London Last

November 29, 2009

Uneventful but very long voyage home. In the midst of it I was sick of traveling and pretty certain I would not soon do it again. This morning I was planning, in the vaguest sort of way, my next trip. Went to bed at 8 last night and rose before 4 this morning, as I will do until my internal clock synchronizes with North America. I never lose a beat on the other side.

The man in the next seat was a Brit with one blind, milky eye, a middle aged man in good shape, with shaggy blond hair, like an ex-footballer. He prowled around looking for another seat. I said to his girlfriend, “Is it me?” and she said “No, he just likes changing seats.” He was unsatisfied and always in the aisle until the flight actually began. Then he was merely flummoxed by all the belts and gadgets. I realized at last he was entertaining his girlfriend, who probably loved him first because he was a scamp. A hugely fat woman had some sort of episode and paramedics came on before we could deplane in Charlotte. Turned a great wad of pounds back into dollars in Victoria Station, having spent less than half what I planned for.

As the driver was leaving me off, I was afraid of stumbling about in the darkness, the uneven ground beneath me. But when I got into the backyard, the moon had spread a silver blanket, and the way was clear.

Persistent, curious dreams through the night. I had joined a PR agency in some nearby town, and the hours with filled with me receiving ideas and making them better. Each member of my “team” was distinct and clearly characterized even now. It was a happy dream, though I was perplexed then– as I would be in real life–by the hitherto unexploited talent. The dream took up again after each round of brief waking.

House cleaner and pet sitter rearranged things during their guardianship just enough to be irritating. BMc smashed my British Museum Egyptian cat after it was too late, for a while, to replace it. The real cats have been both affectionate and mischievous, trying to get my attention after the desertion.

A few pink roses still bloom in the tangle. I don’t think we’ve had a deep freeze yet.