Spiders and bees....

.... and other things that go bump in the night.

Haven't been sleeping well lately... I don't know if reading "Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children" has anything to do with that or not.

Last night, I woke up not once or twice, but thrice (love that word)... each time thinking (knowing) that there was either a spider or a scorpion in the bedroom. My imagination does tend to run wild.

There are spiders all over the yard lately.... one by the back steps of the porch (whom I've named Charlotte because she's been in that spot for weeks now)... and one huge spider in the gazebo (which is so big that I can clearly see it from the kitchen windows)... and now there are two in the front of the house: one right above the front door and the other by the water hose next to the front steps.  All those spiders are yellow and black (banana-spiders) and they patiently wait and wait for something to fly into their webs, which are also enormous. (Very pretty webs, actually, but huge beyond belief.)

Last night, at my second awakening, I took the little flashlight that I keep in my night-table and let it shine around the room.... along the carpets, up on the ceiling, across the curtains.  Nothing there, of course, but that doesn't mean that there could have been. Maybe I just missed it with the beam of the flashlight as it crawled underneath the bed. (I resisted the urge to get on the floor and shine the light under the bed, which I've been known to do.)  During all of the flashlight waving, my husband was sound asleep, not a care in the world. (Men.... not a thought in their minds that there could be a spider or scorpion attack at any given time during the dead of night.)

Kill me now.  I never had these insects-on-the-loose nightmares when we lived in Clear Lake. Not a scorpion in sight there, and hardly ever a spider in the house.  We used to have a pest-control service there which sent a guy out every three months... they sprayed bug-stuff all around the house and the yard.... my neighbor across the street told me that I was creating my very own Three Mile Island with all the insecticide that was sprayed on our property and which drifted onto the neighboring yards as well.  Since we've been in this house, we've had a pest-control company out here just one time. Then my husband found out which chemicals they were using, ordered them on-line, and told me he would "take care of the spraying" from now on.  As I said: Kill me now.  My husband is busy with other stuff all the time, and doesn't give a thought to bugs and spiders and scorpions. (Men.... not any concern at all that the insects could take over the world out here in this country bubble.)

As for the bees.... nests all over the place outside. More bees than wasps this year. I sprayed an entire can of 'Raid' this afternoon on just two nests... huge nests of bees on the front porch. My husband says that we need the bees. "Not on my porch," said I. "But if you kill all the bees, the environment will suffer," he told me.  "If I don't kill the bees on this porch, then I will suffer because I'm allergic to the stings," said I.  (Men.... no compassion at all.)

When we were in England earlier this month, I didn't give a thought to bugs, spiders, bees, or wildlife of any kind. Not a split-second's thought, and that's admirable because we spent part of each day walking through gardens filled with flowers which were probably buzzing with all sorts of bees.

"And how do you explain that," asked my husband.
"English bees are different... they have manners... they wouldn't dream of stinging anyone, unless they apologized for it first."  He gave me that look.  (The look that says I've lost my mind.)

I wonder if there are snakes in England. There can't be, because I didn't think of snakes the entire time we were over there..... walking through gardens, walking on paths underneath trees in arboretums... never once did I look up into a tree to see if a snake was folded over a branch and ready to plop down near my feet. Not once did I think that I would get caught in a sticky spider-web as I walked under a tree.... and I never ever worried about stepping on a nest of fire ants as we walked around the gardens of all those castles and churches.

I will probably kill my own self right here on our own property. As I walk on the grass around the house, I've learned to look down for fire ant mounds, sideways for bees and wasps and crickets which come flying out of the hedges, and then I look up into the trees for snakes.  And then there are the scorpions hiding under rocks.... and the spiders building webs next to the porch steps... it's a veritable jungle out there. Scratch that. It's a freaking jungle out there.

No wonder I can't sleep at night.

The bloom of this handyman rose...

.... is withering on the vine.

We had such high hopes for this latest handyman. And rightly so, since he was so enthusiastic about doing such a fine job when he started working here.  He's still doing a good job, and we do realize that it's been very hot outside, but honestly, when he starts working at 11:30 (instead of 8:00) what can he expect on an August day in Texas?  And then he leaves at 4:30 after just beginning at 11:30. Better than a banker's hours.

Added to the heat... a cell phone in his pocket that seems to ring once every hour. When this handyman started working here, he would answer his cell phone and say "Make it quick! I'm working!" Within five seconds, he was done with his very infrequent phone calls.  Now he leisurely takes the cell phone out of his pockets, looks to see who the call is from, and then either answers the call or reads a text message and then replies with a message of his own. Give me a blessed break.

We have not had good luck with handymen since Handyman #1 (W) stopped working here when he went off to do bigger and better jobs that paid more than a handyman's wages.  Right about now, I'd sell half of these acres just to get W back here working.

I've lost track of how many handymen we've gone through since W.  There was that one young guy who came to trim down a tree and stopped every ten seconds to pull up his pants. (I guess he never heard of that amazing invention called a 'belt.')

Then there was the guy we hired to trim all the little decorative trees in the flowerbeds around the house and he proceeded to also trim the pecan trees in the backyard, which were not meant to be pruned at that time of the year. It's a wonder my husband didn't chase him down the hill after that little surprise. (When asked why he trimmed those pecan trees, that handyman's answer was "Because they were there.")

We had handyman M, who took up residence in our barn in exchange for paying rent, and it turned out that city-boy M hadn't ever lived out in the country, and cringed at the sight of a spider, screamed when he saw a scorpion, and had no idea that weeds once pulled tend to grow back at an alarming rate. ("But I just pulled up those weeds three weeks ago!") He lasted here six months and then we all parted ways on a friendly-enough basis.

