9. Bob Mascaro: You are the best, too.

10. Ford Excursions really do roll over folks.  We saw one Sunday.  Ugly.  Stuff from inside the SUV strewn all over the ground--looked like a yard sale smacked by a sudden windstorm--clothes scattered every which way.  The Excursion--purely bad--they might have survived and they might not have.  I like Fords but not that one.

11. Went to Boston area with Ty's safety patrol group about three weeks ago.  With our NY-centered group (Jill D excluded), it is easy to overlook the birthplace of the American Revolution.  Your life WILL NOT be complete until you go to the north bridge at Concord and reflect on the courage of the Massachusetts farmers who poured out from their comfortable homes on the early morning of April 19, 1775 to risk their lives and fortunes fighting the most formidable army in the world for freedom and independence.

12. Also got a tour of Fenway Park where those despicable Bosox conduct their obscene rituals.  Longest ball hit there was by a fellow named Ted Williams.  ???  Longest grandstanding-admiration-of-homer was by M. ("Mr. ADD") Ramirez.

13. Eddie, Tak, and I discussed contemporary political and social issues for approx. 15 hours this past weekend at Expedition House.  White paper to follow in short order.  Eddie will be filing a dissenting report on Les Pauls through Marshalls.

14. One bright moment of Tallahassee debacle: I babbled into the mic that, whoever could identify the original "author" of the lines I pilfered for In The Wilderness (the line, "Let us cross the river, rest up in the trees"), would get $500 from the barmaid.  Once guy shouts out, "Stonewall Jackson's last words!"  Right.  Only in the South.  The barmaid welched though.

15. I got two Delta Moon CDs.  Atlanta band.  Purported to be bluesy (and artful at it).  They suck--insufficient testosterone.  Next up, Drive-By Truckers based on Lindahl's recommendation.  I looked at their packaging--real cool cartoons of zombies, graveyards, alcohol, low-rent debauchery, etc.  But they appear to be involved in the always-fatally-flawed three-guitar lineup, a bad sign.

16. Stopped and saw brothers, Jack and Frank, last weekend on the way to Tally.  Jack married young and had two kids.  Then divorced and married a lady with three kids (total five).  Then her sister died (in March 2006) and they've taken in her four (total nine kids).  Their house is about 1,300 sq. feet "under air."  Yeow!  Bros. are building onto the gun shop and building a spec house.  Expanding Jack's house is next, they say.  Dragged Eddie, Bobby, and Ian into Newberry to meet two of my "most worthy" brothers.  Carl was not there--doing the good deed of driving Dad and Mom to Ohio.

17. Dad's lung operation was pretty rough.  The recovery too.  But he is getting better and he and Mom are back up in Ohio for the summer.  I plan to go up to Jorma's long-weekend guitar camp in early fall.  David Lindley's class was filled up so I might go back to re-take Guy Davis's Piedmont blues class (that I failed last summer).  If you want to puruse (sp?) it, punch "Furpeace Ranch" into the internet.

18. "Don't try out nice guitars" is rule 279b of the Modern American Male Guidebook.  I unwisely challenged that rule in early April and succumbed to a 57 Custom Shop Les Paul Goldtop.  Put it on layaway when times were good. Then April 15 came and brought with it a $6,000 tax bill/payment.  I eventually diverted enough money from my paycheck away from wife Penny's ever-vigilent eyes to pay the guitar off (total, about $2,775 w/sales tax), then found out that I can't play it at volume (read, wide-open loud).  The sustain never stops and each string's volume seems to be "equal" so I have to dampen strings with the palm of my right hand to slow them down or make them stop.  I love the rest of the guitar though; deep neck, beautifully exact intonation and fret-touch and finger-feedback.  Thought I'd have great fun with it, but so far, not.  Maybe it's my of-late pissy attitude in general.

19. Food for thought: Kevin McIver is the only constant between the beautiful work of The Bobs and DT Martyrs (latter lineup).  Hmmm.

