To start, I’m fine. I believe I mentioned earlier that I had an infection at a surgical site which went away and then immediately came back worse. Very bad. Approaching sepsis. (During this, the bathroom renovation went belly up and two vacations were canceled.) However, it is gone now, I’m getting my strength back, and I feel better than I have in a very long time. I mowed our postage stamp size front yard yesterday. =)
I think I might’ve mentioned I was working on an adaptation of 1728’s The Beggar’s Opera. Didn’t work out. I was enjoying the work, but the details, places, people, customs and occupations of 1728 London are all things that would have to be very clearly explained to a modern audience. That would result in a well-over-two-hour musical, it could possibly prove tedious, and that’s not what I’m after. I’m after small, meaningful, and fun.
So I’ve started something else. At this point, I’ll say that it is a two person musical (plus the non-speaking pianist character) based on the local stay of a very famous, very fun, very complicated person from the 1920s/1930s. The first 15 minutes is currently being read by a few people. Interestingly, it’s revealed itself to me as about 75% sung and 25% spoken. I’m having a good time.
The garden is at peak!
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And of course, I’ve already got a good amount of herbs in hanging and drying. A few stalks of sage, basil, oregano, and thyme so far.
Since I recently updated my ancient Facebook account (I only look at it once or twice a year — Marketplace.) At any rate, probably best not to post anything to me there. I’m on Instagram as well if you’d like.
Since we’ve already had a lot of folks joining us here that I haven’t spoken to in quite a while, I thought I’d do a little bit of a catch up. (Yeah, this is going to be a very long post. I’ll intersperse some photos.)
J and I now live in Westchester, in a charming downtown, short walking distance from the train station and less than an hour from midtown Manhattan. A few blocks from the Hudson River. We bought this 1100 ft.² 3/1 project-house cottage just about six years ago.
The original part of the house was built in the 1840s, it was extended in the 1880s, and I’ve been renovating since we moved in.
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(A fun photo in the cellar!)
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It is truly my avocation. When we bought it, the first thing I did was tear the front room of the house off and rebuild the original covered porch. Every board, rail, and post — hand cut, all wood, all me, no pre-fab whatsoever.
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The day we closed, and a few months later.
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There was a big initial construction push; but then … two bouts of cancer, several operations, and finally a quadruple 10-hour operation with four Columbia specialists last July. This sidelined reno for about three years. I have my challenges, but I am absolutely fine now. I am nearing a year in complete remission. I’m officially disabled with the tag, parking spot in front of the house, etc. But, you probably wouldn’t know it just to look at me. It’s a neuropathy and chronic fatigue situation, besides the fact that they removed a lot of my insides. (Seriously.)
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Renovations resumed just recently in full! While we were on vacation, we had our close friend, nextdoor neighbor, and contractor tear down the 1 inch thick plaster-and-lathe ceiling in the large kitchen to expose the huge 180-year-old beams. (This was something I was never going to do on my own. Too big, awful, and unpleasant.) I’m now in the process of doing all the finishing work and putting the kitchen back together the way we want it. Very cottage-core, or course. The work is challenging, very creative, very satisfying, and I’ve learned to pace myself. Updates will come on that soon. It’s looking gorgeous.
I am, as always, a Director of Music and Organist at a local church, which I love. I’ve been there six years as well. My friends there were an enormous help during my very serious health challenges. I also teach piano and other instruments privately, but I’m very selective about who I teach, and only have seven students over three days, 30 minutes each.
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I suppose if I haven’t spoken to you in quite a while, I’ve also developed quite a travel bug. I was in London a few months ago, we were in the Catskills a week ago, I’m in Orlando in a week and a half, and in July I’m visiting my mom for a week in Tampa.
While I’m in Tampa, our contractor is tearing out the fiberglass tub/shower situation and putting in a huge, deep, wide tub. Also tiled walls, and vintage shower fixtures. (The tub will be a big help for me. One of the things that helps me most is doing my PT exercises while in hot/warm water.)