We also had a few handymen who were recommended by neighbors....  some of whom stood there and told my husband "Not a problem!" when they were asked to do some outside landscaping chores.  Checking back with those handymen after twenty minutes or so, my husband discovered that there was indeed a problem because one of them didn't know how to use power tools, another couldn't stop smoking long enough to pull up a dozen weeds within an hour, one sliced through an electric cord with a hedge-trimmer, and another one just sat there in a flowerbed contemplating the way the breeze was blowing through the leaves of a Live Oak tree.  I repeat: Give me a blessed break.

So now we're down to this lone survivor of the handyman world up here in the hills. Heaven help us. When I think of all of the beautiful gardens we saw in England earlier this month, I have to shake my head in wonder as to how many handymen are in that country across the Atlantic who are able to grow flowers and keep hedges trimmed and have weed-free flowerbeds from one end of a garden to the other.

I still believe that we can find someone to live in our barn apartment who will keep up with the landscaping chores around here in exchange for rent. Surely, someone is out there whose mission in life is to cut grass, pull weeds, trim hedges, prune trees, grow flowers and vegetables, and make sure that our property doesn't begin looking like an over-grown and uncontrolled mass of green grass and brown hay.

"Dream on," says my husband.

Well, pardon me for still believing in fairy tales.

Thunder in the hills...

As I type, I can hear the thunder... and if I stand on the porch, the smell of rain is in the air. I used to think my dad was nuts when he told me he could "smell the rain coming."  As I've gotten older, I can understand just what he was talking about... you really can smell the rain, and smell the scent of the earth... if you're paying enough attention.

And isn't that the most important part of being alive.... you've got to be attentive. To every little blessed thing, no matter how insignificant you think it may be.

We haven't had rain in nearly two months now, but we did have a little rain shower yesterday afternoon, and today is turning out to be a genuinely rain-soaked day, complete with sound effects.

Our handyman called earlier this morning, asking if he could come by to work today... my husband checked the weather web-site, told him about the oncoming rain and suggested he come work tomorrow instead. No sooner had my husband said goodbye to R, and we heard the first clap of thunder. No doubt, on the other side of town, R heard it also. Timing is everything.

I've spent the morning looking through photographs that my husband took during our trip to England.... all those gardens with perfectly sculpted hedges and blooming flowers, ancient stone mills and cottages, story-book villages filled with tiny shops (and bookshops!), thousand-year-old cathedrals filled with priceless treasures, works of art, and the remains of the British Royals. So hard to believe that we were 'across the pond' not once, but twice, and now, both trips are over.  "Over" in reality, but still on-going in spirit.

Yesterday was our weekly "Waldorf Wednesday" tea.... and even more special and fun because we all hadn't met for the the past two weeks, what with everyone's summer and travel schedule. I sat there at the dining room table yesterday, teapot filled with English tea, and thought of the tea and scones in The Cotswolds.  I will have to make scones again... my recipe is good, but not quite the same as those served in England. Maybe English scones are like New York bagels... they just cannot be duplicated outside of their natural habitat.

Oh well. The thunder continues and it has started to rain again. I should turn off this laptop before a bolt of lightning or a clap of thunder shuts it down for me, which would provoke me to say words not entirely in The Queen's Book of Proper English Grammar.

Back to reality...

... but yes, I'm still brewing my tea in a teapot, not a cup. Heavenly.  And I'm serving myself on a little porcelain tray... brown sugar crystals, room-temperature milk, a small teaspoon... and for that little while, I make believe I'm back in England. My white porcelain tray is in the shape of a feathered hen, which is very un-British, but my teapot has the British flag on it, and my cup and saucer was handpainted in England, so at least that's something.

Tomorrow is tea day.... we haven't had a Waldorf Wednesday tea in two weeks now, so tomorrow we resume with that. I've just baked a peach cake for tomorrow afternoon, and look forward to seeing everyone again.  Actually, we did see all the neighbors over the weekend.... at a moving-away party for S across the road. Her house is sold and she's moving up near Austin in less than two weeks. She will be here for tea tomorrow, but I don't know how many other Wednesdays we'll be seeing her once she gets up to Austin.

Still very hot here.... near to 100 degrees or over every day since we've been home. We had a bit of rain the other day... a good shower that lasted less than half an hour. Not much, but at least it was wet. I'm sure the grass soaked it all up in less than 15 minutes, and then after the rain quit, you couldn't tell it had rained at all after the sun came out again. There are still cracks in the ground from the combination of heat and lack of rain... and the grass is at the crispy stage of the summer.

The yellow and black spider that has made its web on the side of the back porch steps is still there... the web was built before we left for England and by the time we got back it was huge. The spider is also getting huge... I've named her "Charlotte" and by the size of her, she's been eating quite well. When I was sweeping the back steps this morning, I nicked part of the web with the tip of the broom. Charlotte wasn't too happy with my carelessness, and almost immediately began to mend the edges of her web. When I got back home after my errands earlier this afternoon, I noticed that not only did she repair the part of the web that was damaged by the broom, but she made the exterior ridges of the web much larger, with a more intricate pattern than was there before.  Charlotte has truly taken over that part of the back porch.... between the web and her spider-self, it looks like I've already started to decorate for Halloween.

Speaking of Halloween.... I'll be starting to decorate by the end of this month, so all of the Halloween decorations will be up for September and October. Our neighbors have asked if we're having a Halloween costume party this year, and I said that we were... some are already planning their costumes.  I say this every year, but I'll say it again.... once Halloween comes and goes, the rest of the year goes by in a heart-beat.

