Happy 7/11-it's been a journey!

A journey is made up of the unlimited steps we take in a day, a week, and a lifetime. I am blessed that I can add a day or two here and there to my work travels.  I'm also blessed that in most of the locations I go, I have family or friends that willingly spend time with me.

But the most difficult journey is the one I take on my own; the steps forward in life that I make based on my gut and on the facts and circumstances of the moment.  I don't mind, in most circumstances, being alone.  Or I didn't think that I did.

More so than ever, I find myself fearing the journey into the future.  I don't seem to like my forties.  My history no longer is a living history.  My Gran has been gone for many months, yet I hear her voice and her laugh in my head. I hear her tell me that "I do not like it, no I do not" and she spurs me on to do what I must regardless of how difficult the task might be.  I remember to maintain her positive outlook of "Living and Giving" but she's not there to hold my face, kiss my forehead and transfer her confidence in me to me.  My Aunt Lee is no longer there to fry the taco shells while my Gran makes the taco meat and grates the cheese for the huge family dinners that were boisterous, crowded, and delicious. Birthdays aren't celebrated with Aunt Lee's birthday cakes and Grans bellowing and off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Graduations aren't punctuated with her smiling pride in her off-spring's accomplishments. 

 What is missing is her impact on my future, because she's not in my present.  My Gran was my emotional reservoir I visited when I needed to regain my peace. Now, I'm flying solo.  My oldest is becoming a strong and compassionate leader among her peers with a strong unwavering faith in God, much like my Gran.

My middle is bewilderingly smart, empathetic, and fascinating. For the past year, my big gained an unprecedented independence at college.  In a year, both will be gone from my nest and my day to day life.  My little soon turns into a teen and it will be just the two of us at home-or rather me struggling to keep up with him as he creates his high school career.  

I find myself fearing the increasing quiet and solitude that is coming.  I ask myself if I will fill my time in ways that fill my heart and bring me joy or if I will bury myself in noble pursuits- like work?  Will my children desire to spend time with me after working so hard to separate from me as teens? Will I survive not being their first thought and caregiver?  

My large, loud, laughing childhood family of 24 cousins, 13 aunts and uncles, five grandparents, and 24 great aunts and uncles has dwindled to a trickle of people.  My cousins are flung across the country; I don't know their children very well, and haven't even met a few of them. My aunts and uncles have grandchildren now, and I am not in the hustle and bustle of their celebrations.  I have no grandparents left.  My great aunts and uncles can be counted with just a few fingers. My only niece and nephew were "lost" in my divorce.  I've gone from a family that needed a small circus tent for family reunions to one that could gather in a motel bathroom with plenty of room remaining. 

The changes are part of the journey, I know. I try to accept them with grace but they are difficult. Being alone was never on my "bucket list", after all.  My Gran had great faith that everything would work out just the way God planned.  I try to follow her lead. 

The steps of the last nine months have been a winding and difficult journey navigating unchartered waters without my Gran as my compass.  I do not like it, no I do not!  But I know she is with me still in the little ways that bring me peace, steer me in the right direction, and keep me on course.  I wish her a very happy, heavenly, birthday and I look forward to spending it with my family-whether in a circus tent or the motel bathroom-because gathering to enjoy our family is the greatest gift she gave to me. Happy Birthday, Gran. May we all raise a toast on 7-11!

The End of the Journey, the Beginning of Everlasting Life.

Life is about the journey, right?  The way in which one travels the journey is the outward expression of ones most inner thoughts.  A happy outside facade would generally mean a happy inside person.  I know it is possible to fake it until you make it_i've done it_but if one is consistently smiling and happy on the outside I truly believe one is happy and at peace in one's heart. Today I had the personal displeasure to attend two funerals.  (If you count the Grammys last night, I also attended one mass wedding-I think there is a movie in there!) It was a sorrowful morning celebrating the lives of two people in two stages of their lives. 

