Kent

Dad & Darlene arrived safely in London last week, and they may see more of the UK in the next month than we have seen in the last year.  We took it easy for the first few days and hung around Hampstead, then stayed in and watched the Royal Wedding on Friday, which was absolutely lovely and a brilliant day for the Brits!

We rented a car, and Saturday morning set out for Canterbury in Kent.  The weather was cool but sunny and Chris navigated the city streets amazingly well, considering he was not only driving a manual transmission, but driving on the completely wrong side of the road!  (Everyone here does it - it's something of a phenomenon.)  He was fantastic.  As was Canterbury.  I'm sure you're expecting some sort of history lesson here on Chaucer and his tales, but on that particular front... I got nothin'.  I'm serious.  Even after knowing we were going to be there, then having been there,  then coming back, I have no clearer idea now about who Chaucer was or why he chose Canterbury about which to write than I did before we went, although it is a charming little place.  And the Kent countryside is quite lovely.

The drive once we finally got on the motorway was very pleasant - getting out of the city itself took nearly an hour due to Saturday morning traffic.  Arriving in Canterbury, we were able to use a "park & ride" lot and took a shuttle bus into the city center which was quite convenient.  Canterbury has the look of a Shakespearean village with its Tudor-style buildings and narrow windy streets.  Its origins date back to the 6th century when St. Augustine founded an abbey there; its more recent attraction is the Canterbury Cathedral, the building of which was begun in 1070.  The cathedral is probably most famous for being the site of the controversial murder of Thomas Becket, the then-Archbishop of Canterbury, by the knights of King Henry II.  Thomas, apparently, was just too darn Catholic, and was eventually made a saint by Pope Alexander as a result of his martyrdom.  As we toured the cathedral, Dad became somewhat obsessed with the where's and how's of Becket's murder, and eventually tracked down Mr. Seares, probably the oldest docent of any cathedral in all of the UK.  Mr. Seares may have moved slowly (remember Tim Conway's 100-year old man on the Carol Burnett show?), but he knew his stuff and gave us all a detailed and informative accounting of the last moments of said Becket.  Turns out the guy was warned by the monks and could've made a run for it, but that would have made the afore-mentioned martyrdom somewhat hard to claim.

Before our tour of the cathedral, we ironically had our lunch at the delightful Thomas Becket pub.  Following the tour, we walked the medieval town streets a bit, then took the old folks to our reserved B&B outside of town to check in and let them take a nap.  Chris and I went back into town and (after getting just a tad lost) checked out the city wall and the quaint banks of the River Stour.  Later, we all had dinner together at the pub/restaurant  back at the inn; it was a busy night and although service was lacking, the food was surprisingly tasty, and we were entertained as we listened to the accounting of the Royal Wedding as read from the Daily Mail by the party at the next table.

The next day we departed for Maidstone and Leeds Castle.  The drive was really reminiscent of our trips around Ireland - narrow, windy roads and in some spots absolutely no shoulder - just a hedge or a stone wall with which the person in the front passenger seat feels she might easily become one with...  But again, Chris really did a great job driving.   Truly.

Leeds Castle was worth the trip mainly because of its gorgeous setting.  It bills itself as "the loveliest castle in the world"; I'm not sure if that's necessarily true.  The grounds were indeed breathtaking and really lovely; the castle itself was impressive, but arguably not the most impressive I've seen so far.  Originally a wooden fortress dating to the 9th century, it has served as the home of Henry VIII's first queen, Catherine of Aragon, the country seat  of Lord Culpepper, colonial governor of Virginia (my home state) and more recently the showplace of Lady Baillie, and American heiress who purchased the castle in 1926 and entertained the likes of Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin and Errol Flynn.  The castle today shows as an homage to many of its various pasts, and is an enjoyable tour.   We ended our visit with a look around the aviary - Lady Baillie apparently had a real thing for birds - where we saw a peacock have an inquisitive encounter with a toucan, then had an ice cream cone and headed on our way back to London.

Just in the time (a full week) its taken me to write this blog, Dad & Darlene have visited Bath, Moreton-in-Marsh, Oxford, and Aylesbury.  They hope to head off to Dublin this week for a tour of the Emerald Isle.  We've enjoyed being their "home stop" on their whirlwind visit to the UK.

https://picasaweb.google.com/swronsky/CanterburyLeedsCastle?feat=directlink

Here I sit in the waiting room at Dulles Airport, awaiting my flight back "home" to London, after a lovely visit back "home" in the US.   Which one really is home?  Well, my comfy pillow and my husband and youngest son await me in London, although my 2 oldest sons, the rest of my family, and my photo albums are in the US.  So which is it?  While in the US, it was great to be back in our awesome house in Vestal, NY - but I don't feel at all attached to that community.  Kyle & I drove to NJ for a few days, where I felt right at home, although I don't have a house there.  I have many wonderful friends in the US, but have made some wonderful friends in London.  And we have some friends that live beyond both of those locations.  While in my "hometown" of Liverpool, NY, I stayed with my sister Maria and of course visited with family at the old homestead on Berrywood Road, but my childhood bedroom is now my stepmom's cool state-of-the-art sewing room.  And is Liverpool really my "hometown" anyway, when I was born at Ft. Belvoir, VA, and lived in 3 other  places before my dad retired and moved us to Liverpool when I was all of 8 years old?  I spent time with a friend of 34 years (gulp - yes, Nancy - that's 3-4 years) during my visit, and also time with newer friends of only 7 years.

What is it that makes a place home?

Lots of things.  Berrywood Road is my home because it's the place where I witnessed my mom ace "Jeopardy" and my dad nearly blow a gasket laughing at Archie Bunker, and smelled their fried onions cooking on Saturday night steak night (theirs, not ours), and fought with my sisters, and listened to Elton John on my red transistor radio, and talked to Chris on the phone for hours - after 11 pm of course - when he was away at college.  Michael was born when we lived there.  Ithaca, NY, is my home because it's the first place our young family lived on its own - moldy cinderblock walls, Campbells Soup and all.  Virginia will always feel like home as I've lived there longer than any other place - albeit not all at one time; Eric & Kyle were born there, and we purchased our first house there.  It's where both Mike & Eric live now and where I still have good pals.  Even Brookfield, Connecticut feels like home; even tho' we were only there for 2 years, it was our biggest challenge in many different ways and at the same time a great community to live in.  Medford, New Jersey is where 2 of the boys graduated high school, where we lost our 2 beloved pets, and where I struck out on my own and established a "career" of sorts completely separate from the needs of my 4 guys.  The house in Vestal is where my Christmas decorations are; our flat in Hampstead is where I keep the Pyrex baking dishes that I've had since my wedding shower.

Before our first move away from Virginia, my neighbor and dear friend Enid gave me a hook with a sign that read "Home is where you hang your hat."  At the moment, the place I hang my hat is 20 Pavilion Court in London, England.  But I suppose what truly defines "home" are the memories and experiences from all of the places, however many or few, where your hat has hung.  Having so many darn hat hooks has not always been the easiest of lifestyles, but in the end, I am blessed to have had so many wonderful places to call home.