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. 🙂

Well, Glen got me with that London post. So what do I do…go completely the other direction. Typical.

One of the things that I find myself doing whenever we are in a new location is comparing it to other places we’ve “dwelled”. Here are a few observations of Canterbury in relationship to Brooklyn, New Orleans and maybe even Walnut Creek.

First…Rats, mice and cockroaches.

Inquiring minds want to know!!! You may remember rats were quite friendly in Brooklyn (never in the house thankfully, but everywhere on the streets) while in New Orleans cockroaches were our ever-present friends. At the end of our time there we were joined by a very cute little kitchen mouse. As for Canterbury a medieval town…I haven’t seen any of the above and I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised! Maybe after that whole plague thing they figured out how to send them downriver?

Bugs.

Mosquitos in Brooklyn drove me nuts. The house had screens so it was really just a problem outdoors. In New Orleans there were all kinds of bugs, especially in the evening. There were no screens so we really lived via the air conditioning which for me is not ideal. When we were outside we had to bat the bugs away. Also not ideal. I did buy bug spray, but I hate to use it. In Canterbury? Again, no screens which I worried about, but seriously, we LIVE with the french doors into the kitchen area open and the bugs fly in and they fly OUT! I swear it’s like they don’t like us or something which is fine with me! We even have two windows in the bedroom which are open 24/7 and…NO BUGS!!! Can someone please explain this to me?

Weather.

I was going to call this “Men and Shirts in the Heat”, but decided that it was too specific to Canterbury so not the best title. “Weather” is a bit less colorful, but who doesn’t talk about the weather?? I love weather and that’s probably because I’m from LA where the weather is…never mind. It’s pretty temperate and boring except for that June gloom…yuck.

You may remember that we were in Brooklyn for the remnants of some hurricane and our basement was flooded. That was fun. We had a lot of evening thunder storms and of course our share of hot, summer weather. We also went out to the Hamptons for a couple days in October and experienced the cool, breezy change of seasons as fall crept in.

We were in New Orleans in the middle of spring, heading to summer and as expected…it was often muggy and HOT! And there were plenty of rainstorms and thunderstorms that blew in and blew out.

Now Canterbury in the middle of British summer? What does one expect? Certainly not temperatures above 100 degrees! And these Brits are hilarious because they literally FREAK out! I can’t tell you how many men I observed walking down the street carrying their shirt tucked into their back pocket. It was not a pretty sight. Sorry. On their behalf, very few places are air conditioned so it was pretty hot, but guys…keep your shirts on, PLEASE!!! (I mean, imagine the sunburns!) Another observation is that here in Canterbury which is only 30 miles or so to the English Channel/North Sea has felt an awful lot like San Clemente or even the Bay Area. There is a coastal breeze and light clouds that flow in and out of the city, sometimes multiple times a day. As we like to call it in the Bay…nature’s air conditioning.

Trash.

I was so impressed in Brooklyn. Just about every street corner had a trash can and people used them! While there was the occasional mattress dumped on the sidewalk, overall, the city was clean.

Since we were at the edge of the French Quarter in New Orleans there were also trash cans on every corner. And all of the merchants cleaned the sidewalks in front of their businesses every morning. Plus, every morning there were employees who walked the streets picking up trash, emptying the trash cans, and generally cleaning up after the few people who didn’t follow the rules. And the best part of NOLA are the street sweepers. They come through just about every day and hose down the sidewalks and street. I won’t go into why this is necessary, but if you’ve been to Bourbon Street, you know.

Now Canterbury could really take a lesson from those two American towns. I am rather appalled by the amount of trash in this city. There are trash cans, but clearly not enough and I never see an employee following up and emptying the cans that are FULL. And the amount of cigarette butts around any benches is disgusting. Which makes me add a category…smoking. I have not been anywhere in a very long time where there are as many smokers as there are here in Canterbury. Cigarettes for many, but the youth seems to be vaping. I mean LOTS of youth vapers. And tons of stores selling vaping supplies. I’ve seen kids that I would guess are 10 years old vaping. It’s heartbreaking. England needs to get on some sort of educational program or something because it’s rampant. Ugh.

