(Unfortunately I do not have the artist) I ask Madeleine what she sees in the painting and she concentrates for a moment then: "City, dad. There are the houses, and the roadways to get to the jobs. And shops. There are trees too. The sun is going down and that is why the colors are changing." I tell her: bravo.
We spend some of our day at the Tate Modern, which is surprisingly empty - the main chamber awaits its next exhibition so this perhaps the reason. We use the space to play tag - the Shakepeares try to cross the chasm without my tagging them. They squeal in genuine fear as I bear down upon them, top speed. Eitan is extra motivated when I tell him that "I will cross your hand with silver" should he succeed. Nothing motivates Eitan like money, Dear Reader. We then have lunch and afterwards, much to their consternation, we visit the permanent collection. Madeleine the artist is more interested than her brother but in fairness, they have been running around like crazy and it is a sunny day. Plus the allure of ice cream to hand: "can I have an ice cream dad? Can I have an ice cream dad? Can I have an ice cr...." And so it goes. I try turning this around on them: "Do you want an ice cream Madeleine? Do you want an ice cream Madeleine? Do you want an ice cream Mad..." and you know she answers every time? Brother. On the way home we stop to get some tennies and Madeleine choses checkered Vans (Vans are California stoner shoes popular from the 80s). When Madeleine hears they wear them in the USA she is thrilled: "Oh yea" she says, pumping her arm downward. She definitely has her sense of style.
I am a sucker for the Battersea Power Station - it is just way cool. Anyone in Chelsea or Pimlico or driving along Chelsea embankment are treated to its magnificence and reminded ever of the industrial revolution that changed England and the world. Today the structure is crumbling and saved from demolition thanks to its Grade II listing. A while back there was some momentum to convert the icon into condos and shopping - maintaining the exterior integrity - but this was shelved due to transportation. There is none, really - and it certainly is not Central London convenient. Nor does Battersea offer the Chester Square address. Not quite, Dear Sister. But still she stands, the old gal, occupying her meaningful presence on the Southside and a corner of the city's imagination. I cannot resist stopping the car for photo today and every time I see her.
Here is another one of Aggie and the kiddies.
Ok, for the record - here is what's gone down since Sonnet's departure: 1) I take the kids to a bar; 2) sugar cereal (Kellogg's Co Co Rocks described as a "soft chocolatey coated centre and hard crunch rocks"); 3) Edwin and Effie BBQ where 2X cup cakes+lemon pie+chocolate fudge cake consumed; 4) 2X Harry Potter+TV (being watched now BTW). The kids play me for a sucker, but I enjoy it. As they are sans nearby Grand Parents or relatives to spoil them rotten, I tell Sonnet that I am happy do so. Within reason. Usually. The strange thing is that I am also the disciplinarian- I say strange as Sonnet is a pretty substantial figure and everyone just assumes that she lays down the law. The kids know however where the buck stops and boy have I scared the bee-Jesus out of them on occassion. On training the little Shakepeares: Sonnet and I have never spanked nor used any sort of physical intimidation yet my intentions do come across, Dear Father, when obedience required. I am not afraid to go eye-to-eye and lay it out plain - usually this means consequences. Sometimes even "secret consequences" or "secret double probation" which means I can punish them at my whim with no warning. This rattles Madeleine especially and she begs to be released from this unsettling state. Me, this is just where I want 'em sometimes.
I have a discussion about school with Eitan and ask if he has any enemies. Replies he: "Chelsea?"
Madeleine comments on my pimple: "will it explode?"
Madeleine in my office: "Can we sleep here?"
I look quizzically at Eitan jumping from foot to foot. Madeleine: "he needs the lou but can't find the remote control."
Aggie turns 3x and Eitan, Madeleine and I put on our costumes and head for the party, which is at a local gastro pub.
I don't think Aggie or anyone expecting my gorilla mask and I get all sorts of encouragement as I work my way through the bar crowd. Cool. We arrive on the tardy side of the kid's bed-time and straight from swim team (Eitan) and play-date (Madeleine). The kids also had three hours of football this morning so they are... wired.
