Charles Dicken's Birthday: February 7

Happy Birthday to Charles Dickens.  Here, I met class, lectured, and discussed frame analysis and emotional labor until the 10:00 break. Then we traveled via bus to the Imperial War Museum. To justify the outing, they are writing up how different exhibits “framed” any one of the subjects to evoke specific emotions. 

It is a powerful set of documentaries from WWI, WWII, Vietnam, Afghanistan and the World Trade Center attacks.  Of course, the little school children were intrigued by by the submarines, tanks, airplanes, torpedoes, etc.  that are also there.  I thought the museum did a wonderful job with narratives and photos from the Eastern European shtetls during the invasion of Poland.  Most of my students were riveted by the Holocaust exhibit which had film footage and excellent historical documents. The Afghanistan exhibit blew me away—photos of British and Irish soldiers telling their stories with film footage running behind each one.

The 911 photos were from Hanger 17 at JFK.  There were also pieces of the Twin Towers, but I was most moved by the photos of what was found in the rubble.  There was one photograph of about 40+ pair of intact eyeglasses on display (ostensibly for family members to claim) as well as some scarves, shoes and men’s shirt that seemed like they just came off a coat hanger.  It took my breath away. It put that horror in a new framework by focusing on the ordinary things that remained.

I have a ton of backlog administria to wrap up and some writing to finish tomorrow

Monday Feb 6^th.

Good things. First, the good: out of the corner of my eye Monday morning I saw something moving across the backyard in the snow.  Expecting it to be a squirrel or one of the cats, I glanced and, low and behold: a fox.  I would not have believed my eyes but his pointed little face looked right through the dining window at me and held the gaze until he slinked off with that huge, fluffy tail across my vision right through a hole in the wall. I so wanted a photo.  Perhaps he’ll be back.  It would have been easy to miss except the white background gave him no cover.  He was about the size of coyote but with much shorter legs.  The salesman, at the bookstore, says there are many foxes on the Heath and they are not uncommon between the Heath and High Street.  It was quite a sighting.

Bad: got nicked by a young boy speeding downhill on sidewalk on his Razor®.  Took a tumble as did he into the icy snow drift—he hit a car, so I got off easier.  At any rate, Have a goose egg bruise on right hip and a sore elbow and shoulder, so it was a lousy night’s sleep.

Sunday afternoon

What a pleasant walk in the snow dusted village: children making snowmen, teenagers smoking and sledding, grown men attacking each other with snow balls.  It is warmer than before the snow—very fresh.  I get a big kick out of these Brits sitting at outdoor cafes in what we would avoid as nasty weather—no heaters, I might add, but the tables are full.  The tables are under canvas awnings, but still!  The little dogs have coats and the shovels are available near the grit bins to use if one needs to push snow aside.

 Hampstead Parish entrance.

After my haircut, the morning snowmen were beginning to have middle age sag.  Their necks indistinguishable from the torso, torsos melted into pear shaped bottoms, morphing into blob-like triangular shapes where a few hours ago were the three distinct balls.  It still made me happy to see them saluting the ritual of making fun from what could be inconvenience in lower spirited people. It is delightful to be reminded of the wonder that the littlest children evidence;  what a lovely jab at our basic nature to be in awe of the world.

How convenient to be able to walk for a Sunday morning haircut.  The salon was 50% ex-pats; my French stylist says Hampstead is home to a large colony of American ex-pats who come for a visit and stay for a life.  I can see why.  I continue to be surprised at how well traveled the Europeans are. I have met no one who has not traveled to the States and most bounce around the continent the way we drive from OC to LA.

And, here peeking through the snow are Spring bulbs with their promises.

My plan for the remainder of the afternoon: make a dent in off some work and finish off this compelling novel.  For supper, I have some Italian meatballs to warm up with a little serving of fresh pasta.  Salad tonight includes orange slices, walnuts, greens and a citrus ginger dressing.

Enjoy your Super bowl Sunday. Out of allegiance to my college buddy, Sam the “Bam” Cunningham, I hope the Patriots win.

Sunday morning coffee

Dawn in Hampstead was peaceful, but the birds were all a-chatter about the snow.  Lots of chirping, singing and calling going on.  Perhaps they sounded louder because the snow had muted all other sounds on the ground.

It will be an interesting walk this morning to the hairdresser.  It is only about 15 blocks away, but four of them are on an incline.
Here is the back yard.

Looking from kitchen balcony.

It is supposed to rain tomorrow, so we will likely be spared the gray uglies.  Nice that the blanket came late last night and early Sunday morning--not so many people inconvenienced.

February 4, Saturday

Another “fresh” day as they say in London.  That means it is really cold.  The temperature today ranges between 28 and 33 with last night very, cold.  Walking around is tricky with every corner puddle frozen and the uneven, stone walks icy in spots.  Nonetheless, I went out for five hours with one respite in a warm bookstore and one break in a moderately cold meeting room. 