Another difference here in Canterbury is the trash pick up system. Commercial trash is different from residential and the companies that pick up are also different. And two different companies pick up the different cans. For example, every other Thursday our garbage and green can are picked up with the following Thursday being recycling cans. So that’s residential. The commercial cans are picked up every week. Tuesday is recycle and Wednesday is garbage and green. And since we have a hotel down the street and a pub across the street, that means that three mornings a week we are woken up by trash trucks sitting outside our window at 6:30 am dumping their wares into the truck’s chute. Clang, clang, crack, bang, boom. Good thing we are morning people!

Youth

The topic of trash sort of leads me to the topic of youth. My memory of youth in Brooklyn was of the kids walking past our house twice a day as there was a K-8 school down the block from us. It was fun to listen in to snippets of their conversations and use them as a “clock” for the rhythm of the day. In New Orleans, I don’t really have a memory related to kids. There was a school a couple blocks away, but they were all carpooled into school. A few times at the end of our time there I watched classes heading on a field trip to the park behind our house and I instantly started counting heads to make sure I hadn’t lost anyone…wait…never mind.

Here in Canterbury – yikes. they roam the streets here in large groups! Until this week (school just went out on summer break), we had uniformed kids going up and down our street twice a day. The “public” school is a short distance away and this is a thoroughfare. There were girls, boys, walkers, scooters, bikes, skateboards…many modes of travel and lots of expected behaviors. There are also a lot of student groups in town. Seems like a place where much like our kids went on the NYC/DC trip at the end of 8th grade, these kids go to Canterbury. Sad to say, I find these groups of students challenging. They are loud. They pay no attention to people around them, blocking sidewalks, leaving trash, etc. They go into stores and generally make it challenging for anyone else to do their shopping. (Likely my kids behaved the same way at that age, but I’d like to hope that maybe…they didn’t?) OMG. I sound like my mother. Ugh. It’s just that there are SO many!!!

Neighbors

In Brooklyn we immediately connected with some of our neighbors, Violet and Mike are the two stand outs. When we go back there in September, we’ll for sure check in with them. Our neighborhood was mostly long-term residents and was definitely a community, but they welcomed us. New Orleans was very different. Our building with 6 units was all short term living and it was clear that there were other “VRBO” type places in the area. The long-term neighbors wanted nothing to do with us, on the verge of being rude or at least disconnected. It was a very different experience. Here in Canterbury, there are definitely more short-term rentals, but the neighbors have welcomed us. You probably read about David who will be coming over for a glass of wine later this week. There’s also the nice young gentleman, Olivier who lives next door and gets to the street via our garden. We often see him several times a day and he is a lovely addition to our neighborhood. He brought us a bottle of wine yesterday because he felt bad traipsing through our yard when Glen was obviously on Zoom calls for work. I definitely, obviously like the neighborhood connection.

Market.

So I always use the word “market” which some friends think is “cute” or “quaint”. I think maybe lots of people use “grocery store”? At home I would say that going to the “market” means Safeway. Otherwise I would be specific like Trader Joe’s or Costco. In Brooklyn, I went to the “corner store” just about every day and I went to the chain market every few days. It was 3/4 of a mile away. I also made the trip to Trader Joe’s via the Metro a couple times a month. In New Orleans, I walked the mile to one of two markets several times a week (they were in opposite directions) and to the corner store which was really more of a sandwich shop with a few basics, every day or so. Here in Canterbury – not many “corner stores”, but there’s a Waitrose, a great market right around the corner and I go just about every day. I’m loving the European lifestyle!

Birds

I can’t add any info about birds in Brooklyn or New Orleans, but here in Canterbury??? There are SO many birds! The seagulls are CRAZY! They are LOUD! They talk to each other all day long and into the night. Then there are the little brown wrens, the pigeons, the ducks, geese, swans, doves, ravens, magpies, and….There are birds everywhere! Hey – maybe that’s why there aren’t that many bugs!!!

