Here's a reminder to all those who forget Year-One. Picture taken BTW at 4AM. On a work night. Still, there is no other way and we love them all the more for that endless first year of life.
For the record, Eitan is 138 centimetres and 30 kilograms and Madeleine is 125 cm and 25 kg. A year ago, Eitan was 131 cm (increase of 5.3%)and 26 KG (+15.4%) and Madeleine 120 cm (+4.2%) and 23.4 KG (6.8%).
Alistair Cooke was on Radio 4 this morning - he passed, of course, 30 March 2004 at age 95 following 58 years of "Letter From America" the Jewel of the BBC. John Humphries and all of us recall him fondly and who could not? He is the face of Britain for most Americans beginning in '71 with PBS's Master Piece Theatre and then for us youngsters, Sesame Street's "Monsterpiece Theatre" which of course I remember. Cooke entered his permanent emigration in 1937, swearing the Oath of Allegiance six days before Pearl Harbor. Eventually he stood yards from Robert F. Kennedy when RFK was assassinated and then New York on 9-11. He was friends with politicians, sportsmen and celebrity- Charlie Chaplin the Best Man at his first-wedding (Chaplin did not show BTW) and received an honory knighthood in '73; he addressed the U.S. House of Representatives in '74. I became aware of Cooke's unique voice from '97 when I listened Letter every Sunday 9:15AM sharp. I sometimes wondered if his broadcasts taped or repeats but they never were - his last being March 3, 2004 and aired bedside. In the end, Cooke was not only a historian but lived through modern history. Like no other broadcaster he brought poignancy to then and now, here and there. I remember a missive about the Brooklyn Dodgers segueing into the modern business-media bridged by '50s shaving ads. Brilliant. Above all, Cooke was iconic - something recognisably British and good - like the BBC, 007 or WW II. Also like Churchill and the Empire - irreplaceable. Photo from PBS.
Here he is in '74 before Congress:
.. A great privilege to warmly welcome Mr. Alistair Cooke.
Alistair Cooke: Mr. Speaker, Mr. McDade, Members of the House of Representatives, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen: Of all the times that I have sat in this House in the past 30-odd years as a reporter and listened to Presidents requesting from you declarations of war -- not many of them anymore since you lost the power! -- listening to pronouncements that the state of the Union was good or bad or indifferent; and listening to debates on everything from the price of battleships to the coloring of margarine; I can assure you that this occasion is for me far and away the most terrifying. It was not at first put up to me as an ordeal, or even as a very great privilege, which indeed it is. I understood that there was to be a cozy get-together of some Congressmen, somewhere, a breakfast perhaps, at which I might be called on to say a few impromptu words. But standing here now I feel as if I were just coming awake from a nightmare in which I see myself before you unprepared and naked, as one often does in dreams, looking around this awesome assembly and blurting out "I accept your nomination for the Presidency of the United States."
Yes, the bliss of childhood. I have no memories of Viet Nam or Watergate, Patty Hears (in Berkeley for Pete's sake) or any of the nastiness from the early to mid-70s. I was old enough to see Saigon or Nixon but have no recollection whatsoever. My earliest civic memories are the Iran hostages and Reagan assassination attempt, bailing out Chrysler. So today the economic news seems forever bleak - Citicorp announces 54,000 job cuts, holy mackeral. The bank's losses to be concentrated in London - specifically, at Canary Wharf where there is a tower named just for the firm. No more. Britain is particularly volnerable to the recession given the high-consumer debt (the most, or worst, in Europe), housing over-reach and depence on The City which is London's Wall Street and now getting wacked hard. To counter the forces of evil, Gordon Brown announces tax cuts paid for by borrowing, placing further pressure on sterling which has fallen from 2.12 against the green-back to 1.45 - allow me to grunt "ouch" for the American ex-pat community. Stupidly George Osborne, the Shadow Chancellor, suggests that Labor's strategy may cause a run on the pound - as these things can be self-fullfilling I consider moving our everything off-shore. Brown's position BTW justified by our national deficit which is in the middle of the Industrial World compared to GNP, though the comp group ain't great: Japan is >100%. Am I the only one to observe that we are in trouble due to our snout-in-the-consumer-debt-trough and now we are told to... consume! Don't save - spend it all! Now! On the High Street! And when it is gone, then you can save. Me, I just bought a new pair of trainers so the plan is working. God save the Queen.
