Riverwalk and Wild Nature at the Last House - Blenheim Palace and the Wisdom of Winston

The Skunk Cabbage Has Made a Good Beginning



The View into Quebec From the Path Down to the River



Blasted Wild Apple



The Beaver's Work



The Old Barn at the Last House from the Lower Field

We (Woolfoot husband and I) used to walk down to the river at the back of our property all the time. It got harder once the kids arrived because getting to the river -- the Missisquoi, which snakes across northern Vermont to empty into Lake Champlain -- one must wade through a lot of brambles and, depending on the season, mud. We had a $60 LLBean baby carrier, but what a hassle. (It was practically like new when I offloaded it on Ebay a few years back). So post-dinner walks to the river have grown less frequent in recent years.

Well, May 5 is still early spring in Northern Vermont but things have dried up sufficiently to make walking down to the river's edge a not-bad idea. Also Kid 2 is now 7 years old and he and Kid 1 think riding down the hill in the hay field to the river is a lot of fun. So, after dinner tonight the kids dragged me down there to see the "secret hiding spot" they found earlier today while planting willow trees with WHusband.

The river is running high and the recent flooding cleared some brambly areas, temporarily, allowing me to get these artsy photos for you all. Since we were there around dusk, we were lucky enough to see a monster beaver come by - looked like a 40-pounder to me. He slapped his tail at us several times but failed to scare us off. Here he is:



Sunday Reading and Writing; Thinking of Blenheim and W. Churchill

Other than our little nature walk, it's been a housekeeping kind of a day. I did take the kids swimming in Derby this PM but otherwise we stayed close to home. I managed to do some blogging and some reading and I wanted to blog a little about today's reading. First, some scene setting.

Our friend Aidan from Oxford, having learned of my interest in visiting Blenheim Palace on our recent trip over The Pond, drove us out there himself and accompanied us on the tour. Aidan is himself some kind of gentry but he doesn't really elaborate (I know he went to Winchester then Cambridge and is a famous pediatrician). He did mention while we were touring Blenheim that, as a young man, he used to do shooting at some estate next door owned by a relative. Anyway, even if he hadn't been to the manor born he has the meritocratic claim to honor. (His charming house, where we stayed, is a Victorian row house, a stone's throw from Christchurch College. It has one bathroom, no tumble dry and no central heating; it does have a lot of books and bric a brac from the lives of his grown children - true good taste). Aidan bought a copy of the biography of Winston Churchill by Roy Jenkins at the Blenheim gift shop for me to bring home to WHusband. I got to reading it today. The connection, of course, is that Churchill was born in Blenheim as his father, Lord Randolph, was the son and brother to two of the Dukes of Marlborough.

Both Aidan and I started chuckling at the end of the tour when the current Duke of Marlborough appears in a video to thank you for visiting his home. Remember upper-class twits from Monty Python? One of the docents had mentioned to us during the tour, in quiet, nearly conspiratorial tones, that the current Duke - an 80-something gentleman who lives in the part of the Palace one does not get to visit on the strength of one's 20-pound ticket - comes from an age of grand deference that is not now well understood. Rather a man out of time. I tip my hat to him for not trying to keep Jenkin's book out of the gift shop, however. In his first chapter, Jenkins notes that after the first Duke, a Churchill who won the battle of Blenheim and a bunch of others a couple of hundred years ago, the rest of the lot have basically been losers.

I am a Churchill admirer, not one of those contrarians who blames him for bankrupting England during the War. Having read this little bit of Jenkins book, I like him even better. Discussing some early financial pressures on Winnie, Jenkins writes:

Out of these pressures Churchill evolved two firm rules which he followed faithfully for the rest of his life. The first was expenditure should be determined by need (generously interpreted) rather than by resources. He stood the famous maxim of Dickens' Mr. Micawber on its head. Second, he decided that when the gap between income and expenditure became uncomfortably wide the spirited solution was must always be to increase income than reduce expenditures.

Now, that is the right attitude. God bless the memory of Winston Churchill.

I Been Workin' on my Bla -ah-og, all the Live-Long Day: Scroll for a Poll

My husband said yesterday I was going to take root in this chair. What can I say, Rome was not built in a day and I have been learning my way around a few more Bloggish features. I added a poll yesterday, just for fun, - but you have to scroll right down to the end of this page, check it out.

And I didn't really spend all day on the computer - just all evening! Really.

