Central London: Island Paradise

We woke up Saturday morning in Hawaii.

After a fashion.

The sky was bright blue, bright sun among scattered fluffy clouds. The hint of chill in the air was fighting a losing battle with the gathering warmth, and the only sound in the air was birdsong.

I opened the a wall of floor to ceiling glass windows that lead out onto our deck and welcomed the outside in. We spent the day sitting on the deck, or the sofas just inside. I finished the book I was reading and started another. In the early afternoon, Dawnise watched Ru Paul’s Drag Race on Netflix with a friend, her laughter spilling out into the hush of the courtyard. We had afternoon aperol spritz. The cats took full advantage of the unusual opportunity to lounge on the deck.

We left the wall open all day, closing it against the evening chill.

This morning started out much the same.

We tried our hand at making shakshuka – our regular dish at Mola, the cafe around the corner we frequent for weekend breakfasts and have been missing in the shutdown. (We gave it a 7/10, flavors were good, the eggs spread further than intended and ended up a bit over cooked.)

As I type these words the birdsong has been temporarily replaced by the ringing of the bells of St. Paul’s – a reminder of where we actually are. We’ve all temporarily retreated out of the direct sun, even the cats, currently lounging in the shade – one under a deck chair, the other on the rug inside.

I anticipate another day of forced relaxation. I’ve got a piece of brisket flat sous-vide’ing, and I think we have all the necessary bits for Pimms this afternoon.

And really, why wait?

Here’s to your health, safety, and sanity. Slainte.

When the Devil Drives

Not too much to report from London. We’re still healthy and safe, and increasingly grateful to have access to the outdoors.

I think it’s fair to say that life is slowly settling into some semblance of a “new normal,” and the UK government is starting to more clearly communicate that this won’t likely be over anytime soon.

After a couple weeks camping out at the stair rail, my computer perched on a stack of books, I bought a small standing desk, and spent the last few days working in the master bedroom. At Dawnise’s suggestion we’ve taken down the guest bed and turned the spare bedroom into a work space. I’m resisting populating it with new furniture, as I look forward to converting it back and welcoming back visitors in the late summer, or fall.

In the past week I’ve added a dozen links to my growing list of worthy articles. Some I’ve stumbled upon, some I’ve been pointed at by one of the feeds I follow, and some I’ve been sent by friends and colleagues.  

I’m particularly interested in writing that explains the science of the disease, offers insight into the systemic failures of preparation and imagination that led to nearly all western governments being caught flat-footed, and that explores the potential medium and long term impacts of this moment in history.

If you have articles you think I should read, please send them my way.

Not with a bang…

As of a handful of hours ago the United Kingdom is officially out of the European Union.

I don’t think anyone really knows what that means.

One thing it means is that you shouldn’t ask a large group of people a question unless you already know the answer. (cough: Mr. Cameron, please take note.)

Anyway… I’m not normally a “chat with the person next to you” sort of person on a plane. I’m more of the “we’re both stuck on this flying cigar, let’s ignore eachother and focus on getting to the other end” sort of person.

This trip was different. I ended up having a chat with the pensioners next to me. We were flying from LHR to SFO (I had a meeting in the Bay Area before heading to Seattle). From there they’d board a five week cruise to Sydney (as in Australia). She was Irish and had worked for an airline. He was British and had been a printer, working for others before ending up running his own business before he retired.

They were, as they put it, “obviously” Brexit supporters.

This put me in the position of being able to play the “I’m just a dumb American living in the UK, please explain this to me” card. You gotta play the hand you’re dealt, so…

I managed to ignore the occasional Euromyth (it was the first time someone had asserted to my face that the EU required carrots to be straight – I litterally bit my tongue to avoid laughing out loud), and focused on trying to understand the core of their position. I think it came down to four pillars.

  1. The EU started as a free trade organization but was increasingly encroaching on national soverignty – imposing rules over member countries far beyond free trade.
  2. The EU governing body was unelected and increasingly corrupt, so the UK was better out than in.
  3. The UK was outside the EU before and it was fine, so it would be fine again.
  4. Specifically, the “EU needs the UK as much as the UK needs the EU,” so the negative repercussions of leaving would be mild, if there were any at all.