Here is your humble writer hard at work Monday morning. Oh brother. I do go for an early-morning walk+a six mile run all before lunch. Not bad for 41. In fact for the first time in >five years I think about a marathon. That would be an accomplishment but since my hero did London this year... what excuse do I have, really? The problem has never been motivation but rather injury so this go-around I do more cross-training with swimming and weights added into the mix. Stay tuned as I'm sure all ten of you on the edge of your seats. Yesterday the original Star Wars is on the the tele. Every little kids was a sci-fi nut in the 70s and mine no exception. So as ever I happily catch up with Luke, Lea, Hans and of course Obi-Wan Kanobi ("now there's a name I have not heard in a long time") - Katie and I caught a few S-W matinees my second-year of business schoool and then again at the IMAX in London one gloomy London afternoon (what could be better then popcorn+Star Wars+your little sis at a rainy-day movie?) plus Sonnet and I saw the re-mastered version in Sarasota, Florida when visiting Grandma Dorothy. My first-time viewing at the Coronet theatre in San Fran in '77 and believe you me we queued around the block. The Coronet was an old-time theatre too and the way it should be with a huge screen sitting maybe several thousand. Seeing the scale of the Imperial Star Destroyer chasing the rebel ship in those opening scenes - wow! I still get excited, as I did yesterday with Eitan and Madeleine - though they are cheated out of the Big Screen this time. We go around saying "Luke, use the force" and it is like 30 years ago.
Madeleine does her Sunday home-work, which includes Kumon, maths, time-telling and reading. She concentrates though sometimes her imagination takes her elsewhere. Saturday I do a jog-swim then spend the morning gutting our back-yard which needs a winter pruning. Unfortunately and to my regret I learn not to prune the hydrangeas ex post facto. Madeleine accompanies me to the dump where we recycle about everything including the ten bags of backyard organics (the BBC reports BTW that the countries buying our recyclables, namely China, cannot afford to do so and our efforts going straight into landfill. It makes me weep). Saturday we head for the Queen Elizabeth Hall at the Southbank Centre where Sonnet organises a family-evening around the London Jazz Festival - Fun! We haven't been here in a while. We catch a crowded train into Waterloo (teens into town to par-tay) then have dinner at Wagamama's overlooking the Thames and north-side, which aglows. Eitan and Madeleine wide-eyed and there is plenty of excitement- despite a recession, this area is humming: bars, dates, skate-rats, strollers, teens smoking fags, elderly couples holding hands, jazz, restaurants, above-ground subways, noise, noise, noise, joggers, skips, the London Eye and the millennium bridge crossing a full Thames reflecting an equally full moon. Wow. Wow. Wow. Hard to believe that Tony Blair promised to rebuild this area by '02 when the concrete was considered an artistic abomination. We see Melody Gardot BTW who is a jazz-youngster at 23 but recognised for her brilliant voice; she is surrounding by her band noting "all jazz is from the blues, which is only about suffering." At 19 Gardot was struck by a car and music her way back to life. By the second performance Eitan is snoozing on my shoulder, poor kid, but the suggestion of leaving nets a protest from our night owl - yes, Madeleine gets going in the late hours. She is a cool cat.
NPR reports that "lame-duck" was used in the British stock-markets of the 1700s referring to somebody unable cover his debts; by the early 18th century it was applied to British politicians and eventually embraced by the Americans (presumably after '76). And why a duck? Who knows, Dear Sir, who knows.
