That Old Time (really, really, old) Religion. Castlerigg stone circle, near Keswick, is estimated to have been built 2,500 years B.C.E.

"What are you doing now?"

Writing. Every morning: make coffee, write. Eat lunch, take a break. Read, research, write. I will continue to update the site with photos and reflections on the trip, so keep checking up. On Sundays, I'll be at Richard's church in Aitkin (sitting in the pew, there's a new perspective). Though I won't be returning to the church office in Brainerd until the Tuesday after Labor Day, if I'm out digging in the garden you don't have to pretend you don't see me. It's OK to come over and say hello.

Richard is reunited in Edinburgh with his old pal from confirmation class (First Presbyterian, Maumee, Ohio), John Knox.

London and Edinburgh

The Mayflower Pilgrims came from central England, from rural villages in Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Lincolnshire. But it was events in London and Edinburgh that forced them to leave their country. In 1604, the first full year of his reign, King James I called a conference at Hampton Court Palace to discuss the state of the church. Non-conformists had hoped to win the King's favor. But King James I of Enland, who was also King James VI of Scotland, had developed a distaste for reformers, because of John Knox, who presided at the High Kirk of St. Giles in Edinburgh. Previously, Knox had openly criticized James' mother, Mary, for marrying her cousin (her cousin!) Henry Stuart, Earl of Darnley. James had had enough of reformers. At the end of the conference he announced, "I will make them conform themselves, or else I will harry them out of the land, or else do worse.” (Quoted in OED, p. 105, “harry” definition 3.b. To drive forth stripped of house or goods.) So he said, and so he did.

Chihuly at Kew. Works of Seatle artist Dale Chihuly were featured throughout the Royal Botanic Gardens. Julia took this photo, I think.

My favorite rose. I looked at them all. This one was the best.

The Houses of Parliament, and Westminster bridge and pier.

View from the loo in Kew: The Chinese Pagoda at the Royal Botanic gardens, as seen from our ensuite w.c. in Kew.

Our London Stay

Now, to fill in the gaps: I realized upon review that I hadn't written anything about our London stay. It was too brief. Every stay everywhere was too brief; that is enough reason to return. Pictured below are Richard, Jennifer & Julia on the train from London to Cambridge. We arrived by Eurostar train on Saturday, the 11th and found our B & B in Kew. Sunday, I went to church (see previous entry, The Church in the UK Today) and in the afternoon we walked through the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. That evening, we found our way by tube train to the home of Jon and Kate Grussing (Ann & Paul's son and daughter-in-law) and were well fed and enthusiastically entertained by their four children-- Alexandra-call-me-Alex, Charlotte, MAX (in all caps because he speaks in all caps, VERY LOUDLY, with all those sisters I suppose it's just to be heard above the din), and Madeleine. On Monday, we toured the Tower of London, took a boat ride to Westminster Pier, and "flew" the London Eye (a British Airways attraction, the largest ferris wheel in the world). I had hoped to get to Hampton Court Palace but now I will just have to go back. Shoot.

On the train from the Liverpool Street Station to Cambridge, Tuesday, June 14, 2005.

Home Now

We arrived home Wednesday night, July 6. When I've rested up a bit, I will begin posting photos from the trip.
Thursday, local reporters called for my "take" on the London bombings. All I can add to the global news reports is my own shock, sadness, and sympathy for the people of London. I called Ann Grussing and learned that their son Jon & family (who entertained us and gave us dinner Sunday evening, the 12th of June) are fine. I always felt safe in London, and would return in a heartbeat. With the rest of the world, I will wait for news of who was responsible for the violence.

While Waiting at the Airport, Edinburgh

I have been thinking about the experience of the past month, and I offer these reflections on the special relationship between the UK and the USA.

The best of the UK: what I would like to export to the US:
1. Sane gun laws. Nobody needs a handgun. Gun-related crime is rare. While hiding out in Burger King during the Riot, I was grateful that at least I wasn't in New York or LA-- no one here was likely to start shooting.
2. A Transportation Policy which, informed by an Energy Policy and an Environmental Policy, promotes and provides convenient and inexpensive public transport to make automobile use unnecessary and inconvenient.
3. Cake. The best freshly baked cakes are served at 4 p.m. every day.

The best of the US: what I would like to give to the UK:
1. Hot running tap water and good plumbing. In the UK, it seems that hot water is still regarded as a luxury.
2. An appreciation for good coffee. It would go so well with the cake.
3. Can’t think of anything else. Except for the plumbing and the coffee, it’s a nearly perfect country.

My First Riot

This might be the title of either of our daughter's "What I did last summer" essay. "Mom and Dad took me to Edinburgh where we watched police in riot gear hold back a group of people who were trying to make a political statement but making it very badly. Dad says that the ones who look like Darth Vader were actually the good guys."
This morning we decided to make a day trip to Lindisfarne, the Holy Island, which is about 60 miles down the coast from Edinburgh. As we left, we heard on the radio that police were anticipating a demonstration of some sort today, a demonstration independent of the Live8 events, but were not sure what to expect because organizers would not tell them what they were planning.
As we returned to town this evening, we heard on the radio that violence had broken out earlier in the day, mainly on Princess Street (a few blocks from our flat) but spilling over into the side streets. We came into the city center, parked the car, and began walking. One of us, and I won't say who because that person would be really embarrassed, had to go to the toilet. We were near a posh hotel at the time, and tried to duck in there to use the restroom, but two really well dressed people with designer clothes and designer hair and designer tans were minding the door. One opened the door a crack, and with a terrified look on her face, informed us that the hotel was closed to non-residents at the moment.
As we continued up to the junction of Princess Street and North Bridge the crowds were thick, and police and ambulance vehicles were lining the road. There, on the corner, was a Burger King. Now, we have not eaten at any American franchise restaurants since we left the US, but I was pretty sure that I could find a loo at BK, and I was willing to buy a burger for the privilege of using it. We got there just before they closed (early, on the advice of the police), and thankfully, they didn't ask us to leave after we finished our fries. We watched the lines of police advance, and move the protestors back, and then the manager suggested we move away from the windows, and then suggested we move upstairs (where there are no windows). So there we were, Americans, taking refuge in a Burger King in Edinburgh, along with a group of Italians and some Japanese students.
Eventually, the police began to relax, and that made me relax too. When troops came in to use the loo (thank you God for Burger King), one offered to walk us out. British police are so sweet. Such nice young people. So after the Italians posed for a picture with the officer, he escorted us past the police line, and we walked up North Bridge to the Royal Mile, turned at Hunter's Square, and here we are safe as houses, in our Blair Street flat.
That's the news from Edinburgh. Good Night.

