THIS IS NOT.....

.....the end of the book;

Picked this book up in London -  an english translation of a conversation between Umberto Eco and Jean-Claude Carriere.  I am savoring each page of it because it is so rich with insight, with history and with the kind of reflection that only wisdom and experience can bring.

In the preface, French writer Jean Philippe De Tonnac writes about books and cathedrals - citing the work of Victor Hugo in The Hunchback of Notre-Dame,

"The book will kill the building....When you compare [architecture] to the idea, which...needs only a sheet of paper, some ink and a pen, is it surprising that the human intellect should have deserted architecture for the printing press."

De Tonnac goes on to write:

"Well the great cathedrals - those bibles in stone - did not vanish, but the avalanche of manuscripts and then printed text that appeared at the end of the Middle Ages did render them less important.  As culture changed, architecture lost its emblematic role.  So it is with the book.  There is no need to suppose that the electronic book will replace the printed version.  Has film killed painting?  Television cinema?  However, there is no doubt that the book is in the throes of a technological revolution that is changing our relationship to is profoundly."

And so the stage is set for a wonderful conversation between these two men.  Some of the topics in this far reaching discussion deal with the impermanence of most new technology platforms compared to the printed page.  New technology changes and become obsolete at a faster and faster pace.  Unless one has the resources to keep all of them nearby - information can become inaccessible.

In my own lifetime I have seen phonographs and type-writers and brownie cameras be replaced by reel to reel tape, word-processors and sx70's.  Then computers, digital cameras and ipads.  The storage and playback of each of these permutations is also different.  Don't we all have floppy discs somewhere that we can no longer access?  Reels of super 8 film, hard drives, jump drives, cassette decks....the list goes on.

Interesting to me that it was panned by several reviewers.  I find it rewarding - and worth picking up and putting down over and over again.  More information about the book here.

Mossy Green

Deep in the Hiawatha National Forest there is the green of moss that covers the giant boulders or "magic rocks" as we sometimes call them.  It isn't the green of leaves or lichen or stems or any other green I can imagine.  It is the green of moss.

Although moss and lichens are both called non-vascular plants, only mosses are plants. Mosses are included in a group of non-vascular plants called bryophytes. Mosses are believed to be the ancestors of the plants we see today, like trees, flowers, and ferns. Lichens, on the other hand, are not similar in anyway to mosses or other members of the plant kingdom.   Although mosses are very primitive, they still have plant-like structures that look like and function like leaves, stems and roots. They have chloroplasts throughout their entire bodies and can photosynthesize from all sides of their structures. (via the US Forest Service)

Carpet of moss....bed of moss....mossy banks. It is the wonderful rich smell of the earth.  It is the GREEN that takes your breath away. 

Moss-Gathering, by Theodore Roethke

To loosen with all ten fingers held wide and limber
And lift up a patch, dark-green, the kind for lining cemetery baskets,
Thick and cushiony, like an old-fashioned doormat,
The crumbling small hollow sticks on the underside mixed with roots,
And wintergreen berries and leaves still stuck to the top, --
That was moss-gathering.
But something always went out of me when I dug loose those carpets
Of green, or plunged to my elbows in the spongy yellowish moss of the marshes:
And afterwards I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,
As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swampland;
Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,
By pulling off flesh from the living planet;
As if I had commited, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.

Looking around on the internet I find all kinds of resources to help in this sudden rush of moss research.   Moss Plants and More  is an interesting blog being kept by JM Budke who writes; I am a postdoctoral research fellow in the Department of Plant Biology at the University of California, Davis. My research focuses on moss plants.  This blog lists several other interesting sources including the IAB blog (International Association of Bryologists). The latest entry brings me right back to where I am - in the Upper Peninsula

