Tuesday, August 22, 2017 - Flight to Dublin, Edinburgh, Lindisfarne
Jason, our son, and Ashley, his girlfriend, are staying at our house (and moving from the guest room to our bed!) while we’re gone. We didn’t want to tempt them with driving our car so I put my green truck in the carport and left its keys hidden in the beer stein on our dresser. We drove our car over to our daughter Jenny’s house, left it there, and she gave us a ride to the airport at 9 A.M. The weather is glorious though it’s supposed to storm this afternoon. Hope we’re on our way across the Atlantic before that happens.
In mid-July the sight in my right eye crapped out. There has been a serious “bulge” in the “sweet spot” of my left eye for some time but my right eye was O.K. Then six months ago a “bulge” developed in the vision of my right eye too. Interestingly, it was the mirror image of the one in my left eye. My V.A. doctor scheduled me for eye test after eye test. They never found anything so she sent me to a neurologist to see if there was nerve damage. MRI and Cat scan showed no problem. During the interview with her she said there was no sign of dementia. Nice bonus diagnosis but not helpful with regard to the failing eyesight.
Then mid-July the “bulge” in the vision of my right eye became a vortex. The center of my visual field disappeared. If I tried to looked directly at a candle the flame would disappear. Weird effect. If I looked slightly away, the flame popped back into view. My own private magic trick, and I was also the only member of the audience.
Another trip back to the optometrist and this time they found a “macular hole.” They sent me to the ophthalmologist who said I need an operation after we get back from this trip. They’ll inject my right eye with gas then have me lie face down so the resulting bubble pushes the “volcano” on the retina back into place and with luck close the hole as well.
All that to provide an excuse for the terrible handwriting in this trip journal. My left eye has been distorted for years and I depended on my right eye. Now it’s worse than the left.
I’ve not been much use in the studio. I’ve struggled to take care of the paperwork and my glass-cutting and lead work is a joke. Drawing with any kind of “realism” is impossible. Thank God for Sam and her daughter Carrera. Sam has always been crucial to the studio. Now she’s indispensable.
As a deacon it’s become difficult to read the gospels or my homilies. The surgeon said there was a 95% success rate for this surgery though “success” doesn’t mean 20/20. It just means being able to read again. If it doesn’t get better I’ll switch my art work to abstracts focusing on color! That would be sort of fun.
Jason said that something is wrong with the ice maker in the kitchen. “It makes noises late at night that you can’t hear during the day.” And “Is it O.K. if I change the lights each night so that people will think someone is home?” I said, “but someone IS home: you and Ashley.” “Yeah, I know, but I mean someone else!”
Ashley is so sad that we are leaving Sissy, our “grand-dog,” with Jenny.
On the flight to Detroit the stewardess didn’t have change so my scotch was free! So now my handwriting is getting even worse!
On the flight from JFK to Dublin the stewardess said, “The captain has said that our flight will take 5 hours and 60 minutes…” And then there was this pregnant pause as she thought about what she had just said. You can’t make this stuff up.
We watched lots of TV episodes (Big Bang, one of my favorites, West World, which I’d not seen). Anthony Hopkins is the God figure who created this world where the “hosts” are automatons and the “new arrivals” are very rich tourists who can do anything they want to their “hosts.” Things go wrong (surprise, surprise) but it makes for an interesting take on the origin of evil.
I had shepherds’ pie for supper: hamburger in a light tomato sauce with mashed potatoes and cheese baked on top. Hummus and vegetable sticks, and (ho, ho) keylime pie in a cup. And I didn’t have to cook it!
We were seated in the center section: in the middle of four seats. Agony! Really the most uncomfortable seats ever! But the flight to Dublin was quick – much faster than flying to Rome or Paris. The jumbo jet was packed.
Arriving in Dublin we had a long line snaking through customs, then down through an underground maze to gate 337 for our flight to Edinburgh.
Wednesday, August 23, Lindisfarne
From the Edinburgh airport we caught the tram to the train station and the train to Berwick (pronounced Berick) the northernmost town in England. We had an hour to kill in Berwick-upon-Tweed so we went looking for a snack. We ate at a little pastry shop where we split a toasted tuna-fish and corn sandwich on a skinny Italian roll – like a mini baguette. I’ve never had corn in my tuna fish salad before but served with lettuce, tomato and cucumber, it was very tasty. We had a lemon and apple tart for dessert. I went walking along the castle battlements. They’d crumbled a century ago (or been bombed?) and now were just a raised grassy berm overlooking the city.