I have some hopes for Madeleine's swimming. Assuming her interest sticks, Madeleine just may have the temprement and body-type to become a "swim-racer," as the kids call it. The first easy: determined, competitive and stubborn. Perfect for the isolation and work ethic required of aquatics. No coach nor team will drive achievement, that is for sure. On body type, Madeleine already the second or third tallest in her class though her birthday falls towards the beginning of the school year. Since age-two, when we doubled her size to estimate her growth prospects, she has been on the right of the bell-curve: her charts suggest 5'10'' or even, gulp, 5'11'' (this from Sonnet's side as Stan and his brothers tall - Uncle Bill, for instance is 6'4''). Most swim-racers these days are tall and lanky with developed upper-bodies, big hands and flipper-sized feets. Darra Torres is six foot and can probably bench press a truck. Or check out Katie Hoff. Madeleine for her part has never been a girlie-girl eschewing doll-houses, frilly dresses and Tom Puffery. She loves a good tree or pair of dungerees. This may be the earliest indication yet - any swimmer will tell you that to be half-way good you myst be different. >four hours training a day? Crazy.
For the record, I like Charles who celebrates his birthday. HRH has the worst job ever: awaiting his mum's death. In the mean time, he faffs about with his various charities and travel, promoting everything Britain but getting little respect in return I imagine. Rumours abound that The Queen and Philippe have always found Charles undependable and only this week - and for the first time I can remember - Elizabeth praised her son publicly. She is 82 BTW and fit as a fiddle+the Queen Mum was 102 when she bit the dust so Charles may have another twenty odd years before crowned. And poor Wils could find himself in the same spot - going to night clubs, courting the paparazzi and dating Kate Middleton into the latter half of his life. And forget about Harry. But back to ze Prince: he oozes royalty wearing his Saville Row double-breasted blazers with a neat kerchief poking out. His demeanor looks, well, kinda lazy or maybe aloof - his attitude suggests Ascot or the fox hunt. Charles gets little praise, though he deserves plenty of it, for starting Duchy Original in 1990 to promote organic food and farming and sustain the countryside and wildlife - we buy plenty of it and often. Charles indeed has gumption and who knows? maybe he will get his suffix "III" yet.
Well, yes, and here we are at Friday again. As my receptionist points out: "Thank God for that." Sonnet and I attend last night's Columbia Business School Fall Gala at The Lanesborough. This year's honoree is Richard Lambert, the Director General of the Confederation of British Industrialists; Richard also edited the Financial Times Lex column in the 1970s, becoming financial editor in 1979 then moved to New York in '82 as the Bureau Chief, returning to the UK a year later as deputy editor. He was the editor of the Financial Times from 1991 and launched the US version of the newspaper. From 2003-'06 he was a member of the Bank of England’s Monetary Policy Committee and now the CBI. So his views on the world kinda timely. He gives us a blast of it too: "Britain's worst conditions since the monetary collapse of 1914;" "consumer debt levels disproportionate to income;" "deficits unsustainable" and so on and so forth. Blimey. He does give some hope noting a global coordinated response may prevent us from returning to the stone age. So we are happy about the G-20 meeting in Washington, D.C. this week end to discuss the prospects for a global coordinated regulation (I think (hope?) el Presidente will serve the coffee and croissants). The gala attracts 120 alum+Dean Glenn Hubbard who I swap thoughts re the elections - Glenn is an arch conservative and was on the short-list to run the Federal Reserve post-Greenspan. Obama was, ahem, probably not his first choice. Still Glenn is gracious and positive as ever while we also discuss the MBA prospects - it may be a tough jobs market but applications are up 40% this year. Surprise, surprise - where do you go if your out of work? Business school! FYI I jump started the Columbia Business School club in '01 and am quite happy to no longer be responsible for it.
"I don't see it as women needing help - I see it as public debate needing women. Half of the smartest minds in our nation our female."
