Everyday life

One of things I miss from our apartment in Chicago is the giant tumble dryer in the giant laundry cupboard. The noisy buzzer alarm which alerted anyone within a ten-mile radius that the clothes were dry, I don’t miss so much.

Still, it was great to have a dryer which dried things. Novel.

Here, however, I have a washing line. A real life, bona fide, washing line, which we bought at the start of what has seemed a particularly cold, wet winter. We only used it a few times before it was back to inside airers and radiators.

And whilst other people might be out looking for snowdrops, or the appearance of green shoots from their sleepy bulbs, yesterday, for me, the early herald of the possibility of spring was putting the washing on the line.

It may not have dried, and it may not be possible to put the washing out tomorrow. But it’ll do.

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Green Parakeets

One of my favourite things when visitors come to see us here for the first time is to take them for a walk in Richmond Park. Royal land, probably from time of Edward, 1272-1307, the park was enclosed and designated as a deer park in 1637 by Charles I. It’s a bit of a trek, with a little walking to do before you get there, but no one has complained that it’s not worth it: even those who we’ve taken in rain, wind, and possibly even a little snow.

The best bit is not finding the largest Royal Park in London, acres and acres of green space, nor is it either of the the two herds of deer, as beautiful and tame as they are. I definitely enjoy most the look of disbelief and amazement on people’s faces when they see the green ring-necked Parakeets which live in the wooded areas in and around the Park.

Despite the very cold climate, and all the chilly rain, somehow a flock of parakeets has taken to this area of southwest London and is thriving. Even easier than seeing them between the trees,they are easy to distinguish by listening, as they have a really distinctive call.

After nearly four months of  living here, you might think that having seen so many of them, and having heard them so often, I would grow immune to the surprise of finding a flash of green amongst the field birds of Richmond. However, just as the splash of bright red on the American Blackbird never failed to raise a smile, the parakeets have become a new friend to watch out for.

Not that the common-or-garden English blackbird isn’t still a welcome visitor to the back garden table. They also photograph a great deal better than the parakeets, who are always so high, and hard to catch against the brightness of the sky.

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Happy Memories

It sounds a little pathetic to say that the last month has been stressful. Bigger things have happened; worse things; harder things, are happening to people all around us. But leaving behind friends from the last three years has been difficult.

Life will be different in London, exciting, yes, but change always involves leaving the old behind. Even when it means coming back to what is familiar.

The whirlwind which was packing up, saying goodbye, and booking tickets in less than two weeks didn’t help. I’ve only just in the last week sat down to look at some of the (hundreds of) photographs we took on vacation in Yellowstone. I’d utterly forgotten taking this shot.

Amongst the pebbles

And corny as it may sound, carrying around the awesome memories of the last three years will keep us going long after we’ve moved into our own home and we’ve started to make new friends all over again.

Memories

Happy Love Thursday, a group feature hosted by ShutterSisters.

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History Safari

Anyone who has read through my archives will probably already know that a perfect vacation for me involves lots of history and some art galleries or musems. It won’t surprise you to hear then that Boston’s unique history safari got my geeky side all fired up and I approached the weekend with a desire to see as much as possible without provoking the wrath of a not-so-very-culture-loving tourism partner.

So, on Saturday morning, after Friday’s crash course in the beginnings of American Independence, I left my long suffering husband to enjoy a morning in the shops and went off to do a literary walking tour. Literary history is my own favorite brand of weekend activity, and Boston did not disappoint. The British colony of America’s first publishing house, Boston’s public library, the Parker House Hotel where Emerson and Hawthorne attended the Saturday club, a house where Louise May Alcott and her family stayed for just a while…

It was fun, and reminded me how much I had remembered of my Nineteenth Century American Literature classes from University. I felt quite the academic. Even more so when my husband agreed to sunbathe for an hour while I looked around the Longfellow House out in Cambridge.

I’ve poked fun at the ‘show homes’ of US history before, but the Longfellow House is the antithesis of replica joints of ham. Quite honestly it was amazing. The whole house is a piece of history and every item in there is real, and definitely historical. From Longfellow’s bed, to his study, and the front door at which people you have read about in books had stood.

The house was also campaign headquarters for George Washington in 1775/76, so it wasn’t just a tour down literary history’s memory lane. It was literally stuffed with objects with stories, paintings and furniture with a famous name attached. I know I sound like a geek, but you have to go. You have to book a weekend in Boston straightaway just so that you can visit this National Park Service, National Historic Site.

If you’re in the area, sure, pop into Harvard and make sure to take stupid photographs on the T ride over like the following:

Oooh it goes by so fast

but mostly, spend the ridiculous sum of $3 and an hour of your life being amazed.

Public Service Announcement over.

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So…Boston

I remember thinking, when we were in Boston, just how like London it felt and how interesting it is that people should travel so many miles to recreate the home they just left. Boston really did feel European, or more accurately, British, in its layout, its small winding streets, and the quite extensive trash collecting in the gutters. It certainly highlighted for us the, quite frankly, remarkable job Streets and Sanitation do each night in Chicago.

Do not misunderstand me. It was all those words that people throw around when visiting historical towns and cities; it was quaint, characterful, charming, and lively.

It was also mentally exhausting.

Visiting Boston is comparable to being on a safari. Specifically, it holds similarities to places like West Midlands Safari Park, which, although I loved the experience, was a pale comparison to a leisurely jaunt in a jeep around the 55 000 hectares of Pilanesberg Game Reserve in South Africa.

Ladies and Gentlemen let us embark on our historical tour of Downtown Boston, be sure to follow the red line, which is painted on 2.5 miles of Boston sidewalk. You are also advised to keep your hands as close to your body as possible at all times, beware of the idiot tourists who come to a total stop right in the center of the sidewalk, and leave all sense of personal space behind.

I exaggerate. However, the idea of following the famous Freedom Trail walking tour was soon abandoned in favor of taking in the sights using our own agenda, and doing our best to ignore everyone else who was trying to absorb as much of the city as possible on a sunny summer weekend.

We managed to find some quiet spots:

Through the window

And it was wonderful to be close to the sea again:

Oh I do love to be beside the Seaside

But it was one exhausting look back at the history of the United States.

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