In the (Royal) spirit

Suddenly, the shops are full of bunting and British flags.  Lately, it seems that most conversations in all towns and villages include the world ‘jubilee’ and reference everything from local festivities to the procession of one thousand boats up the Thames, the concert at Buckingham Palace, the Royal Garden party, and numerous other Royal events.  People are also getting excited at the prospect of a four day weekend.  Though the British seem to have perfected the art of reserve and understatement, Britain nonetheless seems to be working itself into a frenzy over a lovely, regal, 86 year old grandmother.   This is understandable when one takes in that this ‘grandmother’ is not like your grandmother or mine.  She is Queen Elizabeth II, now the second longest-reigning monarch in British history, with real prospects of soon becoming the longest ever to reign. 

Coming from America, where Presidents change every four or eight years, it is sobering to realize that the Queen has reigned through twelve Prime Ministers (beginning with Winston Churchill), six Popes, six Archbishops of Canterbury, thirty or more pet corgis, and during the time of twelve American Presidents.  While America doesn't hold many politicians in overly high esteem, recent British opinion polls are giving Her Majesty an eighty percent approval rating on average, and I have a feeling the true figure is actually much, much higher.  One can almost feel the British’ sense of pride and anticipation growing day by day. 

In these austere times, it is refreshing to have reason to celebrate.  Last year there was the Royal Wedding, this year the Queen’s Diamond jubilee, and to follow this, the Olympics. 

It has been said that the Queen instructed jubilee planners to minimize the use of any public monies in the planning of events, and to not force people to celebrate.   I don’t see evidence that much of anything surrounding this occasion is ‘forced’.  In fact, in the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen so many union jacks appearing in shops, houses, in the streets, and really everywhere.   

In short, it’s a wonderful time to be in Britain.  As an American settling into life in the UK and integrating, I cannot find anything more quintessential to British culture than this historic and once in a lifetime event.  I am honored and privileged to bear witness to this most positive piece of history. 

May we yet see her become the longest reigning monarch in British history.  

A Northern Light

Dusk.  As we usher in the Cumbrian summer, I am finding this a wondrous and beautiful time. When summer days are long, the last vestiges of daylight stubbornly clinging, no wonder poets and writers through the ages were so inspired.  Wordsworth’s ‘To A Butterfly’, and ‘I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud' (Daffodils).  Coleridge, Southey, Tennyson, Sir Walter Scott, Beatrix Potter, and so many others who referenced or made their homes in the Lake District.  I am seeing their works brought to life and it’s more magnificent to behold than in my most earnest imaginings. 

Cumbria is resplendent in all seasons and circumstances, be it rain, mist, fog, ice, gray, green, wind, or calm.  Although the sun seems a less frequent visitor, there is nothing quite like the unveiled splendor of this region once bathed in its radiance. 

Now that it stays light well past the hour in which the sun sets in my homeland state, and now that the sun rises at hours earlier than I was previously acquainted with, I am by happenstance realizing the full effect of this northern climate, much to my delight.  If summer days could last forever, I’d surely become more than a merely seasonal or obligatory morning person.  There was a time when this Kansas gal thought the midnight sun the stuff of legends.  In the fullness of summer, Cumbria isn’t far from it. 

I look forward to more magnificent sunsets over the sea followed by a long and lovely dusk. 

The vast and solemn company of clouds
Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined,
Cool into ashy wan; as Night enshrouds
The level pasture, creeping up behind
Through voiceless vales, o'er lawn and purpled hill
And hazéd mead, her mystery to fulfil.
Cows low from far-off farms; the loitering wind
Sighs in the hedge, you hear it if you will,--
Tho' all the wood, alive atop with wings
Lifting and sinking through the leafy nooks,
Seethes with the clamour of a thousand rooks.
Now every sound at length is hush'd away.
These few are sacred moments. One more Day
Drops in the shadowy gulf of bygone things.

- After Sunset, by William Allingham

At Last!

Well, I've finally done it.

After much consternation, tears and tantrums, and a great deal of time and energy devoted to the cause, I've finally achieved what I thought was going to become the impossible.  I've passed my UK driving test.  Say hello to one of the newer UK driving license holders!

For someone who has already been licensed to drive in the USA for some 25 years, one would wonder what all the fuss was about.  As I've devoted several previous posts outlining the precise nature of 'the fuss', I won't belabor it further.   I believe I had developed somewhat of a phobia in my mind about the whole process, and became my own worst enemy.  After convincing myself that I would become the next record holder for failed attempts at passing, I probably delayed the inevitable for far longer than I should have.

In the end, I passed the test on my first attempt, and I dare say this is my proudest achievement to date since packing my bindle and setting out for roads unknown!  


Rounding the bend ...