Twisters

My head is spinning, my jaw is stiff, my chest and stomach a churning storm. A new thousand-piece puzzle is half done. I find comfort in its whirling colors, in the ways that abstract pieces slot together to create order.

It's Sunday. Which feels like eight years since Friday even though a mere 48 hours separates us. In that expanse, a high school classmate died suddenly and I feel unsettled; I finished the best book I've read in years and mourn the loss of the characters I'd become so fond of; my boys light me up and douse that fire too many times an hour to count. It is all enervating.

I'm just past the two-margarita ante. Percy is snuggled next to me on his throne, a large, cushy pillow I've given up on and bequeathed to him.

Inspired by the way we familiarized ourselves with London, we decided today to acquaint ourselves with a part of our own city that too often feels foreign. On a blindingly-bright afternoon, we paddle-boated around the Tidal Basin, two to a skiff, ogling the tributes to Jefferson and Dr. King, the quarried obelisk that stands proudly as a monument to Washington. Even though we were told not to, we dipped our hot toes in the cool water and relished it.

view of the washington monument from the tidal basin

We walked past the World War II memorial, an ugly, overwrought thing in my opinion, and towards the graceful reflecting pool and Lincoln's magnificent stead. We had Italian ices and ice cream. It was so hot. People mulled all around. It's Labor Day eve. Whatever that means.

I wish I could say it was all idyllic. I wish I could say it has been since.

But it wasn't and hasn't been, and maybe that's OK. Maybe that's life. But it sure feels hard.

Later, I attempted to stand up for something I believe in, which is the urgent need for more stringent gun laws and reasonable behavior. I tried to engage in conversation, share facts, challenge myths.

I realized, once again, that I would make a terrible politician because while I fervently support standing for something, standing on the just and right side of things, speaking for the underdog, fighting for the things I might be lucky enough to have but others don't, doing so terrifies and tires me. I wouldn't last ten minutes in Congress; I'd run out crying.

If I don't stand for injustices though, what do I model for my children? And so I try. I consider what Dr. King and Lincoln worked and fought for, and I remind myself of what they gave for those right ideals, and I think, "Well, I owe it to them and my kids to speak up against bigotry and ignorance." I do believe that.

But it's hard because people are entrenched and they're angry. And you know what? So am I. I don't want to hear any more from uninformed gun-lovers who want the freedom to carry guns in bars, on school campuses, in churches "just cuz." Who don't want background checks and regulations on clip size, who think more guns is always better. I think they're crazy idiots hiding behind an ignorant misunderstanding of the 2nd Amendment, and that's the truth. So, that admission made, am I any better? I simply hope I'm on the right side of history, which I believe I am, and that I inspire my children to stand for their beliefs.

At the two margarita draw, I tucked Ol into bed. He was snuffling and vexed, and I held him close and said, "Baby, please tell me what you're thinking." His lip trembled in that way that makes me double-sure that I'd do ANYTHING for him, and he shared some good, deep stuff, some of which I felt I knew just what to do about, just how to help. But for the rest?

"Mama, do you have a diffwent strategy I could twy?"

"I don't, sweet pea, I don't. I don't know all the answers, and I'm so sorry. But I can ask some people and try to find out if you'd like."

And he hugged me so tightly and said, "Yes, please. I love you, mama." And my heart broke just a bit because I don't always know, and I won't always know, and still he loves me so purely, as I do him.

I never wanted to leave his side but part of me wanted to leave ten minutes ago, because J also wanted to talk, and my husband, and the Sunday paper, and also that from last Wednesday which had an article I really wanted to read because the immigrant crisis, and those edits I needed to make two weeks ago, and yet another submission deadline I missed. And still tomorrow there is no school.

There is a new puzzle, a new game, walks to be had, time to be spent. I like to think these challenging times, in which everyone is tired and wishing for routine and in need of time apart, are, nonetheless, bonding us tightly. That one day, tomorrow or Friday or decades from now, we'll all be grateful we forged determinedly on. That we stood for beliefs and values and each other. That we admitted when we didn't know and tried to find answers when we needed them. That we loved enough, openly and in action, such that none of us ever doubted that.

