Beach Glass

Just three weeks ago we were in Maine, sitting on Back Beach taking in the sun and the view. I remembered the jar of beach glass that my Mom kept on the kitchen windowsill... colorful little pieces of glass that had been tumbled in the surf for so long that they were no longer shiny with sharp edges but rounded off and satiny. That jar was like a stained glass window of greens, whites, browns and blues, and most of them she had gathered on Back Beach. The stones on Chesil Beach are likewise rounded and smooth from a lifetime of rolling against each other, so it occurred to me that there might be beach glass down there as well. Today I went looking.

As I wrote earlier, Chesil Beach is a thirty-five foot high wedge of smooth rocks that form a barrier along the shore between here and Abbotsbury. The slope of that wedge is not consistent but rather a series of slope and shelf combinations. It is on the lowest of these shelves that the tide drops its daily cargo, so that is where I started my search.

Lots had been deposited there: sea weed, lengths of rope, fragments of netting, plastic bottles, chunks of wood, empty lobster claws. There was glass, but it was a newcomer to this surf riding business; it was still transparent, its edges still jagged. In an hour's time, I didn't see even a sliver of beach glass. I would have settled for a nicely polished chip from a tea cup, but it was not to be had.

As I made my way back, two fisherman crossed my path, and I stopped them to ask if they fish that beach often. When they allowed that they do, I asked them if they ever see any beach glass. They didn't even know what I was talking about. They told me that the locals call it "Dead Man's Beach" because the conflicting currents just off shore make for hazardous sailing. They listed all kinds of grizzly things that get washed ashore down there, none of which would be pretty sitting in a jar on a kitchen windowsill.

So I headed back up the hill empty handed...if not for that seaside kiosk where I stopped for a double dip cone of toffee fudge ice cream. Maybe I'll resume my search tomorrow.

Weekend in London

We were up and out early on Friday morning to catch a train to London. Dwight had business meetings there, and I was along for the ride! We got there at about the time of the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, and the cab taking us to our hotel was about the last vehicle allowed to pass before the road was closed off. What a sensation it was to have all those hundreds (maybe thousands?) of people roped off and filling every sidewalk while we drove through. It was as if they had all come to see our taxi pass by!

The Royal Air Force Club was perfect: great location, great room, great price! Dwight's contact was there to meet him, so they got right down to work while I hopped on the Victoria Line and made my way to the William Morris Gallery. William Morris was a nineteenth century English artist, poet, and publisher but is perhaps best known for his fabric designs. While his patterns have never gone out of style, he seems to be getting more attention lately, at least among quilters who are drawn to his classic floral motifs and pleasing color palette. The gallery is located in the building that was his boyhood home, and it provides a well documented, chronological account of his life and his development as an artist. The docent on duty was kind enough to allow me to take pictures. I think some day I will do a program at my quilt guild about his work. After leaving the museum I made my way back to the hotel, stopping en route at Liberty House, Fortnum & Mason, and some of the other Oxford, Regent, and Bond Street shopping Meccas.

After breakfast on Saturday, Dwight and I hit Harrod's, which was having one of its biggest sales of the year. The place was absolutely mobbed, but we stayed for a look around. It is impossible to resist some of the temptations to be found in their food halls, and I made a few small purchases. From there we did a bit of museum, church, and park hopping until time to pick up our tickets for the afternoon performance of Mamma Mia!. What a show! What a SHOW!! For years I have heard people rave about Mamma Mia!, so I knew we would enjoy it. I wasn't prepared, however, to be so totally overwhelmed by it. All I can say is that you should never, ever pass up the opportunity to see it if you haven't already. It's out as a movie now, and I suppose we will go see it, too, but I don't see how it can even approach the impact of seeing it on stage.

After the theater, we went for a pizza at Spacca Napoli on nearby Dean Street. Earlier in the day, we had stopped at an Italian gelateria for an ice cream cone to tide us over until dinner. The young man working there was Italian, so I asked him about an Italian restaurant I had seen not far from there. He said that if we wanted to eat good Italian food, the place to go was Spacca Napoli, and how right he was!! Best pizza we ever had outside of Italy, and even better than some we'd had in Italy! They even had my favorite Italian wine, prosecco, produced in my favorite prosecco town, Valdobbiadene. That plus a pizza, hot from a wood-burning oven, made the perfect end to our day on the town.

Back at the hotel, we checked email and found one from our neighbors alerting us that our irrigation system had stopped working. Luckily, our lawn man had been there and sized up the situation in time to override the power problem and save our dying grass. A couple of calls back to Florida and our minds were at ease once again. Where would we be without good neighbors?!

We continue to enjoy lovely July weather here on the Dorset Coast. The sun is out, the sky is blue, but the temperatures are in the sixties...delightfully cool. Dwight came home at lunchtime to go for a run and came back with this report: A woman walking her dog along the same path he was running had said to him, "I don't see how you can run in this heat!"

Trip to King's Sutton

The train ride up to Banbury went perfectly: a smooth ride over rolling countryside with pretty views all the way. Bev was there to meet my train and drive me to King's Sutton, the village she had moved from two years ago when her husband's work brought their family to our neighborhood. King's Sutton would not be an easy village to leave. Its stately manor houses and tidy cottages (some half timbered, some thatched roofed) had beautiful gardens -- billowing banks of hydrangeas, roses, and lots of begonias...big, lush ones. It's a complete village with every shop and service you could ever need, but its narrow and curvy streets made everything feel cozy. And then there were the girlfriends! Bev had invited four of them to come for lunch, and what a good time we had! Pictured above, from left to right, are: me, Vickie, Sarah, Bev, Barbara, and Rona. Lunch was delicious and the conversation was lively...punctuated by gales of laughter. These were women whom Bev had known for twenty years, and their fondness for one another was evident. What a joy to be in their midst! Way too early it was time to return to the station and catch my train back to Weymouth, but I came away feeling I knew Bev better, knew more of what she had left behind and better understood the longing she sometimes feels for a place called home.

