Surprise Party Guest--now it can be told

Well, we're going to back up about a week and a half.

The avid reader will know that I have been in the Boston and New York areas since the 19th of October.

I planned my arrival to coincide with a surprise party for the Head Cat at the Knitten Kitten, MaryAnn. She had been told by the other knitters that this was an Oktoberfest party, while they were secretly planning to surprise her. When she learned that I might be in town, she asked if I could change my arrival date and be a surprise guest at the party. Thinking that keeping our own secret might distract her from what the rest of the crew was up to, I agreed.
She picked me up at Logan airport in Boston on the afternoon of the party, dropped me off at my Hostess Dr. Erica's to freshen up, and collected me at 4 pm (9 pm body-clock time).

We hatched a plan to hide my presence in her vehicle. While still on the highway, I reclined the front seat in which I was located, and wound up almost completely supine. I was wearing a long, hooded raincoat, so turned my head to the side and pulled the hood completely over my face.
It was a good thing, because while we were nearing our final destination, we overtook EllenL, who was hopelessly lost. She got out of her car and approached ours, had a brief conversation with MaryAnn and her son Walter (there supposedly to help with folding chairs, but he was in on the surprise birthday aspect of it). EllenL was so distracted by her being lost that she didn't even notice the body-shaped raincoat "draped" across the front seat.

We arrived at our destination with me still hidden. MaryAnn and Walter unloaded the folding chairs, and headed into the house. I gave them a few minutes to get settled, then slunk out of the car, ducking down behind it to get the lay of the land. I didn't even know which house was the party house, but MaryAnn had wisely informed me that there was a balloon on its mailbox. As I was approaching the target house, I was ducking down behind the parked cars. A man came by and looked at me strangely. I asked for Susan's house, and he led me in. Apparently he was Susan's husband Ray, of the Running Elvises fame in the Las Vegas Marathon. I didn't recognize him, because he didn't look anything like Elvis. I was trying to tell him that I was a surprise guest and he shouldn't announce me, but I'm not sure he heard me.

I entered the house hellooooing and waving royally, and found that my presence was indeed a surprise.

Wine and munchies were much in evidence, and somebody handed me a bongo drum during the silly song honoring the Birthday Kitten. The accompanying pictures illustrate the dangers of combining wine, jet lag, and bongo drums.... A good time was had by all, even Toby the dog.

Blaise-ing HOT FLASH!!!

Hip-Hop Hooray!! I am told that my Tier 1 HSMP Partner Visa has been issued. Hubster called after being emailed by the New York lawyer, whose associate, Blaise, has retreived my visa-containing passport from the British Embassy in New York.

I am told that they are Fed-Ex-ing it as I write this, and I shall receive it by 9 am tomorrow.

Let's all hold our collective breaths, shall we?

I will be flying home to London on Wednesday or Thursday of this week.

Visa Limbo

Yes, I am still in visa limbo. No, I do not have my passport back from the British Embassy in New York. They are having difficulty "capturing" my biometric data (fingerprints, photos) although the application itself has been approved. In essence, I am waiting for my exit papers, as I cannot leave the US without my passport.

I shall be ensconced at Erica's for a few more days, and have made a tentative plan of exiting on Thursday Oct 30th. The NY lawyer seems to think my passport will be released today, but I've heard that before (Thursday, and Friday of last week). They will have to FedEx the passport to me, so that will take an extra day.

Hoping to be back in Great Britain by Halloween (which they do not celebrate).