Most of the day yesterday was, in fact, spent ferrying Kid 1 to a birthday party in Movegas (aka Morrisville, Vermont) and then playing VT tourist with Kid 2. He and I went down to Montpelier, our bijou little state capital city, for a quick look at the State House and all the hippies and their various products at the weekly farmers market. Then on to Ben and Jerry's factory-cum-tourist-attraction in Waterbury for a cone. Then home. No wonder I had to sit and blog when I got back (that jaunt representd about 5 hours of driving/shopping/gawking)! We at the Last House did also manage a little effort for Green Up Day, running around the fields here and picking up cans and plastic, what have you. I was impressed by all the volunteers I saw out on the roadsides in yesterday's cold, rainy weather.

Londres et Angleterre - Quel Surprise!

Back from the UK for more than a week now (after my long-desired first-ever trip) but I still have a bunch of observations I want to record before I forget. When friends there, and here, asked me what surprised me about England a couple of things have leapt to mind. First, London, though it's "built environment" as the architects say, is echt English, it's gestalt was echt international - far more than I had expected. It seems like three quarters of the people with whom we dealt, desk clerks, shop clerks etc. were clearly not from England. They were from everywhere;India,Eastern Europe, Western Europe, North America. Of conversations overheard on the bus and tube, fully half of them were in languages other than English and the English we heard was often accented with something other than native British tones. I felt like I heard almost as much French as I hear in Montreal. It was sort of astounding to me, though I suppose it should not have been. England is connected by a landlink (Chunnel) to Europe now and we have been hearing for years about the immigrant communities in England. I have been watching BBC America and have seen all of Prime Suspect so I should have been ready for this, but it did catch me off guard. Very interesting. What does this portend for the future I wonder?

The other "surprise" was more subtle and marks me out as a bit stupid. I was a little taken aback that life in England is as ordinary as it is. La vie quotidien has to be lived there just like here! Who'd have thunk it? English people there are not engaged day-to-day in living out a costume drama, or a Prime Suspect episode, or a Thomas Hardy novel. They get on and off buses, go to the supermarket; take children to school (although there is a lot of drama in some of those school uniforms). Of course, I knew this intellectually, but this ordinary aspect of life there also caught me a bit off guard. As I considered this, I realised that all my contact with England has heretofore been in the news, books, movies and TV shows - always something constructed for effect or reported because of its great interest; life distilled and packaged. When one actually get there and start walking around, however, one realizes people there are, wait for it, a lot lke people here! Don't get me wrong, it was different from home in many ways but not so fundamentally as I guess I subconsciously expected.

Back Home Now



Here's a picture I snapped on Thursday as I was loading up the kids things for school and the garbage for the dump (or "the tip" as they say in England). It was a frosty late April dawn. The farmer who rents our land has gotten started with his plowing. Spring is really here, at last.

Harrods and the Heart's Desire

In the Food Halls


Let me start by saying that if it didn't come from an auction and it is in my house, it probably came from the Dollar Store or Big Lots or Christmas Tree Shoppe (another liquidator of consumer goods, nothing to do with Christmas trees). My horrible clothes are mostly bought at another super deep discounter in that international fashion capital, Johnson, Vermont called The Forget Me Not Shop. In days of yore, in the distant 1980s and 90s, I bought things with belts, things that had to be ironed, things with shapes, things that might be brought to a person in a dressing room in various sizes and colors by an assistant. And, are you sitting down? I once paid retail.

Those days are gone, long gone. And in this, my current, great horking, tatty American form, with a habit of cheapness so deeply embedded that it is as natural to me, and as reflexive, as blinking, I visited Harrods on three occasions during our four-days in London last week. Mind you, during this (maybe) once-in-a-lifetime trip, we (my ten-year-old daughter and I) didn't manage to get to the Tower of London or the British Museum or Hampton Court Palace. No Elgin Marbles for us, but we did see the shrine to Dodi al Fayed and Princess Diana at the foot of the Egyptian Elevator on several occasions. Oh, and we both loved it.

Anyone reading this blog probably already knows that Harrods is the most famous of the many great London department stores and a British Insitution now owned by Egyptian Billionaire Mohamed al Fayed (also famous as father of the late Dodi Fayed). The place was almost certainly more tasteful before M. Fayed got his hands on it, but this was my first time seeing it so I don't know any better and wouldn't really have cared anyway. I was beguiled - bad taste be damned. The Disney effects are, of course, only part of the story. The sheer marvelousness of the place, of its situation on Brompton Road- great crossroads of the world! Its immensity, its profligacy (more on that in a moment), and its real beauty (the jewelry, the antiques, even the "luxury toilets" [yes, they actually have signs, and not a few, to let you know where the luxury toilets may be found] were just so, what?, so enchanting.

