Exterminate!

This one has a little backstory on it, in more ways than one. The thing in the chair is a pretty good approximation of a Dalek, a sort of miniature tank villain that is completely familiar if you've ever watched Doctor Who, and probably utterly unknown if you haven't. The main functions of Daleks are to wheel around grating "Exterminate! Exterminate!" in a high-pitched robot voice while bedeviling the good Doctor and trying to take over the universe. Naturally the Taylors are all Doctor Who fans and Mike and Fiona built this cardboard and plastic Dalek for the boys at some point in the distant past. Which in the photo above is being operated by Daniel, to the amazement and possible consternation of London.


When London and I got to Oakleigh Farm House, the Dalek was sitting in a corner of the laundry room, much like the Dalek in Henry van Statten's underground bunker in the episode "Dalek" from the new but inaccurately named BBC Doctor Who Series 1 (with Christopher Eccleston as the 9th Doctor).

Now I need to take a minute and explain two of the Basic Facts of the Universe. I think it is pretty well universally known and agreed that (No. 1) Moms Are Not Into Fire. (No. 2) But Dads Are. And building piles of things to burn and then burning them--playing with fire, in other words--is therefore one of the secret bonding rituals between fathers and sons.

Now I am going to tell you why Fiona Taylor is a serious contender for the title of Coolest Mom Ever. When I went into the washroom for the first time, she apologized for the state of the Dalek and said that maybe the time had come to put it out in the back yard (well, okay, she said "garden"--I'm translating from British to English for the benefit of my American readers) and let the boys beat it to pieces with their lightsabers. I jokingly said, "Or you could burn it." Which was obviously a joke because of Basic Fact of the Universe No. 1 (see above). But Fiona's immediate, reflexive reaction was to blurt out, "COOL!!", at which point I suffered a minor stroke (fortunately it was a 24-hour stroke and I walked it off).

On our last morning in Ruardean the sun came out and it was Dalek burnin' time, which really ought to be one of the standard holidays if you ask me. In the photo above Fiona is setting up the video camera, the boys are hiding in the shed because, inevitably, it had started to rain just a little, and Mike is doing absolutely nothing. In his defense, his parental role of Fire Bringer had been usurped, so there wasn't much else to do.


About the chair. Originally the Dalek fire was going to be in the garden (back yard), but it was too windy, so Fiona moved the execution ground to the driveway, which is sheltered by the same stone fence that guarded King Eustace the Little-Known during his escape from the Seige of Tewkesbishopsford-Upon-Blatherpuddingcester in the late early middle ages. Okay, I made that last part up, but it seems like the kind of thing you should say about an old stone wall in England, and I don't know that it's not true. Anyway, the Taylors didn't want to char their driveway rocks so they put the Dalek up on an old garden (back yard) chair that was no longer safe to sit on. This turned out to be ironic, for reasons that will be revealed later.


And away she goes! The Dalek burned like the battlements of Braemar Castle during the Jacobite Uprising of 1689 (okay, that one is true).


Not only did the Dalek burn most satisfactorily, so did the chair. First it melted into a deformed shambles, and then into a burning puddle of goo that closely resembled flaming pancake batter and spread out over several square feet. Which I am certain made a much larger and more unsightly mess of the driveway than a few char marks and ashes would have done. But the point, for all you new parents and parents-to-be, is that the Taylors were cool enough to build their boys a Dalek, and then burn it for them.

Because this fire was at least partly for London's benefit, the Taylors christened it The Great Fire of London, which I thought was pretty great. Whose day are you going to make with a giant smoky carcinogenic driveway fire of a popular science fiction villain?

Tragically right after I took the last photo, above, my camera battery died and I had no working replacements. So ends the blaga (blog saga) of our English adventures. This week we're moving down to SoCal and next week we start our new jobs, so don't be surprised if the next update is some time in coming.

Out of time's abyss

The day we got back to Ruardean from Bradford, Fiona took all of the Taylor and Wedel boys--save Mike--to Goodrich Castle. It's about 900 years old, and one of a series of fortifications along the border of England and Wales. The last major construction on the castle was in the late 1200s and early 1300s. It was held by both sides alternatively in the English Civil War in the 1600s. The final military action here was a seige in 1645-1646, which ended when the corner of the castle shown above was battered down by a huge mortar named "Roaring Meg", which still exists and is on exhibit at the castle.

It is worth remembering that the castle's half-millennium of valuable military service ended only 25 years after the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. Buildings that old are all over England. Even the Taylor residence, Oakleigh Farm House, has parts that are about 300 years old. Which means that their house is older than my country.