Katie in The Huffington Poste
Rod Stewart still going at 63 years - in this instance wife Penny Lancaster wearing her skin-tight shiny trousers and five-inch platform shoes exiting Cipriani's in Mayfair (photo from the Daily Mail). I crossed paths with the rocker on the Queen's Jubulee in '02 when Stewart played Buckingham Palace; the following morning I see him exiting Starbucks on St John's Wood high street. In the back of the car my two screaming kids while on his arm Penny who, truth-be-known, I notice first. Hard not to, really. Ah yes, how different our lives then and now. Cementing the point: last night's three hour PTA where we re-cap Guy Fawkes fireworks, discuss the new kitchen costs now >£143,000, anticipate the Christmas Fair, gossip and so on and so on. The PTA remains the power-centre of the neighborhood but boy does everybody weigh in with theirs. New member Mark joins me, making it two against twenty women. He wisely keeps his trap shut. The gang consumes >10 bottles of wine which is not bad for a Wednesday night - I bet Rod would be proud.
At home late night I welcome a program on the Silk Road which details our trip into the Karakorums. The strip in the Hunza Valley, where we were for several nights, is the steepest terrain on the planet climbing 20,000 feet in six kilolmetres. I am motivated to pull out and scan my photographs which I will try to do next week.
From Rod Stewart's famous pop song "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" (a rather sweet conclusion, I add):
"They wake at dawn 'cause all the birds are singing
Two total strangers but that ain't what they're thinking
Outside it's cold, misty and it's raining
They got each other, neither one's complaining
He says I'm sorry but I'm out of milk and coffee
Never mind, sugar, we can watch the early movie "
"Too many good docs are getting out of the business. To many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across the country."
W., Poplar Bluff, Mo., Sept. 6, 2004
I drop the kiddos at yoga allowing us a quick game of tag! you're it! before I head into the park for a morning walk. Sonnet is in France staying at a castle where she checks out some hats - owner 42, gay and inherited. Otherwise it is a pretty quiet day. I await a final closing for my friends in San Francisco; read a few chapters of the Three Musketeers (fabulous); sort some supervised volunteer work for Eitan and Madeleine at an old-folks home (unclear if insurance will allow us). Blog. I will pack up my flippers and head to the Hampton pool to swim some laps and work on my technique and then this evening, the PTA. Strange existence away from the Pacific - I would never have imagined - but then, who ever can?
"I'm the master of low expectations."
W., aboard Air Force One, June 4, 2003
Eitan checks out "Match Of The Day," a football rag that he scours for data like how many touches Burbatov had v Wigan or who is closest to relegation in the Premier League. He whoops for joy when he sees Manchester United moving up the rankings (now a healthy fourth). He also subscribes to a monthly Man-U fanzine and checks out the sports pages every morning though sadly the International Herald Tribune is pretty week here. Then of course there are his trading cards which he painstakingly organises in card-files by team, position, skill and so forth. The real gluttony is the Sundays which offer page upon page of league coverage including full colored spreads of the boy's favorite stars in action - you know, kicking a ball. He gets all riled up when Madeleine mixes football facts or I trash-talk him about his club. It is pretty hard for me to resist, really.
Well, at 10:15AM GMT it was called: Britain is officially in a recession. There are now 1.8 million out of work, a figure expected to rise to two million by Christmas. Ho. Ho. Ho. In response, Brown will lower taxes, including the nasty 17.5% VAT, in a temporary measure to stimulate us (he concedes that increased rates will have to compensate when we are out of the recession so net-net I lose). "Negative equity" has been replaced by "under-water mortgage" and we scratch our heads over NINJA loans: no income, no job, no assets. Home-owners don't closely follow their property value unless they are moving or somebody else getting a deal - which is exactly what may happen with mortgage assistance programs which will soon be on offer here. Oh boy. The evil-doers are clearly the sub-prime brokers who aggressively peddled their wares to lower-income households knowing full-well the additional debt damaging. Next up are the credit-card companies who are now jacking up late penalties and rates indiscriminately. Leeches.
