(The is the sixth in a series that begins with A Night in Steerage.) First of all, Beaulieu is pronounced “Bew-ly.”  Again I had been saying it as though I was in French class.  Sue said “Bew-ly” from the start. “How did you know that?” I asked. “That’s just the way we’d say it.” “You  Read the Rest…

(This is the fifth in a series that begins with A Night in Steerage.) Saturday, June 11 arrived.  This was the day I had planned my entire trip around.  The day of the St Leonard’s Church village fete.  We’ve all seen fetes on PBS mini-series: the big hats, the tea tent, local musicians, crying children,  Read the Rest…

(This is the fourth in a series that begins with A Night in Steerage.) One of the features of the day I spent in Bristol was that I didn’t have to know anything.  I didn’t have to look at timetables or figure out where stops and stations were.  I didn’t even have to know what  Read the Rest…

(This is the third in a series that begins with A Night in Steerage.) Glastonbury is a mere 3 ½ miles from Butleigh but it takes two buses to get there. The main road is too dangerous to walk and even if one were to brave it, it would be unpleasant what with cars whizzing  Read the Rest…

(This is the second in a series that begins with A Night in Steerage.) Butleigh is a small village in Somerset, a county west of London, north of Cornwall.  In previous trips to England I have spent most of my time in Cornwall because that is where I, in a sense, came from.  My great  Read the Rest…

I just returned from three weeks in England.  The plan was never to write blog posts while I was there because it takes me four hours to do a decent one and quite frankly I was too busy having fun.  But here is the first installment with many more to come as I attempt to  Read the Rest…

I leave for England in less than a month.  I am in the most delicious phase of anticipating the trip, the one where departure is actually in sight.   The next most delicious phase is after you’ve come home and slept a few nights in your own bed. The actual travel is arguably the least fun  Read the Rest…

It’s been a month of extremes, starting with a long quiet June weekend on Whidbey Island.  I stayed at Windhorse, a Buddhist retreat center at the end of a long road and situated in the middle of the woods. Perched on a hillside are three well-appointed little meditation cabins and the Buddha House, a large  Read the Rest…

For my annual pilgrimage to Walla Walla, I decided to fly instead of drive. I hadn’t flown since 2009 so I was rusty on the procedure. I scored an expedited pass so I didn’t have to take off my shoes, but the water bottle I meant to leave in the car was still in my  Read the Rest…

My Little Dorrit story begins months before I ever launched myself on my current Summer of Dickens project. I was browsing in the library to see if there was a book on tape not by an author whose paperbacks could insulate a McMansion. I saw Little Dorrit. “Oh. Little Dorrit. I’ll try that.” There were  Read the Rest…