..from St. Theophan the Recluse, no further reference supplied:
The goal of human freedom is not in freedom itself, nor is it in man, but in God. By giving man freedom, God has yielded to man a piece of His Divine authority, but with the intention that man himself would voluntarily bring it as a sacrifice to God, a most perfect offering.
Friday, August 6
James and Kim collected us at 9:00, Kim bearing part of a cake she had baked (which I've since eaten, and it was delicious!) and off we went to York. James told me we crossed the Pennines, but I never saw, coming or going, anything that reminded me even vaguely of a mountain. Kim, at one point, said we were in Saddleback Moor, infamous for the Moors Murders, in which 5 children were slain and buried here. Another point of interest is a farm, complete with house, barn, fields, pastures, and sheep, sitting right between the lanes carriageways of the M62! (M is for Motorway, the British equivalent of American interstate highways.) The owner at the time of the highway's construction refused to sell his property, so the motorway was built right around it.
York is a fascinating city for its scenery and its history. It was settled by stone age people sometime between 8000 and 7000 B.C. It was founded as an actual city in A.D. 71 by the Romans. Vikings captured the city in 866 and called it Jorvik. Roman emperors came to York; in fact, the son of St. Constantine the Great died while he was in York.
So the city has those fascinating narrow streets all in a jumble, with buildings dating back several centuries, plus the remains of the stone wall with its fortifications, dating from Roman times, plus, of course, the Cathedral.
We left the car in the parking lot car park near the Tower and the Castle Museum, including the dungeon. But as both places charged a hefty admission, it was decided not to go inside either of them. The decision might have been different if we had realized that each ticket is good for an entire year, but as we didn't know this, we walked along the streets instead. These were full of holiday-makers, and it was like a giant, city-wide festival, with face painting, artificial rock-wall climbing, living statues, street musicians - and, of course, tons of interesting and unusual shops.
Demetrios literally got lost in one that sold beautiful china and the most unusual and gorgeous art glass you could ever imagine. By getting lost, I don't mean he couldn't find his way out, but that the rest of us couldn't find him for a while. The least expensive items were probably the charming glass frogs in the front window, the smallest of which cost £200.
Demetrios was also enamored of the armor shop. Yes, armor. He has always fancied himself in a suit of it. My knight in shining armor.
James commented that we needed to buy a 'child rein' for Demetrios, as he kept disappearing every few minutes.
I found a place (Crabtree and Evelyn, a store we no longer have in Richmond) to buy my favorite scent, lavender. This time I loved the 'recipe,' and bought 2 bottles for an unconscionable sum.
Kim, meanwhile, bought me a very naughty souvenir, a Golliwog. We'd had a discussion the night before about Political Correctness, and how tyrannical it is. So that, and not racism, was the context in which she bought it.
We ate in a carvery Demetrios like the look of, and the food was good.
Then came the crown of our visit, York Minster.
Thursday, August 5, Transfiguration
Elias phoned this morning, and arranged with Demetrios to come to our house around 1:00. So Demetrios said he'd just nip over to the supermarket to pick up some groceries he wanted, and he would be back by 12:45. I, my wet hair in rollers, did the dishes and had vacuumed hoovered most of the flat when the phone rang again, and it was Elias saying he had arrived.
I had to ask him to wait 5 minutes while I got dressed and tied a scarf over my head. (We have a lot of 'robe days' here, in which we do brush our teeth and wash our faces, but Demetrios doesn't shave and I don't put on makeup and we wear our bathrobes.)
Elias hadn't had lunch, and I didn't have much in the house, which is why Demetrios had gone for groceries, but I found some veggies, some salad makings, and some bread and cheese, which I prepared while he sat in a chair in the kitchen and we chatted.
He brought it up; I didn't - the unfriendliness of St. Nicholas Church. He is acutely embarrassed by it, does all he can to ameliorate it, being friendly with absolutely everyone, whether they like it or not. He says he goes there because (as is the custom) they pay him to sing and he needs the money. I think the real reason he goes there is to be a godsend to us and to everyone else in the parish. Literally, God has surely sent him there, when he would rather be anywhere else. Elias says the situation isn't going to change. I asked what about waiting for the younger generation, and he said the younger generation doesn't care about religion at all. Massive loss of Tradition - it isn't only among Anglicans!
Demetrios came home more or less when he had planned to, and the two of them went off to a nearby pub to have coffee and chat some more.
In the evening, we had James, Demetrios' godson, and Kim for dinner. We had Shrimp Newburg. Well, they say 'prawns' over here; 'shrimp' are so small you could imagine yourself eating earthworms. It was good, but not as delicious as usual, for some reason. Fresh raspberries with cream for dessert pudding.