The best thing about growing older, I think, is that you’re able to pretty much choose what (or who) is positive and helpful to you. You realize that you can amplify/multiply what’s positive, and you ideally have no time for what’s negative. Also, I find you gain a superpower — invisibility. This is especially helpful if you’re an introvert like me.
Invisibility is easily achieved. Two points —
1. In the mood to be left alone, I have purposely gone to the store wearing pajamas and slippers, with my hair uncombed under a hat, bringing my walking stick even though I might not really need it just then. I proceed to move at a very slow, leisurely pace; which I prefer anyway. Works like a charm. No one sees me. Invisible!
2. If you choose to look presentable and noticed on a particular day, you’re able to make an odd choice, and it’s celebrated rather than fussed at. I like that, and have taken full advantage. You probably know that I have blue and purple crazy hair, and without exaggeration, I dress like a wizard. (I have my choice of several drapey cloak jackets, extra long scarves, and harem pants.) I’m comfortable, and it’s fun.
Cannabis is legal here in New York, and we have a store downtown. Know who I see going in there? Young people? Nope. Not at all. Middle-aged+ people who look like they could be your grandparents.
What of the aches and pains, middle-aged health issues, and even surgeries? It’s going to happen to all of us, and has already happened to many people you know who have simply not mentioned it.
You learn to manage it. I think of it as the price of knowing what I know, being respected, and having a certain freedom to do as I wish.
Sure, there will be a few people that don’t like this or that, and they will fall by the wayside. That’s on them. I find that miserable people often want everyone else to be miserable too. To those people I say, “I wish you well, no hard feelings, and don’t let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out.”
Speaking of doors, I’ve amended the old saying — When a door is slammed in your face, make sure you’ve brought a hammer … so you can nail that shit shut.
Surgeries, repeated tumors, ongoing major side effects, medications, constant doctors. But I’m here — teaching, playing, busy. It takes a lot of support. From my husband and my team of doctors of course, but also from a young chap named Eli. I often call him my Familiar.
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Yep. He’s big.
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He’s always with me. If I’m upstairs, so is he. If I’m downstairs, so is he. When I was in my sick bed, so was he. If I lie down to take a nap, so does he. (Nearly on top of me, of course.) If I’m having a particularly bad day, he can tell, and stays even closer. I tear-up even just talking about it. I’m told that when they accidentally poisoned me and made me a crazy person in the hospital, I was calling for him.
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Pensive puppy.
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We are very much alike, this five-year-old and I. But of course, I raised him. He’s very intelligent, and probably just learned it from me —
He doesn’t like unannounced intruders. He dislikes people (or squirrels, or birds) fidgeting around our property. He does not like noise. He is hyper-emotional and easily upset, but he is also easily made wildly happy by small kindnesses. There are times when he absolutely just wants to sit there and be left alone. Also, we both hate wearing hats.
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Does not like the hat. But he put up with it for a minute so I could take a picture.
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The amount of sentences, tones, and words he understands amazes me. But then, that’s the mysterious intelligent-dog thing.
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Regal puppy.
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His birthday is Thanksgiving, which I think is poetic. It also helps me remember how old he is, because we’re not very good with that sort of thing in our house. We always have to count dog birthdays and human anniversaries. I’m constantly having to try to remember how old I am.
When Eli had just come home, I had to go to a choir practice the next evening. There was a church member that was a thorn in my side … actually a thorn in everyone’s side. The guy was shocked that I would bring a puppy (however silent) to choir practice. Everyone else, of course, was charmed. My thought was, “I’m the staff member, the leader, and it’s my choir practice. I’ll bring an ostrich if I want to.”
But, the guy was visibly irritated. So, Eli walked over and peed on his choir folder. Good boy. The rest of the choir and I laughed ourselves silly. Ginny, a beloved older singer who had been in the choir for forty years laughed the loudest.
So, we’ll end with a puppy picture from that week. He was 11 weeks old, and that’s a 3 foot wide bed!