Worked til about 2:30 on Monday. Drove down to Miami Int'l in a record one hour door-to-door, occasionally breaking out in a silly vacation song--"Mommy's on vacation, Daddy's on vacation, Tyler's on vacation too," etc.  Talked with some racing team guys returning to England from the 12 hour race at Sebring.  They remembered the one race I saw in about 1970 where a pair of four year old Ford GT-40s beat Andretti in a new Ferrari and several Germans in new Porches.  Later, I began work demolishing ten months of Atkins diet at airport Miami Subs.

Flight got off at 8:00 p.m. 747s are big and slow to take-off.  Watched one movie and three Dexter's Laboratory episodes.  Ty watched cartoons.  Fell asleep about midnight for 2-3 hours.  British Air has a video screen in the seatback directly in front of you so you can watch what you want from about 16 choices.  Unfortunately, when I woke at about 3 a.m., they had cut it off except for a map that tells you where you are.  They fly a route that curves on a flat map ("the great circle route").  Went real close to Nova Scotia, Greenland, and Iceland.  Had tailwind of 117 mph at one point and outside air temp of -57 degrees farenheit.  (Ok, so I'm naive--this is all very impressive to me).

We were flying into the sun so it was light by 3 a.m. Miami time.  Looked down over southern Ireland. Ty and Penny woke up.  I continued to refine my fake British accent (which Penny ignored to my chagrin).  Landed at Heathrow and met brother Frank and sister-in-law Adrianne.  Upgraded from a Ford Focus to a Volvo wagon (very wise decision--more room) and hit the road--actually the wrong side of the road.  Yes, driving on the left is tough but anyone can do it with a little concentration.

Got to our hotel in London and the "soaking" began.  We had booked our room through British Air and eighty-four dollars is a lot but Frank paid $165 for a non-reserved "walk up" room.  The rooms are small by American standards but everywhere we stayed, we had a shower.

Out to the British Museum.  Cold and windy.  Began sequence of chanting, "Wow, that's really old." Saw the Rosetta Stone, mummys, ancient artifacts, Roman stuff, lots of Egyptian stuff "liberated" from the Egyptians, etc.  Curiously, most of the items are catalogued in 19th century style, with the original old script writing near (or, in some cases, on) the item.  Frank and I agreed that British colonialism was not a bad thing.  Amongst other good points, the middle east was peaceful and progressive.  The British Museum is huge--at least 4 really big buildings--we had only seen the tourist-y one--and only 10 percent of that--when I hit the jet-lag wall.

Out to a pub for Brit food.  The next time someone says Brit food is no good, I will shift him/her into my "country counsin/urban stoop monkey trying to project image of a sophisticate" category.  Bangers and Mash are great (and only scratch the surface of Brit fare).  Forgot the nameof the "draw" Dave Fun suggested but I had some beer or ale thing that was real tasty (and no it is not warm, it is just not teeth-chillingly cold).  'Nother thing.  Here, the "soaking" really began in earnest.  Our dollar is worth about 0.56 pounds (sloppy-but-close-enough math, one pound equals two dollars).  The problem is that everything is priced as though the ratio is one-to-one.  Banger and mash lunch with beer--eight pounds.  No problem.  But sixteen dollars!!!???  Yeow!  Every time we sat down to fill and swill, it cost $50.  No wonder I spent way over $300/day, between the $135/night hotels and the $100 meals when we ate at the middle class restaurants, not to mention the $100 gas fillups, $10/day London traffic "congestion charge" and $16/day to park in London.  At the end I was saying to the local business criminals, "Here is my credit card. Soak what you need out of it."

Back to the hotel for a nap, then out to Convent Garden for dinner (100 pounds/$200 for five).  I had always thought that Richmond, Lancaster Square, Westminster, etc. were very far apart, but they are not.  It is more like NYC, Greenwich Village is one little area, upper east side is another little area.  It is like that--not nearly as far apart as Dania and Weston, for example.  The town is mostly a mix of imposing, stately, 18th and 19th century buildings.  Very impressive.  No wonder they thought they were the center of the world (and a case could easily be made that they were).