The services couldn't have been more different, but were strangely similar.  The first was for my great Aunt.  She was in her nineties and had made her peace with the earthly life.  She was and had been ready to pass on for some time.  Her service was a traditional Catholic funeral mass.  Her casket was draped by my mom and by her sister with the tradional white cloth that signifies the deceased life in Christ, it was sprinkled with holy water in remembrance of baptism, and a crucifix was placed upon the casket. There were bible readings and prayers and the holy communion. The familiar and predictable was a comfort. The priest gave his homily about the unknown of the next world and the comfort in the known of the earthly world, but that the true joy and celebration comes from entering the Kingdom of God. The church was peaceful in its simple architecture.  The participants were few in number and close in heart.  When you outlive nearly all your seven siblings and their spouses, there aren't many left to attend your final celebration. My Aunt worked all her life in the accounting department of several companies. She cared for her nieces and nephews although she didn't have children of her own.  She was stoic and resolute, but wanted only the absolute best for you and from you. In the last few years, my youngest visited her often and he always left her with a kiss.  It was in these brief moments that her heart was bare and open. I saw her in a different light; she simply relished being loved by another human being. In some ways, I'm very much like her.  I keep people at a distance and I have firm ideas of what works and what doesn't_but when I am kissed and hugged by my children I relish the love that washes over me.  It is in that moment that I have no doubts, no fear, and no regrets. 

The second funeral was for an employee's father.  She is so young and has a one year old daughter. Her father was a military man and had a great love of his country and his family.  I think of all the milestones he will miss, and I know how grateful my young employee must be that her daddy was able to dance with her at her wedding and to see his first grandchild. His service was not based in a religion but based in a faith in God and the everlasting Kingdom.  There were no familiar sequence of events to to bring peace to the difficult time.  She struggled to remain collected.  When the time came she gave a moving euology of her dad_her hero_and found the humor her dad had taught her to find in difficult situations. She reflected on all she had learned from him_most notably the flexibility to find happiness and opportunity in all that life dishes out. I never met him, but he has a terrifically smart and kind daughter who most obviously grew under her father's tutelage.  His service was attended by so many that there was an overflow room, and yet it was still standing room only.  He was a member of the Patriot Guard Riders. At the invitation of the family, the group attends the funeral of military, police, and fire service men and women.  Although not a requirement, the majority of them are motorcycle riders.  His colleagues attended in full force. The rooms were over flowing with leather chaps and vests, do-rags, steel tipped boots and military regalia. These men and women rode their motor bikes in the sub freezing weather to honor their deceased ride captain.  For at least an hour, they created a path from the parking lot to the front door lined with men and women standing at attention. Inside, there were at least 25 or more riders.  The chapel was full of Patriot Guard Riders and Combat Veterns Motorcycle Association members. These are tough men and women with very tender hearts. The rooms were also over flowing with tears. Tears at the loss each one of us felt. 

Her dad was about the age of my grandfather when he passed away_also far too young with so many milestones ahead of him.  His service reminded me of everything and everyone that has left me during my adulthood. My Aunt was ready to go on. My employees dad wanted to stay. My Aunt struggled for so long in uncomfortable health. My Grandmother passed so quickly that I was not prepared., but she did not suffer in pain for long.  My employee was devastated by the loss of her dad.  Her dad was strong; she is strong; my Aunt was very strong and my Grandmother was strong. I know I am strong although at times I wonder if I can do it all. 

We all will find the pleasure in life again, both earthly and heavenly. In the last five months, I have attended four funerals.  I can honestly say, I'm done.  I am weary. I seek the refuge of funny happenstance and the joy of the simple. In this journey of life, we rarely get what we want.  But we must be strong enough to fight on in the face of adversity and flexible enough to be open to the possibilities before us. May all the angels in heaven watch over us, both the experienced and the new. 

European shopping restraint

Shopping in Europe, at least in Munich, Paris, and London, is an exercise is restraint.  Not restraint on my part, but restraint by the shop. Whether you are shopping for food items, make up, dishes, textiles, or even clothes, the selection is limited. When we walk into a US Target or a grocery store or department store, there are a million and one options in each category.  Need pasta? There are 16 types of the flour and water mashed up combination made by at least four or five brands taking up 10 feet of space times five shelves.  There is A LOT of pasta options. 

Walk into the typical shop in Europe and the entire shop could fit in the cafe area of most Targets. The shop will have pasta, but it is likely to be three types made by two brands, if you are lucky. And there won't be 30 or 40 packages of each type; there may be five or so packages of each type. The result is that you find what you need and use it, rather than hoarding more than you can use in a relatively short time. 

The shop must make decisions about what it's consumers will need and want because space is at premium. After all, in the remaining space the shop must fit the entire grocery store worth of categories.  The small Euroean shop has all the same items the gigantic American store has, just less of every item. 

This phenomena holds true across the board. The only stores I found that resembled an American way of shopping where the large high end department stores like Selfridges in London.  Inside this store, there were lots of options taking up lots of floor space with a lot of area between racks. Most shops were boutique size requiring me to say "excuse me" to the three or four people jammed into the bathroom stall sized space just to get to the next rack. 