At first each child a bit shy of the adults and adult-setting but Aggie covers them with her affection and they warm to the occasion. Special ice cream+cake kick it up a notch. I turn at one point to find Eitan surrounded by five guys arguing football. The lads are amused that a seven-year old owns more statistics about the Premier League than they do collectively and they turn the heat on.
I watch anxiously as the hot gleam of craziness enters the boy's eye and overhear him say: "well you smell like Drogba!" (a Chelsea player, Dear Reader). I'm ready to take the boy out but a nice woman leans over and tells me "he is doing wonderfully holding his own" and I relax a bit. On the other side of the room Madeleine entertains her crowd with the funny glasses and by 9:30PM I have to drag them away. They are lucky to have Aggie. Oh, and I force Eitan to say good-bye and "thank you" to his new friends. They give him high-fives.
Eitan, Madeleine and I examine a human-body poster and I point out the heart, aorta, lower intestine and lungs. I ask where blood takes oxygen and nutrients. Madeleine: "your toes?"
I buy a gorilla mask for Aggie's birthday party and toss in face masks and glasses for the kids - pictured. Sonnet off to Rome this morning to meet Catherine and Halley - the gals celebrate 4-0 this year - so it is me and the kiddies for the weekend. Woo hoo!
Madeleine has a special afternoon with Sabi at her Wimbledon studio to see what it is like to be an artist, her on-record self ambition (Eitan: "I want to play for Manchester United" which is at least easier to get into than the Ivy League). I pick Madeleine up and she is genuinely thrilled with her work and adult-time. She comes home with four paintings and one canvas. God bless you Sabi.
Driving home Madeleine and I listen to Radio 4 and learn that teen-age knifings have become a serious national problem. A simple solution offered: square or round the end of kitchen knives, which account for the majority of the violence. When Britain's surgeons suggested doing so three years ago they received overwhelming public support but we remain still far away from its reality. According the Metropolitan police, knife crime declined from 12,122 to 10,220 incidents over the two years ending December, 2007 and teen-age knife-crime the only category increasing.
I YouTube Barak's "A More Perfect Union" at Philadelphia, watching its entirety or 38 minutes - a commitment for a work day like now. It is interesting to compare with his 22 May Tampa Bay and Hillary's same-day Jacksonville, where she spends 30 minutes arguing for Michigan and Florida's count. Life moves on. A favorite for my in-laws in Montrose is "Prime Ministers Questions" which they catch on cable and I watch Sunday. Every Wednesday, while the House of Commons is sitting, the PM spends half an hour answering questions from Members of Parliament - widely available on YouTube or www.number-10.gov.uk. This past week, for instance, Super Gee addresses the Embryology Bill (can human-animal hybrids be used?), the 10p tax-rate (political disaster and bail-out), Zimbabwe, our economy, visas and angling - this just a sample. PMQ started in the '50s as twice weekly then once by Tony. I appreciate why shortened - a PM must be well prepared on all subjects relating to him or her - Blaire was a master while Super Gee learning though his goose probably cooked already. On display is Britain's wit and "long knives" as the sides openly go at each other's throats- always civil, dear Reader, always civil. One shudders to imagine El Presidente in this situation - on record - telling the truth - being coherent. But back to Barak: his presence remarkable and speech peppered with micro-pauses that add emphasis to what he is saying - and boy, what he says: who else so magnificently addresses race in America? Focuses on the forward? And called Iraq? Bill Clinton too was mesmerising but with Barak I hang on every word. Can't remember this before. Bush Sr? Reagan? Carter?! (photo from British Government)
I find Eitan in the kitchen staring at the washing machine awaiting his uniform. I suggest that "water watched never boils" - more fatherly advice washing from the duck's back.
While thinking about the glory years, here is a neat photograph sent to me by Dave in New York. I'm in a few of the shots having joined the squad sophomore year following miles (and miles) logged in the chlorine. Dave is another dear college friend and running stand-out who today practices pediatric orthopaedics in NYC where he does "a lot of work with congenital foot problems in kids (clubfoot) and cerebral palsy." No surprise here as I recall clearly his college drive to enter medicine then Duke and now his Big Apple practice. Dave always somehow focused on athletics and still today: a runner's dearest possession, of course, being his feet. Dave and I had several post-college, post and pre-grad school years together in Manhattan. We managed some good nights out including a number of double-dates. Ah, we were young. Today, Dave lives on the Upper East Side with his family and running 30+ miles a week, presumably in Central Park, oh lucky fellow.