I've been re-reading "Emma" by Jane Austen this week......... I started that book before we left for England, and got up to Chapter 20 before putting it down and coming to the conclusion that I wasn't getting anywhere with that novel. I loved "Pride and Prejudice," so I have no idea what my problem was with "Emma."  However, after traveling to England, and visiting the Jane Austen Center in Bath, I felt that I owed it to Miss Austen to give "Emma" another try. So that's what I've been doing. So far, so good. (It helped to find a web-site via Google to refresh my memory on Chapters 1 through 20 before I started off with Chapter 21.)

So here I am.... writing about Jane Austen and England... and right now, I dearly would like a cup of tea. Which I shall make as soon as I finish typing. Tea in my British flag teapot... with the English tea from my friend J... served to myself on my white porcelain tray in the shape of a feathered hen.

Last day in London...

Driving through the English countryside seemed to be a pleasant memory now that we were back in London. So many more vehicles and pedestrians in the city, as well as bicycle riders... makes me wonder how many new gray hairs my husband got during those hours of driving in London traffic.

The first stop that morning was the Musical Museum... we had gone there twice during our trip to London last year, and we couldn't wait to see it again on this trip. The tour guide last year was a very talented and enthusiastic gentleman named Roy, and we were hoping beyond hope that Roy would still be a volunteer at the museum. Not only was Roy still there, but as we drove up into the parking lot of the museum, Roy was standing outside in the sun, awaiting his first tour group of the day.

It was a pleasure to say hello once again to Roy, to tell him that we had taken his tour twice last year, and we were there for one more look-see of the vintage music boxes and musical machines within the museum.  The tour that morning was two hours long, and we thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it as if that day was the first time we'd walked through the doors of that magical building.

For lunch, we went to The Cricketeer, a restaurant across the road from a cricket field and not far from Kew Gardens.  We had eaten there last year and remembered the food to be delicious, and we thought we'd try different menu items on that second visit. Well... turns out that the head chef at The Cricketeer was "on holiday" that weekend, and the kitchen staff was floundering without him. As a result, the food we ordered was indeed delicious, but it took one solid hour from when we placed the order to when our lunch was brought to our table. As a result, the manger of The Cricketeer came over to our table and apologized profusely, and then tore up the ticket for our lunch. "Your lunch is free today, and I hope you come back when we can serve you much better."  We were just stunned.  Neither my husband nor I were pleased with the hour-long wait, but we certainly couldn't complain about the delicious food we were served.

After we left the restaurant, we drove towards Heathrow Airport, to return the rental car and then take a shuttle bus to the hotel, which was just outside the airport grounds.  Finding the correct lane to drive in to get to the car rental return area was a nightmare in itself. I think we drove around Heathrow three or four times until we finally got to the correct location. True to its history, the GPS was useless when we needed it the most. (Too much interference from the airport equipment, would be my guess.)

The hotel by the airport was very nice... but certainly not the comfortable and home-y atmosphere of the beautiful B&B houses that we had stayed in during the trip. It was a bittersweet night at that hotel.  Funny thing was the hotel had a hair-dryer right inside the bathroom in front of a large mirror, but I found myself missing the tiny bathrooms of the B&B homes and having to dry my hair in the bedroom with a very small travel-mirror propped up on a pillow. (Not a single B&B house had a wall outlet in the bathroom that would accommodate a blow-dryer.)

We had dinner that night at the restaurant within the hotel, and we talked about all the castles and churches and gardens and bookshops, and the villages and cottages and the people... the wonderful English people we met who sprinkled our trip with graciousness.  After last year's trip to London, and this year's trip to The Cotswolds, I would be hard-pressed to decide which I liked better. (But I really think I left my heart in The Cotswolds.)

London is a city filled with majesty, pomp-and-circumstance, and ancient splendor wherever you look.  The tiny villages in and around The Cotswolds gives one a different view of the English.... hard-working and home-loving, gracious and well-mannered citizens who value their property, their families, their pets, and every minute of their very lives.

We Americans are a spoiled group of people... we have so much here to be grateful for, yet we take it all for granted, for the most part. Just simple things, like a grocery store.... the American supermarkets are larger than a football field, as compared to a Tesco store in England, which is about the size of a small American kitchen.  Our roads here, built for cars and trucks, are massive when compared to ancient roads around The Cotswolds which were meant for horses and carriages.  While American shoppers expect to buy anything and everything no matter the season, the English are content to tend their kitchen-gardens and buy in-season produce at their local weekend markets. And do we, on this side of the pond, really need 30,000 sq.ft. supermarkets with 178 varieties of breakfast cereal and 213 brands of soda?

Compared to our rush-rush system in the States, the English revere and trust their traditions. They don't sit in a cafe with a cell-phone glued to their ear, and they honor their family time with conversation. And time, priceless time... it seems to me that the English know the meaning of time, and time-well-spent, to be specific.  A simple cup of tea in the English countryside could take an hour of one's time, but that hour becomes precious time that you won't ever forget.

Going back to England after last year's trip was a treat indeed. The villages of The Cotswolds, with their storybook charm and quaint cottages.... it's all so hard to describe in mere words. You have to see it, to walk around in it, to breathe the air and smell the gardens, and drink the tea, in order to truly appreciate all of it. The cherry on top of the British cake for this trip was seeing my friend J, whom I hadn't seen in years, and I don't know when I'll see again.... the time we spent together was priceless for me, worth all the more because we hadn't seen each other for so long.

