Hello Old Friend

Hello Old Friend.
“As I am strolling down the garden park I saw a flower glowing in the dark.
It looked so pretty and it was unique, I had to bend down just to have a peek.
Hello Old Friend, It’s really good to see you once again.” By Eric Clapton

I'm still on a Clapton theme here, despite living on Abbey Road, which is more appropriately affiliated with the Beatles. Oh well.
We are preparing to go back to our hometown in Massachusetts for a while. Hubster will take a week from work. TeenE and I will be there for a month, after which I will take her to camp, and then fly back to London to get the household ready for our next move to a quieter location a few streets from here.
Although I am looking forward to seeing friends and family, I am preparing myself to miss A Flat on Abbey Road and all my favorite parts of London. When we have gone to the US for even just a week or two, I have found myself “homesick” for London, and for my friends and life here. I know TeenE has felt the same way. Perhaps we tried so hard to steel ourselves for not being too homesick for Belmont that we overcompensated, or perhaps we just really feel “at home” here now. I do know I am somewhat reluctant to leave my routines and my environs at this time of year when the weather and gardens are so glorious. Ben Johnson wrote "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." Blogmama writes "When a woman is tired of London it's just because her feet hurt."
In order to fill up my psyche with enough of London’s gardens to get me through the next month, I went out for an explore on Wednesday. The weather was in the mid-60’s F, with bright sunny patches punctuated with rolling clouds. I wasn’t sure how my problematic shin and ankle would hold up. Usually walking is good for moving the blood back up the leg through the deep veins, but sometimes things back up and with no warning my foot and ankle will be on fire. I wanted to make sure I was never too far from a bus that could get me back to the flat, so I eschewed the relative wilderness of Hampstead Heath for the refinements of the city parks.
A quick run past Starbucks took me down St. John’s Wood High Street and along Prince Albert Road into Regent’s Park. I noticed that the Mock Orange (Philadelphus) was in bloom, all along the road, and the fragrance was heavenly. I took the shortest route possible towards Queen Mary’s Rose Garden, pausing briefly to admire the Waterfowl Collection floating around in a brackish pool. Perhaps the pool was more cack-ish than brackish. I regretted not bringing along any sunscreen and was glad that I had remembered a bottle of water.
I made my way into the circular Rose Garden and was stunned to see a wall of blue delphinium in every color clear blue; shading from royal blue through to ice blue and lavender. I have a special spot in my heart for delphinium, and had them as boutonnieres for the groom and groomsmen in our wedding. I stopped to take some photos, then made myself comfortable on a bench and took out my knitting. I am STILL working on the “magenta doily vest” project that got so much attention on the bus in Kerry, Ireland. I am 5/6ths of the way around the center medallion with the border piece, so it won’t be too much longer. Just as I got settled, the sun was obscured by clouds, which played chase for the next half hour or so. As the wind got stronger, so did the scent of the 10,000 roses in the immediate vicinity. I hope to remember that scent every time I wear my magenta doily-vest.
I had to rip out about 16 rows of knitting from the night before, so once that was all re-knitted I packed up the “doily” and went over to the little island that is accessed by a gate. A photo op ensued as a pair of black swans did there “necks into hearts” mating dance with swan calls as soundtrack. Of course I couldn’t get the camera ready in time so only have a photo of the male swimming away in a huff.
I wasn’t quite done with my nature time so decided to take a route out of the park that I had never seen before (in this lifetime, at least J) so I headed north up the Broad Walk and came out on Prince Albert Road near the zoo and the base of Primrose Hill. The legs and feet still felt great, so I puffed my way up to the top of the hill and took in the panoramic view of the city. The green grass, the wind, and the strong sun cast a sleeping spell on me, so I took off my shoes and (support) socks and stretched out. I was not the only person in full communion with the grass of Primrose Hill that day.
My reverie was interrupted briefly by a fluffy golden Shi-tzu named Sunshine, who was off-lead and befriending everyone with a rucksack in hopes of scoring a snack. S/he had no luck with me so went on to the next admirer.
The hum of voices speaking in a dozen different languages was punctuated by the sound of a mower growing ever closer, so I decided to get out while I was still relatively relaxed. My head was fuzzy from all the sun and wind and I picked my way back to St. John’s Wood gingerly so as to keep the feet in good form. I had the feeling that I was homesick for London and I hadn’t even left it yet!

