Store Window in Chelsea

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“Woke up it was a Chelsea morning”…

I was very excited that morning to be going to Chelsea. I felt very hip, literally, because we had been walking so much in London, much of the time with me carrying my granddaughter, that I felt every hip movement.

We left our Kings Cross flat, our haven for the week, and headed out to meet my son-in-law in Chelsea.  He was taking classes in that fashionable section of London with so rich a history of 60’s rock stars.  I was going to look for the tavern that was the Rolling Stones hangout, The Cross Keys.

“And the first thing that I saw”…

Well, the first thing that we saw was a Tube train (subway for us Yanks).  It was jam-packed.  It looked like one of those jars that was crammed with jelly beans and you had to guess the amount. When it stopped for loading, I guessed a gazillion.  It was only loading because NO ONE WAS GETTING OFF THE TRAIN.  The level of angst was rising in my lovely wife, for she doesn’t like to be in fast-moving, narrow cylindrical emcumbrances that move swiftly underground. My daughter, who had her 15-month-old asleep in a stroller, was looking a little sheepish also.

I gently suggested that we wait for the next train. Surely it wouldn’t be so crowded since the rush hour is over. Now I obviously don’t know anything about the sociological aspect or the engineering feats that go along with moving the masses in large urban areas.  My only experience is me having to go to work in a town of about fifteen hundred people in the hills of eastern Kentucky.  I live about five hundred yards from my work.  But if you act like you know what you are talking about, it should bring great comfort to those in distress around you.  That seems right, right?

“Was the sun through yellow curtains and a rainbow on the wall”…

So after waiting through two more trains, each more crowded than the previous one, we knew we had to suck it up and board or we would be late for our rendezvous.

All I can say is “Wow”.

At this time, I thought my wife needed more of my mass transit-wisdom.  So I pontificated, “when we get into downtown London (do the Brits even say “downtown”? It seems so American.), the train will thin out because everyone will be exiting, Love.”

The laws of physics were being tested as more and more people got on this train and no one was getting off.  I think everyone wanted a Chelsea morning.

Our “rainbows on the wall” were bearded chins, backs of heads pushed up against our faces, ear lobes,and armpits.  I looked for my granddaughter, still asleep in her carriage and she was in a  black forest of skinny jeans.

At one time my wife was nose-to-nose with a young chap for an extended period.  They were staring at each other like two MMA fighters getting ready for a bout.

It was again time for more wisdom from her empathetic husband.

“Just take deep breaths.” I told her lovingly.

Now my wife is very adept at expressing her deepest feelings.  She looked at me longingly with her blue eyes and said the phrase that every wife has, at sometime longed to say to her spouse, “If you say another word, I will punch you in the face.”

Silence became golden for the rest of the ride.

As evidenced of the photo above, I did actually see a rainbow in Chelsea. I liked the shirts hanging in this store window.

Joni Mitchell, I apologize for taking liberties with your beautiful words.

If you like this photo, you can see more of my pictures here.

 

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Old Fort Myers Apartment

 

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Sometimes you find the pot o’ gold without chasing the rainbow. Sometimes you stumble upon the “X” without possessing the treasure map.

My wife and I recently returned from a visit with my in-laws near Ft. Myers, Florida.  I took this photo of an upstairs apartment in old Fort Myers Beach.  I like the colors and the feel of days gone by in an old beach town.  This however was not the discovery.

My discovery occurred when I stumbled out of the back seat of my in-laws car in a dazed stupor after a less-than relaxing ride over to Matlacha, Florida.  We pulled into another island trinket shop and all of a sudden, the clouds opened up and there was this heavenly aura around a small restaurant called “Island Pho and Grill”.

At this point, I had two choices.  I could go into a store that caters to adolescents, tweens, teens, and middle-aged women with a condition that can’t be explained by anyone with a certain level of testosterone coursing through their body, or I could eat something completely foreign to me.

I made a mad dash across the traffic, my wife made a mad dash into Ye Olde Shoppe of Island Minutiae.  Of course, I can’t explain why she would.