In Paris, we arrive just in time for the Soldes! InJanuary the Parisians have their mega sales. From what I could tell this event is on par with the American after thanksgiving mad rush. The sales begin with 50% off and by the time we left 5 days later, the discounts had increased to 70%.  Because I am very frugal (aka cheap), I got pretty excited by this prospect.  However, the starting price of clothing is ridiculous.  Levi jeans were priced in excess of 200€ ($250). I saw a pair of jeans in a very small boutique near the Louvre for 649€! Suddenly, I understood why the Europeans have one of everything and generally in black or brown. 

Paris is the land of black, white, gray, and browns.  Honestly, the Champes Élysées was a sea of people in black. If there was any color, it was a scarf or on rare occasions a sweater or coat. It was easy to stick out like an American with all our colors unless you consciencously  decided to leave your colors behind. London was more eclectic with its color choices-meaning they actually wear colors! 

There are the American shops on the Champes Élysées , including the Gap, Abercrombie & Fitch, but my favorite was Sephora.  It was GIGANTIC!  It was beneath our hotel, and was twice as big as any I had seen in the US.  We went inside to fight the crowd, but I will admit I was disappointed because aside from the language being spoken, it was exactly the same.  It seems that Parisans take their beauty very seriously and that the way to go is to make it as American as possible! 

There were some super extravagent shops for cars! 

And of course, I stopped to window shop in Paris:

And in London:

In London I found the most gigantic nespresso store:

However, my big shopping purchase was baby spoons for coffee and hot chocolate and comfort pads for my shoes.  

By necessity Libby purchased (well, I purchased for Libby) a great luggage set which we got at a tremendous deal! And it's a great dance partner-nothing beats suitcase dancing in the hallways of one's hotel.

Shopping is a dance-a dance to find the right item at the right price.  Libby and I danced and danced our way through Paris and London. Life is really a dance too_find the right item at the right cost_for me I found the trip of a lifetime with my only daughter after saving a little bit every day for four years. It costs me a tiny bit each day for the ultimate 12 day item at a value I loved_priceless. 

Living it up in London.

Our big Saturday night in London consisted of walking about in Piccadilly circus_the London Times Square_finding China Town for a bite to eat, stopping for a brew in an English pub, and walking for miles.

My long time friend from "Uni"_a short-hand term for University_met us in London.  She lives north, in Scotland, somewhere near Aberdeen. She flew into London and played tour guide.  This was a nice relief for me because after so many days of doing the unknown, it was getting a bit tiresome to be in charge.  It was quite nice to rely on another to put the plans into place.  Our first venture was a walk past Big Ben, to the tube and up into Piccadilly Circus. And a circus, it was!!!  Traffic going every which way, people everywhere, and signs that light the area up to a mid-day glow. We were still in the hunt for a suitcase for Libby to replace the one broken during journey in the Chunnel. We stopped in a number of places, comparing selection, price, and utilitarianism. Our shopping brought us to Traflager Square.  Also crowded with people, the car traffic is limited to the outside borders.  

Here we ran into a "hen party." This is the British equivalent of a bachelorette party, except all ages are included_well, all of drinking age_grandmothers, aunties, and the peers of the celebrated bride.  It appears that it is custom or at least trendy to dress in the same costume.  These girls all had pink tutus, pink balloons, and sashes. 

Note the cigarette in the hand of the gal in the picture above?  This was a curious thing in Europe, they still smoke, although it is banned inside buildings, but not in pubs. On each box there is a big sticker that simply says "smoking kills." Apparently, this marketing effort is lost on the folks abroad as well. 

In Traflager square sits a Swiss clock that would be called a glockenspiel in German.  On the hour it plays a tune in bells and has characters that move about.  It was very fun to see and reminded me of my time in Germany. It originally was inside a building on the square, but the M&M megaplex of a store replaced it with a giant disco ball and the clock was relocated into the square itself. 

Notice the McDonald's? Yes, the McDonald's and the M&M store face each other on the square.  America is oozing out of our borders, but clearly not with our best foot. 

Up from the square is London's China Town complete with red lanterns strung across the old granite cobble streets. 

It is a busy place with cafés and restaurants full to the brim and lines out the door.  In each of the shop fronts, chickens or ducks hang roasted golden brown. Slightly gross to me, but apparently quite normal here. 

We ate at a buffet so we could try many things.  London Chinese cuisine does not have Crab Rangoon, but they have these things I used to call crabby chips when we lived in Germany. (Also no Crab Rangoon in Germany.) They are white styrofoam looking chips that have a hint of prawn flavor.  Mostly, they are devoid of taste in my opinion. 