There are large yellow trucks driving around dumping sand, salt and grit on the pavement and corners to help keep things less slick.  It is still easy to lose your balance.  Luckily, I didn’t take any tumbles, but I did have a few occasions of partially losing my balance. Sliding on the side of one show while shifting like a skier to tip back upright.  

Today, the farmers came in with artisan cheeses, all kinds of poultry eggs, and vegetables.  I swear the fish shack is the most expensive place I have ever shopped, but it is really fresh product and he does fillet little pieces of this and that (salmon, halibut, sole, bass, perch) for me.   

The lifestyle here is truly brilliant.  I suppose if one worked 40+ hours in an office, it could be inconvenient.  For me, teaching 8 hours, in the office for another 6 hours, and otherwise working from home during a week is very doable. The little things that keep body and soul together take a little more deliberation and planning, but that makes for a deeper consciousness of living.

The transportation system puts ours in the U.S. to shame.  One is never more than a 15 minute walk to a tube stop that connects to anywhere in the city or suburbs.  Same for busses, there is never more than a 6 minute wait for a connection to wherever you are headed.  Now that I have determined how to avoid the smelly “night" bus (transportation for drunks after the tube closes down), the busses are all right, too.  I have had no moments of concern about crime, either.  I am perfectly comfortable walking around alone at night with no “over the shoulders.”  Of course, nobody carries a handbag unless it is a cross body one.

Reaching in my coin purse for exact change is finally second nature.  Given that there are eight denominations of coins—takes some getting used to. It adds up, too; these eight coins here are worth 

$ 6.19

Found a delightful Italian deli in the neighborhood where they make pasta, ravioli and bread.  The ham was out of this world.  Overheard at the corner bakery as my loaf was being sliced:  “Are you keen for  a lash of BOO-tah n jam with your SKO-nah?”

There is a ubiquitous phenotype here that I don’t see often at home and never would have guessed was British.  It is honestly shocking (and a little off-putting) at how many Don Imus prototypes are walking about.  It regularly gives me a jolt.  There is also one chap who looks like Ozzy Osbourne except sporting a full, tall Mohawk; he is frequently with his buddy collapsed in one or another stoop on my street—yesterday he was rolling a blunt and asking his mate, “are we home yet or still in Siberia?” He looks really old, but moves like a middle aged person.

The fashion is very serious, too. It is fun to see the windows on high street changing every few days with the latest “looks.” If I had lived here in my 20's, I would have been seriously in debt for these cunning little outfits or doing something illicit to support my clothes habit. 

The students are planning a super bowl party with “American” food tomorrow night.  The University London Union (ULU) will have the game on live (starts here at 10pm).  So they have divided up pot luck items like guacamole with chips, wings, bean dip, mac'n cheese, hummus (easy to find here), etc.  I suppose it is nostalgia for American connectedness.  SO far, the biggest challenge is finding or making tortilla chips.

Settling down for a read in my new novel.  Enjoy your Saturday and send a thought this way for a warming trend.  Hasta manana, mi amigos queridos.

Friday, February 3

Short post today. Too cold to take my camera from backpack as I walked around the neighborhoods from Tottenham Court to St James Park in search of an advertised special for a Sassoon haircut.

Here is my favorite line from the afternoon paper, Evening Standard:  "An army of gritters is on standby to spread tens of thousands of tonnes {sic} of salt in a bid to keep the city moving."

Never shy of outrageous headlines, the papers are dubbing the coming weather front from Siberia as the "Beast from the East."  So, we are warming up from freezing to warm enough for snow.  We'll see.  The UK put out its first "Level 3 Cold Weather Alert" signalling danger for old folks. I choose to think that is not my peer group.   The only higher level is 4 which warns that "normally healthy people are at risk from cold."

o, I am being prudent and staying in tonight although it means missing a D'Angelo concert at Brixton that ends after the last tube home.

Thursday, Feb 2

What a spectacular day. Not a cloud in the sky so it was a dry cold—got up to 34 degrees, but according to weather service, “feels like 24.”  After two hours discussion/lecture in our Inequality class, we got on the tube, en mass, and traveled to Archway.  From the tube it was a long walk up a 3% grade to get to High Gate Cemetery.  Of course, a sociology class on Inequality in London must pay homage to the grave of Karl Marx.  It was a long ways uphill.

First gate, locked.  We marched on.  Second gate, locked.  We trudged through Water low Park and finally found an entrance which charged us £ 2 each.  The gatekeeper was annoyed we had not made an appointment as there was a funeral arriving today.  I negotiated and reminded him the website did not require reservations; he relented and we set out.

It was a spirited walk through the cemetery.

Here is an “all in” photo of my students at the grave. Instead of saying “Cheese,” they chanted, “Revolt.”  

One very serious student asked me why we were not reading Marx in this class.  I told him that he had the luck of drawing one of the few sociologists on the planet who studies stratification but does not put Marx on the require reading list. I guess I have one disappointed and 26 relieved students.