Day two.  Had a full English breakfast of eggs, ham/bacon, bangers (sausage), beans (yes!), toast, and coffee.  Then out to a tour bus on a very chilly, rainy, overcast day. Ty wanted to sit up top in the open air so brave Penny went up with him.  Eventually, the rest of us were shame'd into joining them.  Got screwed for $100 at an attraction called the London Doungeons where I had the only Pickett-fit of the trip.  Before we went in, I asked if there was anything "real" there.  They said yes but when we got inside, it was just a stupid Disney-like re-enactment of the plague and Jack the Ripper, etc.  I tried to walk out with dignity and temper intact, but they would not let us go so I said that I had been to Disney World, that there was nothing real here, that I had come from the USA and had only eight days in England and that this was wasting my valuable time, etc.  Because they wouldn't let us leave, I had to say this in front of the rest of our group of tourists (about 45).  When I did, they quietly escorted us out.

We quickly put that episode behind us and walked across the London Tower Bridge and over to the Tower of London.  It is not really a tower but is actually a ringed fortress (with many towers) and a castle in the middle.  We took a walking, guided tour.  Saw the crown jewels, where what the 19th century folks thought were the kid-princes' bones were found.  Saw where quite a few folks lost their heads, walked through the castle, saw real knights' and kings' body armour from the 13th and 14th centuries, saw hundreds of beautifully preserved guns, pikes, swords,and other fighting tools, and actual clothing from hundreds of years ago.  Continued chanting, "Wow, that's really old" (but history-sycophant that I am, I couldn't stop).

Frank assumed driving task and Adrianne navigated.  This permitted Frank to growl about missed turns without reservation of critisizing his older brother and allowed us to gaze out the windows without care for the left-hand thing.  They don't have many stop-lights there.  Instead they have "round-abouts" where everyone merges into a miniature Hollywood Circle and then races and cuts across to get to the street they want to get to -- a sort of cluster-f___-by-vehicle. 

By the way, they have some incredible vehicles there.  Ford markets at least three cars for which there is no American equiv.  Vans are tiny and narrow.  And there are some cars that are (seriously) no bigger than a port-a-potty on wheels (Frank's description, not mine, and Ty giggles like crazy about this)--two seats with an engine that must be under one seat because I don't see any other space for it.  They actively drive there--sort of like NYC.

Drove out of London at night.  Woke up for day three in a small country village--Chatham, I think.  Stayed in 14th century building.  Countryside like the most beautiful Georgia, or Saratoga, or New Hampshire spots you've ever seen AND THAT IS THE WAY IT IS ALL ACROSS SOUTHERN ENGLAND!  They mow out to the corners of the fields, no weeds grow up around the fences, back yards are called gardens with a reason: they are manicured!  Went into Norman-era country church with gravestones dating back to the 13th century.  Continuous Sunday services since 13-something A.D.  These little churches are everywhere you go--just like Dickens describes in his books.  Five minutes on the road and we ran across one of those little canal/waterworks you see in the picture-books, stopped and looked at it.  Eventually we quit stopping for this kind of thing because it is so common there.

Drove over to Canterbury and went throught the Cathdral where Richard Burton had Peter O'Toole murdered (or was it vice-versa?). Very, very impressive.  Gorgeous heavy architecture (sp?) and interior and religious (sp?) acruments.  The Anglicans are Catholics without the Pope so they go in for lots of symbolism and religious artifacts (not making fun here, that's just the impression of this Protestant-raised observer).  At least one king is buried there and many archbishops.  The cathedral is HUGE and takes at least two hours to just skim it.  One fellow--dubbed the "Black Prince" had to build a side-chapel to get dispensation to marry his father's cousin.  One fine thing, over there: they honor the local fallen soldiers with plaques enscribing their names for as long as the church stands.  Fitting tribute.  Later went to some excavations of the remains of the Roman section of the town unearthed during the Nazi bombings.  Intact flooring and walls, with many artifacts.  Great presentation too.

Then to Dover where we walked on the tops of the White Cliffs.  The Brits don't have hand-rails and park rangers telling you to stay back from the edge.  They have one small sign that basically says, "High Cliff -- If you fall, you will be hurt."  Really Great.  Ty racing up ahead on the cliffs sent Penny into a near state of apoplexy.  Of course, my only responsibility consists of intoning, "Oh Penny, he's a boy."  Clear, sunny day.  Could see a lot of French coastline.  Checked rental agreement--no travel to foreign countries.  Ferry-port under our feet and sheep-fields to our backs.  Beautiful.  Recommend.  Too late to go to Dover Castle.  Next time.  Drove along English Channel.  Ty, Addrianne, and I stuck our hands into the water and tasted it.  Predictably cold and salty.