Every culture seems to have their own version of comfort food.  That statement alone seems to sum up my new love for food…it gives me comfort.

The Jews gave us chicken soup. The Germans, who gave me my lovely wife, gave us sausage and sauerkraut.  In eastern Kentucky we seem to gravitate to soup beans, cornbread, and fried potatoes.  The Vietnamese have given us pho. As best as I can figure it is pronounced “fuh”…rhymes with “duh”.

Now bear in mind there is some sort of squiggly accent mark that accompanies the spelling that,  one, I can’t find on my English keyboard and two,  I can’t find anyone who knows what that squiggly line does to the pronunciation of the word.

I ordered a bowl of vegetarian pho, since we were going to eat supper in a few minutes and my mother taught me,”Don’t spoil your appetite.”  I have disregarded this advice since I was about 16, for it seems I always have an appetite now.

The taste of this Vietnamese delicacy led me into a state of palatable bliss that I haven’t experienced in a long time.  Maybe since my first potato chip or first bite of a chocolate doughnut.

I called for my brother-in-law to come and share in my savory fortune.  He looked at me as if I had gone daft.  Then he informed me of my daftness for Vietnamese cuisine wasn’t too high on his bucket list.  But once he imbibed in this dish, he was taken in by the wonderful flavors.

My wife came out of the Island shop and much to her surprise, she saw my brother-in-law and me up to our wrists in pho, looking like piranha feeding on an unsuspecting water buffalo who happened into the Amazon for a leisurely soak.

I don’t know who was happier at that moment, me or the store owner counting his fistful of cash as my wife and her sister were walking out of the store.

I will be pho-ever be grateful for discovering this new-found delicacy.

If you like this photo, you can see more of my photography here.

 

 

 

Reflections on the Louvre

IMG_2887 2 (1)Ah Paris, la ville des lumieres.

My dad sent me an email while ma jolie femme (my beautiful wife) and I were in Paris last summer. The email came on the last day we were in Paris. He said, “It must be beautiful there at night. I always wanted to see Paris at night.”

It suddenly dawned on me…

We had not really seen “The City of Lights”.

Paris was given the above nickname, La Ville des Lumieres, because it was one of the first European cities to use gas street lights and it was prominent in the Age of Enlightenment.  Now we did not see much of the physical lights of Paris and considering our lack of awareness as to our location most of the week, we did not feel too enlightened.  Nevertheless we had a good time slogging through the streets of Paris in hot and humid conditions, sans lumieres.

The previous week we spent in London, where the skies did not darken until about 10:00 PM. We were not accustomed to this, even with the much-anticipated switch to Daylight Savings Time in eastern Kentucky, where it gets dark a little after 9:00 PM. We still do the time change to aid the farmers, or the late-day yard mowers.  I belong to the latter group.

I thought in Paris it would get darker sooner since we were east of London. However, my internal compass could have been playing tricks on me since in Kentucky, Paris is slightly west of London. So give me a geographical break.

The summer days in Paris are llllooooonnnnggg and hot.  Due to the heat and humidity, and my 60+ yr-old body tiring more easily, we were back in our hotel room by the time it got dark.  The only lights we saw in Paris were generated by our handheld devices.

This last night, we tried to stay out past dark. As we were eating our last Parisian meal at a cafe called Le Petit Suffren.  I was about to fall asleep in my plate of tomatoes with mozzarella and pesto.  The beautiful Missus was dazed as she finished her chicken crepes.  We were both sufferin’.

We did see some lights of Paris during the day.  I took this picture while we were on top of an open air bus.  It is the reflections of light off the pyramid at the Louvre.

We actually were walking in Paris after dark the first night we were there, but we were lost and looking for our hotel.  We did get a glimpse of La Tour Eiffel dans les lumieres that showed itself between buildings. However, my wife playing the part of femme fatale in our little street drama was putting me in a compromising position of choosing between setting up a tripod for a photo or…actually there was no choice.  She was tired of walking and wanted sleep. When I slowed to a stop to reach for my camera bag, I saw the look.

No amount of French could pretty-up what she was thinking.

If you like this photo, you can see more of my pictures here.