We talked about Boris (he’ll be fine and was a far better choice than Corbyn who was “away with the faries”) and Trump (he’s a complete idiot and the comparison to Boris is purely superficial). We talked about the Irish border (there won’t be one, but even if there is, a country has a right to control its borders).

Through the conversation I said two things which – I like to think – gave them pause. I argued that by their description Brexit wasn’t that different from one of the large economy states in the US choosing to break away from the union. I came down on the remain side because, “teams are stronger than heroes” (thanks Zach) – we’re stronger together than we are apart.

Staying in the Union, or the EU – I argued, took sometimes uncomfortable compromise, but so did marrage. They had clearly been married for decades, and the glance they shared suggested I might have touched on something.

The other moment they seemed affected was when I said I wondered what impact Brext would have on those in the UK just making ends meet. To me, I said, it would be irritating if imported food stuffs and staples increased in price by 10-20%. Since they were about to check into a floating hotel for over a month, I figured they’d be ok too. But I wondered out loud if their (adult) children, or their grandchildren might be more affected. They had been nodding along in agreement when I mused that they’d be fine. Their nods slowed a bit at the mention of their kids and grandkids.

I concluded that maybe their kids aren’t as financially solid as grandma and grandpa are.

Guess it’s too late to worry about that now.

Hope they kept some of their pension fund aside to help their kids. ‘Cause they seemed the sort who’d look down on taking assistance from the state.

The Damage Looks Pretty Bad From Out Here

I started writing this thinking it would be about the ongoing goat rodeo around the impeachment trial, and the disfunction in both American politics and media it highlights – but that’s not what ended up coming out…

Distance is a funny thing.  Sometimes it makes things harder to see.  And sometimes it draws things into painfully clear focus.

I work for a large international tech company – and my colleagues here in London are a pretty diverse bunch, hailing from nearly everywhere.  That diversity brings challenges – not everyone is equally proficient in English, for instance. Combine that with different backgrounds, cultural norms, experience levels, and clear communication gets tricky.

But some things span those chasms.  Those moments seize my attention.

The reaction in the office to the recent Seattle shootings, for instance.

Watching my colleagues react to that event – each of them being at least loosely connected to Seattle by nature of their employer having its headquarters there – was a pointed reminder of how much America has normalized gun violence.  Some of my colleagues come from countries that America would generally consider part of the ‘second’ world – and they recognize, sometimes from personal experience, that normalizing these sorts of acts of violence is a destabilizing force in society.

Some of those colleagues are traveling to Seattle this week for a work event to be held not far from the shootings, and they wonder about their personal safety.  If you’re American your instinct might be to dismiss that as over reaction.  Before you do, take a moment and ask yourself:  Is it?  

Seattle has had multiple shootings over the past weeks.  And more broadly America experiences a nearly constant barrage of gun violence in its major cities.

If you were being asked by your employer to travel to such a place, can you really say you wouldn’t be a bit concerned?

If you’re an America you’re likely tired of the gun control debate.  It flares up around these events, gets the left and right wing press into a lather, and then goes away. It’s been this way for most or all of your life.  That’s just the way it is. Like a Star Trek episode, the universe is the same at the end of the episode as it was at the beginning.

It won’t change anything for me, as a gun-owning American, to reiterate that America has a problem that desperately needs attention.

So I won’t.

‘Cause we can’t fix a problem until we recognize that we have one.
And it seems pretty clear that as a whole we aren’t there yet.

So for the moment it seems I’m stuck trying to stay out of harms’ way. 

And grieving for the people who didn’t.

What, the curtains?

With apologies to Nick Hornby.

Which came first, the Monty Python or the geekery? Was I drawn to Python’s breed of ridiculous and surreal comedy because of who I was, or did “getting” them help point me down this path?

I remember watching The Flying Circus on KDOC-TV (channel 56) on the black and white Zenith television in my bedroom as a pre-teen. Laughing at the few sketches that I understood. Wondering who let this clearly insane group of people make a TV show. And more often than not marveling at whatever the hell was going on with the cartoons. It was my first exposure to what I thought was a British sense of humor. Only later would I learn that appreciation for their brand of funny wasn’t universal anywhere.

I first encountered The Final Ripoff in High School – on cassette. I don’t remember for sure, but I think it belonged to my girlfriend – I’ll ask Dawnise if it was hers when she gets home. Suddenly I could listen – over and over – to the sketches I understood and loved. And maybe more importantly, to the ones I didn’t. I bought the collection on CD – probably from Columbia House Records. It might have even been one of the CDs I owned before I owned a CD player.