Drove down to Hastings where the Norman Conquest more or less was decided.  The battlefield is now next to a little village called Battle. Walked the battlefield--very small.  Can see it all from one vantage point.  Only about 4,000 soldiers involved.  The ruins of a 13th century Norman abbey are there and the spot where the Saxon King allegedly fell is marked.  There is a boarding school there (you know--the Brit school system--kids sent away from Mummy and Daddy--wear ties and uniform jackets).  Still it was neat to watch them playing soccer in the slanting dusk sunlight on a chilly afternoon.  Stayed in a hotel with the Battle Abbey right outside our window.  Had dinner at Frank's urging at a place that served Belgian food.  We all passed out from pure pleasure.

Woke up on day four (if this is too long, print it and read in installments on the toilet).  Frank and/or Adrianne hit on the idea that we ought to get some coldcuts and bread (their bread is delicious) to save some money, so we did.  A lady told us about a nearby castle so we went.  Turns out it is one of the best preserved castle ruins in England.  Side note: had some knife graffiti from visitors in the 1800s.  Over-the-top gorgeous contryside. Also had a WWII pillbox on the grounds as it is near the coast and commands a view of a large valley.

Next, Churchill's home.  Most of the furniture is intact with lots of personal effects.  I revere Churchill as the greatest leader of the 20th century.  We all were in awe.  Best personal memory of the trip was watching Ty run down across 150 yards of English lawn to a little pond--seven year old boy running free in the sunlight--that's life.  And the "free" side of it due in part to Churchill.  Got lump in my throat reflecting on some of his oratory.

We were alternating Ty at night so Penny and I could have some private time together (a great suggestion by Frank and Adri).  Drove on.  Forgot where we stayed but next morning wasted 3 hours at British Army Air Corps Museum.  It is not the same as the Royal Air Force (stupid on my part--I was the one that picked it out) so we did not see one single Spitfire all the time we were there. 

Next, Salisbury, where we walked on an embankment put up by Iron Age people (Britons), inside which the Romans constructed a fort, and upon which the Normans constructed a castle, and which was later abandoned when the archbishop of Salisbury decided to move the cathedral and town about a mile away.  Then on to Stonehenge where I was disappointed to learn that the Druids probably had nothing to do with its building.  Then on to Bath, where there is a well-preserved, remarkably intact, Roman bath-house. We walked around quite a bit and (as in everyplace we visited, had a great time).  Bath has a lot of colleges and it was a Saturday night so the college kids were starting up for their Saturday night.  I get the impression that sex is less formal over there.  Not only does it just "seem" that way, but you see porn sold in the independent book shops.  Frank and I were standing on a main street in London--waiting on Penny and Adrianne--when he turned and looked into a bookshop display window.  There on the display shelf were 15 or so books--history, coffee-table, best-sellers, etc.--along with one open vagina cover fiction and one dominatrix fiction.  Also, the prostitutes leave picture-postcard advertisments in the telephone booths: "hotel visits, no rush."

'Nother thing: forget about finding and visiting the famous pubs/clubs.  The Marquee is closed and gone and the once-great Brit music mags are either gone (Melody Maker) or horribly morphed into disco/electonica swill.  I forgot to bring a copy of Mojo with me to check out shows and clubs so I saw nothing of Brit-rock history. 

That night we drove on to a small village and stopped for dinner at a pub (sometimes called a freehouse).  Ty and been wanting to play darts so after a great dinner (my last of bangers and mash--I finally got my fill), I talked to some guys at the pub and one of them offered to show us how to score etc.  (Everywhere we went the Brits were very friendly, even the ones with no commercial interest in us).  This guy's accent was very heavy so I was nodding my head and yeah-ing along at about a 50% comprehension rate for a while.  Ty and I were playing against him in a game of double-out 501.  Slowly I began to comrehend that he was telling me that he had been the doubles champion at prison!  Eventually he won and we thanked and retired.