Eitan works at his times-tables covering 1's to 9's (pictured, him drawing a "maths page"). It is an effort he does with pleasure.
Sonnet runs to work and I am back at the office, though a quiet week thanks to school half-term (many families bolt London but we save our vacation for July). Natasha arrives early and tanked up on coffee: first stop, thank goodness, football camp. After yesterday's wash-out Madeleine and Eitan raring to go. Oh boy. An interesting row has developed between the public and the NHS, which recently received £4 million from Royal Bank of Scotland allowing the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary to purchase a cutting-edge CT scanner - the only one of its kind online in the UK (the scanner takes remarkable 3-D images of an organ assisting detection of about anything). In return for the support, RBS receives preferences over the general public with 25% of the scanner's time "ringfenced" for its staff. I think this is a compelling model, which needs a set of guidelines for future like ventures. Otherwise it becomes the British rail system. Or worse, the tube.
My day starts in an interesting fashion as I go to Bikram yoga and faint half-way through the balance exercises, scaring everybody including the instructor (though one jolly fellow does tell me: "you made it to nirvana") Bikram is practiced in a room heated to 105°F with a humidity of 40% and lasts 90 minutes through 26 postures. Bikram is not for the faint-of-heart, which is me Dear Reader, and I bonked at posture ten, the "bow arrow" pose. My problem today I think dehydration - I sweat like crazy and today was week-kneed from the start. Further sending me into a tale spin was the at-capacity crowd forcing neighborly proximity and raising the heat while lowering the oxygen. Any ways, there I was on my back feeling nauseous and the next thing two anxious faces staring into my face. No way they are going to let me out BTW and I rejoin the torture for the ground-series which blessedly puts my head at least level to my heart. Phew.
Because of the rain, football camp indeed cancelled and Sonnet takes the kids to the pool to burn some energy. From there, she guides them through clay-mations, which now bake in the oven (Eitan does a pretty cool Rinaldo on miniature field in stadium). Both do home work and I watch tennis. Thanks to the weather, the mood is, er, stir crazy and Madeleine jumps some rope shaking the house bonkers until Sonnet shouts: "E-N-O-U-G-H!" moving even me from the couch. Ah yes, nothing like a Bank Holiday Weekend.
I ask Madeleine: what are the most important things to you? and she replies "Parrots and love."
Parrots? I ask. "Parrots, dad!" (of course she says "parents" but her accent mixes me up)
I am glad that Madeleine and I had our walk yesterday given today's and perhaps the week's weather. She remains a tom-boy, freckles and all, and finds a tree to climb. In other news from this country: the European beaver is to be reintroduced to the wild, five centuries after it was hunted to extinction for its fur. Up to four beaver families will be captured in Norway later this year and released in Knapdale, Argyll, next spring. And there you have it.
It does not just rain, it pours on, yes,... wait for it... the bank holiday weekend! The Met Office issues a "gale winds and flood warning" for Southeast England and we stair out the window as the trees blow and ground soaks. Football camp begins today for the kids and when Eitan sees the report he cries. Sonnet makes a fire and lights a few candles to cheer us up. It is for sure a Cat In The Hat day:
The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
All that cold, cold, wet day.
--Dr. Seuss, "Cat In The Hat"
I'm not sure if we will make camp today and sadly the weather forecast is "rain" all week, letting up by the weekend perhaps. Being half-term break, this is a cruel blow indeed.