Hooo … am I tired! Tomorrow I’m off to the airport hotel, which sounds dreary, but it will be very nice. It’s supposed to be a quite decent hotel, and it’s attached directly to the airport. This way, I’m already there for my flight the next day, no rushing, no public transportation issues, another spa day.
A foggy, wet day; but no actual rain. Just a light wetting-you mist. Well, ya know. Fog.
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“A foggy day in London Town Had me low and had me down I viewed the morning with alarm The British Museum had lost its charm.”
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A bit of a rant today concerning the visit. It’s an entertaining and surprising rant, but if you’d like to skip it, just scroll down to the photos.
Lots of walking and standing today, and I’d have to say unfortunately, Westminster Abbey does disabilities very poorly. I went 15 minutes before opening, and after I’d walked around the large yard to get to the main entrance line. The employee out front sort of talked in circles when I asked whether there was a disabled entrance. I was tired of asking about it (and I was already there), so I waited in the line with the normals. They opened at 9:30 on the mark, but all the folks that worked there already seemed very much “on guard.”
When I didn’t want a free tour headset, the person-wearing-a-robe kept going on and on about it. After two or three go-rounds, her last sentence to me was, “But why don’t you have an audio guide?” Um, hello? I guess they don’t like people to refuse headsets. Maybe we try to talk to them too much otherwise. That impression was further confirmed as the day progressed.
Of all of the places I’ve visited in the past week, The Abbey staff has been the least friendly/helpful by far. And I’m not even very needy or demanding. The Docklands Museum and Southwark Cathedral absolutely both destroy Westminster Abbey in this respect. (I should mention, I had a very nice conversation about Jenny Lind with the lovely young headset-collector woman in Poets’ Corner.)
Later, after saying the same thing three or four times to different docents before they “got” what I was talking about, I realized they’re programmed to parrot this and that, and prefer not to be bothered; that I couldn’t possibly have anything useful or interesting to mention. In one instance, I mentioned a fact about some burials in the Stuart aisle of the Lady Chapel. She disagreed. I told her she should really read her very own Dean Stanley’s book … he documented all the royal burials in the mid-1800s.
At one point, I really needed to sit down (or fall down) for a while. I explained to a verger/docent/person. She told me I had to walk all the way around to get the 24 inches forward to where she was standing next to the chairs, rather than just picking up the rope hook for literally two or three seconds.
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I mean, c’mon.
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I was briefly in the vicinity of one absolutely hysterical docent — every time you took a step towards him, he either exaggeratedly turned his head the other way or walked to another corner. (For real. I tried it a few times to make sure. LOL)
This kind of crap filters down through the layers, and of course, as they’ll often remind you, this is first and foremost, a place of worship. As a career churchy myself, to say I was less-than-impressed is a gross understatement. And I’m looking at you, Dean Hoyle.
That’s plenty of complaining for today! Let’s look at some awesome pictures! I took dozens and dozens, so we’ll just do the highlights here.
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Henry VII’s stunning Lady Chapel
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I guess I can now say that I was once in the quire at Westminster Abbey
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Chaucer’s tomb. Interestingly, he was not interred here as a great poet, but due to his job as an upper-level government functionary.
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QEI — The lady, the myth, the legend. (She’s not in the box. She’s stacked in the crypt underneath below the floor, with her sister Queen Mary. Elizabeth is on top. Poetic justice.
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Edward the Confessor
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An aisle in the Cloister
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Remarkably preserved medieval paintings!
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I’m a bit of a scholar on the subject, I’ve done my own research, I’ve read Dean Stanley’s book(s) at least two or three times, and I’ve been to the Abbey in person several times, this being my last.
Yes, sure, I felt a little unwelcome. Big deal. However, combined with feeling physically uncomfortable without any way of helping myself, I don’t need to return. There was an Evensong later in the day I’d considered, but I hopped on the boat for an afternoon cruise instead.
One of the crew came over to me (a few of them know me by now) to mention that a more comfortable window seat had just opened up on the starboard side, and I realized that I felt very much more welcome on the Uber Boat than inside Westminster Abbey.
Sit Still Phill 