The next day, I got up early and had another full english breakfast.  They still call little diners "greasy spoons."  It was near a train line with a station built in 1807 (not even close to historically significant over there).  A lady suggested we go over to a train yard in the next town where they maintain the steamers.  We did and were impressed by the heavyness of the locomotives and the difficulty (and danger) of working on them in the 18-19th centuries.  Amongst other things, somebody had get up real early to get the fires going and the steam up.  Onward to Monmouth in Wales.  Even more beautiful than what we already seen (which seemed impossible to us).  Stopped at a rural jumping-horse show.  Within five minutes and two miles, we drove on a one-lane country road through a stunning group of houses (less than a village, more like a corner) where they had a Royal Mail Box built into the stone wall, then (one mile later) on to the ruins of a Roman villa.  If you get out of the car every time this kind of sequence presents itself, you will only see 100 miles of England in a whole week.  It happens ALL THE TIME.

Next Oxford where we lucked upon an American student who took us through a chapel and told us a lot about the school system and Oxford.  Oxford is, according to her, several universities AT Oxford, not Oxford University (color me ignorant, but I didn't know that).  She was very helpful until I told her that Frank and I were of the opinion that British colonialism was a good thing.  She blanched and shut us down and ditched us.  Oh well, I was tired of her college-girl prattle anyway.  Stopped in a bed-and-breakfast halfway between Oxford and London.  Went out to a country pub. After another great dinner, Frank went over to the bar where 5-6 older gents had been drinking and told them he wanted to buy them a round because he appreciated the British committment to our action in Iraq.  They were very appreciative and said that the British people supported the American action (despite what the papers say).  They ended up buying Frank some drinks instead.  Adrianne, Penny, and I all wiped tears from our eyes in pride of Frank.

Up in the morning.  The farmer took Ty in a pick-up around the farm.  Showed him sheep, ducks, geese, etc. Then back to London (our last day in England).  By now, the accent that I had admired for many years was wearing on my nerves.  Think some of it was wearing on Frank too. He started to get in the mood for a Pickett-fit with a Brit taxi-driver who appeared to be driving us on a needlessly circuitous route to get to Dickens' house.  However, we didn't really have enough evidence to boil over so Frank had to let it go.  Dickens' house was great for me (with many thanks to Frank for foregoing the British War Museum to go to Dickens' house).  This was where he wrote Pickwick Papers and Great Expectations and where he lived during the early days of his well-deserved fame.  Has his writing desk and many pieces of furniture and artifacts.  Back to the British Museum (or was it first?) for more artifacts.  Out for one last Brit meal (though this one was really run by Czecks) then back to our hotel at Heathrow (where Frank shoveled out an all-time record $220 for one room for one night).

Our flight was kind-of early so there was still mist on the windows when I drove over to Hertz to check-in the car.  Apparently, I cut a guy off and he followed me into the parking lot to tell me my driving was "criminal."  Guess it was a real good thing that Frank did all the driving after the first day.  By the way, if you ever go, get an automatic.  We did.  It would be insane to shift with your left hand.  Flight back seemed to take three days.  Even Ty got his fill of cartoons.  When we got home, our front yard (huge) tree had blown down in a windstorm.  Some neighbors had cut a path to the front door and cut some branches to get it off the house.  Very nice of them.  Nevertheless, we were stunned.  Rented chainsaw, started out well, then buried it three times, yelled at Penny, guy came along and offered to saw it up and get the stump out for $300.  I figured, "Why not? I'm bankrupt now anyway."

Frank and Adrianne got a later flight, then had connections from NYC to Washington, then to Orlando, then to their home just outside Gainesville so they didn't get in until 2:30 a.m. Eastern time, which was 7:30 a.m. English time.  Brutal.

My pics are not that good but Penny's are digital and we haven't looked at them yet.  Apologies for overuse of the "I" word.  We all had a great time.  Penny and Ty were their usual great traveling selves.  Like every vacation we've ever taken, I realize how very lucky I am.  And Frank and Adrianne were absolutely perfect--adding so much to this vacation that we would not have done without them.  More and varied conversation.  More sites (we would never have gone to any cathedrals).  More travel.  Frank drives faster (and safer) than I do and Adrianne navigates with the precision and gravity of a bomber pilot.

Well, that's it. I'm sure I've forgotten some great things but oh well ....