We caught the bus for Lindisfarne, the Holy Island, about 12:30 and arrived at our hotel about 1 – dead on our feet. The innkeeper, Sean, was so cheerful and gabby. I felt like my head was stuffed with cotton wool. We arranged to have our supper at 6, and because our room wasn’t ready yet we headed out (more like stumbled out) to look-around for a while.
We visited the ruined abbey, and St. Mary’s church (Anglican), then saw where the Catholic church was and that there was Mass tomorrow. We found a lovely lookout at the “Heugh” above the town, watched 2 black labs playing fetch in the water, took lots of pictures, got some ice cream, then a double Jamesons and had a nice visit with two couples in the pub.
We met another nice couple at supper (Margaret and Stan). Everyone we meet is interested in where we’re from and what we think of Mr. Trump, and we ask them about Brexit and that seems to produce sighs as well. Governments seem to exist only to provide amusement and / or embarrassment for its citizenry. After supper we went to the beach near St Mary’s Church at St Cuthbert’s Island. You could see the remains of his hut and they had erected an 8 foot wooden cross beside it. There were several benches set up above the high water mark and we sat at one to watch the sun die over the now water-filled flats to the west of the island. The sky grew orange as the sun went below the purple clouds on the horizon. The only sounds were the birds in the long grass twittering goodnight to each other and the seals out over the water moaning about having to go to bed so early.
But for us, 8:30 felt like midnight, especially after visiting the local pub. It was worse for Georgia than for me – I, at least, had managed to grab an hour’s sleep before supper. As we walked back to Lindisfarne Hotel, the sky grew more and more orange. In Lexington it seems the sky goes dark after sunset. Here it got more and more red after the sun had made its exit!
We were both stumbling after the marathon “day” that began in Lexington then to Detroit, then to JFK, then to Dublin, then to Edinburgh, then to Berwick, then to Lindisfarne and finally up the stairs to room 2 and the “King size” bed that was actually the size of our queen size bed at home. I think I can remember lying down.
Thursday, August 24, Lindisfarne and the train to Durham
We went for an early morning walk – Georgia, toward the Castle garden and me toward the north beaches over the sand dunes. The dunes are completely covered with knee-deep grass – very different from the dunes we have in Georgia, Florida and the Gulf Coast. Walkers had made paths over and around them and signs warned dog owners of the danger posed by the various burrs and beggar’s lice in the area. The landscape of pastel greens and golds and slate grey water was lovely.
When I got back to the hotel Georgia was already tucking into a plate of bacon and eggs with mushrooms and brown toast. I ordered sausage, (it tasted like a mild bratwurst) poached eggs, mushrooms and beans. The English are supposed to especially enjoy beans and toast for breakfast. I wanted to see what that was about. They tasted exactly like a can of “pork and beans” warmed up. What a disappointment.
We spoke to Stan and Margaret, then went out to visit the Holy Island museum. I thought Mass was at 11. As we walked back toward the hotel we saw a horde of day-trippers coming down the sidewalk from the day car park. It looked just like a huge cruise ship had just disgorged its passengers up the street. The peace of the little St. Cuthbert Catholic Church was most welcome – but then I realized Mass wasn’t until 11:30, so we went back outside to sit in the sun and watch the tourists.
The church was the size of a small chapel with nice stained glass moved here from another church that had closed. There were 10 – 15 pews that could hold maybe 3 adults on each. I wondered why there were folding chairs set up in the aisle and another series of pews and folding chairs in the narthex.
The sister in charge asked if we minded sitting in the narthex so “the boys” could sit in the “church proper.” She said some people get huffy when she asked but she wanted “the boys” to feel especially welcome. I told her we didn’t mind and saw a handful of “locals” also sitting out here – and Stan and Margaret! You meet the nicest people in Catholic Churches.
And then in trooped “the boys”: 65 boys between the ages of 9 and 15, all wearing optic green or red “safety” vests with 15 or 20 adult counselors from the St. Vincent de Paul Society. They were all so well behaved. Another lovely Mass and seeing Stan and Margaret and all these lovely children reminded me again of the feeling that belonging to the Catholic Church is like belonging to a secret society entirely bent on doing good.
After Mass we went looking for coffee. A place called “Pilgrim Coffee” had a good reputation so we went there. The line snaking its way outside was a good sign, but when, after 10 minutes, the line hadn’t moved, I heard the lady in front of me say to the woman in front of her ”Have you moved?” “No, I haven’t. Nothing is happening.” I suggested that those weren’t real people ahead of us. ”They’re actually statues – part of an artist’s installation.” That drew a laugh and shortly after the line moved. We’d arrived in line at 12:15 and our bus to the train station in Berwick was to leave from the car park at 13:05. It took so long to get our scones with jam and clotted cream and café latte that we only made it to the bus with 5 minutes to spare. But the scones and coffee were amazing. No wonder the line was so long.