We did spend a few dollars, although we didn't buy any clothes (I was beguiled but I am not crazy). Kid 1 insisted on shopping the children's section despite my oft-repeated warnings that we would not buy anything there. I shared a wonderful moment of recognition of the absurdity of the prices with an English grandmother who flipped over a tag on the same rack I was perusing. We looked at each other and laughed at the idea of a 50 pound child's blouse. We did buy the ice cream, and the cookies in a Harrods tin to bring home; we changed money in the basement (probably a very bad deal but the "bank" was beautiful and the uniformed cashier was charming).

For our hundred dollars or so we got a few odd bits that say "Harrods" on them,a few sugary drinks and snacks, and a bunch of images that will last a lifetime. It was worth it. There was an opera singer in the well of the Egyptian Escalator who sounded good enough for La Scala last Saturday. I thought it was a recording till I heard the applause. The one sight that most impressed me were the legions of dark-suited young people who staff the miles of floors outside the food halls. (Inside the food halls everyone is dressed in what amounts to a costume that reminded me of Dick van Dyke on his day out with Mary Poppins in "It's a Jolly Holiday.")

The dark-suited ones seemed never to be talking to any customers or completing transactions. They seem to stand and watch -- although they can, and do, point the way to the luxury toilets, as they demonstrated for me. ("They also serve who only stand and wait?") To have this young, well-dressed, well-coiffed phalanx available at every turning was the most luxurious thing about the place. When I say that Harrods is profligate, this is my prime example.

On our last night in London our lovely (rich) friends took us to dinner at the sushi bar on the 5th floor at Harvey Nichols ("Harvey Nicks," as our host said). What I know about Harvey Nichols I learned from watching Absolutely Fabulous. It was great, of course, very cool, very smart, very expensive - just the place for Joanna Lumley's character on Ab Fab. But I preferred to be dazzled and to have fun, a declasse colonial in the end, I suppose. I guess we must get to Selfridges if we ever get back to London, and to the Elgin Marbles eventually.

A Perfect Sunday

So much to blog about, so little time.

We have been back from England for three full days and the glow is wearing off. We'll always have London, of course, but the pictures have been printed and the bags unpacked and tomorrow it's back to work and business as usual. Sigh...

A Sunday evening contentment prevails. A new episode ofThe Simpsons is on as I write. I scored a cache of great pottery at the auction today, along with a box full of Hotwheels for Kid 2 and an entire library of children's books from the 40s through the present day for Kid 1. We were all very happy with our respective hauls. From the auction we went over to our friends' farm to see the new pony and for some play time for all of us. (These friends have a beautiful farm and just redecorated their 200 year old house and I helped them hang some beautiful pictures while the kids played on the sunny, warm lawn). The kids played auction on the lawn, and bestowed their friends with lots of books and Hotwheels. (We have a lot of books in that box, maybe 150! and about 60 new in the box hotwheels. What fun). Kids all jumped in the pond, it was that warm - at least the air. The pond was frozen just a few weeks ago.

I'll be back with more when I can catch my breath... Remind me to tell you about Harrods and International London and the English class structure. I'm just dying to do so...

Here are a couple more England pics. Bath in the first shot, and Oxford in the next two. All were taken near the homes of the friends with whom we stayed. Nice friends with nice addresses.

Vermont -> London, Oxford, Bath -> Vermont

Yesterday morning, 5 AM in the UK, I awoke in the smallest hotel room in London with Kid 1 still snoozing in the bed that occupied nine tenths of the room. How small was it? "My hotel room was so small I had to go outside to change my mind." (buh duh bump). Well, it was only for one night, the night before our departure from the great UK adventure of 2008, which began with a car trip from home in Vermont to Montreal, air travel from Montreal to London, site seeing in London for three nights, off to friends in Oxford for two more, then one night with more friends in Bath and then back to London (in a chauffer-driven Mercedes that detoured to Stonehenge, more on that in another post); a long plane ride back to Montreal and not so long car ride to Vermont. Absolutely ripping overall, as they might say - and the small hotel room was clean and gave me a chance to repeat that old joke and to own a London accommodation story worth repeating so I am not really complaining. It made for a comic ending to a fun trip for me and my ten-year-old daughter. As I write from my accustomed perch in The Back of Beyond of Vermont, Kid 2 is outside in the sun with Vermont greening up all around us. He mastered a two-wheeler today (at last) so it is a good day to be home. I have lots to say about our trip to England but it will have to wait to be unpacked, rather like my daughter's luggage. So much to do when one has been away for a week...