I get an easy-pass as Sonnet takes the kids to Kew Gardens. I use my time to sleep until 11AM, watch some golf and the French Open, which begins today at Roland Garros and lounge in my boxers and an old Izod. It is good to be Dad and how easy to slip back to the free-and-easy circa 1991 or '92 when the only weekend agenda was a morning run, afternoon nap and night on the town. It all came to a crashing halt by Monday and work - dreadful, Dear Reader- but there were moments of genuine enjoyment and kindled interest (Let's get drunk! Let's get laid!). Back to now, tomorrow is another strangely named "bank holiday" which celebrates... nothing. I think there are five of them and it always rains. Yes tomorrow's forecast is.... rain! In fact, we anticipate gale-force warnings in the Southeast - I've been here before so no disappointment from this corner of London. As it is a holiday, the kids now sit in front of Shrek II and we all have a laugh at Puss in Boots and Donkey ("keep work'n that hat" he says to a chica). Madeleine spies our neighbor's outdoors party whispers to Sonnet: "Look mom! Teenagers smoking. And drinking! And kissing!" And indeed.
Madeleine spends her sweet time at a stream in Isabella looking for "tadpoles and other fish." I ask: are there any piranhas? and replies she, without looking up: "don't be silly dad. Piranhas live in a much bigger pond."
I have been passively observing the frog collection in Madeleine's classroom, which started as 200 or so frog eggs. This converted to maybe 100 tad poles and now one frog. One frog? I ask. What happened to the rest? "Don't know" she says, sans emotion. "Maybe they drowned?"
This brings back memories from Tamales Bay at Point Reyes in Northern California. Pt Reyes a cape in Marine County that protects Drakes Bay and home to many ocean critters. As a child, we had our favorites including "windy beach" (named on a windy afternoon - the same day II took a dunk in the Pacific and Moe dragged me out by a leg) and "sea lion beach" where we observed up close an elephant seal. Wow - that sucker was big too.
The walks there always leisurely and surrounded by grassy hills and the most beautiful orange California poppy. Oh, and Tamales Bay had shallow side streams filled with tad poles by the spring time. Heaven indeed.
I drag Madeleine back to the Isabella Plantation in Richmond Park to take evening shots of the flowers, which are at the height of their bloom. The gardens BTW celebrate their 50th year. Located in a beautiful woodland, Isabella houses a most excellent collection of azaleas, including the National Collection of 50 Japanese azalea varieties introduced to the West around 1920 by the famous plant collector, Ernest Wilson. Rhododendrons, camellias, and magnolias thrive under a mature woodland canopy with many other acid-loving plants. There are several ponds and trees for Madeleine to climb as she does today and yesterday. It is the kind of thing one plans to visit all year but reallly the best time is now until early June and then it is over. Usually we miss it but this year twice already and maybe again too. Madeleine agrees to always hold my hand and notes "don't be silly dad" when I suggest one day she might choose otherwise.
I ask Madeleine what the most important thing in life is? She says "parents" but I hear "parrots" (English accent) and we break-up laughing at this mis-understanding.
Here is my college pal Greg at his most graceful. We met Sophomore year at Brown thanks to Roger who convinced me to compete cross country (college swimming was a downer thanks to a generally miserable squad coached by Ed Reese).
I bounced swimming to join the 11th-ranked Bruins (today called the "Brown Bears") and made some wonderful friendships including Greg who was then, and remains today, a hero to us (ex)athletes and alumnae. Greg was the 1989 NCAA Champion in 3000m indoor with a 7:57.14 clocking. Then he beat arch-rival and future (now former) "Greatest American Miler", Little Joe Falcon from Arkansas. Greg was a six-time All-American (track & x-country) and holds many of Brown's records still. From 1993-1996 he was the American record holder for the 5000 meters on the road.
Greg was also 4th in the 1992 Olympic trials in the 1500 coming down from his natural strength, the 5000 race, due to injury and being out-of-shape. He missed a spot by one one-hundredth of a second. I recall like yesterday anxiously reading the papers to see if he had qualified.
I'm reminded of our friendship thanks to an email distribution today. Amongst other things, Greg comments on our '89 bet Senior year. He and I were a always competitive and agreed to challenge each other with a 1500 meter swim+10 mile road run. While it was unclear what the winner received (other than bragging rights) the bet gathered momentum within the track and athletic community. Sadly, thanks to my injury (lower back) the race was put on hold indefinitely.
I figured back then I would have to get about seven minutes on Greg during the swim then run a 57 or 58 minute ten-miler - probably impossible but the thought of seeing Whiteley over my shoulder still sends a thrill through me even today as I blog.