Lack of Forward Motion on Visa

To whom it may concern:
I have left the Big Apple (report to ensue in seperate posting) and am now back in Massachusetts.
My passport is still at the British Embassy in New York. Apparantly their computer was having trouble "capturing" my biometric data, which had been so carefully done at an INS application support center in Brooklyn.
Rather than hang around NY and overstay my welcome with NYsis, I have returned to my old stomping ground of Belmont.
Yesterday's adventure included waking at 3:40 am, going back to sleep, oversleeping until 6:22 am, therefore missing the 7 am Lucky Star bus to Boston.
I left An Apartment on Third Avenue and 91st at 6:40 am, took the number 6 train to Canal Street/Chinatown, walked several blocks toward the Lucky Star bus terminal, and found that a Fung Wah! bus was leaving for Boston at 7:30 am. For those of you not familiar with the brand names, either of those buses will take you from one Chinatown to the other for a total of $15 US. If you should take a chance with the Fung Wah! bus, you run the risk of speeding up the highway going 80 mph with flames shooting out of the back of the bus while the passengers alternately implore the driver to get off his cell phone and pull the bus over, and dial 911 to report a bus fire.
We arrived in Boston in less than four hours, and that included a rest stop somewhere in Connecticut.
Once in Boston, I took the Red Line to Harvard Square, where I ran into a startled Dr. Klemens M. whilst waiting for a Belmont bus. We talked about London, the global economy, the state of the US election, and general politics. I give a shout out to his wife, Dr. Laura M., who is a Wellesley College Class of 1980 classmate of mine. "Hi, Laura!".
My bus came about 30 minutes after his left, and I was ensconced at the Knittin Kitten, the World's Best Yarn Shop, before 1 pm, where I passed a very happy afternoon knitting and chatting. MaryAnn served cheese and crackers, Marilyn brought sponge cake from Chinatown, Barbara B brought beads (being the bead pimp, she always has something shiny with which to tempt us), Claudia knitted, and Susan brought hugs and requests for recipes for the guests she was hosting in about an hour and a half.
Erica came to collect me at 5 pm, and I got cleaned up for our dinner with Elizabeth R. on Pleasant Street. As they prepared to build a fire in the fireplace after dinner, I excused myself and walked back to Erica's before the torrential rainstorm set in.

I don't know when I'll get my Visa, so I look forward to more days of visiting in Belmont.

Belmont to Big Apple update; Happy Birthday Carl and Erica!

Hello, dear readers, from the lands to the West of the sacred isle, the good ol' US of A.

Being back in the town where I've spent the last twenty years is pretty surreal. It feels familiar, yet I know it's no longer my "home".
There are other people living in our house, albeit with our permission.
The tenants welcomed me, but the cats shunned me when I visited 78 Oliver. Sunny, the eleven year old feline, was napping on the sofa. She heard our voices but didn't wake. I went over to talk to her and pet her, and she woke, bolted upright, and ran right to the front door. She didn't even let me touch her. I guess that's what I deserve after abandoning her. Mystery, whom we'd had for a little over a year before moving, took her sweet time arriving downstairs from her nap in the girl's bedroom. She allowed herself to sniff my fingers, but wouldn't let me touch her, either. Heartbreaking.

Yesterday's to-do list was: walk Erica's dog, go to the chiropractor, visit Leslie for coffee, visit the house, pick up forgotten items (such as my walking shoes--now I'll really be able to walk!) help the tenants get the steam radiators all balanced and delivering heat equally, pick up crafty items for sale at the St. John's Wood Women's Club Holiday Fair on 11/11, go to the bank, drop off my absentee ballot, (another vote for Obama/Biden in Massachusetts which, due to the electoral college, will have no impact on the outcome as Mass. is already heavily democratic) take Carl out for his birthday lunch at the Indian place we used to frequent on our bi-weekly lunches, shop in Macy's (nothing I liked fit or looked good on me), walk the dog again, and take my hostess Erica out to dinner to celebrate her birthday (actually today). I then collapsed into bed at 8:10 pm.

Now it's time to walk the dog again, before I head out to the Knittin' Kitten to press my nose against the glass and wait for it to open. Then it's off to The Big Apple via the Lucky Star Chinatown-to-Chinatown bus, for my rendezvous in Brooklyn with the Fingerprint People on Wednesday. NYSis has graciously invited me to stay with her while I wait for my visa to be processed by the British Embassy in New York.

Wish me luck!!

Cake Encore, Big Explore

Greetings to the devoted readership of A Flat on Abbey Road.
BlogMama is gearing up for her big trip across the pond to secure her Visa.
Here is an update on her latest activities.
We join her as of Thursday morning.

I got up early (7 am) and hit the kitchen to bake. The occasion was back-up baking for Stitchery Group. My friend MomA was hosting it at her flat due to the fact that the regular hostess was out of town. I had been researching a sour cream coffee-cake recipe, and wanted to give it a try.