Above are a few of my favorite pictures from our trip to whet your appetite and remind me what I want to write about. The one below of the sleeping kid is an attempt to capture room 153 Days Inn and Suites in Westminster. I had no room to back up which meant it was impossible to capture the smallness.



Hard to believe that just yesterday we were treading the pavements on Belgrave Road into the cavernous (and wonderful) Victoria station. Sigh. Off to Newport (Vermont) for pizza with the kids.

Mommy's Day Off - Thoughts on Rock and Doris

What a luxury at my stage in life (43 with two grade-school kids and a parttime job as a lawyer)to have a sunny weekday at home. I don't even have to fetch the kids from school! The neighbor will pick them up and take them to her house after school for a play date. Wow. Now, to make things even better, Turner Classic Movies is having a Doris Day day - it's her birthday, I guess. Right now, it's Rock Hudson and Doris in Lover Come Back (so wonderfully dated, so ironic). Putting my free time to what feels to good use, I must blog.

As I write, Doris (Carol) is contemplating in song whether she should "surrender" to Rock (Jerry Webster). The song plays in a dreamy voiceover as Doris pours the champagne in her Manhattan kitchen. She's just cleared away the dinner dishes, (noting, "That's a woman's job" when Rock tried to help). Her blonde hair is whipped into a meringue. She is wearing a beautifully tailored skirt, sequined top, diamond earrings, red lipstick. In the opening scene she whooshed into her Manhattan office in a black and white dress, hat, and gloves, that must have been by Chanel. Ann B. Davis (Alice on The Brady Bunch) who made a career out of being the plain, stalwart retainer, was close behind to help Doris with her rear-buttoning jacket. The fashions were fabulous. Back to the unfolding plot. Should she or shouldn't she? The fatal question: "surrender? surrender? surrender?" plays as a refrain.

I won't get into the plot, check Wikipedia. Who cares anyway. Aside from the technical changes in the movies, tecnicolor, panavision etc., this is interesting only as a relic and cultural artifact. How amazing to think that they packed into the theaters for the great, prolonged tease only one generation back!(The film was released in 1961 while my parents were in college). And Rock Hudson, here again on display as a paradigm of American manhood! Deceived, naive people. The mind boggles. Oops, there goes a gay joke, actually a series of them. Rock has just been deserted by the side of the road in his jockeys (Doris found out he had been wooing her under false pretenses). He has been picked up by a truck driver in one of those Maytag-repairman uniforms. "Man you were a sight," the truck driver quips; Rock standing behind him in a woman's fur coat for some reason. Next, Rock comes into his apartment building and is spied by a pair of middle-aged men, whose only purpose in the movie is to stand by and comment on Rock's virility (as Rock rushes by with various beautiful women). "He's the last guy you would have expected," one quips to the other. Ha ha. And as if that wasn't enough evidence of the yawning gulf between the mores of 1961 and 2008, the great product that the genius chemist comes up with (it's a movie about the advertising industry)is a candy that turns into alcohol in your system so you can get drunk for just ten cents. OK. That movie ended and now it's Doris and Jimmy Stewart in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Probably less food for thought and maybe a little more subtlety. I'll leave it on while I clean the kitchen, something I will get to eventually.





I tested out a new tiny camera that came in the mail today (an Ebay find and more prep for the great Woolfoot journey to the UK in two weeks). This little camera is supposedly for Kid 1, but she may have trouble getting it away from me. Here are a couple of shots of this bright day on the Vermont/Quebec border and the old barn here at the Last House (in extreme close up).

I Got the Suitcase!


I promised an update on the suitcase search that I wrote about here the other day. Et, voila. Several stores and a large swath of the internet were scouted before I decided to part with $59.99 at TJ Maxx in South Burlington. Here is my brand new 24-inch Swissgear Roller Bag. Long may she roll.

Another Camera Test and More Woolfoot Art Collection



Here's a little bit of folk art I picked up at the Degre Auction House a few months back (see the auction house link on the right - one of my favorite haunts). I wanted to see how our wee new camera would perform indoors and on the close-up setting. This old edifice was called "the Federal Building" by the Auction House. I bought it because it passed the, "it-called-to-me" test, which is the only test I apply (not being willing to apply the "can-I-afford-it" test that is the main thing I should be considering). I still really like it. Some old Vermonter worked hard on it, although I doubt it came out just like he or she wanted. My daughter added Hello Kitty to the front step. Now, I think that is a Duchamp touch that makes this into modern art. I guess I would be willing to part with it for the right price. ;-)