June 18, 2013—

The International Association of Bryologists has awarded its Hattori Prize to Janice Glime, professor emerita of biological sciences at Michigan Technological University, for her online encyclopedia, “Bryophyte Ecology.”
The Hattori Prize recognizes the best paper or series of papers published by a member of the association within the previous two years.  Glime has completed two volumes on this group of diminutive plants that includes mosses, liverworts and hornworts:  “Physiological Ecology” and “Bryological Interaction.” A portion of the third (“Methods”) is available online, and she has at least two more volumes pending.
“Bryophyte Ecology” is read worldwide both as a text and reference. While scientifically rigorous, it is written in a conversational style. “I hope to make bryology more accessible to students who have no mentor in the field and to stimulate interest among ecologists, naturalists and educators,” Glime said. “A book such as this is dependent on scientists in many fields, all over the world.”

 And I also want to mention Moss Musings, just because it is such a kicky sounding name.  Written by certified moss freak Nancy W. Church, there hasn't been a post since last year (where are you Nancy??).  It does include an entry about moss myths though -

Moss Myths

I regret having to break it to those who are navigationally challenged, but moss does not grow only on the north side of a tree.  It is found there predominantly because that side is generally more shady (in the northern hemisphere, that is).

And, despite having names that include the word “moss,” plants such as Spanish Moss — an epiphyte, Reindeer Moss — a lichen, Club Moss — a lycophyte (seedless, vascular plant), Irish Moss — a perennial, and Sea Moss — an algae, are not mosses at all. Mildew, unlike moss, is parasitic and requires a host.

 Written on a cloudy afternoon at the St. Ignace Library.

I am a postdoctoral research fellow in the Department of Plant Biology at the University of California, Davis. My research focuses on mosses. - See more at: http://mossplants.fieldofscience.com/#sthash.i7urvsH8.dpuf

I am a postdoctoral research fellow in the Department of Plant Biology at the University of California, Davis. My research focuses on mosses. - See more at: http://mossplants.fieldofscience.com/#sthash.i7urvsH8.dpuf

Matthew Ward, Weeping, and St. Paul's Cathedral (not in any particular order).

One of the funniest people I know is my brother Matt.  Ever since we were kids he has made me laugh. We share a love of books (from our father) and a lot (but not all) ideas about the workings of the world.  Matt would be my go to guy in any kind of crisis.  I know he would be fair and have my back - even if he didn't agree with me.  He is a fantastic cook.  He is a great Dad.

He also weeps openly.  Just like me. Unabashedly.

People Who Openly 

Weep in Public 

Make Things Awkward 

For Everybody

Did you know that there is a FB page with that title?  (People who weep openly make things awkward for everybody).  Frankly I have never looked at it that way - sometimes it just feels good to cry.  If you are a weeper - you can weep for any reason.  You're happy.  You're sad.  You're overcome with emotions that you can't really identify.

Weep copiously
Weep loudly
Weep quietly
Weep silently
Weep openly
Weep unashamedly
Weep bitterly
Weep inconsolably
Weep uncontrollably
Almost weep
Weep a little
Begin to weep
Start to weep
Want to weep
Weep at
Weep for
Weep over
Weep with
Break down and weep
Weep and wail

At Queen Mary University of London you can find the Centre for the History of the Emotions. 
They bill themselves as "the first research centre in the UK  dedicated to the history of the emotions."  Who am I to argue?  The Director of the Centre, Thomas Dixon, writing in the online magazine aeon, talks about the history of tears and how they have been seen and through the lenses of time and culture.

From - Timothie Bright, the English clergyman and physician who "...in 1586 wrote an influential Treatise of Melancholie, whose many readers probably included Shakespeare, which described tears as a ‘kinde of excrement not much unlike’ urine."  YUCK.  Or consider Freud's take "...There are two ideas at the heart of the psychoanalytic approach to tears, ideas that, during the middle decades of the 20th century, entered into psychological orthodoxy among professionals and the lay public alike: repression and regression. The first implies that tears are a kind of overflow or discharge of previously repressed emotion, while the second presents the phenomenon of adult weeping as some sort of return to infantile, even prenatal, experiences and emotions."  REALLY?

This next one I find especially creepy and I have to quote it at length, sorry.