Regent's Park Rendezvous

Today held some of the most gorgeous weather I have ever seen in my life. The sky was as blue as the giant antique porcelain vase in Paris' Musee d'Orsay. The trees on the leafy streets of NW8 were a tapestry of greens and golds. On a clear autumn day in the US, I would be suffering from ragweed-induced hay fever, at least until the first frost killed all the pollen. I have never been able to enjoy clear fall weather without nasty sniffles and itchy eyes. This is not true here in the UK. They do not have the kind of ragweed species that occurs in the US. This makes any kind of outdoor activity so much more enjoyable.

I had a visitor this morning: my first guest for tea. MomA has two kids at ASL, and is on leave from her faculty post at Dartmouth College. So not only do we have the Hanover, NH scene in common (we lived there for two years 1986-88 while Hubster got his MBA, and our Son was born there, too) but MomA randomly mentioned her friend Elizabeth G, who is a Wellesley College classmate of mine. MomA had plans for a book club lunch, so when she left, I procured the groceries. After they were all put away, the Regent's Park homing beacon pulled me out of the door and into the sunshine.

The neighborhood was full of families walking to Yom Kippur services at the four local synagogues. Moms and nannies were manuvering push-chairs with uniformed pre-schoolers home for their lunches and naps. Almost every dog in NW8 was out for air. The sun, although low in the sky at the noon hour due to this northern latitude, had managed to warm the air into the upper 60's F. The weather was truly a gift. I mean to re-wrap it and take it off the shelf again in the gray days of winter.

For the past seven weeks I have been trying to get Hubster and TeenE to walk with me to Queen Mary's Rose Garden at the center of Regent's Park. They always seem underwhelmed at the prospect, so we never got there. Today, I struck out on my own. I had a strong sense of anticipation, as if I were going out on purpose to meet someone on a planned rendezvous. Whom would I meet on this walk? There is always someone interesting to watch, or a dog to admire, or someone to say hi to on my walks when I am mindful to notice these things. I decided to walk with open eyes, mind, and heart. I took a different route than usual to the park, following my intuition, and thinking... whom will I meet today? Somebody important, or famous, or maybe a new friend? I couldn't wait to find out.

By now I know the quickest route to the Inner Circle of Regent's Park. I walked past the athletic fields where TeenE sometimes has her gym class. The grass was being mown, and I remembered all those fall days when we used to drive Son and his buddies in the red minivan to different towns to play soccer in the "travelling league".

I passed over the bridge that crosses the waterfowl lagoon. Colorful birds, some with orange beaks, some ducks with teal feathers, and some brown bufflehead ducks floated and splashed in their warm-weather ritual. A squirrel eyed me for quite a while, as if doing the old Jedi mind-trick: "You will feed me nuts now". I ignored him/her. Most of the trees and shrubbery near the lagoon are still green and flowering, but some species are just now becoming edged in scarlet or yellow ochre.

The path to the centre of the inner circle led me right past the cafe. Feathery white Pampas grass ten feet high sheltered the al fresco diners from the passers-by. I passed row upon row of labeled delphinium beds, the most vibrant blue in the plant kingdom. I had been this way before, on the way to see Gigi at the Open Air Theatre. Finally, I passed into Unknown Territory, or at least territory unseen by me for thirty years. My last visit to this garden had been in the fall of 1978.