Parks

Urban parks are a new thing for me. And after Brooklyn dwelling, I really learned to appreciate and understand them. There were lots of parks around the neighborhood, some were a full block or two in size, some were just a corner shaved off a street. Some were green with benches and ponds, some were just basketball courts with a drinking fountain. All were well utilized. In New Orleans, we had a park right behind us that was the “dog” park. Sadly, Dug doesn’t like dogs so it was pointless for us to go there. There was Jackson Square and Crescent Park and lots of bars to stop off and cool down in. (Bars are a different kind of park, right?)

Here in Canterbury, I’m sort of disappointed at the lack of parks and benches. There are a couple of parks over at the edges the old medieval town, but where we are located which is just a short 5 minute walk away from the center of town, there aren’t any. One day I was looking for a place to sit while I called my mom. (I have to find a place where I can yell so she can hear me. LOL) I did find one bench around the corner, but it’s in a dry, uninteresting spot and it’s completely littered with cigarette butts. Who wants to sit there if you’re not having a cigarette? So…Canterbury could really up its park game.

And don’t ever ask me which place is my favorite. It’s like your kids – you love them all…just differently!

First…nodding to Canterbury Cathedral is kind of funny. It is the most imposing feature of this small medieval city. I never get lost as i wander the streets because the towers of the castle are always visible and I just need to know where they should “be” as I’m meandering. It is the jewel of this city and definitely merits more than a nod. Then again…everyone bows to the cathedral, so loving an underdog, I’m more drawn to the Abbey and St. Martin’s Church.

And speaking of church…I have a weird relationship with church. I alluded to it in a past post. It confuses me. I guess the best way I can describe it is to say that it fascinates me. And maybe not in the traditional way. I won’t go into too many details about my beliefs, but I will say that I believe that there is a strength, a being, a spirit, a something…that is greater than any individual. Or group. Or leader. And I don’t think that that spirit resides in a church…necessarily. It might for some, but it doesn’t for me. I will say that nature can be a kind of church. Sitting on top of Lembert Dome in Tuolumne Meadows or on the bluffs above Mendocino definitely carry that “spirit” for me. I guess we could have a whole discussion about how we define “church”. Another day…

As I travel, I love to visit churches and it seems that often it’s a Catholic church. In Vietnam we visited Catholic churches and Buddhist temples. Catholic churches in Europe are prolific and often large. One of my early church and travel memories is from 1978 when I was traveling with my cousins. We were driving south in a tiny little car looking for warmer weather. (It was February and Paris was slushy, and frigid so we were sprinting south.) We stopped in Poitier, a little medieval village and just wandered the streets – maybe looking for something to eat? What I do specifically remember is walking into this small stone church on a miserable damp, rainy, weekday. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the church so it seemed like a good place to warm up though medieval churches are not known for their excellent heating and air systems. :-). As we sat the pews in the silence, suddenly the church was FILLED with organ music. The organist was practicing for the Sunday service. I was mesmerized. I was enthralled. I was moved. I’ll never forget that feeling of awe as I sat in that centuries-old place of worship and absorbed the history, the music, and the emotion. That was a memorable and an inspiring moment for me. And it occurred in a church!

Since that memorable moment, I’ve had the good fortune of spending Easter Sunday in some of the incredible cathedrals of the world – Florence, Westminster, the National Cathedral in DC. I go for the ritual, the pageantry, the history, the music. I guess I’m looking for that feeling of connectedness, of inspiration, of peace and hope.

This past Sunday, I went to Canterbury Cathedral, an Anglican church* (which basically means Church of England), for Evensong, a 5:30 pm music-based service. I was expecting to be moved by the choir, but sadly I found the music to be uninspiring. (The choir was visiting from a church in South Carolina.) Yes, the setting was spectacular, the voices were beautiful, the acoustics were incredible, but the music itself did not move me. And at the end of the service there was a new organ piece that made me think of a movie scene of the end of the Earth. It was anything but uplifting and by the time that it finally ended…the words “Go in peace” had lost their impact. Harumph.