From Flying Circus I followed the Pythons where they went and had been – How To Irritate People, the Python films, Faulty Towers, Time Bandits, Michael Palin’s travelogues, Terry Jones’ Medieval Lives. I’d give anything connected to that group a try.

And now there are five.

And the world is a little less funny.

And a little less kind.

Rest in joy and laughter, Mr. Jones. And Thank You.

Happy New Year

My sister, brother-in-law, and niece left for Heathrow moments ago – ending a 10 day visit.  

It went well, aside from Dawnise being under the weather for much of it.  

We and they wandered around London – Dawnise managed to rally for a couple Christmas markets, a walk down Regent street, and a trip to Fortnum and Mason to see their famous Christmas windows. I even dragged them to Greenwitch to stand on the prime meridian.

We cooked (and ate) Christmas dinner, had Sunday Roast, had tea and home-made scones, ate a bunch of mince pies, panettone, stollen, and drank gluhwein.

When they weren’t touristing we hung out here, played games and watched some Christmas movies.  

They’ll arrive back in Seattle mid-day, in time to get home and keep their dogs calm during the evening festivities.  

Our plan for this evening is to stay home, maybe have a couple friends over, and – assuming we stay up late enough – hopefully get a glimpse of the fireworks display over the Thames from our balcony.

Whatever you have planned for New Years Eve, and Dawnise and I wish you a safe and joyous one, and hope your 2020 gets off to a fantastic start.

Crazy Schemes and Questionable Decisions

Last Friday, December 20th, marked half a year in the UK.  And the next day marked our 23 wedding anniversary.  We marked our anniversary on Friday evening with the always-excellent Beef Wellington for two in the dining room of the Goring hotel.  It was a brief moment of calm in an otherwise hectic December, and the evening before my sister, brother-in-law, and niece arrived for the holiday.

The balance of December has been chocked full of stuff.  We even managed to squeeze in Christmas Tea at the Ritz – something Dawnise has literally wanted to do for years.

To rewind a bit… Just after Alfred & Jodie left London for New Zealand, some friends from Luxembourg arrived in London.  We used their five year old daughter as a good reason to experience the particularly British Christmas tradition of Pantomime before they left for the continent and Dawnise and I headed to NY for a weekend.

weekend in NY?  Who’s crazy idea was that?

It all started ‘cause ‘Nise was going to end the year just shy of status next year, and we were talking about where we could go to get her the last couple thousand miles she needed.  I’d been saying for some years that Dawnise needed to visit NY around Christmas, but since we’ve been “over here” around the holidays for the past several years we hadn’t ever made it happen.  When to my surprise I found inexpensive tickets from London to JFK we overlooked – as in failed to even consider – the duration of the flights (aside: it’s nearly as long from London to NY as it is from London to Seattle – spherical distance is weird) and booked tickets and a hotel in midtown.

We arrived mid-day on Friday and spent the weekend walking around NY.  Christmas markets, Central Park, Grand Central Station, Rockefeller Center, shop windows on 5th Ave – and even managed to meet up with friends for lunch.  Our Sunday afternoon departure got us back to London early Monday, and I was only slightly later than normal arriving at work.

If that seems a bit mad, well, it was – and at some point during the weekend we started toasting to “crazy schemes and questionable decisions.”  Once said, it stuck, and we invoked it frequently while wandering the length and width of Manhattan in freezing cold (but dry) temperatures.
It was exhausting.

And really good fun.

Before we had cooked up the idea for the NY trip, we had planned a weekend Christmas market getaway to Belgium (Bruges and Ghent) with good friends.  When the French rail strike caused Eurostar to cancel our train two days before the trip, we manage to redirect to a weekend in Bath and Oxford.  Props to Airbnb for graciously handling the refund, and to the grumpy but efficient woman at the national rail counter who got us confusing group rates tickets from London to Bath to Oxford to London.  The Bath downtown was Christmas market-tastic, and we did our best to drink enough gluhwein to pretend we were on the contingent.  The Oxford market was smaller but it, and the city, were lovely – and we got incredibly lucky with the weather – a cold dry weekend.