The Church in the UK Today

Though a few weeks' stay is by no means conclusive, I'll offer these observations of church life in the UK today. My first Sunday, I went to church in Kew. The sanctuary was full of people of all ages. At the Peace, right before communion, the children came in from "children's church" and showed off the coat of many colors they had made as they learned about the story of Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. The children then remained in the sanctuary with their parents. There was a baptism that day, so there might have been a higher than usual attendance, but the impression I got was that this was a vibrant, caring Christian community.
In Lincolnshire on 19 June, Richard and I got up, he put on a tie and jacket and I shook the wrinkles out of my skirt, and we walked across the road to the 800-year-old church of St. Cuthbert. The sign on the gate said that worship was at 9:15. We arrived at 9:10. Nobody was there. We waited until 9:30, said the Lord's Prayer together, and took the path back down to the gate and across the road. Two of the locals were walking dogs and chatting over the fence. We were obviously overdressed for a morning stroll. "Today's not a service day," said the man with the short dog of unknown breed.
"No, not today," said the woman with the border collie. "I have a schedule. I'll check." So she popped in the house and came out to inform us that there would be evensong that very night at 6:30 p.m.
When we returned later for evensong, we heard organ music as we walked down the path. That, we felt, was a good sign. The verger who met us at the door gave us a Book of Common Prayer and invited us to sit in the chancel, since he was expecting a small gathering. By the time the vicar arrived, there were 9 of us altogether (including the vicar, the verger, and the organist). The dog that ran up the aisle during the closing hymn made 10. Before the blessing, the vicar said, "Wouldn't it be nice if everyone in this parish entered into worship with such joy, and such confidence in being welcomed."
After worship, when we introduced ourselves (Minnesota, Oh, A Prarie Home Companion, Lake Wobegon and all that, Oh, I'm a fan.) Vicar Jonanthan explained that St Cuthbert's in Brattleby was one of 8 churches he was serving, as a favor to the bishop, since he is actually retired. It's an interim time. The vicar whose name was on the sign by the road (the sign which invited us to come to worship that morning at 9:15) has been gone for 5 years. Likely, the church in Brattleby will be shut, just like the one in nearby Aisthorpe.
It was disturbing to see so many closed churches in the countryside, and even more disturbing were the overgrown church yards. In Aisthorpe, there were a few grave sites that were mowed and tended, but the great majority of the resting places of the saints who have gone before are covered with weeds and brambles.
In York, we rose up on Sunday morning to join the majority of English folk in the more typical Sunday activity: a drive in the country, and a visit to one of Britains many Heritage sites. We arrived at Castle Howard when the ticket office opened and strolled through the gardens.
I don't think Roman Catholicism ever really converted the hearts of the Celts, Britons or Saxons. They are all really Druids at heart. On Sundays, they worship in the gardens, or the forests, or the parks. It's that simple.
This morning, in Edinburgh, I was a little late for worship at St. Giles and I missed the sermon, which the verger told me was a mercy really. He invited me to nip in the back during the offertory. The doors of St. Giles are guarded by the verger and several police constables. Because it is on the Royal Mile, tourists are prone to mistake it for a museum or cafe. It is open for tours most days, of course, but it is also a Church of Scotland (the High Kirk of Scotland), and there was an impressive gathering of people such as you would expect to find in any Presbyterian (or UCC) church in the States. Mostly grey haired, modestly well dressed (some of the men in kilts which they wear with the shirt, vest and jacket of a three-piece suit). Holy Communion was awesome. Heart-achingly beautiful, as beautiful as the Cumbrian Mountains but in an altogether different way. I prayed for you all, that you were all tucked safely in your beds as it was only four a.m. your time, and I know you will be praying for me when it's ten o'clock there and tea time here.
The closing hymn this morning was my theme song, and I took it as a little gift from God: We who would valiant be let us not waiver/But in true constancy follow the savior./There's no discouragement shall make us once relent/Our first avowed intent/TO LIVE AS PILGRIMS. God bless you all.

Drawing inspiration in the Lake District. Atop Cat Bells, overlooking Derwent Water, photo by Julia.

Bob Geldof has alot to answer for

We arrived in Edinburough just in time to be unable to get to our flat. Most of the city center (in which our flat is conveniently (?) located) was closed to cars, because there are hundreds of thousands of people-- called on by Bob Geldof and Bono and Colin Firth and other Brit stars-- to march under the slogan, "make poverty history." Which I can't argue with, of course, but it was darned impolite of Bob and the G8 not to consult my sabbatical itinerery before scheduling conferences and demonstrations. Well, I picked up a cool t-shirt, anyway. Here's a link to Bob Geldof's Live 8 campaign. http://www.live8live.com/whatsitabout/index.shtml