Here's the view over the moat to the drawbridge. In the closeup you can see two small boys. The one in front is Jonno, bravely leading the way. Right behind him, with the blue lightsaber, is London. At this point they were about 150 yards ahead of the rest of us. About the time that we walked up to the drawbridge Jonno shouted hello from the parapet. At which point Fiona asked me if London was with Jonno, and I had to truthfully reply, "I don't know, but I intend to find out."


Fortunately the castle has been unobtrusively child-proofed, without spoiling the whole ruined-medieval-fortification vibe. Here's London on the same parapet from which Jonno had shouted hello. In the background is Roaring Meg, her immensely fat barrel covered with a blue tarp, in front of the same wall her shells battered down more than 360 years ago.


The boys prepared for their castle visit by gathering up all the lightsabers in the house. Here London and Danny pose in front of the entrance to the dungeon, which was unfortunately flooded before our visit, and even more unfortunately flooded during our visit. More about that in a minute.

Almost completely off-topic, the Hasbro expanding-blade lightsabers are great. I'd never picked one up because I figured that the only useful thing one could do with a toy lightsaber is whack it against other people and other lightsabers (which is true) and that no toy-with-moving-parts could withstand that treatment for more than one afternoon (which is false). The Taylor boys have evidently been whacking theirs about for two years, and all are still in good working order. They're dead cheap, too--I picked up a pair for London and me at Wal-Mart today for $7.96 apiece, which has to be one of the all-time great deals. Ignore the deluxe "Force Action" models in the long flower-boxes that go for $20 and require batteries--you want the electronics-free "Basic Lightsaber" in the cardboard bin on the lowest shelf, with the blade and button exposed so you can try it out in the store. Go nuts . . .

. . . and may the Force be with you.


The boys were enacting legendary battles all over that castle, which probably hasn't seen so many people running about with swords in centuries.

Believe it or not, this was my first visit to a real moat-and-parapet castle (not counting the fortress in Albarracin and tower in Teruel, I suppose). We climbed up to the top of the tower to get a look at the surrounding countryside--that's where I took the photo at the top of the post. It was pretty strange to know that between 400 and 900 years ago generations of soldiers had stood up there and watched for invading armies, or waited to be rescued from seiges. Especially since the whole region has been at peace for centuries. It would be like having forts on the border between Oklahoma and Texas (which is not a bad idea, by the way), or rather, it would be like that if Oklahoma and Texas were a thousand years old. I think it is a healthy reminder that people will stand in our ruins a thousand years from now, and wonder about our lives, and what kind of world we left them.


My time at Goodrich Castle was divided, between immense piles of cold stone laid in place centuries ago during times of war, conquest, seige, and famine, and tiny packages of warmth and laughter that never stopped moving, who are blessed to grow up in times and places of peace and plenty. It's a lot to hold in your head, and your heart.

Right after I took that last photo we went down to the moat for a walk around the castle, and the skies opened up and just dumped torrents of rain on us. I had on a hat and a long-sleeved shirt while everyone else had slickers, but it made no difference in the end. After a circuit of the castle we were all thoroughly drenched, and the rain didn't let up during the quarter-mile slog to the car. Danny announced that despite his slicker, the only part of him that wasn't completely waterlogged was a small area of his underwear, which I think was true for everyone (certainly for me), although I didn't take a poll.

Naturally, as soon as we got into the parking lot the rain stopped as if someone had flicked a switch, and the sun came out. Ha ha, England. I'm onto your deceitful ways!

Also naturally, halfway around the moat London ran up to me with rain sheeting down his smiling face and said, "Daddy, we had a good time at the castle!" Mind you, this is the same kid who howls like a dying cat if a drop of water gets in his eyes in the tub. Sheesh!

A weekend in Bradford

For the middle weekend of our English vacation, London and I joined Vicki in Bradford, where her short course was held. I suppose for Brits it is probably just a bog-standard English city, but for us it was pretty marvelous. Here's a view into the city center, which is a pedestrian area with loads of little shops in old buildings. The one on the left that looks like a church is the city's old wool exchange, which at one time handled about a quarter of all the wool produced in Britain. Today it is a bookstore, with an acupuncturist in one corner lot and a Starbucks upstairs (a Starbucks? I'm about to have a heart attack from not surprise!).


Most of the city center is still intact, but a big area between our hotel and the city cathedral has been bulldozed to make a big steel-and-glass shopping mall. Boring! But right now there is no steel-and-glass anything, just a big muddy pit full of earthmoving equipment. That was just fine with London.


On our first night in town we went to a little Italian place called Giuseppe's. You may be able to just make out London's walrus tusks (made from drinking straws) in this photo.


Here's a better shot. When London says 'walrus' it comes out 'ralrus'. So Vicki and I tease him about being a walrus just so we can hear him say, "I'm not a ralrus! I'm a big boy!" Except that sometimes, he is a ralrus. Such are the ways of three-year-olds.