Reality Sets In...It's Laundry Day!

After nearly two weeks in a hotel, Dwight finally ran out of underwear, so today was the day I went to an English launderette. I sorted our stuff into three loads, packed them into our largest suitcase, and stopped by reception to stock up on coins. (It took 3.5 pounds sterling per wash, or about $7...a bit less to dry.) Getting down to Fortune's Well, the village at the base of our cliff, was easy as I was pulled along by the rolling suitcase. Afterwards, I could have caught a bus back up the hill, but I decided on walking to atone for last night's clotted cream with raspberries dessert. It's a steep climb anyway, but hauling a suitcase behind made for quite a workout! The clothes that I took out of the dryer early are strewn on towels over every available surface here in the room, and the windows and door are open for circulation. While I am thus confined to quarters, I'll update our blog.

Brewers' Quay

This is the entrance to Brewers' Quay (say: "kee"), an area of Weymouth that was once home to a brewery. The tall, red brick buildings are still there, but they have been transformed into tea rooms, shops, pubs, and condos. It is here that we hope to reserve a furnished apartment as soon as the busy summer season is over. It will be just steps from this very pretty harbor and an easy walk to almost everything else in the city. While in town today, I picked up a bus schedule that covers all of Weymouth and also got a Senior Rail Pass, so I am ready to roll! My first excursion will be tomorrow when I travel to Banbury to spend the day with Bev. Then, on Friday, Dwight and I take the train to London, where he has a business meeting scheduled. His contact there was able to book us into the Royal Air Force's Officers' Club for two nights. It's located in the heart of the city, so we'll have a couple of days to poke around London before heading back to Portland on Sunday afternoon. Not a bad way to spend our first full weekend in England!

Victory!

Well, that was slick! The bus into Weymouth stops right outside our hotel, across the street. The driver sold me a ticket, and twenty-five minutes later I was within a five minute walk of the train station. I hit the info window at a quiet time and was able to get my ticket and all the transfer instructions I need for a smooth trip to Banbury on Thursday. Have already talked with Bev, who will meet my train at 10:52. I have needlework with me to help pass the three and a half hours spent in transit. I have a feeling, however, that most of the time will be spent looking out the window at the passing countryside.

Once finished at the train station, I continued yesterday's exploration of Weymouth. I was very surprised to discover that there is a small quilt shop in a shopping arcade that has taken up residence in a former brewery. Fabric is all from the U.S. and very expensive, but at least I know there are quilters in these parts. Will hunt them down later.

Tonight we ate "pub grub" at a place right on Chesil Beach that Peter had recommended. I had sea scallops and Dwight chose curry. We shared a slice of Dorset apple cake (with ice cream) for dessert. All yummy.

On that sweet note, I bid you a fond good night.

PG Tips

It's Monday morning, and Dwight has left for work. My first solo day. Every English hotel or B&B we have ever stayed in has had tea-making facilities in the room, including this one. I've brewed myself a lovely cup of PG Tips tea (with milk...the English way) and have settled in to update this blog.

Yesterday was another blue-sky day with temps probably in the high 60's. Fortified by our full English breakfast (eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, toast and a grilled tomato) we headed down the hill for a look at nearby Weymouth. We were amazed by how many people were out so early on a Sunday morning. ASDA ("A Member of the Wal-Mart Family"), where we had gone to find an adapter for my laptop, was jammed with shoppers at ten AM. Leaving our car in ASDA's parking lot, we struck out on foot.

Our first objective was to find the train station, which turned out to be central and very convenient. From there we made our way a couple of blocks to the seashore and found that it, too, was already quite animated. It was Seafood Festival weekend which may have accounted for the crowds, and all the ice cream kiosks, carousel rides, chair and umbrella rentals and even an outdoor Punch and Judy puppet theater were all doing a lively business. From there we wandered back to the car by way of the pedestrian shopping streets and the Sunday farmers' market, and were back at the hotel by early afternoon.

We changed into our hiking shoes and followed the Dorset Coast Path down to Chesil Beach (pictured above). From our hotel, which sits at over three hundred feet elevation, Chesil Beach looks like...a beach! I had heard it refered to as a "pebble beach," but once we got down there we found that the "pebbles" are smooth, round rocks as big as a fist, and they are piled thirty-five feet deep! Walking was sporty, a sort of step and slide combination that was fun as we headed toward the water but much less so as we struggled to regain elevation. The sound of the beach was interesting: the familiar sound of waves lapping against the shore was followed by a new sound...the wet rumble of rocks playing leap-frog back into the ocean. I want to remember that.

The highlight of our Sunday was afternoon tea at the home of Marilyn and Peter Gleave, colleagues of Dwight's. We sat in their lovely garden amidst an amazing collection of fuchsia plants (who ever knew they came in so many colors?) and enjoyed our tea with scones slathered in clotted English cream and fresh rasperries. Heavenly! Peter and Marilyn are a delightful couple who have already been so helpful at getting us settled in and making us feel welcome. I look forward to getting to know them better.

Now it is Monday, my first solo day. I think I will try to learn the local bus route and see how long it takes me to get to Weymouth's train station. My English friend Beverly from back home is here this month for her annual visit with family and friends up in the Cotswolds. We plan to get together one day, possibly this Thursday, so getting to Banbury is what I need to figure out. It would be a hoot to have a cup of tea with Bev in England! Will let you know how it goes.