"Beautiful credit! The foundation of modern society. Who shall say that this is not the golden age of mutual trust, of unlimited reliance upon human promises? That is a peculiar condition of society which enables a whole nation to instantly recognize point and meaning in the familiar newspaper anecdote, which puts into the mouth of a distinguished speculator in lands and mines this remark: 'I wasn't worth a cent two years ago, and now I owe two millions of dollars.'
"
Mark Twain, The Gilded Age
Eitan shows me his medals from Sunday. Despite his success, he is a modest soul - I wonder if this will change? He has plenty of confidence in the pool, pitch and classroom.
Here are the Top Ten things I miss about California:
1. October and November weather, which is God's gift to God's country
2. Big Sur and the Ocean Pacific. I can't surf but I sure as shit know how to boogey board. One day I will stand up
3. Highway 1, which atom-for-atom matches against any geography I have experienced excluding Pakistan's Karakorum Highway which wins hands down
4. Being able to say things like "dude" and "rad" and "bro"
5. The Golden Gate Bridge. During my marathoning I once jogged across the bridge to see the sunrise over a fog-covered San Francisco. The tallest buildings barely poked through while the East Bay mostly buried
6. Chez Panisse and Peet's coffee - both in Berkeley - WTF?
7. Cal Bears football. No Rose Bowl since '58. Maybe never in my lifetime. Giving myself 40 years I would say 50-50 odds
8. Nimitz trail in Tilden Park. I remember flying kites here as a youngster. Now perfect for running with rolling hills, vast reservoirs and marked miles
9. Never having to question my liberal credentials
10. Peace, baby
I join the kids and Mrs. ABC allows me to take a few photographs (she rightly points out that I may only take portraits with a parental permission- hence Madeleine). The children start with a spelling test ("magic", "march", "mayhem" and so forth) then work on their "wu" sounds screaming examples: water. Washington DC! Watch! Warm!! They then put together "silly sentences" like "the warm water washed away Washington DC" which reminds me when Eitan and Madeleine were toddlers and I would recite similar lines to get them familiar with sounds: "the dirty down dog dug a deep ditch" or "the cautious caterpillar crept across the crevice." During the class time, I cut and paste some admin into the kids home-work books allowing me sneak peek comparisons. Some get it and other don't, oh boy. Generally though the hand-writing tidy and there are plenty stars and smiley faces. If only all feedback through life just so.
Kids Fears
0-2 years: Unusual situations, water, heights, not being around care-givers, fears about survival
3-5: Ghosts, goblins, nightmares, monsters under the bed, increasing awareness of threat in the immediate environment
5-8: Animals, growing awareness of the real threat in the immediate environment. Children of this age are aware that, while very mobile, they are still small and vulnerable
9-11: Personal injury, fears of injections, breaking arms and legs
11-13: Social anxieties, social phobias, fears about one's lace in the hierarchy, fears of being cast out if you don't have the "right" clothes or trainers.
(The Times)
Today the last three surviving members of British forces who served in World War One lay wreaths in memory of their fallen colleagues in London to mark the 90th anniversary of Armistice Day. Sunday the country and we observed two minutes of silence at 11AM.
While considering horror, Britain's high street sales suffered their sharpest annual fall in nearly four years this October while home purchases fell to a record lows according to the government. Tourism may lose £11-15 billion next year costing 100,000 jobs while the auto industry is reporting the lowest sales figures in >30 years. Not surprisingly, the only category to show any sales increase is food and drink - com'on mate, let's get pissed! - this is England, after all.
Madeleine describes Eitan's Christmas list: "Nintendo DS, Nintendo wii, xbox 360, Game Boy, Sony Playstation." Will the grand-parents reading please raise their hand... .
"The truth of the matter is, if you listen carefully, Saddam would still be in power if he were the president of the United States, and the world would be a lot better off."