 Then, our visit was extended when we could not find an open exit. By now, the natives were cold and getting restless.  Finally, we hiked back up to the main East entrance where the gate keeper unlocked the padlock so we could escape. We took a scenic route through a different part of Water low Park with great views of downtown. 

The most fascinating turn of events occurred when we happened on a bridge over a frozen pond.  We probably stood there—about 24 of us—watching the birds walking on water for a good twenty minutes.  Obviously, we are a California crowd to be so in awe of birds on ice.  We watched as some of the young men tossed sticks and rocks to see if they could crack the ice. They couldn’t.   Then, we were treated to a toddler throwing bread to the ducks on ice.  We got some great laughs seeing the birds swoop in for a land and skid around in search of crumbs.  Ice skating birds are really, really entertaining.  Nice sunshine the whole time, too, with only a few gusts of icy wind. 

The class acrobat, gymnast—he of the fractured face from a faulty back flip last Friday—has irrepressible energy and athleticism.  I can see how much better he thinks when his body is in motion—a very smart, thinking kid.  I watched him engage each of these obstacles as we passed, he jumped up and caught a rope swing—launching out into space just because it was there—that was after jumping across some low fence and bouncing on platforms mounted to springs.  It is a miracle that anyone with that kind of kinesthetic learning going on survived the K-12 education system which is so concerned with repressing movement.

I talked to him last night at the theater about how his injury affected his confidence.  I was glad to see today that he was not bluffing in saying he couldn’t wait to get back to turning flips.  Just not in my presence, please. Be still my heart when he wanted to walk on the iced pond.

The performance last night had spectacular sets and barely so-so choreography.  Still, the students really enjoyed which was a lift to witness. We were given wrong directions with our tickets leading us to the Apollo Theater instead of the Apollo Victoria.  It seems we all found our way across town in time for curtain.  Some hailed a cab.  I jumped on a bus and some students used their iphones and hopped on the tube.  It made it more exciting to get there and revel in our resourcefulness.

Classes are really fun as more and more of the students reveal themselves and come to grips with ideas about social class and inequality. 

Reflections.  It is really fun to be out with students and hear their casual observations and the types of questions they ask in private conversations which would never come up in class.  I feel incredibly honored to be a guest in their world, seeing things through their experiences.  Outside the classroom provides a better venue to impart ideas, too, when I am listening rather than lecturing.   When they get curious about what I think, the conversation is much more engaged because it comes from their interest not mine.  It is encouraging to watch learning happen. These 19-20 year olds will shape the world long after I am gone and I am fascinated at how that is going to work out.  Hopefully, some of the tools that helped liberate me from the pathologies of our society and times will be useful to them as well.

February 1, Wednesday

Whew.  It is soooo cold today. Expected to get to a high of 38 degrees, but I don’t think it did; added to that is a 14mph NE wind blowing down on London.  All this suiting up in layers and unwrapping when returning to the flat is an interesting ritual.  It was so cold in the flat when the heat went off around 9am that I thought errands would be well-timed.  Super layered-up in all manner of silks and wools, I headed out. The cold wind makes my dry eyes water so that my  entire cheeks are covered in icy-cold wetness. Not frozen, just frigid.  

Since once again snow is forecast, I thought I would lay in enough provisions for a two or three days. The down side to that plan is that  it did not all fit in my backpack. Carrying canvas bags of bulky items did not permit my gloved hands to be firmly planted in my coat pockets.  No matter how cold the flat seems, there is nothing like a brisk walk outdoors to make the return home a warm welcome.


My ongoing obsession with hot water hit a new wrinkle today.  The water pipes are so cold that the usual 40 minute warming of water via fuse box gave me only 2 inches of tepid water in the tub. That is due, in part, to how cast iron absorbs heat and to barely enough heated water to approximate my body temperature.  I have been made to feel so fearful of leaving the switchbox "on" for more than 45 minutes, that I watch the clock with real anxiety every minute after 30--cringing at the possibility of an impending explosion. I will never take for granted either a hot shower or a hot,soak in my over sized tub at home.  

We have Wicked tickets this evening. Should be lighthearted fun.

It is tempting to stay in with a hot cuppa tea, but that seems so wrong that I will venture out in the dark coldness. I only hope to avoid getting lost on the 20 minute walk, in the dark, between tube and theater.

My comprehension of the idiom and dialects here is improving. Making acquaintances of locals helps; a few have been generous about emailing and facebooking so I am getting the low down on local goings on.  


I do find it odd that I have not seen one person who lives in this building or the two on either side.  I occasionally hear banging on the shared wall by my bed like clockwork--at 1am local time. The landlord tells me that flat is occupied by an elderly pensioner from Portugal who tends to the potted plants in the vestibule.  I have never seen any evidence that she exists.


Send warm thoughts.  Abrazos y besos.