We told stories I promised not to repeat here, and laughed a lot and had a wonderful time; James and Kim are so much fun to be with!
About halfway through the meal, they asked what we were doing the next day, Friday. As we hadn't any plans, and as they were taking that day off from work, they suggested we should all go to York. Of course we agreed, enthusiastically.
We can't get over these young people seeming to enjoy spending time with us oldsters! So delightful.
Or, But This Tour wasn't on Our Itinerary!
I'm perfectly well now, but have had an unexpected stay in an English hospital. It began on the midnight that separates Monday from Sunday; right about then, my heart just skipped right out of rhythm. The irregular beating, with breathlessness, kept me awake all night.
We waited until it was 8:00 a.m. in Richmond (1:00 p.m. here) and telephoned our cardiologist, who said to go get treatment right away. So we walked from our flat two blocks to the bus stop and hopped on the bus for Southport, because the Ormskirk Hospital is just for children nowadays.
The same bus stops right outside the hospital, so twenty minutes later we arrived at the emergency room, which here is called the A&E Department (Accidents and Emergency).
We were a bit concerned because we aren't a part of the English NHS (National Health System) and our only insurance is, of course, American. But when we asked the lady in Reception, she raised her eyebrows and said, 'It isn't like America. Emergency care is for everyone.' Then she added, icily, 'We are civilized here.'
I was seen right away, within ten minutes. Within the first half hour, I'd had all my vital signs taken and an electrocardiogram and was in a hospital gown and a bed.
After that, I lost track of time, but there was a very nice young doctor from Pakistan and a very nice Philippino nurse, male, but I was in no position to be picky about gender. 'Turn you back to me,' he instructed, so I did and he slipped off the hospital gown. 'Now turn back around,' he said, 'and slip your arms in.' He was holding the gown between himself and me, to obscure his view. I had put it on the wrong way and he had put it right with extreme tact.
They hooked me up to an IV and dripped a medicine into me for a longish time, in hopes it would cause the heart to reset.
It didn't.
By now a consultant had arrived (senior doctor; Consultant being the highest rank). He was consulted and was firmly against 'interfering' with my own caridologist's treatment.
???
He directed that I be sent home.
Demetrios, however, objected, pointing out that the irregular heartbeat posed an immanent danger of bloodclot (and death, of course). So the young Pakistani doctor apparently refused to do as directed and kept me. I also heard a beautiful young doctor from India seemingly interceding on my behalf. She said, twice or three time, 'But it's unfair, isn't it? It's unfair!'
At any rate, they decided to keep me overnight for observation. I urged Demetrios to go home, and he also thought he should, to telephone our cardiologist again while it was still office hours in Richmond.
I remember having a chest x-ray, 'Because of the chest pains,' they said. The chest pains were so mild I had forgotten them. On a scale of 1-10, I rated them one-half.
Then my bed was wheeled through some more corridors and I asked, 'Am I being taken to my room now?'
'To your ward,' the male nurse from the Philippines corrected.
Oh. Okay. They have wards here rather than rooms. Demetrios says every hospital has a handful of private rooms, saved for infectious patients or those who for any other reason require isolation.
The ward contained 5 other women, all of whom appeared to be older than I. One of them grinned at me and nodded her head; it took about two minutes to realize she was quite demented.
I was quite sleepy by then and do not remember much, but I do remember being offered tea several times. Finally, not having eaten all day, and having missed both lunch and supper while in the emergency room, I asked for, and was given, a snack box, containing a ham sandwich, a delicious apple, some cookies (digestives), some cheese, and I've forgotten what else; I couldn't eat it all.
I had brought with me a prayer book, a book of Sudoku, and the book about the ancient Greeks, which I haven't yet finished. So I alternated among those, and was saying the evening prayers when one of the patients, a sweet-faced old lady with short, curly, white hair, wearing pink plaid pajamas, got out of her bed and began going around to each of the other 5 beds to chat with her fellow patients and wish each one a good night.
When she came to my bed and we had chatted a few moments, I asked her name, and she said, 'Margaret. Sister Margaret, actually; I'm a nun.'
So I asked which order, and she told me, but I've forgotten, and then she asked me my order!
I had brought earplugs with me, luckily, but just as lights out time came, I was put on a trolley and transferred to a ward in the Cardiac Care Unit, still with only six beds, but much larger.
The night nurse was a beautiful woman from Ireland named Hughna. She was as sweet and kind as she was gorgeous.
At some point in the night she repeated the IV drip, during which I fell asleep, more or less. (It's hard for me to sleep flat on my back, and all the things into which I was plugged prevented my turning over.) I remember Hughna telling me, 'You're fine now,' as she unplugged the drip, but I didn't know whether to beleive it. I could see the monitor and I could see the wild fluctuations every time I moved. I should have known she was telling the truth, because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to sleep at all, from the palpitations and breathlessness.