Throw-out Thursday

I find myself quite glum this afternoon, though it's not been a bad day or even a bad week. Right now, in fact, I'm on my comfy couch, a pot of Lady Grey on the side table next to me, keeping warm under the tea cozy I eagerly bought at Windsor Castle because tea cozys are an item ludicrously hard to come by in the States. Isn't this one charming?

I'm spittin-fed-up with the grand douchebags of America, Orange Trump and Kanye Hubris; repulsed by Kim Davis and her gross bigotry (thank goodness she was just held in contempt of court and remanded to feds); sick of stupid arguments by many Republicans and Ohioans about the affront it is to President McKinley to rename Mount McKinley Denali, not least because Pres McK never visited Mount McKinley, and actual Alaskans are in favor of the switch; exhausted by images and stories of migrants dying horrible deaths as they desperately try to get to places where they can simply live safely and feed their families; and despondent over the partisan political ugliness that is not only hurting Americans but also making us look pretty silly abroad.

But I'm also past ready to break up with summer. It's been a good one, but it needs to wrap itself terminally shut pronto. I'm hangdog tired, hot, and desperate for a routine.

Jack has been in Colorado with my father-in-law since Tuesday. They enjoy hiking together so decided to go big and climb the last 4,000+ feet of Mt. Elbert this week. I'm so grateful that our boys have such involved, loving grandparents, and I'm thrilled for Jack that he had this opportunity. After yesterday's summit, they celebrated with dinner at a saloon in Leadville. I'll see my climber tomorrow.

Jack atop Mt. Elbert; no, I don't know what's all around his mouth.

Oliver and I have, in the past twenty-four hours, painted Halloween-themed items at a local pottery studio, seen the Shaun the Sheep movie, been to the bookstore, read, built, playdated, lunch dated, snuggled, talked ad infinitum about his many ideas for Halloween costumes, obtained a horcrux locket (Harry Potter, y'all), and negotiated just how many pictures of each thing he eats he can take with my phone before said eating commences: I found 19 of one slice of cinnamon bread from this morning, for example.

We have had such a marvelous time together, but he is, mercifully, now at my mother-in-law's house which is why I'm finally able to just sit my sad ass on the couch and drink tea uninterrupted by anything but Percy's revolting new habit of continuously digging in his ears with his back paw claws and then licking those like they're popsicles. 

For a variety of reasons, I today drove up and down northwest DC twice, into and out of Maryland and later to Virginia before trying to return home three hours later but discovering that I was out of gas. I cried for a full twenty minutes to an incredibly loving friend who just gets it. 

Who gets that while I'm grateful for our summer, the fabulous travel opportunities we've had, my in-laws, and all that jazz, I'm so damn tired that all I could do was weep. And I'm gonna tell y'all, it felt good. 

The older I get, the less I cry. By and large that's a pretty good trajectory, but it's also a definite result of feeling more and more that most people don't want to hear about the dregs of anything. And that, like the seemingly complete lack of real bipartisan conversation anywhere, is an enormous loss for everyone.

Percy has given up on his clawsicles, we finally got a bit of rain, and my tea is still warm. My cortisol level has subsided as I bask in this quietude that's mine for a couple hours more. I'm going to read my book, All the Light We Cannot See (which is fabulous and I am dreading the fact that if I keep reading, the story will end), and I'm going to breathe deeply and accept that we have four more days of "break" and will need to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Look what I saw today: if this can happen, well, onward ho! 

no filter!

Harry Potter and the Warner Brothers Studio Tour, London

It must have been when Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (#6) was released that T and I gave up trying to share a copy and instead each bought our own. That tactic continued through #7, HP and the Deathly Hallows, and I very clearly remember reading side-by-side in bed, both our noses buried in our respective books, flying through the pages as fast our eyes and brains could carry us. It was thrilling: the story; the fanciful shared flight; the total immersion in a great tale.

When I closed the back cover of the Deathly Hallows, I did so with real sadness. The epilogue was terrible and unnecessary, so certainly I mourned that rare misstep by Rowling, but most of my grief was because there was no more Harry Potter to be read. My maiden voyage with the series was finally over, and I considered that fact fairly awful.

The films, excepting number 4 (the Goblet of Fire which certainly deserved and needed the two-part treatment granted the Deathly Hallows, and was quite miscast) were marvelous and have provided repeat succor. David Yates really finished things off with a directorial bang; films 5, 6 and both parts of 7 were masterfully executed.