Even after two trips to the UK, I'd go back to England in a heartbeat.... if I never see another country again, I don't feel as if I'd be missing much. But the thought of never seeing England again would be very sad indeed. With all that we did see in London last year, and in The Cotswolds this year, I know for certain that there's so much more to see.

In the book "84, Charing Cross Road," there's a line that says (to the effect) that when one travels to England, one finds exactly what one is looking for... that whatever the history you're searching for, whatever the style of living you're looking for... it's all still there, right there, in England... you just have to look for it, and it will be there.

I love that book. I love those words. I truly love England.

God Save The Queen.

Berkeley - Tetbury - Westonbirt Arboretum - Bath

Off to Berkeley in the morning, to see Berkeley Castle. It was closed to the public that day but we were able to walk around the grounds and the beautiful gardens.  Walking around the village of Berkeley gave us a glimpse of the market-life of that quaint little town. (Is there any Cotswold village that is not quaint? I don't think so.)  Of course, I found a tiny bookshop in Berkeley and looked on the shelves for a book that needed a new home.  

In the village of Stroud, there is an old ice cream factory called Winstone's.... they have a tiny tiny store in front of their factory in which their ice cream is sold, and that's what we found on the side of a hill overlooking green farmlands.   For lunch that day, we had ice cream... very delicious and smooth, and seemingly more delicious because we ate the ice cream while enjoying the lush views beyond the Winstone's factory grounds.                                            

Loved the village of Tetbury.... the church there was another extraordinary example of craftsmanship that may no longer be available in today's ever-changing world.  And that's another thing I love about England... the British treasure their country, their heritage, their traditions, their architecture.  They seem to treasure every single blessed thing, whether it be a simple cup of tea or a magnificent cathedral built 900 years ago. Pride.... it's all a matter of pride and conscience, and of caring and consciousness, and I admire them for their steadfastness. "Keep Calm and Carry On" isn't just an advertising slogan, it's a way of life.

The village of Tetbury had marvelous little shops, but of course I remember the bookshops the most. In one of them, I found three vintage magazines, similar to the American "Reminisce" magazine. The English publication was called "Evergreen," and I found one issue for myself and two for my cousin F.  The cost of the magazines was one English pound for three issues.  We didn't have any coins at all that day, and the smallest English paper currency we had was a ten-pound note. I gave that note to the bookshop owner and he didn't want to take it... said he didn't have nine pounds in change for us, and he apologized because "giving change always seems to be a problem at this time of the day."

The bookshop owner told me to please take the magazines. I offered him American dollars for the purchase, but he declined, again saying that it was his responsibility to have change available for his customers, and he had failed that morning to visit the bank before opening the shop.  I told him that I really wanted to pay for the three magazines, especially because two of them were for my cousin F.  The shop owner put one hand on his heart and told me to please accept the three magazines, "two of which are my gift to your cousin F, with your kind indulgence, if you please."  (Another reason to love the English... they are just so gracious, and accommodating beyond words.)

We drove to the Westonbirt Arboretum.... hundreds and hundreds of acres filled with one man's collection of trees. Nothing but green, green, green at that time of the year, and honestly, we could have been walking anywhere at all. There was nothing in that arboretum that was screaming "You're in England! England!"  I asked my husband to take the shorter route instead of the long walk, enabling us to not take too much time in that particular park.

And then... back to Bath we drove.... to a different B&B than we had stayed in when we first arrived in Bath the previous week. Once again, our GPS thing in the car didn't pin-point the location of the B&B home and we asked at least a dozen people for directions. Some knew the street we were looking for, others didn't, but all of the English people we spoke to thanked us for stopping them to ask directions. Imagine that... they were thanking us for choosing them to give us directions. You've got to love the British for their exquisite manners!

We finally found the B&B, tucked into a quiet no-outlet street near Victoria Park. The home owner was a very friendly and artistically talented woman whose home was filled with her colorful paintings. We spent some time talking to her that evening, and by the end of our stay, it was as if we'd known each other for years. When I commented on her portrait of a young woman that was hanging in the bedroom my husband and I would sleep in, she offered to paint another canvas for me... "the same girl, the same colors, the same everything."  In the morning, the three of us took photos together and exchanged eMail addresses, and S has already sent me an eMail to tell me that she has started on my painting. She said she will roll it up and ship it to me in a sturdy mailing tube.

After breakfast that morning, my husband and I started the drive into London.... we had planned to return the rental car in the afternoon because our flight was in the morning of the next day. But first, we had a few last things to do in London...

Hidcote Gardens - Winchcombe - Gloucester - Cheltenham

Busy day that was.... we toured Hidcote Gardens, which were just beautiful.  We also saw Lawrence Johnson's "American Gardens," beautifully designed garden rooms on acres and acres of lush property.  Johnson's home was also on the property, and I wish I could have spent more time in his library which was covered wall-to-wall with bookshelves filled with beautiful antiquarian volumes.

In Winchcombe, we toured Sudeley Castle.... still occupied by descendants of the family, rooms filled with priceless antiques and heirlooms. In one of the hallways, there is a full-length stained glass window-portrait of Queen Elizabeth I --- absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous, and it's mesmerizing when the sunlight comes through it, making Elizabeth seem to come alive right in front of you. Beautiful beyond description and I can still see it in my mind's eye. Forever more, when I read my volumes about Elizabeth I, that window-portrait is what I will see as I read.