If Freud and Breuer understood weeping as essentially an excretory function, one in which tears could be associated symbolically with other bodily fluids, the psychoanalytic theorists who came after extended this framework in a multitude of weird and wonderful ways. In a couple of articles in the 1940s, the influential American Freudian Phyllis Greenacre put forward the view that neurotic weeping in women was to be understood as a displacement of urination. Involved in this theory was the idea of ‘body-phallus identification’ and the production of tears by women as an attempt to simulate male urination.

Greenacre subdivided the phenomenon into those women who exhibited ‘shower weeping’ and those who displayed ‘stream weeping’. The first type weeps inordinately, shedding floods of tears; the second allows a quiet stream to trickle down the cheek. Both types were explained with reference to a ‘struggle about urination in the infantile period of life’, including a strong element of penis envy. The difference between the psyches of these two kinds of women, roughly speaking, was that the ‘shower’ weeper was sadly resigned to her lack of a penis while the ‘stream’ weeper was still in revolt, harbouring illusional ideas of possessing a male organ and weeping in neurotic imitation of the longed-for male urination observed in childhood.

Weird and wonderful indeed.

If you would like to hear more from Dixon - he did an interesting program on BBC Radio3, called Margaret Are You Grieving.  It is worth a listen.  From the description:  In this programme he explores the history of weeping as an aesthetic response to works of art: paintings, writing, music, theatre and film.  What it is about works of art and religious symbols that induce weeping and why do we shed tears over performances by actors and singers, fictional characters, abstract symbols, poems, music, metaphysical ideas - in other words things that are not real?

Dixon quotes Rothko as saying that he was aware that his works caused people to weep when standing in front of them. Rothko said that he thought that people who wept in front of his paintings were having the same religious experience that he did when he painted them.  Others find them "self-indulgent."  This idea of the religious experience is of interest to me - as I am still thinking a lot about an experience I had in London a couple weeks back.

Black on Maroon (1958)

Black on Maroon (1959)

The Rothko's did stop me in my tracks.  I sat in front of them for what seemed like hours.  His work always has this effect on me.  Sacred texts.  Meditation mandalas of a sort. And you notice that people visibly slow down and become quieter when they enter the gallery where the paintings are hanging.  A gift.

When you leave the Tate Modern you cross the Millennium Bridge (a pedestrian bridge that crosses the Thames) leading you directly to St. Paul's Cathedral.   If you follow that link re: St Paul's,  you will be as

amazed (I think) as I was reading the first sentence:  "For more than one thousand four hundred years, a cathedral dedicated to St. Paul has stood at the highest point in the city.  That is a lot of history in one spot.

As I walked into the Cathedral, Evensong was about to begin.  This is a liturgy in the Anglican tradition. When it is not sung it is simply called Evening Prayer.   It is similar to Vespers in the Roman Catholic and Lutheran Churches.  There are all sorts of other details such as the order of prayers, readings and chants that the choir sings.  They are pretty much determined by the liturgical calendar.

St. Paul's is HUGE.  if you are sitting in the back of the nave or in one of the transepts (the short central arms off the nave) - you can barely see the altar.  Even after you have walked the length of the nave and come to the east end - you still have to look down the length of the quire.  The quire is where the choir and clergy (or royalty) sit during services .  I got as close as I could to the quire and took a seat.

This particular evening the Choir of Clare College, Cambridge was singing. Beautiful. As they began taking their seats and preparing - a gentleman came out to where I was sitting as asked me if I would like to join the choir. Ummm, yes.  I think I would.

My images from the Quire

Sitting there listening - is overwhelming.  You are thinking:  the history, the space, the effect of all of it on you or on someone who lived 500 years ago.  If one is religious or not - you cannot help but think about the role of these great cathedrals on the development of civilization.  There is so much to see that for awhile you are just a bit stunned - trying to take it all in.  And then - it all becomes still - and it is very much like.....sitting in front of the Rothko paintings.  It becomes a way to connect to something bigger - some idea, some divine mystery that is represented in both of them...one in the most ornate of ways, one in the most pared down of ways.  And I wept openly... and thought how nice it would have been had Matt been there.