W., second presidential debate, St. Louis, Oct. 8, 2004
Here is Goldfrapp who Sonnet and I catch at a sold-out Brixton Academy (lead singer Alison not pictured, photo from the Telegraph). Goldfrapp is a Brit-pop group known for electronic dance music and, ahem, visual theatrics. The band formed in 1999 in London with Alison doing the vocals and synthesizer and Will Gregory also synthesizer (pictured on right). A small symphony quartet sits at one side while the back-up chorus wear ram-sculls and ghostly dresses. Intermittently partially clad exotics prance about the stage showing us their everything; a pole magically appears to add to the, er, levity. Goldfrapp's voice is clear and perfectly suited for her sound - ethereal pops to mind. Adding to the fun are Gareth and Richard, who we saw earlier this year at their nuptuals in Shoreditch. Gareth works at the V&A as a furniture curator while Richard is a recognised fashion designer. In short, the perfect double date for the disco.
Arthur on the earth-moon thing:
"By the way, most people imagine the moon goes around a "stationary" earth. It doesn't. Imagine you put Madeleine into orbit around you using a rope on an ice rink. Although she weighs less than you, you wouldn't be able to stand still. Pretty soon, you'd be going in circles as well. You two would be locked in mutual orbits. your circle would be small and hers would be bigger. In fact, both circles would be centered on the same point on the ice and that point would be between you and her, but closer to you than her because you're heavier. That's what happens with the earth and the moon.
"
This is my un-named friend (though he HAS appeared in my blogging before) following a bet on the elections. He being a die-hard conservative Republican chose the losing candidate shortly after Sarah Palin when the Repubs prospects seemed good. Should McC have won you would be seeing me in an afro and black-face.
Eitan competes at the Wandsworth Borough Junior Closed Championships hosted by the London Borough of Wandsworth Amateur Swimming Association. Madeleine is too young yet. The boy is all nerves though I wouldn't know it without asking. Our swimmer takes three disciplines avoiding the butterfly. He also anchors the victorious 8-11s freestyle relay. Since this is England, there are no 25 or 50 meter pools making it a bit weird at 33 meters. Not that times matter. The kids cheer each other forward and I am reminded of the strange camaraderie of swimming - its like no other sport, really. The preparations, pursued in a watery silence, bond the children together: "hup! Hup! Hup!" they scream during the heads-up on Eitan's breast stroke. I sit in the stands thinking how boring it must have been for Moe during those all-week end competitions at Ohlone or Spieker or wherever which often began Friday and went to Sunday late. At least those pools were outdoors and often (though not always) in glorious California sunshine. Usually it was Moe who loaded the Volvo and away we went. Eitan comes home with four medal ribbons and is happy: "I am very proud" he says, laying his tin on the bedroom floor. Leaving the pool complex we bump into a school chum whose eyes are wide when she sees Eitan's success. Could we have a legend in the making?
Here is Moe wearing the Wandsworth Swim Club team-colors. Way to go Dad!
Saturday is spent on the school grounds where we and London celebrate Guy Fawkes with a bonfire effigy and rousing fireworks. Again I am the Chief Executive of the Grill Team, assembling seven volunteer flippers serving beef-burgers and pork sausages. Gross. The weather is not friendly and things are touch-and-go until the final moment. Rain is not so much the problem but rather the wind: nobody wants drifting embers to replay 1666. Eitan and I arrive early to set things up, shred lettuce and pre-cook the hot-dogs and chopped-onions. He is eager to help and happy to be useful, which is nice to see. Four years ago Eitan scared shitless by the fireworks but now it is old hat and the dads tease him about drinking beer with us (this is England). Sonnet arrives with Madeleine who, with the other kids, impressed to see her brother behind the counter even if he is just standing there. I toss her "secret-crisps" that she doesn't have to pay for - she refuses and good for her. Afterwards we Dads clean-up and head to The Victoria for an after-action "refreshment."