The amount of batter looked like it would be too much for one round cake pan, so I decided to put half in one pan and half in another. There is a person at Stitchery with a nut allergy, so one pan went nutless while the other got a handful of chopped walnuts sprinkled in amongst the cinnamon-crumb topping. I was then hit with an epiphany. Who had indicated that he regretting letting that slice of chocolate cake get away? Why, Receptionist Extraordinaire Fabian, of course! Gateau numero deux would go over to the Hospital.

Meanwhile, slumbering Son awoke in his spacious guest accomodations on the sofa.
"Something smells good". I cut him a piece from Fabian's nut-cake, and rearranged the slices with a little space in between each one. Perhaps the guys over at the hospital wouldn't notice that the sum of the parts was less than the whole.

Other equipment was being trundled over to MomA's on Maida Vale, so I loaded up the stylin' shopping cart and hit the street via the rickety old lift. A brisk two-minute walk brought me to the front entrance of the Hospital. I am used to seeing Fabian posted at the rear reception area, so I charged in the automatic front doors (no "Shazzam!" needed) and breezed past the front desk. It was then that I heard the ubiquitous Dr. D's voice. I turned to wave hello, and who was he addressing, but Fabian, right there at the front lobby's reception area.

I stopped in my tracks and reversed my shopping cart. "Fabian! Just who I'm looking for!" I thrust the "aluminium" foil-wrapped cake, still warm from the oven, at the unsuspecting receptionist. "Fabian, you're a Blogstar, and you've been Caked!!" (I think I've invented a new TV show, a la "Punked", only much tastier. Anyone who appears on this blog will be randomly presented with a Cake.) The kind doctor made himself scarce while I chatted for a quick moment with the surprised Fabian. "I guess I have too much time on my hands, but I was baking for the Stitchery Ladies Group and decided to bring you a cake, too." I then whirled the funky shopping cart on a dime/ten pence and rolled off into the west toward Maida Vale.

The women who showed up at MomA's were a small but high-quality subset of the larger group. I enjoyed getting to know each of them a little better, and really enjoyed the tour of MomA's spacious, light-filled flat on the top floor of a building that was designed by the same architect who designed the iconic red phone boxes.

MomA's husband is the proud owner of an Espresso Machine. Neither MomA nor I had ever operated one. Once she showed me how to use it, I was hooked, and wound up being the barrista for the morning anytime anyone wanted another cup. Using the steam wand to froth up the hot milk was my favorite part. I won't be getting a machine like this anytime soon, as hitting the "Hi" street for a morning cuppa joe or an afternoon chai latte is a good excuse to get out of the house. What I'd like to know is how the Capuchin Monks, after whom the cappucino is named, managed to get the milk all hot and frothy without an electric espresso machine...

The time knitting passed too quickly, and before we knew it, it was 1 pm (13:00) and time to decamp. Upon returning to the flat, I convinced Son to hop a bus with me and we went down to Trafalgar Square to the National Gallery (free admission!). Here one can see what seems like thousands of medieval and renaissance paintings of Madonna and Child (including the "Madonna of the Rocks" as featured in The Da Vinci Code), the Holy Family, Jesus with Disciples, Holy Family with Saints, Patron ArchBishops, Popes, Virgin Martyrs, allegorical paintings of Christ's life, huge panoramas of renaissance market squares with a tiny figures in the background depicting Jesus' life and works, and countless scenes of crucifiction, etc etc. I enjoyed seeing all the expressions and realism in the paintings, but I think Son was overwhelmed with the fact that every single piece of art from 1250 through the seventeenth century was exclusively Christian.
"Isn't there any modern art in here?" he wanted to know. No, there was not. We hit the gift shop, where I bought three postcards, and then left to go across the road to St. Martin's In the Field church. I wanted to go to the crypt there and do a brass rubbing.

After accomplishing my mission there, (and doing a rubbing of a medieval-looking woman whose first name was the same as my own) we hopped back on the 139 bus and got off on Abbey Road just steps from the flat.

