit in our lovely little English garden and, among other things, enjoy the wonderful skies here in Canterbury. The first time I remember noticing and loving the sky was on my first visit to Montana back in the late 90s. They were, and are, spectacular. AND then even when my body can’t wander, my mind does.

Last week, my dear friend Jim Gebhardt’s wonderful father passed. Wes was 96 and had lived quite the life. Jim truly won the father lottery. Jim and his Mom, Pat were by Wes’ side as he passed peacefully, one of life’s greatest blessings. I got to know Wes and Pat a bit later in their lives. My many blessing include getting to know them.

I have been making some progress with capabilities, so Joyce and I trained up to London yesterday. And, putting it simply, it didn’t go well. I won’t bore you with too many details. I’ll just say my sleep the night before was horrid and it went downhill from there. I ended up sitting in Regents Park for a few hours while Joyce did her best to go it alone. Mind you, those that know Joyce, know her as an independent strong person. And appropriately so. And, Joyce loves to be with others. And, love isn’t somehow enough. Joyce needs others to fill her sense of community, of being.

Our day was ending as we were training back to Canterbury. And it devolved to the point of me going to another car. We barely spoke as we walked back to 13A Ivy Lane. This remained the way until after another challenging night of sleep.

Then we talked.

On those all too infrequent visits during the last two-ish years of Mom’s life she’d find ways to share with me that she was ready for “the end”. I initially was taken aback, but I learned to listen. I began to see it from her perspective. I began to understand.

During our talk this morning, it became clear the real challenge each of us communicated was being understood. And once we opened up, became vulnerable and expressed in those terms all the other stuff seemed to float away. Yes, it really sucks for Joyce to not have a partner that fulfills his commitments. As she said to me during one of my numerous health challenges, I did not sign up for this (Joyce still disputes saying those words). And she does admit the add-on, I took a vow.

I now better understand the simultaneous existence of deep sadness along with pride and joy. I think I’m now beginning to understand those that choose to “go out on their terms”. None of us can truly understand anyone else’s situation. Heck, it is hard enough to fully understand our own.

Thanks Mom for continuing to teach me!

I went to church this morning. It took me awhile to find it. The path was there all along…just waiting for me to find my way. 🙂