Jack was ensorcelled by Harry Potter when he started book 1 several years ago. We told him that as he finished each book, we'd all watch that movie together. (That means that second child Oliver has seen all the movies despite being only halfway through having book 1 read aloud to him. Alas.) J took a hiatus after book 6 but became re-energized early this summer when London started looming, so we encouraged him to read HP 7 so that we could watch the movie before heading here. He finished it a couple weeks ago and was as crushed as I was when he finished. To my delight, he immediately started reading the series again.

 All of us got to come full circle on our Harry Potter fandom yesterday when we trekked out to the Warner Brothers studio where much of each film was shot. There you tour many of the original sets, see thousands of original props, learn about the make-up and costume creations, see the blueprints and variously scaled models of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, etc, and also about how the creatures and other magical beings were constructed and filmed.

out front!

It was really an outstanding place that in no way disappointed; I absolutely had as much fun as the kids did. The attention to detail was inspiring: 17,000 wooden wand boxes labelled with hand-written notes; 400 place settings at the students' tables in the Great Hall whose real stone floor added to the grandeur of the set; various animatronic items that made magic come alive. In this case I think pictures say it all, so here you go. 

Harry Potter fans: what do y'all recognize? 

One of my favorite parts of the experience was the enormous range of people there. There were just as many teens as younger children, and adults of all ages were there with their families but also on their own. A number of people were dressed in costume. I heard at least six different languages being spoken and am certain there were many more in the (very well-managed) crowd.

What all that really proves is that Rowling touched a representative sample of everyone with Harry Potter. The series' demonstrations of kindness, hard work, loyalty and courage; portrayal of good and evil and the battle between them; honest take on fairness and justice as something that should be striven for but is often elusive in the real world; respectful treatment of children and the very real capabilities they possess; belief in the power of progressive education; and the wish so many of us have for magic to be real are appealing on multiple levels and in various ways. They are universal themes or goals that we can all understand and desire.

Everyone at the studio was a big fan having fun in the unabashed way children do. At the green screen station where you can "fly" on a broom and "drive" the blue Ford Anglia that Harry and Ron crash into the Whomping Willow, I donned robes (Gryffindor, naturally! The kids chose Slytherin- what?!)  and hopped on that broom as quickly as did the kids. It was such a blast.

Hilariously, Oliver wore a green shirt that exactly matched the green screen color and so on the screen looked invisible except for his head and hands. He said, "It's like I'm wearing the invisibility cloak." The people in line were laughing hysterically!

Tips for if you visit:

Buy your tickets well in advance and get to the studio early. Kids under 4 are free though I don't think this is a great venue for such little ones, and various packages are available. We bought the family package.

The tour is mostly self-guided though you can rent (~£4.99) an audio component for extra information. Tom really enjoyed all he learned via his. The boys and I just roamed and took in plenty that way. We spent about four hours total from lobby back to lobby.

The studio, which is in Watford, is about a 40-minute drive from London. You can take public transportation there but not in a direct fashion. We took an Uber which was easier, faster and not much more expensive than taking the tube and buses you'd need to otherwise.

You can bring your own food and drink which is lovely. If you don't feel like schlepping vitals out to the studio, the two cafes (Studio and Backlot) offer really nice salads, sandwiches, burgers and such at reasonable prices. The food is loads better than anything you'd find at an American studio or theme park. For example, I had a couscous salad with beets and goat cheese, and the boys had a beautiful hamburger on a glistening brioche bun that came with stunning lettuce leaves (NOT iceberg) and gigantic tomato slice. 

The gift shops are pricey though I admit that much (not all but much) of the merchandise is nice. We did a spin before going on the tour so the kids could be thinking about what they might want to spend their money on. I think that was helpful because as they went through the visit, certain things faded or became more beloved in their minds.
We've had the kids saving their own money from gifts and such and have asked them to buy their own souvenirs. It's been meaningful for them and a great lesson on budgeting, and hey, we are treating them to this trip. 

Bring a camera and wear comfortable shoes! 

Try to get a good night's sleep before you go. I hope you do. It's well worth it!

in Ollivander's