London thought that running around Bradford was about the third-greatest thing ever (playing with his grandparents and the Taylor boys are in first and second, obviously).


He never ceases to be surprised that he can't catch pigeons. He'll chase them and chase them and then run up to us and breathlessly confess that he couldn't catch one. I'm inclined to let him keep trying. Darn pigeons--they need a little exercise.


London is also an avid motorist.


It rained at least a little every day, but you get used to it. Actually, if you're coming from hundred-teens, drought, and wildfires, you may relish it. I did. London is impervious to moisture-related discomfort, unless it's bathtime. Funny how that works.


He is also game to try any frozen treat that promises to make a sticky mess of his face. Usually late in the game he will cross some invisible threshold and suddenly decide he's had enough--but, of course, we are never allowed to suggest such a thing; the decision must be made by London, and by him alone.


On Sunday it was sunny so I took London to a garden exhibition in front of the city hall. He loved the fountains and the flowers and most of all the space to run.


London never got tired of shouting "Double-decker!" whenever he saw a double-decker bus, so of course we heard this about 15,000 times on the trip. It's cool. I don't really get tired of them either. They're part of the landscape that lets you know that you are Not In Kansas Anymore.


For as much time as London spends airborne, it's not easy to capture him that way on camera. He's pretty fearless about jumping off of things.


This is how I will remember London and Bradford: a happy boy throwing himself headlong down the paved spaces between ancient soaring buildings, always certain that he'll catch the next pigeon.

A boy, a bus, bees, butterflies, bones, Bradford

Yesterday was another sunny day in Ruardean. Fiona and the boys are visiting Mike's mum, so London and Mike and I had the run of the place. London loves little buses, and he enjoyed pushing himself around the back patio.


The neighbors' cat came over to get her belly scratched.


It was pretty idyllic, sitting on warm flagstones in the sun, petting a happy cat, watching butterflies and listening to the drone of bees, with the scent of flowers in the air.


The other night Mike cooked some lamb joints and made stew. We've been cleaning up the bones, by boiling, bleaching, and degreasing in soapy water. By yesterday afternoon they were done degreasing and ready to be dried, so I took advantage of the sun.


These are pretty clean, but bones is bones, and the kitty could smell what marrow is left. I watched her puzzle over the bones for a long time.


She made a big mess of my neat pile, but it was worth it to watch her try to figure out what to do with each one.


Pretty soon she was back to London for a good tummy rub.


Whether we're in Oklahoma, California, or England, the results of London's adventures are always the same.


Ruardean is near the border of England and Wales. This is the view to the west from the back garden. The land falls off in a series of hills and dales, each slightly hazier than the last. There are ruined castles along the Welsh border, defensive positions from before the realms of Britain were united. We're going to try to investigate one next week.


Today we left Ruardean to travel to Bradford and meet Vicki. London was thrilled about riding on Big People trains. And now we're here, so I'm going to stop ignoring my wife and sign off. More to come soon!

London, England. England, London.

We're in England! Teaching done, grades submitted, and off to the UK for a couple of weeks of vacation.

Vicki is up in Bradford taking an anthropology short course and hanging out with all kinds of cool people, some of whom are even alive. London and I are staying with Mike and Fiona Taylor and their boys Daniel (10), Matthew (8), and Jonno (for Jonathan; almost 6), in their big house in the little village of Ruardean, in the west of England near Wales. You've heard about how supposedly the English countryside is charming and the villages are quaint and even more charming. It's all true.


On Monday, Fiona took us to a miniature railroad near here, with real working steam locomotives. Here are (from l. to r.) Jonno, London, Matthew, and Fiona on the train. Mike and Daniel stayed at the house.


Jonno, the little scamp, dodged out of this picture.


But not this one.


It has rained here at least a little every day. Mike has apologized profusely for this, which is very funny, first because it's not remotely his fault, and second because we're escaping a couple of months of drought, wildfires, and 100+ temperatures in the Central Valley of California. Rain and 60s are just fine with me, thanks. But it hasn't rained all the time. In fact, yesterday it was nice and sunny for most of the afternoon, so the boys got in some quality time in the Taylor's immense back yard (or 'garden' as they say here). Here Daniel (l.) and Matthew fly kites from atop the trampoline.


Daniel is also highly skilled with Jedi lightsaber, and has taken London as his Padawan learner.

The cabin in the background is just that, a cabin (or 'summer house') which is a great place to sit on a sunny day and watch boys, and (I hear) camp out with them.


The house in the background here is the Taylor's. Not that I expect your eyes to be drawn there first.


Ah, that's more like it.


This weekend London and I are off to Bradford to meet Vicki. Stay tuned for more pictures soon!