(Here is the Quire @ Westminster Abbey the day of the last Royal Wedding.  Very similar.  Imagine me sitting there - HA!)

secret gardens

“I am sure there is Magic in everything, only we have not sense enough to get 

hold of it and make it do things for us” ― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

 I've been thinking about 'secret gardens' as I have been following the progress of a drawing my niece Anna Rose has been working on.  I love that she posts images on fb so people can see.  The original book, The Secret Garden,  was published in serial form in 1910 - and then in it's entirety in 1911.  It is in the public domain and you can read it here, or listen to it here.  Maybe you saw the 1949 movie with Margaret O'Brien, which is on tv fairly regularly - I think there has also been a Hallmark version and an anime version.  It's a lovely story for children and I suppose for anyone.  The idea (or the fact) of a secret garden has an iconic pull on people.  A space to relax, a space where magic can happen, a space of safety - and of beauty.  I suppose in that states that is often how we see our backyards, and to some extent that is true - but the gardens I have seen here are mostly public.  Some are huge, some are tiny - and they reflect the people who use them, or the people who came before and left them for us to enjoy. Here that can be people who came WAY before us (like this one started by Catherine Medici in the 1600's where I have spent a couple of days this past week).

Two views of the Jardin des Tuileries.

I've seen secret gardens and public gardens all over....they have been here for awhile, many of them,  especially in the older parts of the city (like  in the 18th arrondissement where I am staying).

This one (right) was on the "Ladies Walk" along the River Ness (- yes, it goes to Loch Ness).   

I loved the door - locked - and the clematis along the top of the wall were so thick 

that you couldn't see through them.

These two are from the garden that was across the street from the Goodenough Club (part of Goodenough College) where I stayed in London.  You had to have a key to get into it - and inside there was a place for kids to play, benches and walkways.  The entire thing was pretty much hidden from the outside - except for being able to look through the gate (above).  The image below shows the walkway alongside the garden from my place to the street where the grocers and the cinema were.

_____________________________________

These three are from my neighborhood in Paris.  The top left is a tiny park that is off the square where the metro stop is.  The square is always bustling with people.  There is a carousel and a piano that someone is generally playing (very well).  But the garden is tucked away from the noise and people.  It is cool and quiet.  Top right is a door down the street.  I walk by it most days just to see if it is open because I want so much to see inside.  The lower center image is the little green space that I look down on from my living room window.  It is just a tiny part of the court yard - but I love that someone thought to put it there.  Everyone who lives around the courtyard has a window that looks out on it.

I remember looking closely at urban landscaping a few years ago with Nancy Aten - and learning so much about what the possibilities were for my own city of Milwaukee.  At the time she had us do an exercise where we walked down different parts of Wisconsin Avenue looking for "pocket parks" - little green spaces among the buildings (secret gardens of a sort).  There weren't many of them.  Many of those that did exist were corporately owned - and not necessarily open to the public unless you knew where to look.  There were plenty of little cement slabs "parks"....small places where a few cars could park for a hefty fee.

We think of Milwaukee as a city of parks and it is - especially if you are fortunate to live along Lake Michigan.  Too be fair there are wonderful parks throughout the city.  But again, my time in Europe has reminded me that our cities in the States are not friendly places for walking - for living a lifestyle where walking is encouraged and sustainable. Except for my time at the lighthouse, I haven't been anywhere that I couldn't find a wonderful meal, fresh groceries, a bakery, a good cup of coffee, a cocktail, a pharmacy - and a tiny green space to sit and think within a few blocks (or in most cases a few doors) from where I was staying.

Why you might not (or might) like to travel with me.

I can't keep a schedule.  I try.  I have a list.  But the smallest thing can distract me - for hours.  That can be before I even get out of my neighborhood.  And suddenly that place I was actually on my way too doesn't seem all that important.  I mean do I actually HAVE to see those paintings when this is happening NOW?

