A Hummingbird Bath and The Way I Want to Die

"You are old father William," the young man said, "and your hair has become very white.
 And yet you incessantly stand on your head, do you think at your age it is right?"

 "In my youth," father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain. But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, why I do it again and again."

Leaving Douglas Adams for a little bit of Lewis Carrol, this poem popped into my head as I was driving yesterday. And it went round and round and round and round and round in there.

I know my father has regrets about his life. It was very important to him that I go on my 424242 pilgrimage, because he wished that he had seen more of the world. I'm pleased that he was able to travel vicariously through me. (Or will have done, once I make sure he can sit at his computer and read my blog.)

The crux of the father William argument is that when you are young you don't know what is important or unimportant. And when you are old it is too late.

I refute this idea (and I have since I was young and knew EVERYTHING).

It is never too late. For example:

I fed some cats and enjoyed watching them eat their breakfast and brush against my legs in gratitude. My father could easily have done this.

I watered some plants. A hummingbird seriously considered taking a bath in the arcing water droplets. The suspense of wondering as he darted all around the sprays, "Would he take a bath? was he trying to get a drink? what is this little bird thinking? what is he doing?" Was delightful. My father could have done this.

I ate simple, sweet food, and enjoyed each bite; the mouth feel, the flavor, the sensation of infantile comfort. My father could easily have done this.

So this is what I will try, try, try to give my father in his time, however much he has:

Every moment is a dramatic and interesting story if you are watching.

When my body fails, I want to continue to have the strength to be the person who looks outward. Who sees. Who wonders. Who thinks.

Day 39

I'm packing up to come home to the U.S.

If you haven't followed me on FB, my Dad is ill, and I'm frankly tired of traveling. I know that I could spend the planned 7 days enjoying Vienna and Munich, but my heart isn't in it anymore. I'm done...for now.

So: 

39 days of travel

3 European countries

one 45 +/- 3 lb bag

8 packed items were unworn:

Thickest fleece scarf

Thinnest sleeveless V-neck silk tank

Ballet neckline short sleeved silk undershirt 

Nice wool slacks

Nice polka dot "professional" blouse

LBD

Headlamp

Army belt

I was only cold once when I misjudged the temperature and left my silk long underwear off. At the top of the Alps, I was just fine!

Next time I will replace the unworn items with a pair of flip flops/sandals.

I had PLENTY of underwear and socks; and sink washing, plus three real loads of laundry, got me by.

Feeling pretty great about the packing, and the best part is that I'm going from weather in the 30s to weather in the 80s, and I will be perfectly fine! Convertible pants and layers for the win!

Day 11 Part 2 Cambridge - Place (horse) 24 & Bonus Tracks Galore!!

NOTE:

I am republishing the last few blog posts for my 42/42/42 trip as I get back into the swing of things (and find errors). I hope you enjoy!

Day 11 was full of real world places that meant a lot to Douglas Adams. Again, courtesy of the incredibly kind David Haddock, here's a blog bonus track: DNA's Cambridge, in real life!

The place he was born:

 

DNA was born in a Victorian workhouse converted to a maternity hospital. Now it is a home for the elderly.

We walked past the address on DNA's birth certificate, where his parents lived until they moved/divorced. The building had brilliant red doors, but some people were standing and talking in THE ONE door we wanted. Instead of being disruptive, I took a picture of a nearby (representativeh beautiful red door and its curving iron staircase, because the records state that DNAs parents were letting (that is British English for 'renting') the basement floor.

We walked past St. John's College, rightfully listed as #42 on the map of places in Cambridge:

Second court (unverified - sent my tour map home), which was the most likely architectural template for Reg's rooms in Dirk Gently.

The picture below shows the flat DNA shared during school, with a mate who was captain of the rowing team (can't re-check that fact, because I sent my copy of the biography home. I was tired of carrying it around). Supposedly this is it, above a hair salon. In his biography, Douglas recalls that it was a big, fancy flat instead of the usual student diggs, that they frequently had parties, and that the piano it came with was utilized extensively.

We walked by the apartment DNA shared when he wrote the Kamakazi skit that first got him noticed by a BBC producer, and where he may (or may not) have seen the name 'Arthur Dent' on his friend's bookshelf:

We went to pubs he drank in...

...And theaters he performed in. Again, I was originally going to go to Cambridge later in my journey, but David let me know that there was a 'smoker' on for the date of Douglas' would-have-been birthday, March 11. That was reason enough for me to rearrange my travel dates and go to Cambridge earlier.

With David's help, I was lucky to see extremely talented young actors performing both Cabin Pressure, and my favorite thing in the all the world, COMEDY! Especially skit/sketch comedy, and especially, random British skit comedy.

Both Cabin Pressure (which I had never heard of before) and the smoker were great fun. All the young people in the smoker were writer-performers, doing exactly what it was that DNA had gone to Cambridge to do. The bits were incredibly solid in writing and timing. There was, sadly, no program, but my favorite skits included 'Police Interrogation Tecniques,' 'Why call it "crazy" golf,' and 'Whatever you do, Don't ask the Porter for the key.' (Please note: there was no program, so I literally made up those titles based on the bits I remember liking a lot.)

Day 11 also included real world places and fun anecdotes from the filming of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

The house used as Arthur Dent's house in the film:

The pub...

...and the house across from the pub, owned by Nicki, the wonderful woman who owns (or manages?) the March Hare tearoom and boutique down the road. When we wandered down to the boutique to kill some time, Nicki shared with us a whole host of fun stories. Like the fact that the entire cast had taken shelter from the rain in her home. And that after doing so, on the next day of shooting, Martin Freeman got out of a big black car and waved. She and her kids quickly turned around to look behind and see who he was waving to and then realized, "Me?! It's ME that Martin Freeman is waving to!" She told us which cast members run funny, and that the neighbor who owned 'Arthur Dent's' house had gotten a whole new kitchen for letting them knock down part of his house.

I bought these pretty, pretty, pretties at the March Hare as UK souvenirs:

David and I had a wonderful drive, then we walked the village. Place 24 was a nice little field, just outside Cambridge:

"The horse walked with a patient, uncomplaining gait. It had long grown used to being wherever it was put, but for once it felt it didn’t mind this. Here, it thought, was a pleasant field. Here was grass. Here was a hedge it could look at. There was enough space that it could go for a trot later on if it felt the urge...It also quite liked the notion of spending half an hour walking alternately a little bit to the left and then a little bit to the right, for no apparent reason. It didn’t know whether the time between two and three would be best spent swishing its tail or mulling things over. Of course, it could always do both, if it so wished, and go for its trot a little later. And it had just spotted what looked like a fine piece of hedge for watching things over, and that would easily while away a pleasant preprandial hour or two."

In addition to telling the long suffering horse to avoid standing under the tree, I inspected some fine chickens, and noticed what turned out to be a lytch gate. We learned about the lytch gate because the chickens actually belong to Nicki and she knew the story.

Local town legend has it that the largish house behind hers belonged to a cardinal. His "housekeeper" (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) built a large memorial after his death, including the Lychgate, or church yard entrance. 

It was beautiful, but in some disrepair. Nicki and her family hope to purchase the land and maintain the area someday, but have had no luck so far.