Cal loses to USC in Southern California. Another year no Rose Bowl. Just.. . once.. I . would... like to. . see the Bears . . . . compete.
Sonnet treats me to a remarkable concert at the Southbank Centre's Royal Festival Hall: Vaughan Williams's 'Dona nobis pacem': a cantata for soprano, baritone, chorus and orchestra; Symphony No 3 ('Pastoral Symphony'); and Symphony No 4 in F minor. Richard Hickox conducts the Phiharmonia Orchestra and London Symphony Chorus, with Lisa Milne (soprano) and Alan Opie (baritone). The orchestra is backed up by 120 vocalists. It is exhilarating and terrifying - Williams created the symphony on the eve of World War I imploring man to avoid its annihilation. Williams's music has often been said to be characteristically English, in the same way as that of Gustav Holst, Frederick Delius, George Butterworth and William Walton. Here is what writer Peter Akroyd writes, "If that Englishness in music can be encapsulated in words at all, those words would probably be: ostensibly familiar and commonplace, yet deep and mystical as well as lyrical, melodic, melancholic, and nostalgic yet timeless." Photo from the www.
From the RFH we have dinner at a nearby Asian-fusion - average age 25 and definately cool. The young women have their autumnal style which is black leggings and Ug boots, a long sweater serving as a skirt, big belts and funky hats. The blokes have it easier - too skinny jeans, trainers, stripy sweaters over dark t-shirts. Hair moused to unholy perfection looking straigt-outta-bed. We enjoy the open flirtation discussing our middle-age things mainly children and money. We might not be in our 20s but we still got it good.
"I also have picked a secretary for Housing and Human Development. Mel Martinez from the state of Florida."
W., Washington, D.C., Dec. 20, 2000
Given the All-British Bank Holiday Monday miscue and feeling a bit, well, forgotten thanks to the US elections, here is a short-list of where the United Kingdom ranks:
Number one globally: Grand Prix winners
Second: per capita global aid
Third: obesity
Fourth: scientific literacy
Fifth: radios owned
Sixth: beer consumption
We also have the Queen and stirling, which has fallen like a brick since the financial collapse (but the "£" is still cool). The BBC is world-class and dear: I must pay £120 for a yearly license on five channels which bombard me with advertising - Radio 4 makes up for it. The Thames is a proper tidal river - not like the "skinny legs" on the Seine. Our parliament kicks ass and of course London, where everybody wants to live. It is easy to make fun of a cockney accent whilst Oxford and Cambridge are better (for now) than the Ivy League. The Beatles and Stones. Ozzie and Vivianne. The V&A and British Museum. Elgin Marbles! Le Shakespeare. Hadrian's Wall and the Romans. Streets paved with gold, now melting underfoot. Portland stone. And loads and loads of history. It is inescapable: castles, bridges, monuments, battles and wars. Plus the decline which don't seem so bad in a country ranked the world's fourth richest (stay tuned, however - we have the highest consumer debt anywhere).
"When in doubt, go for the dick joke."
Robin Williams
I awake at 5:00AM (Sonnet rolls over) and stumble downstairs to the BBC. It is indeed a Brave New World and a black president. After 20 months of slugging it out, our most improbable candidate fulfills his destiny and we are there to celebrate. Yesterday's media is filled with lines, lines and lines at the polls then throngs of people in the streets cheering, crying and whooping it up. This is how it must have felt in '74 when Nixon gave his peace sign and boarded a chopper rather than face the Senate and impeachment - the times they are a-changin'. I get calls and emails from everywhere including Christian who, from London, went straight to PA to campaign for Obama; friends and strangers congratulate me and ask what next?; Eitan rubs his eyes and grins when he hears the news. Dale owes me a photograph in a dress - we made a bet when Palin selected VP and McCain up solidly in the polls. The British media gets their darling and the newspapers shout "Gobama!" and "The Vote For Change." There is a real sense of relief - and glee - in the London press after eight years of it all; most believe Americans to have finally returned to their senses. Me too, for the record. The honey-moon will be short: two wars deep, well into a financial crisis and a recession looming large. There is no money in the kitty for health care or welfare. For the moment anyways we can dream of our salvation. And BBQ at the white house. Go figure. Photo from AP.
