“Honey, I am home” as Rob said to Mary Tyler Moore and I often say when strolling into my long time stay hotels. Well, there was actually no one to say it to as I live alone and Personal Driver was sick and hence did not meet me at the airport. There were, of course some frustrations in the journey that began at the Heathrow Airport that must be the worst airport on earth. I had stayed overnight at the Sheraton Heathrow – a brilliant idea when facing a morning flight. I was there ages early but that did not particularly help when I was forced to move from one mode of conveyance to another. I need wheelchair assistance but it was wheelchair to bus to wheelchair to bus with waits in between. All rather crazy making – the last stop was the United First Class Lounge, a most rude woman ‘greeter’ but then charming Francesco and another man who wheeled me off to the plane. The mighty did fall and I was in Premier Economy but all went well with my hot water bottle and ice pack and lots of walks and chats with the flight attendants. I was so gratified when a woman flight attendant patted me on the shoulder and said:
She: Its been wonderful having you on this flight.
Me: Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Wheel chairs at the SFO Airport are manned by wonderful people with no jumping up and down from one to another. A taxi ride home with a driver who came from Burma – with chats of all things, including health care. I dispensing with the notion that Universal Health Care is anything BUT care – particularly in Canada.
Home to hordes of mail, a nonfunctional freezer that refused to make needed ice. But sorting through the mail found a wonderful note written by woman who works for United Health Care, I had spoken with her about a certain matter. They are an efficient organization, my health care is provided through my retirement. It is excellent, and I have the best of physicians with no waiting lists and minimal payments. This caring woman wrote:
She: I wanted to tell you it was a pleasure speaking with you. I read through your blog and could almost hear you talking. I am now inspired to start my own blog!
I am so immensely gratified! It is a WOW! It meant so much to me to read that. Of course, I do know that people read my blog but such a pleasure to receive a compliment! Thank you Cesilia, it meant a lot to me.
Quite honestly, I am not that happy to be back. I felt more at home in London at my wonderful Pestana Chelsea Bridge. I had a great time at the Sheraton as well. I have a penchant for meeting wealth men and I did it again. It is a a strong or habitual liking for something or tendency to do something: It origin is later 17th century .late 17th century: from French, ‘leaning, inclining’, present participle of the verb pencher. Its synonyms are: wisdom, common sense, good sense, practicality, sagacity, sharpness, discernment, perception; native wit, mother wit, wit, level-headedness, intelligence, cleverness, astuteness, shrewdness, judgement, soundness of judgement, understanding, reason, logic, brain, brains; informal gumption, nous, horse sense, savvy ANTONYMS stupidity, mindlessness.
So I had the gumption, the horse sense and the savvy to chat up this particular man who had a fascinating story to tell. He was adopted by a rich couple but when this rich couple were able to conceive, he was virtually abandoned for their own flesh and blood. But then an uncle died and, surprisingly, it was the uncle that had all the money and he inherited vast sums of money and land. He was a most charitable and kind man – his life story more interesting than mine. Darn! Owns lots of land near Cambridge. Will I see him again? I do not know, probably not. It least he was slightly age appropriate, not like the others. Hahaha
It is now in the middle of the night PST but morning in London. I have slept but clearly I remain in the wrong time zone.
I opened a fascinating story in The New Yorker featuring the prolific Calvin Tomkins. “The curator Thelma Golden once remarked that Calvin Tomkins’s writing has “charted an entire era” in the world of art. Tomkins has contributed nearly four hundred pieces to The New Yorker, since 1958.”
This article written by Erin Overbey, the archive editor goes on to say: “One of my favourite pieces by Tomkins is a Profile, from 1962, of Gerald and Sara Murphy, the couple who became the inspiration for the Divers, the central characters in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1934 novel, “Tender Is the Night.” “Living Well Is the Best Revenge” is a sweeping portrait of two truly original and uncommonly epicurean figures. The Murphys were glamorous expats who spent much of their time in Paris and on the French Riviera. They were at the centre of a vibrant social circle, made up of creative personalities living in Europe during the nineteen-twenties. John Dos Passos, Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, Igor Stravinsky, and Cole Porter all drifted in and out of the Murphys’ orbit. The Fitzgeralds became close with the couple and visited them abroad, for several years.”
I cannot wait to read Tomkins article about the Murphy’s because Living Well Is the Best Revenge is the motto of my present life. “As Tomkins traces the evolution of the Fitzgeralds’ connection with the Murphys, he reveals the price that artists sometimes pay for the singular pursuit of creative endeavours. The lives we covet, Tomkins seems to be saying, often appear less incandescent once we glimpse beneath the surface. And it is difficult to recapture those lambent moments of inspiration once the period of enchantment has subsided.”
So I shall read on, he freezer did spit out ice cubes so I am icing my knee. When home I also got a greeting from Brian, my London trainer telling me he enjoyed working with me and will see me on my next London visit. He shall! My knee showed such improvement under his care.
The photograph is a casualty and is proof that one should not buy a glass ring. White at the Sheraton I banged by hand upon the bar to make a point and the ring broke into pieces causing minor injuries. I need to either stop buying glass rings or stop trying to make a point by slamming my hand on hard surfaces. No more glass rings for me.