Filled up on London style Chinese food we travelled to the be-all-end-all location for me. Selfridges.  If anyone has been watching the same named show on the BBC, you will know that this store was opened in the early 1900's by an American businessman.  He, at least according to the BBC show, revolutionized the shopping experience.  At a time when products were put behind counters and were brought to you by the store staff based upon their recommendations, he put the merchandise out on display for the consumer to touch, view and decide upon. He also moved the perfume counter to the front and center of the entry into the store rather than hidden on the floors below.   It was not proper for a lady of the time to openly purchase make-up or perfume so one did it "on the down low." 

In the show, the building is grand and glorious.  The building is still beautiful on the outside. 

but the beautiful staircase and ornate woodwork inside is now missing.  It is a big glaring loud mess, even with the perfume counter being front and center.  Look around my photobombing daughter for a view of the harshness of the lighting, colors etc. As if they are trying to apologize, take a look at the entry which retains its original wood and metal work. *sigh* 

It is a monstrous building though, and does have an enormous food hall. A food hall is a combination of high end market and cafe style high end food court. I saw everything from macaroons to sushi. In the picture below, the tiled floor is the food hall. 

After miles of walking and browsing, we stopped at a pub for a pint. Libby is of drinking age in Europe which allowed her to join us in our festivities.  How lovely that she and I shared her first experience at a bar together, thank you Lord. 

In the pub, even if you are ordering food, you go to the bar to order.  Libby word not order for us, so mom saved the day by ordering a Stella for her and a Guinness for me.  My friend had a wine, which was poured from a tap!  Boxed wines have a new found respectability for me. 

A Guinness in Europe is very different from one in the states. I have concluded that it must not travel well.  I do not like Boddingtons in the US, but I do like Guinness.  The Guinness I had at the pub did not have the strong after taste and the head was much much creamier.  Libby did not care for it at all, however. 

Since we had fortified ourselves with the grain of life, albeit in liquid form, we set forth on our return journey "home" to the hotel, stopping along the way for an obligatory selfie of all of us. 

Please overlook the triple chin-I haven't mastered the selfie yet.  But I am quite in love with my Downton style hat! 

It was a fabulous evening with my KD sisters (one of which is also my real life daughter.) The lesson of the night is that the friends one makes in Uni are friends that will see you through life.  Even if you aren't super close in Uni, there is a bond that transcends time and distance.  I am grateful for all my friends, those near and dear and those far and fabulous.  Each of you make my life richer. Cheers! 

United will fall because United fails.

In the greater scheme of things, the trials of the trip home were not enormous.  Clearly, we had full bellies, clothes on our backs, and were returning from an amazing 10 days in Europe.  Our troubles result from the inexplicable lack of responsibility of (1) corporate America and (2) the dribble down effect it has on its employees.  

United, as a corporation, is focused on the profits it can derive from its average of more than 5,300 flights to more than 370 airports across six continents in any given day.  It employees 85,000 individuals.  Each one of those make up the face of United. United's focus should be its profits, after all this is the backbone of capitalism.  However, when the sole goal is profits without regard to the quality of the product or service, the scheme begins to fail. United failed. The individuals that I encountered failed.  I did not see pride in their company, in their position, or in their individual work ethic. 

The individual or department that opted to have our connecting gate be as far as logistically possible from the international arrivals should be fired. If United books the dang last leg of the flight and allows for an hour and half layover to get through customs, locate ones bag, dump it immediately on a different conveyer belt, pass security (again), and hustle through the airport, then the least they could do is put the connection at a logistically possible location to reach. 

But, I know logistics can be a challenge.  I can even give them that the Kansas City connection likely has the fewest possible passengers making a connection. However, the fact that they closed the door ten minutes early is NOT ok. Especially, given we ran through two terminals and took a train to get to the other terminal and reached the gate with time to board-at least two minutes. Further frustrating the entire experience was that the plane was STILL at the gate. I asked them to open the doors again, and of course they wouldn't.  So there we were at our gate, looking at our plane, and denied access. Clearly, this was a problem not of our making. United created this problem, but they would not solve the problem. 