To be continued.
Jason, our son, and Ashley, his girlfriend, are staying at our house (and moving from the guest room to our bed!) while we’re gone. We didn’t want to tempt them with driving our car so I put my green truck in the carport and left its keys hidden in the beer stein on our dresser. We drove our car over to our daughter Jenny’s house, left it there, and she gave us a ride to the airport at 9 A.M. The weather is glorious though it’s supposed to storm this afternoon. Hope we’re on our way across the Atlantic before that happens.
In mid-July the sight in my right eye crapped out. There has been a serious “bulge” in the “sweet spot” of my left eye for some time but my right eye was O.K. Then six months ago a “bulge” developed in the vision of my right eye too. Interestingly, it was the mirror image of the one in my left eye. My V.A. doctor scheduled me for eye test after eye test. They never found anything so she sent me to a neurologist to see if there was nerve damage. MRI and Cat scan showed no problem. During the interview with her she said there was no sign of dementia. Nice bonus diagnosis but not helpful with regard to the failing eyesight.
Then mid-July the “bulge” in the vision of my right eye became a vortex. The center of my visual field disappeared. If I tried to looked directly at a candle the flame would disappear. Weird effect. If I looked slightly away, the flame popped back into view. My own private magic trick, and I was also the only member of the audience.
Another trip back to the optometrist and this time they found a “macular hole.” They sent me to the ophthalmologist who said I need an operation after we get back from this trip. They’ll inject my right eye with gas then have me lie face down so the resulting bubble pushes the “volcano” on the retina back into place and with luck close the hole as well.
All that to provide an excuse for the terrible handwriting in this trip journal. My left eye has been distorted for years and I depended on my right eye. Now it’s worse than the left.
I’ve not been much use in the studio. I’ve struggled to take care of the paperwork and my glass-cutting and lead work is a joke. Drawing with any kind of “realism” is impossible. Thank God for Sam and her daughter Carrera. Sam has always been crucial to the studio. Now she’s indispensable.
As a deacon it’s become difficult to read the gospels or my homilies. The surgeon said there was a 95% success rate for this surgery though “success” doesn’t mean 20/20. It just means being able to read again. If it doesn’t get better I’ll switch my art work to abstracts focusing on color! That would be sort of fun.
Jason said that something is wrong with the ice maker in the kitchen. “It makes noises late at night that you can’t hear during the day.” And “Is it O.K. if I change the lights each night so that people will think someone is home?” I said, “but someone IS home: you and Ashley.” “Yeah, I know, but I mean someone else!”
Ashley is so sad that we are leaving Sissy, our “grand-dog,” with Jenny.
On the flight to Detroit the stewardess didn’t have change so my scotch was free! So now my handwriting is getting even worse!
On the flight from JFK to Dublin the stewardess said, “The captain has said that our flight will take 5 hours and 60 minutes…” And then there was this pregnant pause as she thought about what she had just said. You can’t make this stuff up.
We watched lots of TV episodes (Big Bang, one of my favorites, West World, which I’d not seen). Anthony Hopkins is the God figure who created this world where the “hosts” are automatons and the “new arrivals” are very rich tourists who can do anything they want to their “hosts.” Things go wrong (surprise, surprise) but it makes for an interesting take on the origin of evil.
I had shepherds’ pie for supper: hamburger in a light tomato sauce with mashed potatoes and cheese baked on top. Hummus and vegetable sticks, and (ho, ho) keylime pie in a cup. And I didn’t have to cook it!
We were seated in the center section: in the middle of four seats. Agony! Really the most uncomfortable seats ever! But the flight to Dublin was quick – much faster than flying to Rome or Paris. The jumbo jet was packed.
Arriving in Dublin we had a long line snaking through customs, then down through an underground maze to gate 337 for our flight to Edinburgh.
Wednesday, August 23, Lindisfarne
From the Edinburgh airport we caught the tram to the train station and the train to Berwick (pronounced Berick) the northernmost town in England. We had an hour to kill in Berwick-upon-Tweed so we went looking for a snack. We ate at a little pastry shop where we split a toasted tuna-fish and corn sandwich on a skinny Italian roll – like a mini baguette. I’ve never had corn in my tuna fish salad before but served with lettuce, tomato and cucumber, it was very tasty. We had a lemon and apple tart for dessert. I went walking along the castle battlements. They’d crumbled a century ago (or been bombed?) and now were just a raised grassy berm overlooking the city.
We caught the bus for Lindisfarne, the Holy Island, about 12:30 and arrived at our hotel about 1 – dead on our feet. The innkeeper, Sean, was so cheerful and gabby. I felt like my head was stuffed with cotton wool. We arranged to have our supper at 6, and because our room wasn’t ready yet we headed out (more like stumbled out) to look-around for a while.