The weather continued to cooperate, and Monday evening – far later than we would have normally – we had the experience of buying a Christmas tree and walking it home, over my shoulder, through central London.  The kilted fellow who sold it to us gave Dawnise a discount for taking a tree that had lost a bit of its crown in transit.  He likely thinks he got rid of an unwanted tree – Dawnise saw it as a way to get the charlie brown tree she wanted at a discount.

I love win-win situations.

That just about catches us up.  My sister, brother-in-law and niece arrived on Saturday, and we spent the first couple days wandering around the city.  Unfortunately the cold Dawnise had been trying to fight got the better of her, and much to her chagrin and frustration we skipped our traditional Christmas eve cocktails at the Ritz.  It was really only through the miracle of modern medicine (Dayquil) that Dawnise managed to help cook a proper Christmas lunch for 7.

Boxing day has been punctuated by bouts of heavy wind and rain, but that didn’t stop our guests from wandering out in the mid afternoon to see more sights.  I imagine when they return it’ll be time for a bit of tea and a reprise of Christmas dinner.  They head back to the states the morning of New Years eve – plans between now and then are sketchy, but I’m confident a good time will be had.

To everyone reading this – we hope your holidays are full of cheer and laughter, and we wish you the very best in the start of the new year.

Cheers. 

Incalculably lucky

In August of 2005 I got an email that would turn out to change everything.

It was from a recruiter, who’d found my resume online, asking if I was interested in talking to a small game company.  Nine months later began what would turn out to be over a decade of working with a remarkable group of people.  But that’s a story some of you already know, and for those that don’t it’ll be a story for another time.

I don’t remember first meeting Alfred, but I do remember meeting his wife, Jodie and their newborn daughter when she was brought into the office for a first visit.  I had no idea in those early days that Dawnise and I would become so close to them.

Alfred and I found working together to be fun and effective – his optimism and willingness to “just try it” being a great counter-balance to my skepticism and desire to understand “the whole journey” before setting course.  I could tell you all the reasons it wouldn’t work, and Alfred would start doing it anyway.

We and our spouses found mutual interests outside work, and started spending evenings together for dinner and games.  Dawnise babysat their daughter while they were at hospital having their second, and again when they had their second son.  We started traditions – like the annual bacon party that started when Dawnise and Alfred mused over burgers made entirely of bacon, which lead to the purchase of a meat grinder, and to bacon burgers so good we tried for years to improve on them, or even reproduce the first years’ success.

When my sister moved to Seattle, we dragged her with us to meet them, and it wasn’t long before her then-boyfriend-then-fiance-now-husband got roped in as well.  Alfred likes to cook, and we love to eat – it was a perfect match.

When Dawnise and I moved to Luxembourg, we visited with them when we were back in Seattle.  And in the years after we moved back and downsized into an urban dwelling Alfred & Jodie hosted our annual ice cream social in their kid-friendly backyard in the Seattle suburbs.

They were undoubtedly our closest friends in Seattle over those 15 years.

It could just be me, but I’ve found making friends as an adult is tricky.  And making close friends… Well, tricky doesn’t even start to cover it.

When Dawnise and I were readying to move to London we figured we’d visit while we were here, and then we’d pick up where we left off when we were back in Seattle.  

Turns out we were half right.

As we were prepping for the move to London, Alfred and Jodie let us in on the secret that they’d decided to leave Seattle and move back to the other side of the world.  Having come to Seattle from Australia, they’d decided to move to New Zealand, and planned to leave Seattle before the end of the year.

So a month or so back the family packed up and left for a multi-week “farewell to America” tour. Dawnise joined them in Florida for a week at Disney World and came home just before the entire clan landed in the UK for a two week stay.

While they were in London we met up for dinner, hung out with the kids, and hosted them at our flat for American Thanksgiving.  (Side note: Dawnise absolutely nailed cooking for 10 people out of that shoe-box sized oven.). The next day we met for dinner at a pub near their Airbnb, went back to their place to chat, and say farewell.  The following day they were flying to Auckland via Hong Kong.

As we left, and Dawnise and I walked back to the tube, we tried to focus on being excited for them, on their new adventure, and ignore the feelings of loss tugging at us.

Make no mistake, we are excited for them.  And despite the utterly ridiculous time in transit, we’ll go visit once they’re settled.

But being excited doesn’t mean for a second we’re going to miss them any less.