Not to take anything away from Ed Timpson, formerly pictured on this blog, but I replace his victory photo with David Cameron and C-3PO.
Britain's Conservatives crushed the governing Labour Party in a special election that underlined the deepening unpopularity of Prime Minister Gordon Brown's government. Labour has had held Crewe and Nantwich since the seat created in 1983 and had not lost a seat to the Conservatives in a special election in 30 years. Say good-bye to all that. Tory Edward Timpson beat Labour Tamsin Dunwoody (great name) 20,539 votes to 12,679 in yesterday's special election. The gap was nearly 800 votes more than Labour's winning margin in the district in the national election three years ago. The election makes little change in the balance of power in Parliament but political pundits pay close attention to the scale of voter change, which they apply nationally to guess the results of future elections. It's not looking good for Super Gee. Photo of David Cameron and Timson from The Telegraph.
Eitan has swimming this evening and I run by the Thames during his practice. We listen to Gore Vidal on the BBC interviewed from his London apartment. He talks about all that as the last great American writer of his generation. Most interesting are his friendships and rivalries including Norman, Kurt, Miller, Irving, Updike and others (he doesn't like Updike BTW). Interestingly he says he is done writing and discouraged by today's lack of serious reading. Plus the mafia killed JFK and the Republicans will steal the US elections "as they always do." I take note. The kids officially on half-term so no school next week+it is a bank holiday weekend. They look forward to soccer camp and freedom from activities and homework. I look forward to goofing with them however.
Yes, even I wonder sometimes why Sonnet married me. Still, we have fun and here is another photograph from The Globe.
Britain really must address its oil consumption now that a gallon costs $10.50 and only going up (Bush three months ago told reporters they were nuts when $4 gas was suggested in the USA). It is easy to understand why: the world uses about 87 million barrels of oil a day, a quarter of it in the US. Saudi Arabia is the only country who can pump more - and they won't despite El Presidente's recent requests. Meanwhile, China is in its industrial revolution and then India. There are four oil fields in the world which produce over one million barrels per day: Ghawar, at 4.5 million; Cantarell in Mexico, at 2 million; Burgan in Kuwait at 1 million; and Da Qing in China at 1 million. Ghawar, at 5.5% of daily production is therefore extremely important to our well being, Dear Brother, and is expected to peak inside ten years. "The big risk in Saudi Arabia is that Ghawar's rate of decline increases to an alarming point," says Ali Morteza Samsam Bakhtiari, a senior official with the National Iranian Oil Company. "That will set bells ringing all over the oil world because Ghawar underpins Saudi output and Saudi undergirds worldwide production." Further: according to the Paris-based International Energy Agency yesterday, global need will increase to 116 million barrells a day by 2030 while production might not even make 100 million. That's a supply-demand issue dude.
Everything we see, do and touch based on cheap, or basically free, energy. Those days are gone man and the transition has yet to begin. It sure will help when we get Texas out of the White House and good riddance.
I ask Madeleine what she think we adults talk about. Says she: "us children. Fancy babes." (I think she meant "foxy" but who knows?)
On a beautiful yesterday, Sonnet turns forty. I pretend not to care, or at least not care as much as the FA Cup Final in Moscow featuring ManU v Chelsea (Eitan stays up until 11PM - sudden death PKs, dude). Sonnet and I meet at Somerset House in the afternoon to see an exhibition on fashion design and architecture and how the two shall intertwine (lots of Japanese work+the expected Frank Gehry, Herzog & de Meuron+etc.)
From there I take a new route home before ending up - surprise! - in front of Oxo Tower where we have dinner on the top floor, outside, overlooking Temple from parliament to Blackfriars - how green is London this time of year. Even nicer as the sun sets. I read notes from her family, including a power point presentation from Marcus complete with youthful photos and a poem - bravo!
The kids pick out a painting by our friend Sabi which she loves. We then go The Globe, via bankside, to see A Midsummer Night's Dream with just enough breeze to keep everybody happy. Manchester United eventually wins and the day complete.
"Dear Sonnet since it's your birthday we desided (sic) we would clear up the living room hope its tidy. From Eitan, Madeleine and Natasha"
Written by Eitan on Sonnet's fortieth birthday