We visited the ruined abbey, and St. Mary’s church (Anglican), then saw where the Catholic church was and that there was Mass tomorrow. We found a lovely lookout at the “Heugh” above the town, watched 2 black labs playing fetch in the water, took lots of pictures, got some ice cream, then a double Jamesons and had a nice visit with two couples in the pub.
We met another nice couple at supper (Margaret and Stan). Everyone we meet is interested in where we’re from and what we think of Mr. Trump, and we ask them about Brexit and that seems to produce sighs as well. Governments seem to exist only to provide amusement and / or embarrassment for its citizenry. After supper we went to the beach near St Mary’s Church at St Cuthbert’s Island. You could see the remains of his hut and they had erected an 8 foot wooden cross beside it. There were several benches set up above the high water mark and we sat at one to watch the sun die over the now water-filled flats to the west of the island. The sky grew orange as the sun went below the purple clouds on the horizon. The only sounds were the birds in the long grass twittering goodnight to each other and the seals out over the water moaning about having to go to bed so early.
But for us, 8:30 felt like midnight, especially after visiting the local pub. It was worse for Georgia than for me – I, at least, had managed to grab an hour’s sleep before supper. As we walked back to Lindisfarne Hotel, the sky grew more and more orange. In Lexington it seems the sky goes dark after sunset. Here it got more and more red after the sun had made its exit!
We were both stumbling after the marathon “day” that began in Lexington then to Detroit, then to JFK, then to Dublin, then to Edinburgh, then to Berwick, then to Lindisfarne and finally up the stairs to room 2 and the “King size” bed that was actually the size of our queen size bed at home. I think I can remember lying down.
Thursday, August 24, Lindisfarne and the train to Durham
We went for an early morning walk – Georgia, toward the Castle garden and me toward the north beaches over the sand dunes. The dunes are completely covered with knee-deep grass – very different from the dunes we have in Georgia, Florida and the Gulf Coast. Walkers had made paths over and around them and signs warned dog owners of the danger posed by the various burrs and beggar’s lice in the area. The landscape of pastel greens and golds and slate grey water was lovely.
When I got back to the hotel Georgia was already tucking into a plate of bacon and eggs with mushrooms and brown toast. I ordered sausage, (it tasted like a mild bratwurst) poached eggs, mushrooms and beans. The English are supposed to especially enjoy beans and toast for breakfast. I wanted to see what that was about. They tasted exactly like a can of “pork and beans” warmed up. What a disappointment.
We spoke to Stan and Margaret, then went out to visit the Holy Island museum. I thought Mass was at 11. As we walked back toward the hotel we saw a horde of day-trippers coming down the sidewalk from the day car park. It looked just like a huge cruise ship had just disgorged its passengers up the street. The peace of the little St. Cuthbert Catholic Church was most welcome – but then I realized Mass wasn’t until 11:30, so we went back outside to sit in the sun and watch the tourists.
The church was the size of a small chapel with nice stained glass moved here from another church that had closed. There were 10 – 15 pews that could hold maybe 3 adults on each. I wondered why there were folding chairs set up in the aisle and another series of pews and folding chairs in the narthex.
The sister in charge asked if we minded sitting in the narthex so “the boys” could sit in the “church proper.” She said some people get huffy when she asked but she wanted “the boys” to feel especially welcome. I told her we didn’t mind and saw a handful of “locals” also sitting out here – and Stan and Margaret! You meet the nicest people in Catholic Churches.
And then in trooped “the boys”: 65 boys between the ages of 9 and 15, all wearing optic green or red “safety” vests with 15 or 20 adult counselors from the St. Vincent de Paul Society. They were all so well behaved. Another lovely Mass and seeing Stan and Margaret and all these lovely children reminded me again of the feeling that belonging to the Catholic Church is like belonging to a secret society entirely bent on doing good.
After Mass we went looking for coffee. A place called “Pilgrim Coffee” had a good reputation so we went there. The line snaking its way outside was a good sign, but when, after 10 minutes, the line hadn’t moved, I heard the lady in front of me say to the woman in front of her ”Have you moved?” “No, I haven’t. Nothing is happening.” I suggested that those weren’t real people ahead of us. ”They’re actually statues – part of an artist’s installation.” That drew a laugh and shortly after the line moved. We’d arrived in line at 12:15 and our bus to the train station in Berwick was to leave from the car park at 13:05. It took so long to get our scones with jam and clotted cream and café latte that we only made it to the bus with 5 minutes to spare. But the scones and coffee were amazing. No wonder the line was so long.
To be continued.