Stories from London...

Because I believe every day has at least one good story, and because I agree with Kate DiCamillo that "stories are light" in a dark world, here are a few to share with you from the last couple weeks.

I'm living with a four-year old Ethan who likes to call me by every name under the sun other than my own.  As I casually slurp my potato stew for dinner, he suddenly looks up and me and grins.  "Hello Fork," he says, smirking.  "Hello Hair, Hello Lettuce, Hello Carrot."  He continues naming me with every inanimate object in sight.  Of course I responded in fashion ("Hello Ear"), and the madness continues.  His sister, Emeline, tells me that I will never win, since he can and will go on forever.  "He does this all the time at home," she says.

I'm in London right now for the semester and we met our neighbor the second night - a kind man named Roger.  He told us all about the area around our house and all the good places to see art, authors giving lectures, public debates, bookshops, performances, and the like.  At the end of his talk with us he said, "Now,

 do you believe in accidents or purpose?  because if you believe in purpose - that every meeting happens for a reason, and every moment is working together for some unseen vision to take place - then every meeting, every moment - life itself becomes Extraordinary."  It made me smile.

After stopping by Shakespeare's Globe, which wasn't all that similar to his real Globe, according to our guide, we waltzed into St. Paul's Cathedral  and climbed the 257 stairs to the Whispering Gallery above the choir.  This may have been a most bothersome venture but for the little British schoolboy who was proudly showing his Pa how well he knew his numbers.  Proudly, that is, until he got to the very top.  "Two-hundred twenty-six, two-hundred twenty-seven...two-hundred twenty-EIGHT!  There's 228 stairs, Dad!" "228, good job son," added his Pa.  "No, 257," said an elderly woman matter-of-factly, "you must've lost a few." I was in shock - the nerve!  To this his Pa added, "You must have lost a few, son."  

Unbelievable.

While traveling about the city we came across a grand statue which read the following:  "Milo the Cretonian / Who an Ox slew with his fist / and ate it up in one meal / Ye gods, what a glorious twist."  Upon some consideration, we took this to mean that an overzealous ox took hold of Milo's fist and killed the poor fellow with it.  After which, he detached the fist and gulped it down in one sitting.  Thus, the glorious twist.  And a lesson to us all in pronoun usage.