It wasn't until morning I was sure I was fine. I could feel that my heart was steady and strong.
For breakfast, the choice was cereal or toast; I had the toast and some tea.
Demetrios came as I was still finishing my shower, so he got the good news from someone else instead of from me. They gave him photocopies of all the cardiographs, including the latest one, showing normal heart rhythm.
I've got rhythm,
I've got rhythm!
Then it was a matter of waiting two hours for the pharmacy to bring up my new medicine; apparently my body was no longer responding to the old, having become too used to it.
Total cost to us: Zero. I can't think when I've ever been so grateful.
As it was a beautiful day, we took the bus the rest of the way into Southport and strolled along Chapel Street, a pedestrian shopping area. Then we ate at Mamma Mia, best tiramisu in the world. Then we came home.
And I napped three hours, until it was time to go to Stuart's house, for that Anglican discussion group we attend.
I'll write about last week later; we did have some fun adventures to tell you about!
A big storm has come through, leaving this gift in our back yard.
August, and finally the weather has warmed up a little, with temperatures in the middle of the day reaching the low 70s, Fahrenheit. The inhabitants of Ormskirk are complaining; they can't sleep in such warmth.
We took advantage of a pretty day on Saturday to visit the nearby Lavender Farm with Julia and Sue, one of her best friends, who had arrived from out of town to spend the night.
Nothing all that much to see at the Lavender Farm, but we had gone there because I adore lavender scent. The fields of lavender were pretty, though, and Demetrios was quite taken with some of the chickens, specifically the Guinea Fowl. He'd never seen one before.
We poked around the gift shop, which is stocked with all kinds of wonderful scents in a whole line range of products, from candles to soaps to shower gel and other things. Unfortunately, I didn't particularly care for any of the 'recipes' they used in concocting them; the lavender scent lacked any sweetness. So although I had come determined to buy something lavender-scented, I didn't.
We had tea in the farm's little cafe, including a lavender scone. It was quite good but we had to struggle against the association with soap, to avoid the impression that this was what we were eating. I told everyone about Elizabeth@the Garden Window's recipe for lavender shortbread, and maybe one or two of us will yet try it. Lavender is in bloom right now.
From the farm, we went to David and Julia's house for another fabulous one of David's meals. Then we watched a DVD, then home, tired.
I couldn't sleep; I never can when my feet are cold, and I couldn't get them to warm up, even under the duvet. It was nearly 3:00 when I finally dozed off. Slept more than 8 hours, so missed church, and among all its other benefits and blessings, the chance of two hour's practice in trying not to be judgmental.
My most recent reading is a book on the history of Ormskirk. There isn't all that much of it! What there is consists mostly of the history of England and of our local lord of the manor, the Earl of Derby (pronounced 'DAH-bee') and his family. There are interesting tidbits culled from court records and the like.
One interesting thing I read was about the establishment of the Workhouse. That's sort of a combination of homeless shelter with the chance for the residents to work and thereby contribute toward their support. Conditions were deliberately made harsh, to prevent people from going there except as a last resort.
"Listen to this!" I said to Demetrios. "That Workhouse was built on the site where the hospital stands now."
Demetrios smiled. "Yes, it's the building I showed you, where my room was, when I worked there!"
Then he told me about how his mentor, Dr. Sanderson, as a small boy used to be told by his grandmother, "Unless you correct your behavior, you'll end up in the Workhouse!" Then the Workhouse was converted into a part of the hospital and Dr. Sanderson worked there. So he did indeed end up in the Workhouse!
...is chilly, and at night, it's downright cold! Many days are at least partly rainy, and almost all days are cloudy. I always wear a cardigan outside; sometimes Demetrios, who is more sensitive to cold, wears a heavy sweater. Even when it is bright and warm (barely) there is always a cool breeze, sometimes a downright cold breeze!
We had gorgeous weather in June, though, and I've kept on (since the very first day of that month until now) thinking of that poem by James Russell Lowell. It's one of my favorites and one of my mother's favorites, from whom I learned it. Enjoy!
And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For our couriers we should not lack;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,
And hark! How clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,
Everything is upward striving;
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,
'Tis for the natural way of living:
Who knows whither the clouds have fled?
In the unscarred heaven they leave not wake,
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes the season's youth,
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.
Sunday, 25 July
Today after church, Elias organized 8 of us to go out for coffee after church. There was Zisis, the young man studying shipping administration, and Artemis and Chrysostomos, a young engaged couple, John (Ioannis), who ran a news agency in Liverpool before retiring, and another Elias, a cardiac surgeon with startling, bluegreen eyes. We had a lovely time getting acquainted with those who were new to us, and furthering our acquaintance with the ones we had already met. We all got along famously.