In Gloucester, we toured the Gloucestershire Cathedral. No matter how many cathedrals and churches one sees in England, there is never an absence of beauty and serenity.  The stained glass windows, the altars, the grave-slabs set into the marble and stone floors, ornately carved wooden pews, embroidered cushions for kneeling, gold altar accessories and elaborate lecterns for the minister to rest his sermon notes upon. And the massive and ancient organs, with hundreds and hundreds of gleaming pipes rising up towards the ceiling. You honestly don't know where to look first when you walk into such a church.... the stained glass windows are priceless works of art, the ceilings are carved and decorated with such elaborate details that they look like a spider web of perfect and delicate lace. And whether one is religious or not, just walking through such structures filled with awe-inspiring craftsmanship makes one want to sit in one of the pews and wonder who sat in that very same spot hundreds of years ago.

We stayed at a Bed and Breakfast home in Cheltenham that night.... the owners were out of town and had contacted us to let us know the location of the key to the front door. Very nice to have a two-story townhouse to ourselves, but in the morning, the electric "mains" were not working... we had overhead lighting, but none of the wall outlets would work.  That was the downside of absent home-owners. We managed, however.... minus a hair-dryer for myself.  We had a light breakfast in the kitchen of the B&B, consisting of left-overs from the previous night's dinner, then off we went to drive further into the Cotswolds.

By that time, my husband was more than adjusted to the opposite-ness of English driving, and I was able to enjoy the scenery instead of constantly watching the left side of the road to make sure the tires of our rental car didn't keep hitting the curb.  Looking back, I wish I would have tried some of the driving, to get a sense of the difference, and just for the satisfaction of having driven a car in the countryside of England.

We had brought along a GPS thing to mount on the windshield of the rental car.  It was helpful in some areas, useless in others. For instance, the residence of Prince Charles (Highgrove House) did not show up on the GPS.  And some of the locations of cafes and B&B homes did not come through via the GPS. On many occasions, my husband told the GPS, in no uncertain terms, that it wasn't worth the plastic it was made of. (As a note, we did not get to tour Highgrove... tickets are sold out for months and months ahead of time, and for security reasons, tickets are scarce to begin with.)

Northleach - Moreton In Marsh - Blockley

Driving through the Cotswolds to the most precious looking villages....  We went to Northleach to see the Music Box Museum there. Quite a small building, but packed with all sorts of beautiful and old music boxes. The woman working there (Sally) was thoroughly happy to give her presentation about the various boxes, and at one point she and I  had a little conversation about 'hair slides' (we call them barrettes here in the states).  I had a rhinestone barrette in my hair that was quite new but looked vintage, and Sally just fell in love with it. Before my husband and I left the museum, I gave her the barrette, telling her that I bought it just before the trip and I'd go back and buy another one when I got home. She was thrilled beyond belief and I was happy to leave a part of me in that wonderful little village.

We also visited the Cathedral of the Cotswolds... St. Peter and St. Paul, built in the 1200s.  Honestly, when we hear about these centuries-old churches and homes, it just takes one's breath away to think of the care and maintenance that had to be given to these structures over the years. The British churches are all beautifully crafted, no matter how large or small... great care and attention to detail was given to build them, and extraordinary care is given daily to maintain them.

From there, we went to Moreton-In-Marsh.... found a tiny Greek cafe for lunch... and a very small bookshop filled with all sorts of children's books and old favorites. (I've hardly ever met a bookshop that I didn't like, in case you haven't guessed.)

We walked around the Batsford Arboretum.... the walk was pleasant and the day was sunny and warm, but the grounds were filled with more trees and shrubs than colorful gardens. After a seemingly very long walk, we came upon a huge castle-like home, and further on there was a beautiful church. Inside the back door of that very pretty church, there were shelves filled with old books for sale. I looked through them and found "Lost Horizon" by James Hilton. A basket was there to hold the money for the books, and we put an English pound coin into it. (Many of the smaller churches had such displays of books and postcards for sale, with unlocked baskets and boxes for the money.)  Once again, I found myself comparing the arboretum grounds with the gardens at Malmesbury.

Close to Batsford was The Sezincote Gardens, which featured a mansion filled with furniture and artifacts from India. We chose to walk around the gardens and not tour the home, being that we would have had to wait for the next tour group to begin.  The gardens at Sezincote were pretty, lots of flowers, ponds, statues, hidden and secret passages... but still... Malmesbury topped my list for formal English gardens on this trip.

What struck me as we visited all the villages were the dogs.... on leashes, right along with their owners, sitting quietly in restaurants and cafes, watching the world go by through very happy doggie-eyes. The English love their pets to the point of accepting them as part of their every-day schedule... they don't leave them home, they bring their dogs with them whenever possible, and it's just very heart-warming.

Off to Blockley we drove, towards our Bed and Breakfast destination.... the Blockley Mill House... an ancient mill which has been converted to the most wonderful home. Rooms decorated with plush furniture and antiques and books and paintings.... a huge pond in the yard which is kept filled with the water-wheel of the original mill... flowers and plants and trees and topiary all around the pond, with an open-air gazebo to sit under, and decks and porches to enjoy the view. While we were in the backyard, delicate spores of dandelions were floating in the breeze and the effect was magical. To top everything, church bells started ringing at eight o'clock that evening and continued for an hour.... absolutely beautiful beyond words.

Church bells ringing, doves coo-ing in the evening, well-behaved dogs in shops and cafes, quaint villages, beautiful gardens, delicious tea..... the Cotswolds was quickly becoming close to my heart.

Malmesbury - Cirencester - Bibury

We started driving to Malmesbury very early in the morning... it was a special day because we were meeting my friend J in front of The Old Bell Hotel (notably the oldest hotel in England).