So today I happened across L'église de la Madeleine.  (Interesting history in retrospect.) Who can resist a building with a field of pink geraniums gracing its front?

Once inside it is apparent that something is going on and I sit down to watch.  The amazing sculptures behind the altar in the apse - are electric blue and smokey.  Lots of activity on the altar - and suddenly music.  I'm at a rehearsal for a concert that is probably taking place as I write this....

Not sure who these people were or what they were singing - Max or Virg - if you are reading this let me know, okay?  Totally familiar to me in some ways, having sung in a choir and been a part of rehearsals like this.  Look at the hands of the woman leading the choir - they are so elegant and beautiful, aren't they?  These spaces were made for music.   

I was reading something the other day... (will have to look for it - no clue where it was) talking about how the creation of the printed book had replaced cathedral as a place for people to connect to the Sacred.  It makes sense on one hand... but like so many other things, they do not get replaced as much as just go through the evolutionary process of turning into something else.  

The entire experience was a wonderful way to spend the late afternoon.

la Madeleine from Leslie Fedorchuk on Vimeo.

whooooosh travel.

Whoosh travel is when you are seeing too much in too short of a time and your brain shuts down a bit - at least in terms of writing.  The past few days that is my experience.  If this is Monday, it must be LONDON.  Yes - because I just heard the guy in the apartment across the way from me say "chin up" to console whoever it is he is talking to on the phone.

Brief snippet from Edinburgh - not the last of them for sure.  This women, and about 600 of her compatriots were part of an Orange walk on Saturday down High Street.  More about those here

I was surprised - having just seen the Sikhs walking in Toronto in April when I was there for the HASTAC Conference with Courtney.  Two "walks" by two VERY different groups - both featuring the color orange - although technically the Sikhs are sporting saffron.

The politics of the Orange walk are more overt - both by the "walkers" and the response from the people on the street (locals - not tourists).  They (some of the locals) tended to stay in their shops and mutter things like "it's a bad business" or "them lot are trouble - pure trouble."

My friend Dom had given me a little history the day before as he kindly drove me around the city. I've always thought of this as an "Irish problem."  So again - I find myself ignorant of history and wanting to learn more.

 

More info on the Sikhs in Toronto can be found here. Note the politics of the responses - that was pretty evident when we were there - particularly with one waitress who gave us the "lowdown." (Happy CANADA DAY today - to all and sundry - as Muriel would say).

Nice find:  Train station with a little bookstore, enroute from Inverness to Edinburgh.

 King Crossing Station - London.  More later.

GALE

So here is what wikipedia says about gales....

A gale is a very strong wind. There are conflicting definitions of how strong a wind must be to be considered a gale. The U.S. government's National Weather Service defines a gale as 34–47 knots (63–87 km/h, 17.5–24.2 m/s or39–54 miles/hour) of sustained surface winds.^[1] Forecasters typically issue gale warnings when winds of this strength are expected.

Other sources use minima as low as 28 knots (52 km/h, 32 mph) and maxima as high as 90 knots (170 km/h, 100 mph). Through 1986, the National Hurricane Center used the term gale to refer to winds of tropical force for coastal areas, between 33 knots (61 km/h, 38 mph) and 63 knots (117 km/h, 72 mph). The 90-knot (170 km/h) definition is very non-standard. A common alternative definition of the maximum is 55 knots (102 km/h, 63 mph).^[2]

The most common way of measuring winds is with the Beaufort scale /ˈboʊfərt/,^[3] which defines gale as wind from 50 to 102 km/h. It is an empirical measure for describing wind speed based mainly on observed sea conditions. Its full name is the Beaufort Wind Force Scale.