And btw – Going to Evensong allows one to enter the cathedral without paying an admission fee. I will pay to go to for a tour. It’s not that I’m cheap, but there are lots of other travelers who can’t afford the $17 charge to get on the grounds, let alone inside. The brochure claims that it costs more than 22,000 pounds PER DAY to “maintain and run” the church. I won’t address the whole church and wealth issue that has a long history – a lot of it corrupt.

AND I also visited St. Augustine’s Abbey* this week…which according to the title is the point of this post. Finally, you might be saying!

You may have read my recent post about St. Martin’s Church*. When King Ethelbert (before Henry VIII when England was ruled by multiple kings) married his French princess with a promise to allow her to continue her Christian worship, the Pope sent Augustine to follow her to establish the Catholic Church in England. It is said that Augustine got up into France and found the trip too grueling so he returned to Rome asking not to be forced to go. The Pope basically told him to toughen up and get back on the road.

At the time, Anglo-Saxons including King Ethelbert, were pagan so Augustine had his work cut out for him. He began the process of building the Pope’s church in England which at the time was not one country, but many fiefdoms, ruled by many kings. Ethelbert was converted and eventually was baptized at St. Martin’s. Augustine’s work also included the establishment of the abbey which for almost 1000 years was the Catholic monastic center of learning and spirituality.

Many centuries passed and then along came King Henry VIII. The fall of the Catholic Church in England all began because King Henry VIII wanted to end his first marriage to Katherine of Aragon so that he could marry Anne Boleyn. When he appealed to the Pope in Rome for the dissolution of his marriage, the Pope denied his request which just pointed out to Henry that the Pope was more powerful than him which for him was a BIG problem. King Henry wanted to be the ruler of ALL things. So since he was king…he just started his own church that he could rule AND he got to make up the rules! So good bye Katherine. Hello Anne! And we all know how that turned out.

While St. Martin’s and the Canterbury Cathedral are still fully functioning places of worship, the Abbey is just a collection of ruins which provides a very different experience for the visitor. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves (with some captions), but the history that I found fascinating, in my twisted way of looking at the church(es), is that when King Henry decided that he was the ruler of all things, including his new church, he set out to destroy every part of the Catholic Church in his kingdom. The abbey was essentially destroyed. Henry’s henchmen stole all of the valuables, including reliquary, the books created by the monks, and then they destroyed most of the buildings including the tombs of kings who were buried there. Henry eventually used the remains of the abbott’s residence to build a palace for his queen though it never became a “favored” residence. The abbey later became residence for a lord and lady, a jail (gaol), a poorhouse and a college before finally becoming an UNESCO site.

Canterbury is considered the birthplace of the Anglican Church* in England. (I think it’s a Protestant church, but don’t quote me.) Today, these three early Catholic treasures are UNESCO world heritage sites which affords them many protections from kings or queens, ;-), developers, city government, etc. But apparently, it does not provide money to maintain them…at least according to the cathedral brochure.

Another piece of information about maintaining all of these incredible treasures…MANY historic buildings in Canterbury (and throughout Great Britain) are owned by “public” schools and colleges. (“Public” does not mean free. These schools can be quite expensive to attend if you can pass the entrance exams and have the appropriate family “credentials”.) This creates quite the conundrum because though many citizens believe that these sites belong to the people of Great Britain, they are literally privately owned. Therefore, they are not available to the public. The good news is that these “public” schools are required to maintain the buildings. The bad news is that even locals rarely have access to them. Whaddya gonna do?

And in my nod to the cathedral, I did go on that guided tour yesterday. It was led by a lovely English gentleman who can quote facts about the cathedral including describing the messaging of the stained glass windows, the lineage of kings and queens, popes, archbishops…And of course, the highlight of his storytelling is the history of St. Thomas Becket who was murdered at the alter in the cathedral because he he stood against the King who was trying to erode the power of the church in Rome. Within three years of his murder, Becket was sainted and Canterbury became an important stop on the Via Francigena pilgrimage to the Vatican.

Now, back to the point of this post…as if there were one…The afternoon that I chose to go to the Abbey, I was pretty much alone wandering the ruins. It was a beautiful (and hot) afternoon and I enjoyed living in the history of the abbey as I wandered the paths, listened to the stories, and studied the ruins.

