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I have part of a post lingering that I keep meaning to finish. In summary: I found a suitable rolling suitcase on sale, I ran all the pre-Oceania errands: plane tickets, visa, international driving permit, adapter gathering for electronic devices. I even let the upstairs tenants know I'd be gone the second half of June in case they need something done in the next three weeks. This is how I learned I am the de facto grounds keeper since their lease says someone will take care of the lawn. This chunks for someone with grass pollen allergies. I think Kibo will be learning how to use a sickle after this evening's debacle with the push mower.
I was thinking about all the writing I plan to post while I'm in Australia. I wanted to have not one but two electronic writing tools ready for the trip so that I wouldn't wind up with a full notebook I never transcribe. That's what happened a lot in England: I wrote notes on train rides.
I came across one of my notebooks from England and realized I should transcribe these as a lead-up to my next trip. Indeed I shall, but tonight I'm starting with a story I had not written down while I was there in April of 2006.
I walked around the Cutty Sark and spent some time with it when I visited Greenwich. It's hard to miss it because it's in dry dock on the same quai one would take to catch a ferry back to Westminster. I had no plans to see this ship because my only previous familiarity was the bottle of booze with the same moniker. It was like finding out Bourbon is also the name of the last royal house in France: these folks need a better PR campaign.
I learned today that the Cutty Sark was the victim of an eight-alarm fire. While there is plenty of mourning and homily going on, there is also good news: half the ship wasn't at the site at the time. This could still turn out to be rerun of 1936's fate of the Crystal Palace.
I don't feel deeply sad but I feel like I screwed up by not lingering. I was annoyed by the stench from the filthy Thames, the rotting timbers and the general sense of malaise in the quai. The rest of London was blossoming in the clearing fog but Greenwich seemed a little stalled. Maybe that's for the best: not everything needs to scream about a modernity fetish. I had a great argument with an Italian gentleman down the road before I stopped into a Mark & Spencer food shop and bought some dinner pieces. I liked the place once I got used to it feeling like downtown Great Barrington.
You know what? My thoughts about this topic aren't making sense. I had better start the Greenwich tale from the beginning and write that up on another evening. For now just know that I am ready to travel and I will use the next 21 days as if they were as beautiful as the 15 I hope shall follow them.
-thinking about words, working on deeds, Dante
I was thinking about all the writing I plan to post while I'm in Australia. I wanted to have not one but two electronic writing tools ready for the trip so that I wouldn't wind up with a full notebook I never transcribe. That's what happened a lot in England: I wrote notes on train rides.
I came across one of my notebooks from England and realized I should transcribe these as a lead-up to my next trip. Indeed I shall, but tonight I'm starting with a story I had not written down while I was there in April of 2006.
I walked around the Cutty Sark and spent some time with it when I visited Greenwich. It's hard to miss it because it's in dry dock on the same quai one would take to catch a ferry back to Westminster. I had no plans to see this ship because my only previous familiarity was the bottle of booze with the same moniker. It was like finding out Bourbon is also the name of the last royal house in France: these folks need a better PR campaign.
I learned today that the Cutty Sark was the victim of an eight-alarm fire. While there is plenty of mourning and homily going on, there is also good news: half the ship wasn't at the site at the time. This could still turn out to be rerun of 1936's fate of the Crystal Palace.
I don't feel deeply sad but I feel like I screwed up by not lingering. I was annoyed by the stench from the filthy Thames, the rotting timbers and the general sense of malaise in the quai. The rest of London was blossoming in the clearing fog but Greenwich seemed a little stalled. Maybe that's for the best: not everything needs to scream about a modernity fetish. I had a great argument with an Italian gentleman down the road before I stopped into a Mark & Spencer food shop and bought some dinner pieces. I liked the place once I got used to it feeling like downtown Great Barrington.
You know what? My thoughts about this topic aren't making sense. I had better start the Greenwich tale from the beginning and write that up on another evening. For now just know that I am ready to travel and I will use the next 21 days as if they were as beautiful as the 15 I hope shall follow them.
-thinking about words, working on deeds, Dante