I have dubbed the last day of the week Tidy Friday. This is the day that I engage in all my domestic goddess rituals, such as kneeling in front of the porcelain pulpit with toilet brush, scrubbing the bathroom floors in near-prostration, using a "Hoover" to exorcise the demon dustballs, and waving the magical Method Floor Mop over the floors to sweeten the room with almond-scented floor cleaner. Once these ablutions were performed, I hit the streets with my Oyster card in hand. I was on the lookout for a fabric store where I could purchase some craft supplies.

My walk to the bus took me down the "Hi" Street. I popped into the Hospice Charity Shop to say hello to the manager and to ask if she knew of any fabric stores in the area. This is the shop where I had been team co-leader several weekends ago. My team spent two hours tidying the shop, organizing the glassware, etc (see previous posting). I guess we had done TOO GOOD a job, as the manager asked me if I would be willing to come in several mornings a week to help her do the same thing while she ran the hoover. I must have still smelled like almond-scented cleaner. We sat and talked about the shop, the hospice and Glastonbury Tor, which is a place in southwestern England to which we both feel connected. I set out on my way again.

I boarded the 274 bus to Islington and the Angel tube stop. I had done this once before when going to find a yarn store (Loop), but wanted to get a better look at the shops right near the terminus of the bus route. Unfortunately I had started out too late (2 pm) for a leisurely explore, but figured I'd just go with the flow and see what I could see. The bus ride was enjoyable, as people of all ages, nationalities and colours boarded, chatted on their phones, or adjusted their shopping. Several times a cane-wielding elder would board the bus, and someone always gave up one of the easily accessible seats and helped him or her get settled. The bus driver would always-always-always floor the accelerator pedal before the frail person was fully seated, so several pairs of hands would reach out to steady them so they wouldn't be flung to the floor.

I recognized many of the sights on this second trip on the route; two separate giant Sainsbury's Supermarkets in two neighborhoods, Her Majesty's Prison in Pentonville, playgrounds, and parks. My handy fold-up map ended just to the south of the neighborhoods through which we journied, but I had a vague idea of where we'd come out.

Once at the Angel tube stop, I thought I might get something to eat, as I hadn't had lunch yet. It's not like me to skip a meal, but I wasn't going to miss my Day Out. While looking down several side streets, I saw a poster marked "The Islington Arts and Crafts Show". Someone had told me about this, and I thought I had missed it, but there it was. This was the week for fiber arts and jewelry. If I had been looking for it I never would have found it, but there it was, right under my nose. Before I entered the gallery an unusual vehicle caught my eye. It was a pick-up truck with a huge sign that read "Bone's Breakers, 1610 Powerline Rd., Pompano Beach, Florida". I found this particulary amusing since my parents live in Pompano Beach, Florida. The next time I'm there I'll have to drive past 1610 Powerline Rd. (see photo).

I went into the Show and spent some time browsing around and talking to some of the artists and crafters. By now I was really hungry, so I thought I'd get some noodles from a noodle shop I had spotted from the bus window. "Good Karma" the sign said, so in I went and helped myself to the oriental buffet (country of origin unknown). Stepping back outside, I said to myself, OK, if that is Angel, and this is Islington High Street, then that must be.... Pentonville Road, which I knew from having been on it once thirty years before would take me towards Euston Station and eventually Baker Street or Gloucester Place, from which I could catch the 139 bus back to the flat. It was too cold and windy to be able to eat my noodles, meat, sauce and broccoli comfortably while waiting for the bus, so I had to wait until seated to get my lunch on board. I hate to eat on buses, as I consider it rude, but it was now almost 3 pm and I was really hungry, so I flung decorum to the wind.

It was a Friday afternoon and this particular stretch of road was packed. The bus had been labelled Baker Street, but when it took an unexpected turn to the south I decided to bail out. I was near Portland Place, and decided to hoof it. I went across Tottenham Court Road, which jogged some memories from my days at University College London thirty years ago. Soon I was on Grafton Way, near the University Health Centre, and University College Hospital, where I had encountered the rudest and most insensitive receptionist ever placed on the face of this earth "back in the day". It reminded me how lucky the patrons of the local hospital are to have Fabian and his compadres.