When everyone else had left except us and John, we were still hungry, so John showed us where the Greek restaurant is, just diagonally opposite the ruined St. Luke's Church. (The impressive thing about St. Luke's is that the entire outside of it, except window glass, is intact. It's simply missing the inside.) The restaurant is called Zorba's, naturally. Pictures of Anthony Quinn in that role on the walls.
So the three of us shared a huge dinner meant for two, very tasty and more than enough for all three. We had intended to spend the afternoon at the Tate Gallery (Yes, I know, when you think Tate you think of London, but there's a branch in Liverpool as well.) but the afternoon slipped away in animated conversation instead, with John as well as with the proprietor, who is Demetrios also, but prefers to be called Leonidas. The discussion ranged from John's sad life story to whether St. Constantine the Great was Greek or Roman to something I didn't understand about Turkey. Most of the conversation was in English, but it was the Greek I didn't always follow.
It's been a hard nut to crack, but I think we've done it! Or rather, Elias has done it for us. There's a way to go yet; we are by no means entirely 'in', but I imagine word will spread now that we don't bite.
The other night at dinner with David and Julia, as we were discussing the difficulties Demetrios and I have been having making friends at the church in Liverpool, Julia observed that public worship is supposed to be all about communion, "and if one isn't in communion with the rest of the people, it all falls apart,doesn't it? One may as well stay home to worship!"
My unspoken, instant reaction was, "I'm not out of communion; they are!" which attitude, of course, immediately knocked me right out of communion.
That's when it dawned upon me what a great spiritual opportunity lies before me. Here is a perfect chance to learn that all-important virtue of being non-judgmental, for starters. I could also stop being as self-conscious as I have been here, paying attention to how I appear in others' eyes. I could return my attention to God, for example! I could pray more instead of noticing what Presbytera does, or anyone else, and on and on and on. Oh, yes, there is much spiritual profit to be had here, for the price of time and effort.
But Julia's astute comment started me thinking, because what she said, while perfectly true in her context (I suppose), is not entirely true in an Orthodox context. Everybody including Julia knows that 'communion', as used in church, means something deeper than happy socializing; yet if there is no social intercourse, what's to make us think anything deeper exists? If there is some sort, any sort, of spiritual communion, shouldn't it be showing up at the social level as well, filtering down to that level, as it were?
I remembered the words of Christ: "Where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I, in the midst of them." Two or three? Well, yes, we have that many and perhaps many more; how could I count them, who aspire to cease judging my fellow man?
And for those two or three, or two or three dozen, or however many there are, their communion is with Christ, and through and in Him, with one another. And this is true even if they live in different places or in different centuries, and whether or not they have even met each other. It's true in spite of their sins and weaknesses, among which lack of friendliness is only one, and not necessarily the worst.
My concern must only be with my own sins and weaknesses, and whether I am and remain one of that number.
I need your prayers. Thank you.
So what have we been doing since the last report, which ended a week ago Sunday? Well, this and that. Monday (not yesterday, but a week before that) I went to the knitting group at the [Anglican] church. Nice ladies there, three of them named Joan, two Jeans, and Joyce. Plus Ann, the curate.
Tuesday I was very adventurous and had my hair cut here in Ormskirk. Thirty-six pounds! I thought that practically extortionate, and for that price I didn't get one of the senior stylists, either, but a sweet young thing named Lisa, probably newly out of cosmetology school. I told her exactly how I wanted it and she proceeded to cut it exactly as she had understood. Which was not at all what I'd had in mind. Well, Mark (my son) likes to observe that the difference between a good haircut and a bad one is two weeks. Not that it is a bad haircut, mind you, just a new one for me, unaccustomed, very short on the sides and in the back.
To my surprise, Demetrios loves it! (He spent all this time working on his project.)
Thursday, David and Julia came to Ormskirk to pick up their new car, a black Vauxhall; and as the dealership is near us, they came and got us afterwards and we went out to eat. We went to The Peacock, a Chinese establishment right here in Ormskirk, and Demetrios and I were very surprised at what a good restaurant it is. It not only has a gracious decor, but the food is plentiful and delicious, too. And as almost always in any Chinese eatery, the service was excellent. We all shared a 'Banquet for Four,' several courses, all yummy.
Saturday, the plan was to have a barbecue at their house, but the nasty weather caused us to change plan and eat indoors. David prepared us some marvelous lamb and steak and pork sausages, with potatoes and veggies. We had another batch of my failed cheesecake ('lemon bars') for dessert, only this time it was something halfway between lemon bars and cheesecake, still very tasty, though.
