My dearest friends and readers,
Today, Becky left us off in Stratford-upon-Avon, well known, of course, for being the birthplace of William Shakespeare (and somewhat less well known as being his final resting place as well. We had arrived early, and so caught the first bus for a guided tour of (mostly) Shakespeare-related sights, primarily to get our bearings in town, but also for the facts I have certainly forgotten since the fourth grade. On the bus, we caught glimpses of the house in which Shakespeare was born, the land on which the house to which he retired once stood, Anne Hathaway's house, his mother's farm, and his daughter's home. We also learned that the reason British people are called "limeys" is because sailors used to take limes on board with them to prevent scurvy, and I at last made the connection between the phrase "not worth his salt" to the ye olde time tradition of paying people in salt. Also, the guide called the eight-years-younger-than-his-wife William, Anne's "toy boy." It is an odd thing, after one has seen so many replications of quaint cottages with thatched roofs, the real ones look so fake. Disappointing it couldn't be the other way round.
Once we had ridden the bus all around town, we stepped off in search of food. We ended up at a crêperie called "The Food of Love" where I did not have the best meal ever, but where we spotted my sister's forty-something-years-older doppelganger. We then commenced walking around, but the heat was so unbearable--one might think we had never left Los Angeles. We stopped not once but twice for ice cream! We sat by the River Avon whiling away the afternoon, until deciding we should see at least something more of the town. And so we did, finding our way at last to Shakespeare's gravesite. I imagine if I were anyone else buried in that churchyard, I'd be miffed and not a little jealous at the overwhelming amount of attention he receives. It boggles the mind to think that this one man, so very long ago, continues to have an impact today. If Shakespeare were still alive today, my sister pointed out, he would be extremely rich. If Shakespeare were still alive today, I replied, we could see what he thinks of "She's the Man."
Overheated and tired, my sister and I climbed aboard the last boat out on the River Avon for a relaxing tour. The motion of the boat rocked me into a zen-like state. It was lovely.
Back at the house, my sister and I set to work planning the last leg(s?) of our journey while the children were readied for bed. With five full days left, our wish list still included the Lakes District, Edinburgh, and Paris--to attempt all would have been madness. We seriously pursued Paris, until it became clear that the prospective cost was wildly prohibitive. And then, Becky stepped in: "There is a simple no-brainer, you know." There was.
And so, after much surfing of the web, it seemed we were to be leaving for London at daybreak.
My sister and I read to the children before bed. It had been so long since I had spent any time around small children, I had forgotten how fun and all at once draining they can be. The baby is entertaining as well.
Exhausted but with my brain still running at top speeds after hours of problem-solving and decision-making, I watched the latest installment of "True Blood" in my sister's room while she fell asleep (at her request--the thought of the graveyard nextdoor was too much for her).
So tomorrow, back to London we go.
Ever yours,
A
Lots of adorable buildings like this.
Shakespeare's birthplace.
Note Diana's future self in the background.
All that glitters...
The Swan-ish Armada.
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