On I pressed. The sun was now completely down behind the buildings and the air grew chillier. I had my handy pocket map with me, but it was taking a while to go what looked like a hop, skip and a jump toward Gloucester Place. "Perhaps I'll stop in at the Theosophical Society there" I thought to myself. I had been meaning to do just that since I arrived, having given a few talks and workshops at Boston's Theosophical Society, located in Arlington Center just a mile from my house in Belmont. Finally, I crossed Old Marylebone Rd, took a dog-leg to the right-and-left, and thought I could spy my final street with 139 bus route. A quick glance up to my right showed a sign for the Baker Street underground stop. Why spend more time stuck in traffic when I could just hop the tube? TeenE had already phoned me to tell me she was home from school, and I had said I wouldn't be more than half an hour, so I impulsively made the right turn that would take me up to the underground stop. As I walked the one short block up towards the busy intersection, I saw a door on my right marked "Self-Realization Fellowship Founded by Paramahansa Yogananda". Once again, I had auto-piloted myself exactly to the perfect destination. This is an organization started in 1920 by one of my favorite spiritual authors, for the purposes of exploring scientific methods of meditation in the search for the fully-realized Self (i.e. the Self that knows it is connected to and part of the Source we call "God"). Yogananda taught that the historical Jesus was a fully-Realised (i.e. Christed) being, fully divine while in human form. One of his books, "Autobiography of a Yogi" is one of my top-ten books of all time, and was the inspiration for my Most Favorite Band of All Time, "YES"'s album Tales from Topographic Oceans. When I look at photos of Paramahansa Yogananda, I feel a deep love and a feeling of inner recognition of a wise and kindred soul. Serendipity? Coincidence that I should find myself on the doorstep of Yogananda's organization? I'll let you decide.

Within a moment of passing this door I was on my way into the Baker St. station, and was on a train toward St. John's Wood within two minutes. Still lost in my reverie about the afternoon, I almost missed my stop, but managed to get off the train and float up the escalator toward Grove End Road and A Flat on Abbey Road.

Once again, a simple walk, during which the cosmic auto-pilot had been in control. With the destination as Angel, and with a forkful of Good Karma, I had visited my Present, Past, and, I hope, Future, and had ultimately found parts of my Self.

Hospice Volunteer Interview and Fabian, BlogStar

Date: Tuesday the 14th of October Mission: Enter the world of Hospice Volunteer
Personnel: BlogMama, assisted by Fabian, and a cameo appearance by Dr. D.

At last the appointed time had arrived for my meeting with the Hospice's Volunteer Coordinator. Avid readers may recall that she had been unavailable for volunteer intake as she had been driving the ambulance that picks up the day centre clients.

Fabian was at his post at the rear reception desk. I was greeted warmly and he remembered me from our previous conversation. He expressed some regret at letting the cake go to the gang at Front Reception in the hands of Dr. D. I promised that I'd remedy the situation in the near future. I asked him if he was aware of his presence on this blog. He had not been informed of this by the other blogee, and was really pleased to hear of his near-fame. He asked to have his photo featured. I promised I'd do that, but was eager to be sent through the infamous double doors and into the inner sanctum.

As I charged through the doorway, I forgot to keep to the LEFT as is the usual pedestrian pattern, and nearly bowled over the unsuspecting Dr. D, who was busy disinfecting his hands with the anti-bacterial goo.

I was able to find the hospice reception desk, and while I waited for the VC, was asked by no less than four friendly helpful people if I needed assistance. The last person, a volunteer, offered to go get her for me.

The VC spent over an hour with me, explainining the hospice, it's history, mission, clientele, etc.
I was taken on the Grand Tour, and saw that many of the common rooms and patient rooms had a pleasant view out over the green lawn flanking Grove End Road. I was given a large packet of paperwork to fill out, and was on my way after about an hour and a half. I reappeared in the back lobby, and was disappointed to see that Fabian was not at his post. The helpful young lady who had replaced him suggested that he might be out at the front desk. Alas, he was not.

I left without having helped him to his paparazzi moment.

Today I did find him at his post, and he was ready for his close-up, so appears both posed and candid. Hooray, Fabian!