And maybe I even felt a bit uplifted!

*My blog posts will NEVER be added to Wikipedia because I cannot promise that my facts are straight, that my memory is correct, or that I might not be embellishing a bit on a good story. 😉

Have you been wondering about my walk with our next door neighbor David and his friend? I found myself strangely excited and a bit nervous about it. Silly me.

David picked me up by knocking on our door promptly at 10:15. He was carrying a shopping bag and I had a small bunch of flowers for our hostess. You see, David had told me that we’d walk for about an hour and then we would share a glass of wine “chez elle”. So I had to look that up because I’m just not as cosmopolitan as I might have led you to believe. 😉

And off we went. We had plenty to talk about on our way to Judy’s house. We chatted about the weather (horribly hot) and the countryside of Canterbury, David’s experience housing Chinese students over the years, hoping to house Ukrainian refugees, his tutoring of two Syrian students and…other chatty topics.

When we arrived at his friend’s house, he told me that he met her and her husband when he and his French wife split up (she went back to France) and sold the house to Judy and her husband. They’ve remained friends since 1976. Judy’s house is in the Edwardian style – red brick, two stories with a bay window on the right and a rectangular corner bay on the left. I didn’t take any photos because that seemed rude…I’ll have to sneak by another day! We dropped off our packages and off we went!

We headed out through the neighborhood streets, but I learned that there are little pathways everywhere. They cut through neighborhoods and sneak around the throughways. Today, as we came to a neighborhood on a path, we found ourselves at a door to a hospital wing. There was nowhere to go but through the door! I said that I never would have followed the trail here, and they told me that the paths are VERY important in the UK and they have the right of way even when there is a hospital expansion! We just opened the door, entered, continued through, opening two more doors until we found ourselves on the other side! I asked how this worked during COVID and they said that a person sat inside the two exterior doors and squirted your hands, handed you a mask and sent you through! They are serious about their walking paths!!!

Turns out Judy is a retired “primary” teacher so we had that in common. I learned about her adult daughter and grandson moving back to England from Italy. They’d been there for more that 20 years and are in the process of selling their home. I learned more about David’s family and we talked about travel, health care, etc. You know…the usual stuff. And yes, they did carefully ask about the politics in America. They are horrified by it…but wait till you read below. We agreed that we all have our challenges, that’s for sure!

We also talked about Boris…what a “dolt” and the “horrible” tv debates that are happening among the candidates for his replacement. The process for selecting a new prime minister is fascinating. First there’s a committee that sets out the SECRET rules for the process. There are principles for how it should work in the constitution, but the rules can be modified by the committee each time this process occurs! So it starts with a couple hundred members of the conservative party (replacing a conservative) nominating potential replacements. David had already told me that the ruling class is a closed group of mostly men who attended British “public” schools which are not free-in fact are very expensive, and who don’t have any connection or understanding of “regular” society. He describes the UK as being classist and this system of a relatively few men voting only solidifies that the government’s out of touch position.

With this prime minister replacement process, eight (or so?) nominees received enough initial votes and they then debated in a public setting. From there, the select members of the conservative party have a secret vote. Candidates must receive 30 votes to go to the next round. Two were eliminated last week in the first round. Six remain. When it gets down to two, a couple hundred thousand “grassroot” party members vote and ballots are mailed out for this step. AND WAIT FOR IT…This is the process for the conservative party! The UK Labour Party has a different process if it occurs to “their” prime minister. Isn’t that NUTS??? I have had the pleasure of going to Parliament twice and it is an incredible experience. I’d sure love to be there for this event! I can just hear the call of “Order!!!” If you’ve heard it on tv, you know it!

Anyway…lots to talk about! When we returned to Judy’s house at about 11:30, we did indeed have a glass (or two for some of us) of a lovely French white wine that David brought. They usually would enjoy it in the garden, but it was too hot so we retired to her sitting room. It was very British in all the best ways. After some more conversation, David and I retraced our steps back to Ivy Lane!

Truly a lovely experience in Canterbury.