We had passed a customer service desk just three gates down from ours.  At the time, I noted its location but given more time to mull over the situation I now find it especially curious that there is a permanent customer service desk with three employees set up in this terminal.  The A terminal is an added on after thought which required us to take escalators up, escalators down, passing through some sort of airlock and going down another flight of steps.  Why is there a customer service desk in this after thought of a terminal?  My guess is that it has something to do with the complete lack of focus on anything other than money.  My guess is that United has innumerable passengers daily that miss connections that require rebooking assistance. While the customer service desk is a handy and somewhat helpful response to a clearly repeating problem, wouldn't it make more sense to address the problem? That is-why not close the doors to the plane at the designated time_or at least the appropriate time_ rather than rebooking angry passengers? 

United, shouldn't the focus be on NOT having a problem rather than on correcting a repeating problem that you caused? If United made a product, rather than provided a service, the fact that their product didn't work a predicable number of times would put them out of business.  Can you say YUGO?  

The customer service agent, to whom I really did try to be nice as it was not going to benefit anyone for me to be snarky to her, did attempt to get us out of Washington the night we arrived. The customer service agent told us United had no additional flights that night after looking in her computer. I had gotten on Kayak.com immediately upon entering the queue.  Kayak said United had seats available on the 9:51 pm flight into MCI.  I told the customer service agent this and she was nice enough to look through her computer again, but said there were none.  I gave her the flight number, the name of the carrier dba United and still she said none were available.  Given that United, and all other carriers as far as I know, operate on the amazingly antiquated AS400 terminal system (computer talk from the late 70's I think) and that Kayak operates on this newfangled invention we call the internet, I'm betting there were seats available.  But I can't manufacture my own boarding ticket and was at the mercy of this woman. 

She did offer us seats out of Reagan on USAir, but there were a few catches.  We'd have to get to Reagan on our own and on our own dime.  It is a long and expensive taxi ride.  It also required that we would be able to do it in a very tight time schedule in order to make the 7:30 flight.  We were in Washington DC during rush hour the day before a giant snow storm was to hit at a terminal as far away from the main airport concourse as was possible.  There was an unbelievable high probability that this feat could not be accomplished even by the most seasoned and experienced traveler. 

Out of options, we were booked on a flight the next morning.  I asked for a voucher for a night accommodation.  She gave me an advertisement for a number to call to get a discount for airport lodging but absolutely not a voucher, nor any overnight necessities_toothbrush,  comb, sleeping clothes, meal voucher, drinking voucher (which clearly I needed by this point)_not even a smile or and apology as she scooted us on so she could assist the next person in the line which had mysteriously grown by at least 50 people. 

Libby was struggling to hold in her sobs as we stepped away from the desk.  She needed to get to Lawrence to get to the first day of classes.  You have to admire the kid for being so dedicated to school.  I tried to calm her down and told her I would spend my entire day shuffling her to campus and back home so that she didn't miss any class.  Her dad, bless his soul, has a way with her that can calm her.  He sent her a text and she found her composure again. 

Her dad also helped me get the number of the marriott at the airport because in the dungeon terminal I was in I couldn't get cell reception or wifi to search the internet.  I could get calls and texts sporadically. Of course, the speakers were up so loud in that terminal I couldn't hear on my phone, nor could the person on the other end hear me.  I am convinced the speakers are turned up to muffle the end of irate passengers screaming at the stupidity of United. 

Oh, and did I mention that on the international leg of the flight, United closed the duty free shopping an hour and half early so that the attendants could go on break?  Yes, I had two purchases I wished to make and they would not reopen duty free.  The attendant offered me a drink or a small bottle of champagne instead.  Uh, that's not really going to assist in my gift purchase.  Although, if I knew what was ahead of me, I would have taken it and one to go. 

I feel for the poor folks that did purchase duty free liquor though.  After standing for an hour plus and getting through customs, picking up our bags and depositing them on another conveyer belt to be sucked into the bowels of the airports, and while standing in line for the security re-screen, the border agent or the TSA agent announced that if your duty free liquor was more than three ounces you could (1) turn around and go back and check it (uhhhh-the bags were already on the conveyer belt to be transferred to the connecting planes) or (2) pitch it. Wouldn't that have been good information to have before United took the money for the liquor? Or at least posted at the baggage transfer area? 

The $300 I spent to stay an additional 15 or so hours in Washington DC due to no fault of my own, isn't massive in the overall scope of my income, but it is four months of fuel for the car, a month of groceries, or a lot of fun activities for the family. The almost conspiratorial set of coincidences that set up my additional expenditures makes me wonder if this isn't somehow part of United's business model .  After all, the government collects various statistics about airlines_on time departures, capacity of flights,etc.  If I am rebooked, do I get counted twice as a passenger and on two different days? If they would have opened the door of our connecting airplane after closing it, it definitely would have changed the statistics and likely made the flight a late departure. I know the crew only begins being paid after the doors close, so they have no incentive to reopen a airplane door. The whole scheme is flawed. For the price of my ticket, I would expect a modicum of professionalism.  It is a sad state of affairs that people do not take pride in their work, company, or themselves. 