Then after dinner we watched a DVD, the popular musical, Mamma Mia. Demetrios and I had enver seen it. It was fun to watch, but I cannot recommend it. It's based upon a mammoth inconsistency; it's an unabashed celebration of the very behavior (promiscuity) that has caused the central characters so much pain all their lives!
During the discussion over dinner, I finally understood where David is coming from, religiously. I mean, I knew it, fuzzily before, but now, clearly. It's not that he rejects God, not at all! Nor does he reject Christ. 'But religion...' Yes, religion is the problem. Religion, in whose name such atrocities have been committed. The religion of fear and guilt. He said yes, that's what he meant, and I said,from the bottom of my heart, 'If that's what you're rejecting, I salute you!' David sees through that nonsense and worse than nonsense; Julia, too. And they aren't going to pretend otherwise. Hooray, hooray, hooray!!!
In this time and place where nearly everyone is questioning the value of ritual, and nearly everyone who has been brought up religious has been brought up in a religion of fear and guilt, I thought this quote from Fr. Alexander Schmemann a wonderful antidote.
The Liturgy is, before everything else, the joyous gathering of those who are to meet the risen Lord and to enter with him in the bridal chamber. And it is this joy of expectation and this expectation of joy that are expressed in singing and ritual, in vestments and in censing, in that whole ‘beauty’ of the Liturgy which has so often been denounced as unnecessary and even sinful. Unnecessary it is indeed, for we are beyond the categories of the ‘necessary’. Beauty is never ‘necessary’, ‘functional’ or ‘useful’. And when, expecting someone whom we love, we put a beautiful tablecloth on the table and decorate it with candles and flowers; we do all this not out of necessity, but out of love. And the Church is love, expectation and joy. It is heaven on earth, according to our Orthodox tradition; it is the joy of recovered childhood, that free, unconditioned and disinterested joy which alone is capable of transforming the world. In our adult, serious piety we ask for definitions and justifications, and they are rooted in fear – fear of corruption, deviation, 'pagan influences’, whatnot. But ‘he that feareth is not made perfect in love’ (I Jn. 4:18). As long as Christians will love the Kingdom of God, and not only discuss it, they will ‘represent’ it and signify it, in art and beauty. And the celebrant of the sacrament of joy will appear in a beautiful chasuble, because he is vested in the glory of the Kingdom, because evening the form of a man God appears in glory. In the Eucharist we are standing in the presence of Christ, and like Moses before God, we are to be covered with his glory.
The Ascot has been run, Wimbledon has been played, the World Cup is over, and that seems to be how summer is measured around here.
Weather-wise, summer appears to have happened in June. July has been rainy, but still we have enough clear days to get out and enjoy things, and some days are even bright and sunny. There is always a fairly stiff breeze blowing. While the Atlantic Seaboard states suffer under sweltering heat and humidity, we wear sweaters when we go outdoors. We leave our windows open at night if the weather is mild enough, but about half the time I get up and close them as it's too cold. Yes, it's COLD, not chilly, at night. I am going to find and buy that old English stand-by, a hot water bottle, to take to bed at night to warm my feet.
For the school children, 'summer' begins now; they only finished their term last week.
Although we have been getting out and doing things, I thought I'd relate all that later, and for now, just tell you how life ordinarily is, when we are at home.
Well, then, we get up in the mornings at 8:30, give or take half an hour; in other words, whenever we jolly well feel like it. Breakfast is usually continental, tea or coffee and toast. We bought a box of porridge, but have yet to open it. Bacon and eggs we usually have for some other meal than breakfast.
We sit at the table and eat our breakfast and watch a little television, a morning news/talk show, similar to Today or Good Morning America. By 9:30 or 10:00, the TV has been turned off, and Demetrios starts work. That's to say, work on his book. He studies various books he brought with him and takes notes, and Saturday he said: "I've hesitated three days to tell you this, but I finally feel ready to begin the actual writing." HOORAY! The hesitation is because he has made two or three false starts in the past two or three years, only to realize he was missing a piece of the puzzle, without which he could not proceed.
While he works, I clean house, then read or knit until it's time to cook.
About an hour a day, on average, keeps this flat spotless. It takes as many as 3 days, however, to do two loads of wash. That's because we have no dryer, just a drying rack, and when it's wet outside, it takes one load a day and a half to dry.
What have I been reading? Murder mysteries, of course! I've sampled the Agatha Raisin series by M. C. Beaton, but I don't much like the main character. I've tried Nora Roberts and the story was good but the characters lack values and there was the supposedly mandatory 'pink porn'. I've read two books by Anne Perry, A Christmas Visitor and A Christmas Guest, and these are the only ones I can recommend, and very highly, at that! The characters all have character and there is nothing horribly graphic, and the author has some rather deep insights as well, on What Life is Really All About. I'm also reading The Greeks, by a Professor Kitto, whom Demetrios once met, many years ago. It's an account of the country and the character of the ancient Greeks. It's highly enjoyable reading, erudite, insightful, and very witty. I've loved every page.