On the Beaufort Wind Scale, a Gale is classified as: Moderate Gale(32–38 miles per hour), Fresh Gale(39-46 mph), Strong Gale(47-54 mph) and Whole Gale(55-63 mph). A Gale is a type of Wind Description preceded by Calm, Light Air, light Breeze, Gentle Breeze, Moderate Breeze, Fresh Breeze, Strong Breeze and succeeded by Storm,Violent Storm and Hurricane on a Beaufort Wind Scale. There is a unique Beaufort Scale number and a unique Arrow Indication for each type of Wind Description mentioned above.

I have no idea if this storm qualified as a gale or not....but it was amazing to be in it from this particular location and I am glad I was able to experience it.  These images were taken at the very beginning ... probably around 9:30 - 10 pm..  Before the wind had really picked up.  My room had a window which faced north - northwest - and all night the wind howled.  I don't think I really slept, and it was the only night I could see the shadow of the lighthouse light as it rotated past my room  (....the light was on every night - but we could never see it because it never got dark enough - but during this storm it did).

When I say the wind howled I mean it.  Kind of a shrill screeching howl that NEVER let up - not even for a second.  It was un-nerving and I found myself wondering at one point if we were safe or not...and where we go anyways...and how would we get there.  (re-look at the video of the road to the lighthouse....).  The next morning as everyone wandered down to breakfast I realized that I wasn't alone...it had kept pretty much everyone up.  The storm lasted about 24 hours...and then the sun came out and the sea was a brilliant blue again.

Summer Solstice.  Where else would I want to be.  Printing on the edge of the Atlantic with a group of women - learning new things under the guidance of Tatana Kellner.  Her energy and humor as a teacher make cramming all of this information into what is  too short a time period worth every second.  This experiential workshop was organized by the Women's Studio Workshop.  I can't say enough about it that would convey how wonderful the experience is.  My head is being filled with sights, sounds, tastes and practices that are uncorking a lot of pent up ideas.

The first image is from the Inverewe Garden - where we spent a few hours yesterday drawing in rain (more images later).  The second is my humble work station.

Rubha Reidh Lighthouse

This is where I am walking in the mornings these days.  Originally I got here like this - but not on a motorcycle (although that would have been fun) - but rather in a van with four other women and our driver - Brian.  Jenny Krantz may remember another bus ride, years back, in Ireland.  On that trip the driver decided that he was afraid of heights and refused to keep going along the cliffside road.  Brian had no such issues - even though you can see the roads were treacherous as well.  There are hikers that come through - but no other people staying here as our small group has taken over all the rooms and we are using the solarium as a print / paper-making studio.  The couple who just bought this place in February are wonderful hosts - although the may not quite know what to make of us.  They have to deal with all sorts of things from pointing out whales to rescuing people who go up the paths in unsuitable shoes.  This afternoon an older woman slipped on the grass and almost went over the edge (her bag did).  She merely broke her wrist, but it could have been much much worse.  There is no 911 to call...and the nearest hospital is 85 km. away.  Away Roger went to take her there.

By the time that I reached Inverness on Sunday night - I was more than a mess.  I had been in the same clothes since Thursday morning.  I had stressed myself silly with worry over my suitcase - was it travelling with me to Amsterdam, or had it been sent to Manchester where I might never find it until I took the train down there to retrieve it?  The airport in Amsterdam was entertaining - but not for the entire seven hours I had to wait there.  "Go out and see Amsterdam, " said the young woman behind the counter.  I didn't dare risk getting lost and missing another connection...and I was so mentally tired I wasn't focusing.

The Inverness airport is very small.  LIke a large hangar divided into a couple of sections.  I was the last person through customs behind a young brother and sister from China who spoke no English.  They were in Inverness (?) for a tennis tournament but they had no idea where it was or how to even say the name of it.  The girl kept handing her cell phone to the customs agent.  It took them awhile to sort it out.

THERE WAS MY SUITCASE!  (yay)  I made my way with all my stuff out to the the taxi stand and - get out of dodge - the only guy waiting there was from Lansing, Michigan.  He teaches Environmental Economics at State and he had never been to Scotland either.  We shared a cab into town with a driver who gave us a history lecture the entire way.