J and I have been friends since the 1970s. I met her through another friend who was a pen-pal of J's at the time.... I started writing to J and our friendship has endured over the years, via letters and cards and then eMail.  In the late 1970s or very early 1980s, J traveled to New York and I got to spend time with her in my home on Long Island, but until this trip to England, we hadn't seen one another in years. But... old friends are the best friends... and when we saw one another in Malmesbury, it was as if we'd seen each other the day before rather than decades ago.

The three of us toured the Abbey in Malmesbury, and then the gardens... spectacular flowers and little 'rooms' of planted and shaped hedges... very peaceful and serene and breathtakingly gorgeous. We walked around the village itself, with its centuries-old silk mill and tiny cottages lined up along the streets. Shops and stores all along the interior of the village, and we had lunch at a quaint little cafe called "Amanda's."  Looking at the menu, they offered all sorts of truly English meals. Both J and I ordered 'Bubble and Squeak,' which I thought looked to be sort of a deconstructed omelet -- a bottom layer of potatoes, then a layer of sauted vegetables, topped with a lightly fried egg.  J told me that it's a favorite English recipe because a lot of left-over vegetables can be used, whatever happens to be in season. I liked it so much that I intend to try it here.

The morning and afternoon went by much too fast, and we had to say good-bye so my husband and I could make our way towards our B&B for that night.  Very hard to say good-bye to such a good friend when you have no idea when you'll be seeing one another again. I think I gave J three or four good-bye hugs, trying to make that last moment endure a bit longer.

We drove to Cirencester.... and walked around the Corinium Museum.... not very interesting to me, since it was filled with artifacts from the Iron Age. Plus, my mind and heart were still in Malmesbury. There is an enormous sculptured hedge in Cirencester which is surrounded by an ancient stone wall. When you stand near that wall and hedge, you feel as if you're the tiniest person on the planet. Supposedly, the Cirencester hedge is the largest in the world.

From there, we drove to Bibury.... a most beautiful village that I could move to without thinking twice.  By that time, the driving on the narrow roads was getting much easier for my husband, having had three days' worth of English driving. We walked around the large pond in town, watched swans floating on the quiet water, and then walked along Arlington Row... a most famous street of vintage thatched-roof cottages.  We had dinner at The Swan Hotel that night... just tea and scones for me since the lunch in Malmesbury had been quite substantial. (Once again... delicious tea, raisin-studded scones.... the tea served in a teapot on a pretty tray.)

Our B&B for that night was in Ablington, just a short drive from Bibury. The house was 300 years old, owned by a very nice woman with a friendly dog named Myrtle. Our room and bath was on the second floor, overlooking her front garden which was filled with all sorts of blooming flowers and sculptured hedges.

We were exhausted by all the walking we did that day... which wasn't any different than on any of the days of the trip.  We tend to try and pack as much as possible into each day of a trip, and I guess we'll keep on doing that until we can't.  There's just so much to see... and neither my husband nor I are the sort to just sit in a chair and watch the world go by.  And when you're in England, where you're surrounded by history and tradition and quaintness and ancient architecture, how can you not want to see every last stone, every last flower, every tiny cottage... and enjoy every cup of tea.

I'm ready to go back......... and we've just gotten home..... and I've not even finished writing about all the towns and villages we visited.

Highclere Castle - Winchester Cathedral - Bath

Oh my, what a nice day that was..... we went to the little church on the grounds of Highclere for a presentation being given by Lady Carnarvon. She talked about the history of the castle and the grounds, as well as the church and the parish, and the wonderful opportunity they were all given with the filming and success of "Downton Abbey."

Before the presentation, everyone was treated to tea and desserts, baked by the ladies of the church group. Lady Carnarvon brought sweets from the Highclere kitchen, but said she 'rather enjoyed' the homemade baked goods from the church ladies.  By the time the teacups were put away and the presentation was over, we all felt as if Lady Carnarvon had been a friend of ours for years.  Touring around the interior of Highclere, it was beautifully surreal after watching "Downton Abbey" for these past years. (I kept looking for Mr. Carson but maybe he was off on holiday.)  Lovely to see all the rooms that have been featured in that PBS series... it was a highlight for me, but maybe not for my husband since he doesn't watch "Downton." (Perhaps that will change after this trip? I have the complete set of Downton DVDs and would watch it all again, and again.)

Winchester Cathedral... I don't think I can say enough about any of the English churches and cathedrals. They are all so magnificent and extraordinary. The ceilings of Winchester are awe-inspiring in their craftsmanship, and they make you wonder just how many years (decades) that work took from start to finish. The remains of Jane Austen were buried in this cathedral in 1817, most likely because her father was a clergyman in another parish. On Austen's grave-slab, there is no mention of her accomplishments as an author, which was typical of the time. There is a brass plaque, however, later paid for by her nephew, listing the legacy of her writing talents. The stained glass windows and extensive statuary within Winchester are just breath-taking, beautiful beyond words, and the serenity in that cathedral is mesmerizing, even with all the people walking around to look into every nook and cranny and chapel. To think that the first construction on this cathedral began in the year 645 is just extraordinary, absolutely extraordinary.

Afterwards, driving along the motorway towards Bath, we could clearly see Stonehenge. The traffic was going so slowly along that road, with everyone coming to nearly a stop to take photos. Being that the road was close to the monuments, and the stones are just so huge, we didn't take time to walk around the grounds there. Too many tour bus groups at the time, and the stones are roped off so you can't get very close to them now. Seeing Stonehenge from the roadway and taking the photos was enough of a treat.