"If you're walking down the right path and you're willing to keep walking, eventually you'll make progress."
Barack Obama, Feb. 25, 2005
"I know the human being and fish can coexist peacefully."
W., Saginaw Michigan, Sept. 29, 2000
From the castle we go to a hunting llodge that dates to the 17th century now converted into a luxury hotel which, in Britain, means a decent bathroom and pool-spa (hot-tub like it is a big deal) which we put to use. Eitan brings a football good for the ground's healthy green allowing us to kick it about (the other guests are enamored with the action on an other wise stuffy estate. At least I think so). Madeleine in particular gets into the action and I impress upon her the need to "push, pull and kick" her way to a goal. When she goes for the blatent fish-punch I tell her she has to be subtle - "football is a game of secrets" I say. Eitan just grins - I've coached this into him years ago, Dear Brother. Such pearls of wisdom that drop from a tree. Madeleine remains forever the tom-boy and we practice headers until it gets too dark to see the ball. From there we swim, again, then dinner. Everybody way tired and I have to growl at Madeleine to sit-up straight - she is so tired she can barely be contained, poor child. Inevitably this turns into a giddy exchange and finally I join in the fun. In my defense (assuming Sonnet reads) I did get napkins in laps and cutlery (this morning Eitan stuffs the better part of a full English breakfast into his mouth with his hands). We have a great giggle before the light's out, which is 8:30PM. Since it doesn't seem quite fair to keep a reading light on I go to bed at this hour too and you know what? It feels great.
"I fully understand those who say you can't win this thing militarily. That's exactly what the United States military says."
W., on the need for political progress in Iraq. Oct. 17, 2007
"My job is a decision-making job, and as a result, I make a lot of decisions."
W., Lancaster, Pa., Oct. 3, 2007
Princes Diana used DDG for Wils and I think appropriate for my kids too, no doubt. My Grandmother Dorothy would say they "come from good stock." Over a dinner-party Sonnet and I are told how the mothers ogle Eitan on the playground, poor him. Of course he absolutely hates anything to do with looks or love. Egad. Our tour of the castle continues and from the outside turrets and cannon we head inside to outrageous splendor beginning with the most wicked doll-house I have ever seen (it is Queen Mary's). From there into the main salon then the various apartments for sleep, dress, library and reception - all in various gold leaf or style with plenty of da Vinci's, Rembrandts and Holbeins to marvel upon. A touching chamber, created for Prince Charles 60th, presents black and white photographs of the next King from birth to Diana to Camilla. He has formed 17 charities and whilst perhaps he took a beating over the People's Princess he has been actively campaigning for Britain and for good.
The kids enthusiasm quickly diminishes once inside and after an hour of endless frivolty they do what comes naturally: run amock. I have to pull them in hard under the reproachful eye of the wards who, as a job's perk, get to live on the grounds. So the kids don't quite, ahem, appreciate the 900 years of history we plod through and just as well because it is lunch time. They have only one thing on their minds and it is a clown. With red shoes.
Madeleine: "Dad can I have a buddy. Can I? Can I have a buddy now? After lunch? Can I have a buddy? Dad? A ... b-u-d-d-y. I promise to be good, dad, if I can have a buddy. Ok? Just. One. Buddy, dad. I'll give you my french fries for a buddy. Please, dad, Pleeeeassse. Can I have just one buddy? Can I? Why not? You are so mean. You always say no. Always, dad. Please can I have a buddy? Aw, dad. It is always the same answer. Please. No? Dad! Just one, I promise. I promise one buddy, OK? Dad! I will give you a hug and a kiss..."
Repeat, if possible, for 24 yours.
