Rain

It's not supposed to rain in September, but as i drove north on the 605 yesterday clouds hid the summit of the San Gabriels and i could see rain falling in the canyons. The weather became terribly muggy and then boom! Thunder--barely distinguishable from the semi-trucks that growl past the office on the 210--and rain at the office. I didn't get to play in it, didn't get to drive in it, but i did love the smell as we left the office for a site visit.

:)

And that will be it for a while--school has hit hard and i'm going to use more productive ways to unwind this year, like practicing my violin or quilting or going for a walk, instead of reading blogs and the news for hours. Toodles!

Moral dilemnas

Granted that the best thing is to say yes when one should say yes and say no when one should say no, what is the lesser of the two evils below?

1. Say yes, and then go back on one's word once realizing the thing should not be done?

2. Say yes, and follow through even though one shouldn't have said yes?

April was in England

and had a jolly good time.

Pathways

This is part of Cuthbert's Way, a old path to a cave in which monks hid when they were fleeing Lindesfarne. They wanted to take Cuthbert's bones to Durham, where they wouldn't be desecrated by invading Vikings. The purple-colored stuff is heather, and sheep were munching up there among the heather and huge bracken ferns. Brown cows (and some black cows) were in the fields on either side of the public footpath. And, to give you an idea of the scale, the reddish-brown plants on either side of the foot path were about four feet tall.

This is another part of Cuthbert's Way--very straight, and possibly part of an old Roman road, i was told. Conifer forest and a steep hill to the right, old dry stone wall and cows to the left. This path was about five feet wide.

And another road. It isn't paved--those are rock bits pounded into the dirt.

Aidan

If i ever have children, and if one of them is a son, and if my husband (if i ever marry) thinks it's a good name too, (and there are probably other caveats) i'd like to name a son Aidan.

Yesterday was the first day of my holiday in England. While validating my rail pass at Kings' Cross station today, the ticket agent asked if i was here on holiday. Yes. Traveling alone? Yes--the best kind, i said. Which isn't entirely true--i can think of a few people that i'd like to have here with me. A few. But it is green and soothing and there was a thunderstorm last night that i got to walk in and two people--one a older woman that i helped at the Dublin airport--have already called me "Love". I love it!

A friend teased me about coming to England, "where the paled-skinned people live", he said. I laughed and retorted that he travels to places where he blends in, too. I blend in here, at least until i open my mouth, but i also like the cosmopolitan feel to London. At the same time, the neighborhood in which the hostel sits is a real original multi-use neighborhood. There are people there from all over the world--mostly speaking English in British accents, too--there are shops along the main street but private parks at the back, and people walking to and fro on their ways to work or the tube station.

After checking in and dropping off my bag at the hostel, i headed off to Westminster. That part of London is lovely: the golden stone of Parliament, the gilded gonging of Big Ben, the gorgeous glass and iron Westminster tube station, the cobblestone crosswalks. And the bridges crossing the Thames--it's no Seine, but it's still a nice river, with enormous ancient London Planetrees lining the walls. All it needs is places to sit along the bridges, but perhaps that would be considered a hazard, while Paris is hardly ever bombed.

Westminster Abbey is closed to tourism on Sundays because it is an active place of worship. However, a free organ recital is offered at 1745 each Sunday and the public is welcome to any of the services. I knew there was a service at 1830 and found out about the recital when i got there--it was amazing! The organists are world-class, the organs are massive, and the sound resonates through the sanctuary. I slouched down in my seat, rested my head against the back of the chair, and studied the ornate stone ceiling as music flooded the place.

The evening service followed immediately. Most people left--some even left in between movements of the recital--but even local parishioners go to the service so it wasn't touristy. The Sunday evening services are like devotionals, sort of. There are hymns--we sang Be Thou My Vision and several other recognizable melodies--and then lessons from a saint's life. Aidan, the Scottish monk who brought Christianity to northern England, died on 8/31 in 635 and so he was the saint for today. It was interesting--some people knew church things, like how to do congregational readings and the Lord's Prayer. Others didn't but participated and figured it out (they give you a program with good notes). Then there were those who were obviously tourists who said "yes" they were going to the service when really they wanted to sneak in on Sundays. Those were the people who left in between movements of the recital or half-way through the 30 minute service. :( On the other hand, if you're going to have minimal exposure to Christian theology and hear a smidgen of a story about a saint, Aidan isn't a bad choice. He didn't do any crazy questionable miracles--he's recognized as a saint because of his humility and because by all accounts, even his enemies', he lived what he preached. :)