We spent the day in Bath.... Jane Austen house and museum, Victoria Park, Bath Old Books, the Victoria Art Gallery, the Roman Baths, dinner at "Opa!" (Greek restaurant), the Holburne Museum, and the indoor shopping markets in the center of the city.  After a day walking around that very crowded city (we had left the car at the B&B because of the traffic), we were totally exhausted at night.                    

The B&B in Bath left a lot to be desired, especially after our first night at the B&B in Andover, which was a home filled with plush furniture and treasured antiques. Unfortunately, we were booked at that sparsely furnished and IKEA-esque B&B for two nights... both nights were interrupted by the sounds of seagulls with insomnia. At all hours of the late night and early morning, we heard the calls of the gulls... some of them sounded like cats or monkeys, with just a few making sounds like birds.

In Bath, we found a tea room called "The Boston Tea Party" which had the most delicious scones. We had lunch one day at "The Green Bird," a very serene and pretty cafe... the owner collects maps and he had a framed map of Manhattan hanging on the wall near our table. Bath Old Books was a treat... lovely old bookshop, but I didn't buy anything because the few books that I found interesting were just too expensive. Still was fun to look and browse amongst the shelves. (Amongst - another British word to love.)

The city of Bath... very crowded, but a lot to do there. The Roman Baths were interesting and filled with ghostly spirits, I'm sure. To think that the warm springs below the baths are still giving forth water is just amazing.

In the Victoria Art Gallery, there is a painting of Henry VIII that is just mesmerizing, whether or not you're interested in British history. (I certainly am... my husband is getting there slowly.)

We walked all over Bath, even walking out of our way to a little cafe near the B&B for our breakfast. (Neither my husband nor I wanted to take a chance in the kitchen of that particular B&B house.) The cafe owner was a sweet lady who scrambled our eggs and warmed the croissants and asked us what we planned to do each day.

At the "Opa!" Greek restaurant, our meals were made to order, nothing re-heated or microwaved, and yes, it took nearly two hours for lunch, but it was the experience that is memorable, and of course, as always, the delicious tea.

The Jane Austen center was a surprise.... my husband found it on the Internet and included it in the itinerary without telling me. They have a life-sized wax figure of Jane Austen in the rooms of their museum, based on portraits and original clothing of Jane's.... so it's as true a representation of Jane Austen as one is likely to get.

Victoria Park..... as always, the English know how to grow flowers and make beautiful garden arrangements. No matter where one looked in that park, your eyes were drawn to colorful flowerbeds just bursting with blooms.

Bath wasn't my favorite stop in our ten-day trip, mainly because of the disappointing B&B accommodations and the ceaseless city traffic there, but the city was definitely filled with interesting architecture, jam-packed bookshops, and an energy that was off the charts in character.

To London, to London....

... to visit the Queen. Well, not really, but wouldn't that have been nice?!

We left on August 1, flying to London and getting a rental car at Heathrow and then driving to Windsor Castle for our first stop. Looking back now, we both wish we hadn't planned anything for the first day there. Our flight from Austin was delayed for over three hours, landing us in London in the middle of the afternoon instead of ten o'clock that morning. After the delay and the flight, and then two hours getting through customs and then coping with the inefficient staff of the Hertz Company at Heathrow, we were both very tired... but off we went, following the itinerary my husband had meticulously planned. (By the way, no apologies offered here to Hertz... they had clueless and careless staff there, none of whom were British.)

Along with my husband and I, thousands of tourists from all over the world were also at Windsor Castle that day. The tour groups were huge, and the pace within Windsor was extremely slow. By the time my husband and I got half-way through the Castle, we knew we had to call it a day before we fell asleep on our feet. (And wouldn't that have been a ghastly surprise for the Queen?)

The town of Windsor was quaint and cute and storybook-ish, and I wish we'd had more time to walk around the town itself. (And we would have, had it not been for the delay at the Austin airport, and then the delay with the lines at Customs at Heathrow.) What surprised me most about Windsor Castle was that it was right in the midst of the village, not off in the hills as I had always pictured it. All those lush green lawns and tree-filled woods are at the back of Windsor Castle. When you park your car and walk towards the Castle itself, you have a fine view of the streets and shops within the town.

We ate dinner at The Duchess of Cambridge Pub in the village of Windsor... delicious food in a vintage pub (mostly every little thing throughout England is vintage).  We drove to the village of Andover to the B&B home that my husband had arranged.... lovely home over 400 years old with beautifully tended gardens. We were there for just one night, but a week's stay would have been too short with those gracious hosts. By the time our heads hit the pillow, we were totally exhausted and slept for ten hours.

A traditional English breakfast consists of scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, baked beans and meat (either sausage or bacon). Croissants are offered everywhere, as well as scones, with a variety of jams and preserves.  My favorite breakfast there is the fluffy scrambled eggs with grilled tomatoes and mushrooms. I like baked beans, but not for breakfast, and I don't eat meat. A pot of tea, of course, is a must-have. I've said this before, and I will swear by it--- the English cannot make a bad pot of tea.

Back to the rental car, by the way.... it was culture-shock for my husband when he got behind the wheel of that Audi.  The steering wheel is on the right side of the car and one must drive on the left side of the road. Before we left for the trip, my husband had watched YouTube videos of driving along roads in the UK, to familiarize himself with the driving methods there. The videos were helpful to a point, but nothing can prepare you for the mostly narrow and winding country roads there until you get behind the wheel.  As for me, I didn't drive the rental car, but acted as co-pilot, watching the left side of the road and telling my husband that he was "Too close! Too close!" when the wheels of the car got too near to the curb on the left side of those roads. Thankfully, the British motorists are gracious and tolerant of the tourists driving cars in their country without having had English-style driving experience.