I just found a cookie in our oven

I just found a cookie in our oven.

Well, it was a cookie once, or since it’s a UK oven, maybe it was a biscuit.  Either way, by the time I found it, it was a cookie-shaped lump of carbon.

You might not think it terribly odd for a cookie to go rogue – make a daring escape off the back of the baking tray and land in the back of the oven.  Out of the proverbial pan and into the, um, convection wind tunnel.

In general I’d agree with you.  What makes this ex-cookie interesting is that we haven’t made cookies in the 5 months we’ve lived here.

We use the oven pretty frequently, and it’s never smelled like burning cookie, so I guess this cookie was missed in the so-called professional deep clean of the kitchen before we took residence.

The cookie discovery was prompted by an inventory of our cooking supplies in advance of (American) Thanksgiving.  We’re going to attempt to feed 9 people out of an oven the size of a shoe box and a 24” wide four element cook top.

To be fair, the kitchen fixtures in our flat are fairly “bog standard” – and in many London flats they’re all you could squeeze in.  But our kitchen is actually surprisingly large.  It’s (much) bigger than the kitchen in our Seattle townhouse, and actually larger than the kitchen in our previous house, in the Seattle suburbs.  So I figure the kitchen has standard fittings because it’s a rental, and the owner has little incentive to spend money on nice things their tenants are unlikely to take care of.

So normal fixtures, but still, 9 people…

It promises to be entertaining.

Once Thanksgiving is in the rear view, we’ll start to figure out Christmas.  This will be the first year since 2012 (our first year in Luxembourg) that we’ve been “home” for Christmas, since then we’ve been in Europe for markets and spent the holiday with good friends (and incredibly accommodating hosts) in south east London.  This year my sister, brother-in-law and niece are coming to London.  High on the list of questions will be “how does one get a Christmas Tree home on the tube?”

Stay tuned.

But for now, to all the American recipients of this message, here’s wishing you a very happy thanksgiving.

Cheers.

You can’t go home again, but I guess you can do laundry there…

As I type I’m sitting on a flight back from Atlanta to London.  I was in Seattle last week for business, then took a side-trip to Florida to visit my parents “on the way” back.  It was a good visit, and I’m glad we could arrange it.  

We kept our townhouse in Seattle.  Partially because we weren’t sure when we were going to move, which complicated the logistics of renting it out, and partially because I planned to be back in Seattle regularly, and my employer prides itself on being frugal (read; frustratingly cheap) and I figured our place would be more comfortable than any Seattle hotel offered in its place.

So when I landed in Seattle last Sunday I took a Lyft to “our place,” let myself in, and stood there in the doorway for a few minutes – trying to put a name on my confusion.

“The cats aren’t here to meet me at the door, that’s probably it.”

That wasn’t it.

“It’s cold in here – and too quiet – that must be it.”

Nope, still not right.

I latched the door – irritated that I couldn’t put my finger on the wrong – grabbed my phone, turned off the cameras and vacation mode on the thermostat, before bringing my bag upstairs.
I unpacked a bit, and my sister and brother-in-law arrived – visiting with them made me forget about the whole damn thing.

For a while.

For a while.

The rest of the week was early starts, late returns, stolen moments with missed friends, and each time a feeling of not-quite-right-ness when letting myself in.

I don’t remember feeling the same when I was back a few months ago.  Maybe I won’t feel it when I’m back early next year.  We’ll see.

But sitting on the plane, knowing I should try to get some sleep but not feeling ready, I can’t help but think about it.

It was still our place.  It felt familiar.  It had a bunch of our stuff in. It had a washer and dryer that can wash and dry clothes in a reasonable amount of time (a rant for another time).  But it wasn’t home.

Dawnise was missing.  The cats didn’t greet me at the door.  It felt like “our other place.”  I suppose it’s like going to a vacation house – but having never had a vacation house, I can’t really say.

So I’m on my way back to London – where the cats will undoubtedly berate me for the couple days they’ve spent alone* – remembering the feeling, first had when we were living in Luxembourg, of not quite knowing where home is.  It’s not our place, and the stuff in it is new and not all ours… Never the less, its home.

At least for now.

 * Dawnise, amusingly, arrived in a different part of Florida yesterday to join good friends at Disneyworld on their ‘farewell to ‘merica’ tour and won’t be back until the weekend.