British Isles: Liverpool, Chester, Uhtred and The Beatles
A bright sunny day docking in Liverpool, and we are facing the dock, which is fun for being able to watch people. We have a quick breakfast and depart with our group to find our bus in the parking lot. On our way to the bus we have an obstacle; a 45 degree incline to walk up, no steps, just a very long incline. We did fine, but I imagine people with walkers will find it challenging.
The drive to Chester was fun – I’ve read and re-read Bernard Cornwall’s Saxon series (about 21 books) featuring an uncouth but principled warrior named Uhtred, who is Lord of Bebbenburg but spends many books trying to take it back from the Danes who took it from his father, and raised him. It’s complicated. It’s a fascinating series, and it ends with the Battle of Brunanburh.
The Battle of Brunanburh is well documented, it happened, and it was definitive for uniting Britain under one monarch, but the records are ambiguous as to where the battle occurred. Recent archaeological finds indicate it may well be this area, near Chester, and we are passing right by this momentous battlefield.
Chester itself is just as Uhtred describes it, an old Roman City with two major cross streets and an obelisk where the major roads cross.
There is a significant cathedral, and a very old Church of Saint Olaf, the original church for the Danish community, once they arrived.
We found a woolen shop, and in the very back of the shop there is a display of pediments for an old Roman bath. Many shops in Chester have similar spaces, where for centuries, citizens have built over the original Roman structures. This is a city where you could spend months or years.
We walked outside the gates to look at the remains of the Roman Amphitheater, and the course of the river Dee, and how it changed so dramatically over the centuries, away from Chester, leaving Liverpool as the more convenient shipping depot, with the Mersey River.
We ate lunch was at an old pub, The King’s Head (after Charles I, who was beheaded) and our group had it all to ourselves. We sat in old leather booths, drank British beer (I had Ginger Beer) and they fed us fish and chips and mushy peas. Yes, that is a thing. Not a thing familiar or welcome to most Americans, but a thing.
After lunch, we toured the big historic cathedral, and then had a little time on our own, which we spent in the community library. We agreed we would move to Chester in a heartbeat, just for this library, so welcoming (restrooms tourists could use) with an arch way made of books at the entry. Inside was a large snack lobby, all the books, tables and chairs; it was full of young people having a great time and it had a number of cinema rooms upstairs running old movies during the day. It was a delightful public space.
On the way home, the guide played “Ferry Cross the Mersey” as we took the long underground tunnel under the Mersey. We love creative guides – playing this song provided us with a truly memorable moment.
We exited the bus and made a quick walk over to pay homage to the larger-than-life statues of the Beatles prominently on the Liverpool ship harbor. This picture is a miracle – there was a line of people waiting to have their photos taken with the statues – a favorite was holding hands with Paul McCartney – and there had to be a second or two of space while one walked away and the next approached. It took a while! I was lucky to have two seconds to shoot this shot before the next in line took her place.
Another fun, memorable day with so many impressions and images that it is impossible to absorb and integrate them all. I thank God I kept a journal to help me know which day I was in which city!
What Love Looks Like at 76
I’m on my way down to restock the Little Free Library and pass AdventureMan, who always asks me why I love him. It’s hard to keep it fresh. It’s hard to find new answers to that question, but this time, it’s right there in front of me.
“Who likes to clean out the litter box?” I ask. He looks puzzled.
“No-one!” I answer my own question, but I continue “I love you because you clean out the litter box in hot humid weather, even when you don’t want to, and give the cats a nice clean place to poop! I love you because you do it faithfully, and I don’t have to do it! It’s not romantic, but I consider it TRUE LOVE!”
It makes him laugh. I am not the romantic young bride he met in Heidelberg and married six weeks later. I am pragmatic and grounded. I know what matters.
We have always had cats. I used to do the litter boxes, and when I got pregnant, he took it over because pregnant women can get a disease that can infect the baby. Around when our son turned 18 he had a perplexed look on his face and asked me “just how long after the baby is born can you scoop litter again?” and we both laughed.
True love is bigger than diamonds or white roses or wonderful perfume. True love is scooping the cat litter and cleaning out the litter boxes. Thank you, AdventureMan.
The Patter of Little Feet
AdventureMan said “I’m ready.”
He caught me by surprise.
We lost Zakat in July; one Saturday night at bedtime, he noticed Zakat had a dime-sized hole in his side. In the time it took us to get dressed and head for the animal emergency care hospital, it had grown to the size of a quarter. As we waited – the hospital was full, that night, of heartbreaking cases – it continued to grow. We had to leave him there to be sewn up, but they called us and told us that his skin wouldn’t hold stitches, and other lesions had opened. “A cat can’t live without skin” she said. We had to let him go.
When we adopted him, we hoped we would have more time with him. Zakat was the sweetest cat we have ever had, just full of love and trust. He was also FiV positive, feline AIDS, and he was susceptible to everything. He lost teeth. He had frequent pink eye. He would have fevers. He had skin problems. Through it all, he was sweet. When we lost him, we were desolate. AdventureMan said “No more cats.”
I think Trump changed his mind. I think he had to do something to fight our increasing dismay and outrage, we had to have some source of laughter in our lives. We know these immigrants he wants to keep out; we have lived among them and know them, for the most part, to be peaceful, hospitable people, very much like the people we live among in Pensacola. We have trans friends, and gay friends, and to limit their freedom threatens our own, for where do you start restraining those who hate? We prefer to drink untainted water, and to breathe unpolluted air, and we trust the EPA to measure, and to confront, and to enforce. And we want to trust in the “truthiness” of our elected officials, which we demonstrably cannot.
We have become activists. Who would have though it?
And, to nourish our souls, we have adopted Ragnar, a Russian Blue mix, and Uhtred, a creamy gold total mutt, both street cats, both sweet and funny and playful and delightful. Our house is once again a jumble of scattered and wrinkled carpets, dining room chairs knocked out of place, training not to go on countertops, and clear duct tape on the furniture to train them not to scratch there, but on the scratching posts. They give us joy, and a delightful reason to get up in the morning.
So, thank you, Donald Trump, for being so obnoxious and so depressing that we welcomed the diversion of these two delightful little angels into our household. One small step to help a hurting world.
Recent Comments
Catherine on Donna Leon Crossing Cultu… intlxpatr on Ignoring the Law thani on Ignoring the Law Anon. on British Soldier Kidnapped, Esc… Reeva Mills on Cahors to Bordeaux, Preparing… Wikipedia Donate Button
Amazina
Early Voting in Florida
Here There and Everywhere 