My knitting consists of a blue and white throw I'm making for us to snuggle under evenings, and for when I become bored with knitting that, a very girly pink baby blanket. The latter is what I take with me to my two knitting groups. On Mondays, there is a knitting group at the church ('the church' being the Ormskirk Parish Church, Anglican) and they do charity knitting, specifically, tiny baby things for the preemies at the hospital, blankets and 'jumpers' (onesies?) and caps and booties and things to make for dead babies, as well, to make them look pretty for their mothers. The other knitting group is at the yarn shop on Tuesdays, and I take the same baby blanket with me there, as it uses yarn bought from this shop. The throw is of yarn I bought elsewhere, and it occurred to me that it might be unseemly to use it at the yarn shop.
Television here is far better than in the States. I've already mentioned how much more information you can receive here, but there's also better entertainment. There are funny, heartwarming comedies such as The Darling Buds of May; there is a show called Time Team in which archaeologists dig up various interesting sites; there are detective shows without all the gore and gruesomeness of programs like CSI (which is also shown here). There are nature shows, differing from most American ones in that they do not consist simply of showing one animal killing another, and they do not concentrate on scary creature such as spiders, snakes, and sharks. They show how animals carry on their courtship, build their nests, care for their young, grow up, interact, what their habits and peculiarities are, and a million other things. Television here is actually watching! (Not all of it, of course; there's plenty of junk, but more good stuff than we're used to.)
We have our main meal in the middle of the day. I can report that the Spicy Parsnip Soup is very good, tastes like a curry. Demetrios doesn't like it. He also doesn't like the Carrot and Coriander Soup, but I do. And I've found a dessert to die for. It's just called Bailey's. It's double cream mixed liberally with Bailey's Irish Cream. You eat it with a spoon. Heavenly!
I haven't so far been able to find any Graham Crackers. Which means no Graham Cracker crusts for various homemade desserts. Bummer.
After lunch, it's naptime. Demetrios takes a long nap and I take a short one or none at all. Afternoons are when I mostly go out, to the library to use their computers or return or check out books; to Burscough Street to poke around the little shops there; to the grocery store because without a car, I can only buy at any one time as much as I can carry home.
I especially like the charity shops, secondhand shops that benefit various charities. That's where you can buy very pretty little things for pennies. I found a gorgeous crystal set of four sherry glasses for £3.50; I've also bought a cut-glass jam pot and a salt and pepper.
Not long ago, I also found a van Gogh print for £6. I had it re-framed for a very reasonable price, about a third of what I would pay in Richmond, and it now hangs in the master bedroom. It's one of his paintings of irises, and it brings me to tears sometimes not only because it's so beautiful but also because that was the view from his window in the asylum. Inside the asylum, he was miserable, but outside, he still found beauty and painted it.
We have tea with a small snack around 4:00.
A light supper is around 6:00 or 6:30, followed sometimes by an evening walk, if we haven't gotten out before and weather permitting. Then we talk or read or watch television some more and then we take our pills and go to bed whenever we feel like it.
Well, I don't know if this sounds good to you, but we enjoy every minute thoroughly. And we're doing it all in England (!) and that's the best part. Well, the second best. We're doing it together, that's the very best part. I look into Demetrios' face and see a happy man. And he often expresses his happiness; this in contrast to when I first met him, when he was desperately miserable. I asked him whether he feels more at home in England or in Greece, and he said that was difficult to decide.
Glory to God!
Sunday, 18 July
It's been a wonderful day.
We set out in the rain, which wasn't an auspicious start, for the train station to catch a train to Liverpool. We had started late, but made it, barely, in time for the departure.
Most of our train ride was occupied by two children who got on a couple of stops after ours, sat opposite us with their mum, and immediately began conversing with us. They were Tyler, 5, and Emma, 3, and we couldn't understand a word they said, not a single word! Eventually I understood one word from Tyler: pirate! He was trying to tell me he was a pirate. (There's some big pirate event going on in Liverpool today.) So, pretending fright, I immediately pulled my jacket over his face. He said, 'Noo, noo, I'm only pretendin'!', which I understood about the third time he said it. So I looked out again and smiled sheepishly.
The children continued to talk and we smiled and nodded and said, 'Yes' a few times, hoping that was an appropriate response, as we still could not understand anything.
We asked them their names, and their mother told us. Her speech was clear to us, unlike theirs.
We also spent some time looking for triangles, which Emma had just learned about.
It was all perfectly delightful.
