PUB FINERY

British pubs have a thing about flowers.  Nearly every pub is adorned with foliage and hanging baskets.  The ones that aren't are sure to be gloomy inside in my opinion.  We will pass them right by.  The ones that are seem welcoming and cheerful. And pub food is always a treat for someone who goes to Britain as seldom as I.  I don't know whether the riot of color is a sign of a tastier ale or half-pint.  But the tonic and lime, diet Coke and bitter lemon are uniformly good. This trip, our Fall Excellent Adventure as I decided to call it, I took bunches of photos of glorious pubs.  After all, there's no room to bring home souvenirs.

Some say the naming of pubs began with the Romans, others not until the Middle Ages.  Since most people couldn't read, signs were the best means of communication:  a shoe for a cobbler, a Coat-of-Arms or Rose and Crown, perhaps for an Inn.  And because the water could make anyone sick, it was good to know where to find a fermented replacement. Since every neighborhood has a pub--the local--and we lived in Bloomsbury on Mecklenburg Square many years ago, we too "have a pub."  Called The Lamb, the original meaning allegedly referred to Christ as the Lamb of God, back when all things, even a watering hole for a pint, had Christian associations.  Then again, it could have meant that sheep were once herded down the way since the street is called Lamb's Conduit.  But the most likely name source is William Lambe, who donated money for a water cistern and pipe. So much for romance. 

We remember when pubs smelled of cigarettes; you could barely see the blossoms for the haze.  But now in the spots where ordinary working folk (and we visitors) go, the fragrance and charm are not obscured.  People can sit outdoors or in and have an affordable meal and drink on virtually every corner where the rainy days and nights of Britain give a lushness to every blooming plant. 

I'm sure there's a downside.  Promoting alcohol is not a good thing.  But the greenery is a bright addition to some otherwise admittedly uninteresting urban sidewalks where the trash pickup may be spotty or late.  

What I'll do with these beguiling photos I'm not sure, but I've already an array of creative ideas.  I'm hoping that one or two of them won't be too hard.                    Nina Naomi 

ANOTHER DAY WITH A FULL HEART

 

Today I sit facing the meadow newly mown.  The cedar trees that once were small are skyward tall.  If you lie on your back, the loblolly tops merge with heaven.  Shadows long, spreading east, mirror the cedars, joined at the trunk as shadows do.  To the left, within my reach, a grove of beech, smooth and white.

I look through branches hanging low while the sun is still high but moving west.  Soon there will be colors in the sky on such a cloudless day.  There's almost no sound, no geese (not yet) nor train.  A quiet time with only the distant breath of traffic.  Later the deer will step out of the woods.  They will not like the meadow shorn.  

It's the season of golden pine straw, leaves still green and dark, mornings too.  I wake to crescent moon and candles, damp air, tea, alone but for the dog.  Time to pray.

We all have places like this, mostly outdoors but sometimes by a window.  Where the view stretches and we see things that give us pleasure, hear sounds that wake our senses, find space for our thoughts. 

The days are long, just as I wanted.  As time grows short, long days are good.  Never again will I wish a day to quickly pass.  Hurt maybe, or disappointment, but not the whole day.  So many never-agains.  Today is never yesterday.  Today is always now. 

A FULL HEART

My heart is full because we traveled.  Travel is like the best times with family.  That's all I can compare it to.  Those times when there's laughter, joy and excitement.  This was a long-awaited trip to Iceland, London (where we lived), and the Scottish Highlands.  

Travel is like that for me because I feel a rush of joy in all creation, in people and places and things.  In people who together stand by waterfalls in Iceland to feel the icy spray mingle with the cold air on our faces while the rush of plunging water conquers all other sound.  Or by the geysers where we feel the heat from deep underground and watch the steam rise and fall loudly in peaks and waves. I find myself saying "Thank you God," for a countryside of moss-covered volcanic rock, for sturdy Icelandic horses, and for the geothermal lagoons where we submerse ourselves in wonder even as it rains.  Cliche or not, the Blue Lagoon does seem supernatural, with milky blue water, rich minerals and wisps of steam all set amongst the black lava remains of aeons.  

The Blue Lagoon, Reykjavik

There is awe in North Carolina and closer to home to be sure.  But some places are just plain magical.   

In London we confront memories at every juncture.  As newlyweds we lived there, madly in love with the city and each other.  We sell our cherry-red Mustang for rent money and my husband has a small stipend to attend graduate school.  I get pregnant there twice.  

All Hallows by-the-Tower

Our love of travel began in London when we landed at Heathrow as the first stop on our honeymoon.  The city grows with each visit.  Three highlights this time:  entering St. Paul's cathedral to the sounds of the 12 change-ringing bells that announce worship in a clanging symphony; attending a play at The Globe, the outdoor stage replicating Shakespeare's theatre; and seeing again the magnificent brasses we rubbed those many years ago in All Hallows by the Tower.  

Our rubbing of the small Resurrection brass of Christ climbing out of his tomb hangs framed in my husband's study to this day.  And having seen again the magnificent full memorial brass of Andrew Evyngar (d. 1522) with his wife and children set on a replica of Flemish brocade, I will find a new place to hang our rubbing.    

In cities with long histories, it is often the artistry that people are drawn to, isn't it?  Stone masonry from centuries past, churches and towers, domes and arches.  I am wondering about the unknown artists who engraved the monuments made of sheet brass let into the sanctuary pavements, which we rubbed with gold heel-ball wax on black paper to keep forever.  This is why we wander churches and museums and sidewalks and squares and even parks, isn't it?  Because humans are capable of wondrous things too.  All of us.   

 Cladich Castle

In Scotland we again immerse in nature, in the Western Highlands.  We get from place-to-place by train, ferry, bus, van and taxi.  We see castles, long-horned shaggy cattle and sheep galore.  We climb green hills, eat grilled langoustines (a kind of shrimp-lobster-crayfish delight), hike in the most astounding places and meet the Scots.  We love the deep lochs, the high hills, the air and the people. 

 

Isle of Mull 

I know, we all do, that there are tragedies everywhere.  Personal, political, environmental.  Travel doesn't erase that.  There is much to pray for in every church visited, with every candle lit.  But we needn't apologize, I think, for appreciating God's good creation, for letting it renew our spirit.  After the past two years, seeing other peoples of the world is a good thing.  Having the time and money to travel is a blessing.   

Now that we're home, tomorrow I will look for ways to fill my heart in Durham, North Carolina.  But this trip is a gift I will not forget.  Hoping for the best for us all.        Nina Naomi