The bike room
July 26, 2012
Six or seven years ago, my office relocated a block and a half away. We had to do this because our landlord signed a new, higher-falutin’ tenant and they wanted the whole floor. But what the landlord had to do in return was move us to a “comparable” space. We gained a couple of things and we lost a couple of things. I’m still not sure how they balance each other out.
Yes I am. At the old space we could bring our dogs to work. My bosses had Sophie, a completely wonderful, goofy, lazy Airedale. Most of the time she laid around like a lump, but whatever she was doing or not doing, she’d make you smile and make the office a more pleasant place. We could also not only bring our bicycles into the building, but up to the space. In our current building we can do neither. But we are closer to the heart of downtown. We are closer and we are in a building that is connected to the skyway, that system of hamster trails that shelters us delicate Minnesotans from the elements during the winters that we know to expect. We can walk to lunch spots five minutes faster. I like that.
The tough adjustment for me was having to leave my bike outside on the street. There are lovely, sturdy hitching posts in front of the building but I wasn’t used to having to worry whether passing thugs would vandalize it merely because it was Tuesday. Of course nothing has happened, and in the ensuing years I’ve gotten over any misgivings I originally had. If the weather is going to be rainy, there’s a building around the corner with a bike rack under an overhang. Because my bike is a delicate flower that doesn’t like getting wet, you know.
Recently, there has been a turn of events. We still can’t bring dogs to the office, but a new tenant apparently got it written into the lease that an indoor bike parking area would be provided from which we all benefit. I still usually leave my bike outside, but it’s nice to know it’s there for unsettled days. I guess it’s part of the character and charm of our 1885 building that the room is quirky and dungeon-like.
Gone to the Swan
December 2, 2010
I spent almost all of my time in London, but there was one side trip. Dan thought it would be fun to combine an outing to the country with tracking down one of the honorees on a top pubs list by the Guardian. That was Swan on the Green in West Peckham, Kent.
We took the train from London to Wateringbury. The Wateringbury station house was a charming old building with lots of interesting shapes and angles.
From there we had an about four mile walk to West Peckham and the Swan.
The town of Wateringbury seemed pretty typical. I noticed a few of these World War II plaques on walls along the road. Other than Ground Zero in New York City, we don’t really have physical battlefields on the continental United States from recent times, so I thought they were pretty interesting. Most of my knowledge of the war comes from television programs like “Foyle’s War.” It was a little eerie in a way seeing these markers of people’s pride in their war effort, and definitely humbling to see firsthand evidence of something I only know through Hollywood representations.
We walked on. This was pretty typical of my view—Dan and Casper way ahead. I thought I was a fast walker, but Dan walks really fast. I didn’t always bother to holler that I was stopping to look at something and take pictures, like when, being the Midwestern girl that I am, I got a kick out of hey, they grow corn here, too!
Along the way, we thought we’d stop at Mereworth Castle and have a look around. As we approached the “castle,” which was really just a large manor, a woman came running out and inquired, rather suspiciously and in a thick Slavic accent, what we were doing there. We learned that it was a private residence not open to the public and beat a hasty retreat back to the main road. Instead, I settled for taking what turned out to be my favorite photo that I’ve taken so far on my iPhone 4 of roses in the yard of the church in the town of Mereworth. I love the colors and the blown-out exposure of the background.
Mereworth is also where we crossed a street named, appropriately enough, The Street. That tickled my funnybone.
We continued to walk without incident, except for Casper’s alarming tendency to occasionally drift out into the road, until we reached West Peckham. We triumphantly strode up to the Swan on the Green, ready for a tasty beverage to refresh us after our walk, only to find that they were closed until suppertime. Anticlimax.
Casper set up watch and we endeavored to kill over an hour, which included playing backgammon and exploring the neighboring church yard.
Casper talked us into a few ball sessions on the eponymous green across from the pub until, at last, it was once again open for business.
We were excited because we knew they made their own beer. I always enjoy sampling new and local brews when I go places. By that time we were also famished and enjoyed a nice meal.
It was soon time to go, though Dan determined that we were a little too late to catch the last train back to London from Wateringbury, so when we got back as far as Mereworth (approximately), we went to The Queen’s Head Pub (StreetView), whose sign we had seen on the main road, and called a cab to take us somewhere else—to Tonbridge, I think (correct me if I’m wrong)—to catch the train from there. We had just enough time for one more thirst quencher while we waited for our ride.
It was almost a disaster—the cab driver informed us that dogs were not allowed, but we didn’t have to work too hard to convince him otherwise. It seemed like the car ride to Tonbridge took as long as the whole train ride down had earlier in the day, but at last we were speeding toward home. We were all quite pleased when we arrived back at the house.
Life is but a dream
July 21, 2010
In an alternate universe, maybe dogs would be allowed on the lawns at Wimbledon. In an alternate universe, maybe I???d still be in London.
It has only been half a month since I returned from my London vacation, but already it???s a distant memory and hardly feels like it happened at all. Maybe I was just dreaming that I finally got to meet the world???s best dog, Casper. Maybe I was just dreaming that puny little me was actually inside the ground at Wimbledon. I stepped off the airplane with no plans of how to spend my nine days in London, except knowing that I wanted to go to Wimbledon because I was there during the time of the tournament.
In hindsight, I probably should have walked around looking at things more, since I was there. It was the day of the men???s semifinal matches and once Dan and I found a prime spot at the base of Henman Hill from which to watch Andy Murray???s match, we didn???t much move.
Dumb as it sounds, it was very exciting seeing in person things that I had seen on television for years. There were Centre Court and No. 1 Court. There were the prim and proper ushers keeping everyone in place. There were off-duty ball-boys and -girls giggling with each other. There were rowdy fans demonstrating national pride. There were the proper strawberries and cream; we had stopped at Tesco and bought some there.
And let???s not forget that there was yet another large hill to climb to get to the neighborhood. It seemed like every day, there was a breath-sapping hill to climb. Perhaps it was the alternate universe. In my previous visits, I sure didn???t remember London as being so hilly, except for getting up to the observatory at Greenwich.
We took Casper out to parks a few times. Maybe when he was chasing his beloved tennis ball he was really thinking about running on a finely dressed grass court at Wimbledon. It would have been a gas to set foot on a court. I remember what a cheap thrill it was when I took five steps out onto the field once at the Metrodome here in Minneapolis. In an alternate universe, maybe I would be a tournament finalist.
Okay, back to reality.??
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