American gardens have never held rose beds such as these. Each huge bed holds hundreds and hundreds of plants of the same species, and is marked by a sign giving the Name of the Rose. All rose colours are represented, from the deepest reds to the palest pinks, the sunniest yellows to the warmest sunset-peach. Each rose bed is separated from its neighbors by a tidy strip of perfectly-mowed lawn. Some of the rose plants have all lost their leaves, but the tops are still covered with masses of blooms. Some plants have both blooms and ripe rose hips drooping from them like scarlet baroque pearls. All the rose beds form a huge circle. On one side of the circle there is an ornate gilded iron gate. The huge circle is bisected by a straight path flanked with a scores of park benches on each side. Most benches were occupied; others had felt the magic pull of the park as I had. A pre-verbal toddler shreiked with delight and pointed at the giant leaf-sucking machine that disturbed the scene. A gaggle of adolescent girls in their school uniforms appeared, each with a sketch pad tucked under her arm. They were all laughing and sparkling, having been sprung from prison early. Couples sat on the benches, absorbed in each other's secrets and enjoying precious moments connecting. Younger men read philosophy books, families picnicked, and older men debated politics while strolling in clumps of two or three. Every tenth bench held a person stretched out for a snooze.

I followed the sound of water to discover a man-made waterfall cascading over huge chunks of granite into a pond. Giant fuschia shrubs were a riot color. People took pictures of each other among the plants. Willows weeped, larches draped, and the sun danced off the pond. Other minds and hearts were open there. Every race and culture from London's vast array was represented; people living and loving in peace.

I stopped to admire a particularly lovely orange tapestry of petals, named Typhoon. The name made me think of last weekends torrential rains, and I wondered how all those roses had managed to keep so many of their blooms intact. After about an hour and a half, I reluctantly turned toward the exit of the inner circle. All that walking and wondering had made me thirsty, and what better way to slake one's thirst in a rose garden than... an ice cream cone! A single scoop of mint chocolate chip was served up. A young couple, presumably American students, came to the ice cream stand to ask if anyone knew the way to the boathouse. Luckily for them, I did, and gave them the quickest way to get there. I guess they didn't really believe me, because they promptly went over to the map sign nearby, then took off in the opposite direction. My way northward out of the park took me right past them on the waterfowl bridge, where they were awkwardly attempting to take a picture of themselves with the camera pointing right into the sun, which, as it was now nearly 3 pm (15:00) was almost down behind the buildings at the edge of the park. I positioned them facing the other way and got a good shot of the two of them with their ice cream cone (blackcurrent cheesecake flavour). As we headed on our way off the bridge, the young man said to me "So, did you do a lot of boating back in the day?" I was aghast! "Back in the day??? What, do you think I'm old?" He laughed and tried to save himself. "I mean, back in the 1950's, or 60's or whenever?" "You mean in the LATE '70's, which was only thirty years ago, because I'm ONLY 50 years old?" The girl elbowed him to shut him up, but it was too late. The damage had been done. "No, I didn't do a lot of boating when I was here in college, I just know where the boats are because I want to take my daughter and her friends there some day" . The girl tried to save the situation. "Well, where are you going now?" I gestured off to the north. "I'm going to St. John's Wood, where I live. It is the neighborhood right next to that side of the park." She smiled. "We live on Abbey Road, which we think is cool, because we're OLD". They laughed and we parted ways.

My feet were ready for a rest by this point, but I dragged on, feeling my age. I took yet another back street toward home, and managed to pass a building flying the Tibetan flag. It was Tibet House. Not exactly an embassy, as Tibet is no longer its own country, but a cultural centre for the Tibetan community of London. Around the corner, but still a part of the same building, was the Oriental Medicine Center of London. I poked my head in and picked up a few brochures. Lots of acupuncturists, oriental herbal medicine, energy healers of every description, meditation facilitators, chi gung practitioners, you name it. If it is Oriental, and a healing modality, it was there, along with an invitation to hear the Dalai Lama speak this weekend in Basel, Switzerland, on the 37 paths of the Boddhisatva. I made a mental note to make a return visit, and sped up for the final stretch, arriving home after a total of two hours.

This walk was the single most satisfying experience of my time in London so far.

So, whom did I meet at the center of the Garden? I met my Self.