As far as I know, I did everything I should: I had a printed boarding pass, I was prepped and ready for customs,I passed security quickly and efficiently, I complied with all regulations, through no fault of my own my connection left without me, I requested rebooking, I requested overnight accommodations, I requested a meal voucher, and an overnight necessity bag.  What did United offer me? An advertisement to call for discounted hotel rates. Is United in cahoots with the airport hotels? 

United, you fail and United you fall. Today begins my campaign to make sure that United's CEO Jeff Smisek hears my voice, and the voice of all United travelers that this situation is not acceptable.  I hereby declare myself the squeaky wheel. Mr. Smisek, you will hear from me.  

Harry Potter meets Libby

(Queue Hewdigs theme) The fade in begins with the excited Libby walking across Westminster bridge to catch the tube to find Baker Street stop with a short walk to Dorset park off Marylebone to catch the Harry Potter transport bus. 

Then an hour ride to north suburb of London to the actual filming lots of the Harry Potter films.  We began by entering the great hall, which is considered a hot set_meaning it could be used at any minute to film a scene.  We had to be very careful not to touch anything, but it was hard.

The sound stage for the great hall did not include the ceiling.  The ceiling was a scaled model which was stitched to the scenes in post production.  It was amazingly intricate, as were all of the sets.  

Then, we entered into a large area that had many different sets and loads of props. To me, this was educational but to Libby this was UTOPIA! 

See the two young children?  The youngster in the back was very polite and tried to avoid my pictures.  The youngster in the front was a screaming meemy who was so disruptive that I considered calling the police to arrest the parents who were paying no mind to his horrid behavior. (Bring in Super Nanny!)  He ended up in three of my pictures and I asked his mum to move him.  She refused, despite my asking several times.  She told me, while smiling, to take my picture. I replied I would as soon as she removed her child.  She never did, obviously.  So, when she went to take pictures of her family in front of the gate, I photo-bombed the photo.  Now I am sure we both have interesting stories to tell.  I wished I had a copy of her photo. I was THIS close to causing an international incident. 

Thankfully, the potion classroom set was nearby and I secured an accurate potion to add a tail to the little monsters mum! 

I was quickly brought to Dumbledore's study to explain myself. 

Off we went for many other stops in the ministry of magic.

And visits with important people...

Then a butterbeer on Privet Drive. 

Finally, the knight bus home (just kidding, we had to take the real transport.) 

Remember, folks, happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light. 

Tower of London, Shakespeare and my knight.

It was a lovely start to our day crossing the Westminster bridge to set off on the Thames river to the Tower of London. If you remember, there were a number of historical figures that made this same journey knowing they would be losing their head.  Luckily,we did not have to enter by traitor's gate. 

Anne Boleyn, Sir Thomas Moore, and many Catholic priests were put to death after entering through this gate. It was during the reign of King Henry VIII that the tower earned its reputation.  The tower was originally a medieval palace and consisted of a few small rooms, the much larger Kings bedroom, and a tiny chapel that was decorated  poshly for the times. 

Later, it was used as a prison, especially for traitors of the state. Many messages from Jesuit priests were carved into the stone of Salt Tower prior to their beheading. 

The Tower of London is also the home of the Beef Eaters.  They are an elite group of military men who have met a certain set of criteria. It is a high honor to be named to this elite guard.  They are extremely knowledgable about the history and rumors of the tower. 

The Tower Bridge, commonly mistaken for the London Bridge, was our next stop.  It was an engineering marvel of its time and still houses the steam locomotives that powers the draw bridge.  It is raised at least twice a day to allow taller ships to come down the river a little farther. 

The machines were gigantic and beautifully maintained. The brown trout in the Thames didn't seem to affect the operation. (No comments!)

Finally they had directions I could follow...of course they led to the gift shop. 

After the trip to the Tower Bridge we walked to the Globe Theater to immerse ourselves in a bit of Shakespeare. 

We were quite tired out and took the tube back to our lovely comfy hotel where I could dream of my tall, silent, and strong knight in shining armor.

I have no brilliant insight or musings on life meanings-as I am too tired to even think beyond my next breathe.  From this side of the pond, good night all. (Or good Knight all)