I am  now where I'm supposed to be - having a productive time and totally enamored with the scenery.  The days are full of companionship and work.  More about that later.  It is past midnight and I need to get some sleep even though it looks like it is about 7:30 pm here.  (Did I mention there is no "darktime" here.)  Night all.

adventures in air travel....

The one thing about riding business class - at least on this supposedly "short" flight to Atlanta - is that the pilot (Captain Dan) was VERY chatty.  You know how when you are riding economy, and maybe you're in the 23rd row and every once in awhile the pilot will come over the intercom and say something?  But the noise of the plane is so loud that it sounds like gibberish surrounded by white noise and you immediately wonder what it was he was trying to tell you?  Well, that isn't the case in business class.  Captain Dan talked to us often.  Heck, he even came out and shook the hands of everyone and   thanked us for our business.  He then proceeded to go through the entire plane and shake the hand of every service person on board, thanking them for keeping us free.  This was BEFORE the plane had even left the ground.

Me, I was feeling pretty darn good.  The weather was beautiful, they had checked my bag (ahhh my bag - I wonder where it is now?) and given me a boarding pass before I walked into the airport. Going through security was simple and painless.

A ways into the flight Capt. Dan told us to expect a little turbulence - there was a line of storms we had to cross, but we were going to circle west a bit and come in behind them.  Next message:  Atlanta is not letting planes land, so we are going to stay above clouds and circle again.  Next message:  There is a "hole" in the clouds and we are going to "shoot" for it and try and land....it might get bumpy.  It got VERY bumpy.  I could see the airport below us, the the winds were buffeting us about like a paper plane.   Up we went again.  Next message:  Sorry folks, our plane wasn't built to take those 50mph winds, and we are diverting to Columbus, South Carolina.  Next message:  Atlanta would prefer us to go to Savannah where we will refuel.  Don't worry, we have enough fuel to get there.

Savannah - we don't get off.  Some people demand to terminate there....they do get off.  We refuel.  Back in the air - forty minutes to Atlanta - the storms have moved but you can see them in the distance. We land - its midnight.  Four plus hours after we were supposed to have landed.  My connecting flight to the UK - which was to have left at ten was also delayed....but it had taken off ten minutes before we landed.

There is a line.  A very LONG line full of angry, sad, tired people.  Each with their own stories - connections to be made,  It is always interesting to see how people respond.  Some throw tantrums, some heckle the tantrum throwers.  Lots of people who do not speak english - lots of flights were cancelled or late because of these storms - and there are people laying all over the airport sleeping....on the benches, on the floor, huddled in corners.  This isn't a tragedy - it's just a natural occurrence for people who have the privilege of using this kind of transportation.

By the time I get to the head of the line it is four a.m.  The soonest they can get me out is Saturday night (its now Friday morning).  There are no hotel rooms for 30 miles...but here are some food vouchers and come back to the desk at seven and we will probably be able to get you a room somewhere - as people will be getting up early to catch flights.  Staggered out to find juice, coffee, anything.  Sat in a chair and watched Sons of Anarchy on netflix.  At seven, went back to the desk and got a voucher for a room at the Best Western - run by an Indian family who have interesting ideas about decorating.  No rooms clean yet so I was invited to sit in the "lobby" (one couch and a tv) and watch Good Morning America. I passed out....and they woke me up at nine to direct me to my room.  Slept till almost six p.m..  Ihop for a meal.  Back to the airport tomorrow.  Atlanta is hot - and the world-wide mixture of extremely kind and extremely strange people.

Travel is a journey.  If you allow yourself to forget that...you spend a lot of time being uselessly upset.  I would like my luggage to find me at my final destination.  I will really be tired of this outfit by then.  I wrote to the place in Scotland where I had booked rooms for tonight and tomorrow and explained what had happen.  They replied within the hour - telling me that they would have a room and a cuppa tea waiting for me when I got there - because the airport experience "sounds tedious."  Well put.