Back in the nest....

We have just returned from ten days in England... landed in London and rented a car to drive into the English countryside, particularly The Cotswolds.  I am in love with those beautiful thatched-roof cottages, and have been ever since reading about them in the memoirs of Beverley Nichols. All of the English villages we visited looked as if they could be part of a well-illustrated fairy tale.

Driving on the 'wrong' side of the road was a challenge for my husband at first, but he quickly got accustomed to sitting on the right side of the car with the steering wheel in front of him. I, on the other hand, sitting on the left side of the vehicle without the capability to steer the car was somewhat of a challenge as well. For the first couple of days, I was constantly telling my husband "too close, too close," to warn him that the wheels of the car were getting too far over towards the left side of the road.

And the roads... so narrow and winding through the small villages... how on earth do the British manage to drive so well without dinging their pretty little cars?  In all of the ten days we were there, I saw only one car with a dented door, and for all I know, it could have been rented by an American tourist.

And the tea.... the English cannot, for the life of them, make a bad cup of tea. Wherever we went, tea was served in a pot, with pretty little mugs or delicate cups... sugar and milk... and a little scone with jam and clotted cream if one asked for it.  One of the secrets to a good cup of tea (besides a quality tea) is the teapot. Letting that tea steep in a covered pot is just a must-do, without a doubt. Yes, it takes a bit more time, and yes, you have to wash out the teapot along with your cup and saucer or mug, but it is just so worth it. And the English know that... and they take the time... and it isn't a chore at all.  It's a tradition, time-honored and time-trusted, and that's that.

Whilst we were there (don't you love that word-- Whilst) we met my friend J, who has lived in England for all of her life.... we've been friends since the late 1970s, meeting as 'pen-pals' and continuing on with a friendship that has lasted all these years and now we're just like family.  My husband and I met J in Malmesbury, and toured the gardens and the Abbey there, walked around the village, and then had lunch in a traditional English cafe. (I can now say I've eaten "Bubble and Squeak" and enjoyed it and plan to make it here.)

I will be writing about each of the villages we visited along the way.... looking thru the postcards and books I collected during our trip. (My suitcase was much heavier coming home than it was going across the Atlantic.) So many bookshops filled with much-loved and much-read books, and I think I bought one book in each of the villages we visited.  But all of that writing is not for today.... the washing machine is going, and so is the dryer, and the ironing board is calling my name.

We are still adjusting our body clocks to the time difference... we did grocery shopping on the way home from the airport, and today's chore is the laundry and ironing.  I'm trying to appreciate our property here in a new light as I look out at our acres.  I'm sure the English would love this property and the woods surrounding the pastures... I'm also sure they would plant hundreds of flowers around the house and make paths leading to secret corners of the garden. But would they scoff at the scorpions and tolerate the wildlife?   Probably so... they'd just make a pot of tea and carry on.

Musical Cats...

Each cat wants to be king of the kingdom here, and it's enough to get you nuts.  Sweet Pea is the only inside cat now, except when my husband is cutting the grass (like this morning) and then I bring Mickey inside because he's afraid of the noises from the mowers. When Mickey comes into the kitchen, I have to keep Sweet Pea in the TV room, otherwise Mickey will plow into that poor cat, and Sweet Pea (living up to his name) refuses to fight back.

Mickey wasn't always so aggressive... he was the sweetest little cat until we had to start keeping him outside during the day and in the garage at night (which has a little cat-door to get him into the fresh air of the old fenced-in chicken coop). Mickey was forced into being an outside cat because his inside behavior as he got older wasn't good enough for this house. Too many accidents, purposely done, in my opinion, because he continues to have accidents in the garage. In his old age, Mickey likes to make statements, so I've come to the conclusion that his 'statements' are less of a concern in the garage than they are in the house.

Gatsby and the orange cat share the porch, the yard, and the rest of the property... and I'm sure the orange cat has seen more of the property than Gatsby has.  The Gray Gatsby hardly ever goes farther than the end of our driveway, if at all that. He's been content to patrol the porch and the backyard since we found him the year we moved here.  Gatsby has still not accept the orange/white stray, and come to think of it, neither have I.  Too unpredictable, that blasted cat, and I wouldn't trust him for a minute.

At any given time, when Mickey and Gatsby and the orange cat are outside on that porch, you can hear hisses and growls followed by the stampeding of cat-feet as either Mickey or the orange cat runs from one side of the porch to the other. And Gatsby watches the orange cat running away, as if he's saying "So there! Go find yourself another porch!"  Seems like a day doesn't go by when I'm not having to play 'musical cats' with them so they don't fight.  Looking back over the years, all of our cats except one have been males. (And all but one of them were strays that we found or they found us... it wasn't that we went looking for just male cats.)

As the cat drama unfolds on the porch, Sweet Pea watches from the windows, running from the TV room windows to the kitchen windows, trying to see who wins the latest cat battle.  When Sweet Pea has had enough excitement, he comes into the breakfast room, jumps on my lap if I'm here at the table, and sits here watching the pictures that come up on the Pinterest boards.

I've noticed that if I'm just typing out words on my Blogs, Sweet Pea isn't interested in the computer at all. (Everyone's a critic.) But as soon as I switch to Pinterest, his eyes get focused on the screen and his head moves up and down and side to side as he watches all the pictures pop up.  I guess Gatsby and Mickey are both trying to be King of the Porch Kingdom outside, and all Sweet Pea is interested in is becoming the Purrfect Prince of Pinterest.