The Divine Liturgy at St. Nicholas, I noticed this time, is actually run by an older woman I (correctly) took to be the Presbytera. She takes the bread and cakes and other food offerings into the altar and places them on the Table of Preparation. She hands Father Iakovos his censer when he needs it, and takes it from his hand when he is finished with it, and generally keeps him on track. She organizes both the Small and Great Entrances, beckoning men from the congregation and handing them Cross, candles, banners, and so forth to carry. She holds the red napkin under your chin during Holy Communion.
There is precious little time left over from these duties for keeping the women informed and organized, but about every 10 minutes or so, she does emerge from the altar for a few moments to do this as best she can. After Communion, which this morning I received, I heard her whisper my name to one of the ladies, who passed it on.
After the service, she was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the priest.
Zisis greeted me at the coffee table, the young man we met last week, whom Elias had taken home the same time he drove us home. We had a nice chat. He is 29 years old and getting his doctorate in shipping management. He says the world of shipping (we're talking actual ships is a tight-knit circle, hard to break into, but he has a strategy mapped out. As he is bright, good-looking, and personable, I think he will succeed. He's also a good dresser, sporting a natty and vaguely nautical-looking navy blue blazer, double-breasted, with white buttons.
We also chatted with Philippos, another cantor, who had been away the past two weeks. He is also very young, perhaps 30-something, but very well versed in Byzantine chant, and with a nice voice. Very likeable fellow.
We didn't stay long, as Elias, the head cantor, had invited us to a party at his home in Newburgh, to celebrate his daughter's graduation from university. So after a short time socializing (He socializes with everyone.) he took us, together with Zisis, in his car.
I never know how to described meeting people such as we met today, the type you feel as free and easy with as if you had known them all your life. And so many of them! Elias' wife is Eleni, slim and pretty with very large, brown eyes wearing a faintly mournful expression, and she is very kind and you feel as if she were your sister. Her sister in the flesh is Kyriakoula, a lively and funny person, who can keep you entertained singlehandedly. The graduate, in whose honor the party was being given, was Maria, very sweet, very open, very personable. Her younger sister is Stella, who looks like Sophia Loren, except she is only an up-and-coming second-year college student. Stella has an English boyfriend, Stuart, blonde with blue eyes, poised and friendly. Stella and Stuart were quite nervous, as his parents were due at the party a bit later, and this was the first time his parents were going to meet hers. Stella and Stuart, you see, hope to marry. And yes, Stuart is very willing to become Orthodox, which we discussed for a while, the other Orthodox and I stressing that he should only become Orthodox when he has seen it for the Truth.
Stella took me apart and said, 'Will you help when Stuart's parents come come?'
'Certainly,' I said. 'What is it you want me to do?'
'Just talk to them.'
I looked at her a long moment and finally said, 'Is this something like My Big Fat Greek Wedding?'
'Yes,' she said, 'Exactly like that!'
I did spend about half an hour chatting with them, and they, too, are very nice people, Julie and Trevor. They're going to take their holiday, 10 days from now, in Cuba, so Cuba occupied much of our discussion. Demetrios of course spent time with them, as well. So did numerous people, including the hostess, Eleni, and even Elias came round a time or two and made himself genial, and offered them drinks. Yup, just as in the movie.
Their son Thomas fitted right in with the Greek boys of similar age, and off they all went together.
I met Sarah, a Muslim from Kashmir, and her daughters, Maria (with the stress upon the first syllable) and Amida, 10. When I asked Amida what her name meant, she said, 'It means "Happy" and my mother's name is a Hebrew word that means "Princess."' Sarah was telling me about conditions in Kashmir, which she compared with conditions in Gaza, with curfews and an Indian 'occupation army' and so forth. Of course there are two sides to that story, but what struck me (as it often does in my travels) was how ignorant we Americans are of so many things going on outside our own borders. It's as if our press were all conspiring to keep us ignorant. If it weren't for the Internet, we'd never know anything about the rest of the world. Here, we have access to all sorts of news, from CNN and BBC to Aljazireh and a channel called Russia Today. We check them all out.
We met George and his wife Beatriz, a pretty woman with shoulder-length, wavy hair from Brazil. We met Kostas and his English wife, Jill. They have a house on his island in Greece, and they lived there for 4 years, so Jill learned fluent Greek. They finally decided they had to come to England, but they vacation back in their Greek house. She is a teacher, and we had a long talk on what is wrong with education today.
Another teacher was there, too, who had been our graduate's first-grade teacher, and has been a family friend ever since. So it was a special day for her, too.
Sotirios, Elias and Eleni's 16-year-old son, is also poised and personable and friendly. He told me, 'Your accent is so COOL!' And of course having a teenager find anything about me 'cool' is insanely flattering.
And those are just some of the people I met. Demetrios met several more, but he was mostly off with the men and I was in the kitchen with the women. (Yes, the Greek way.) People did not all arrive at once, but in dribbles, from time to time, and left the same way, so I suppose there were about 50 or perhaps 60 people in all. 'We have to live this way,' said Elias. 'This is what life is all about, to love one another, and that means to love being together!'
The food was delicious, plentiful, and varied. There were barbecued ribs and there was chicken and pastitsio and various salads and an artichoke casserole and several other dishes I can't even remember. There were two cakes, one of which of course said, 'Contratulations, Maria!'
It was 8:30 by time we took up Elias' offer to drive us home whenever we liked. We had been at the party since right after church, and we only left when we did because we were exhausted, and so happy we felt like crying.
It was only 10 minutes from Elias' door to ours. That's nice to know. He says we should get together later in the week for coffee. He studies mornings and works afternoons, but he can afford to take off part of a morning now and then.
Back in our own little flat, Demetrios poured us each a sherry, which we sipped in front of the TV. Then by 9:00 we were in bed. I was so tired I forgot to take my pills and even forgot my earplugs, yet slept soundly and with deep gratitude until morning.
These are the kind of people who can be true and life-long friends, and seem very willing to be (Elias says they had kind things to say about us, too) - and so many of them! How blessed we feel! And more and more, we begin to feel at home.
After a while, we got up and walked back to the car through downtown Chester, with its Tudor storefronts. They aren't allowed to change appearance, so even the more modern buildings look Tudor, if only superficially. There are more black-and-white, half-timbered buildings here than even in Frankfurt!Friday, 16 July
Yesterday, Thursday, we ate lunch at the Swan Inn, together with David and Julia. They have been out of town for a while, visiting friends and family. It was good to see them again, and of course the meals were all very good.
We were going to go to Rufford Old Hall, a nearby manor house, afterward, but found it closed due to a wedding being held there. As it was already rather late in the afternoon, and we were tired from the afternoon and evening and night before, we were quite happy to call it a day, and hope to get back to Rufford Old Hall some other day.
Tonight Julia and David brought us to Rainford to hear a concert by the Rainford Band and the Ecumenical Ladies' Choir. It was held on a farm, inside a large corrugated building that may be a barn but is big enough to be a hangar.
The Rainford Band is quite good. They have entered national competitions and have come in second more than once. In fact, we won't be able to hear them in Rainford any more, as after this they are entering the big leagues, going on a more prominent circuit.
The Ladies' Choir was also good, although we didn't give a hoot whether they or the band was any good at all. They sang and played with all their hearts, and that is what mattered to us.
The band also did some clowning around, and the music director told a couple jokes as well.
The last set consisted of songs usually sung on the last night of the Proms. The conductor said, 'Let's pretend we mean it as we sing these,' so that is exactly what we did. I have always thought it sounded like great fun to sing these in an enthusiastic crowd, and here, at last, was my chance. But we all did have to pretend, to varying degrees, because the lyrics don't bear much scrutiny.
We sang Land of Hope and Glory, known to Americans as Pomp and Circumstance, that music always played when graduates, from kindergarten to university, march in.
Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free,
How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?
Wider still, and wider, shall thy bounds be set;
God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet!
God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet!
Now that bit about 'Mother of the Free' obviously sounds weird in American ears, and probably in the ears of other former colonists, but especially in ours, as we are used to thinking of America as the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
And then we come to Wider still, and wider, shall thy bounds be set and we begin to wonder how much territory do they want? And how much might? Just pretend and sing your heart out and have fun. It's no worse than some patriotic American lyrics:
O beautiful for Pilgrim feet,
Whose stern, impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wildnerness.
I once heard that sung in a room full of mostly Native Americans. Oops.
We sang Jerusalem, too. No, it's not Jerusalem, My Happy Home, nor yet Jerusalem, Jerusalem. No, this -are you ready?- this is an English Jerusalem. Yes.
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold,
Bring me my arrows of desire,
Bring me my spears o'clouds unfold,
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
'Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land,
'Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
And finally, of course, Rule Britnania, sung twice:
When Britain first, at Heaven's command
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang this strain:
"Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:
"Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!"
Apparently the choice is between being slaves or ruling, i,e., making everyone else slaves.
The flip side of empire, of course, is brutality. That's why Gandhi's tactics were so effective; he correctly reckoned that the British were not brutal enough to do what he was going to make them have to do to keep India. Lessons there for Brits and Americans alike.
Never mind; we stood up and waved our English flags and Union Jacks and sang lustily and with huge smiles, pretending (with the English, who were also pretending) to mean it.
We had an absolutely glorious time and went home thoroughly happy and thoroughly worn out!
P.S.) Demetrios would probably like me to add a point he is always making: that patriotism, as distinguished from both chauvinism and imperialism, is a virtue. One should love his country.
