London Sog

In preparation for my trip to London and Paignton this week for the wedding of some longtime, dear friends, I have outdone myself with the packing, ifIdosaysomyself.  Usually one to wait until the last minute, I typically find myself still stuffing underwear and almost-forgotten belts into the few spare cubic millimeters of suitcase space that remain whilst idling at red lights on my way to the airport and driving with my left knee.

This time, in an effort to stave off the last-minute panic of running late for an international flight, and enjoying one of the few perks of unemployment (namely, much more free time to fill up by doing incredibly necessary things like measuring and re-centering the furniture relative to a picture already hanging on the wall; or alphabetizing our entire DVD collection), I diligently spent hours yesterday (a full TWO DAYS in advance of my boarding time!) matching sundresses and floppy hats with shoes and sandals, which were in turn cross-coordinated with shorts and complementary shirts, jewelry, handbags, cardigans, and wraps... only to realize I hadn't yet checked the weather in the UK.

But it's July, right?  It's summer, right?  It's a coastal resort town, right?

It's the U.K.

Right.

Turns out global warming isn't so global this summer: the average we'll find for the rest of this week and the weekend ahead, in both London and Paignton, is apparently about 63 degrees Fahrenheit.  But not just any 63 degrees -- these are 63 WET degrees.  That's right, folks: it would appear that the entire United Kingdom has been soggy for weeks, with pretty much constant rain, and will continue to soak for the entire foreseeable future (which is to say, the current 10-day forecast).

As of late, it turns out the sun doesn't seem to want to rise on the British Empire, either.

(Note that I write this as thunder grumbles right outside my home here in Northern Virginia, which was recently plagued by something called a derecho, or Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo, or some other name I can't remember.  Whatever; it was more or less a lower-grade tornado that doesn't spin.  So basically, it was express wind.  So who am I to talk about the weather?  Then again, while I am in the States, I am also in Prince William County....  Coincidence?)

Where was I?  Aaaah, right: trip prep.

Sigh....  All that packing work, for naught.  Instead of the fun, silky and summery little Trina Turk stuff I had packed, I'll be instead sporting some thicker pants/jeans and jackets.  Layer, layer, layer.  A few months ago, when I was in Turkey and it was in the 50s(F), I was wearing a Spider jacket under the warmest winter coat Columbia Sportswear made as of this past January (from their OmniHeat line), and I was still chilled to the bone.  Now, 63 degrees, when my whole world has been 97 degrees for the past week, is going to be an eye-opener.

At least I looked at the forecast before I leaped across the pond.

The clothes I had packed for most of the weekend's activities will be replaced tonight, into the wee small hours, and probably right up until I leave tomorrow (old habits die hard.... and at the last minute).  But, I will still wear the clothes I planned to wear to the wedding ceremony and receptions -- wet weather be dammed (haha, GEDDIT?!  "Dammed."  Geez, I slay me...).  My poor little Kate Middleton hat will have to hide under an umbrella, lest the feathers get wet and droopy.  And, since I can't find anyplace to buy Sporto's City Slips galoshes for heels now without having to wait for shipping (Where have those been all my life?), my shoes, nearly all of which are fabric (such as rose gold satin) or some other water-sensitive material (such as overpriced leather) will have to be creatively carried in to places without being obvious while I wear pocket flats or something otherwise sensible, like sneakers.

Sneakers.  SENSIBLE SHOES.  Me.  With a fancy-schmancy hat and a party dress.

Stilettos in Shame....

How fast can she run in those stilettos, anyway?

So, let's just jump right into this, with no explanation for having not written in months and, before that, years.

Alrighty then; now that that's behind us....

We have some wildlife here in our neighborhood, which we moved to late last year.  This is to be expected, as we live near a "marsh" (I like to refer to our street as "Swampview Terrace") and a nature/wildlife preserve.

Various neighbors I've met, completely independently of each other, have corroborated stories of a family of red foxes (the wildlife kind, not the "I'm-Comin'-Elizabeth!" kind); at least one raccoon; the usual ornithological suspects -- blue jays, robins, orioles, and possibly several other Major League Baseball teams, and with an added bonus of what appears to be a married Bald Eagle couple who live high in a really tall tree around the corner; plus, garden (garter? what's the difference?) snakes; other lawn critters (grubs and snails and such); etc.

As of two weeks ago, two different sets of neighbors have told me that we have a bobcat in the neighborhood.

Today, I learned of a coyote.

Being a native of Brooklyn, where our wildlife ranged from simple rodents (of the mouse/rat variety) to simple pigeons (which is to say, flying rodents) to the occasional full-grown vagrant, this news has not gone over well with me. Whereas I was more than a little spooked, up until recently, by the prospect of everything from aerial attack (moths) to light ground combat (toads) when I take the Franks out at night, I am now wholly and irrationally terrified of leaving this house even during the day, to say nothing of doing so in the dark.  There are literally things crawling and snarling and waiting to EAT US, right outside of our front door. And GONE are the days when I would take the Franks out the backyard door and have her do her thing out there without a leash.  Now, she's lucky I take her out without a doggie flak jacket.  (What is the plate-carrying capacity of a 20-lb dog?  I'm looking for actual answers here; thanks.)

As for the garden (garter?  I still haven't worked this one out) snakes, one neighbor assures me that they're not dangerous.  Oh, sure -- maybe they're not immediately dangerous, but when you consider the lethal consequences, in the form of the years sure to be shaved off the end of my life by encountering a gar....[mumbles something] snake now, I'd say that's dangerous enough.

The more I talk to the neighbors, the more crazy, scary animals I hear about.  I'm debating just not talking to people anymore.

Part of me also wonders if maybe they're playing a big practical joke on me -- you know, team up to haze the new(ish) girl?  Or something?  I didn't believe Jason when he told me about the bald eagles when we first moved in; it was only after our nearest neighbor told me that I started to believe it might be true, and it wasn't until one of them did a low fly-by of my car as I drove up the street that I truly believed they lived here.  (It was an amazing sight, btw; a less amazing photo from this evening appears below.)

But I'm really skeptical now, partly because I don't want to believe we live basically inside of a giant zoo enclosure, but also because it's starting to sound outlandish: foxes.  Bobcat.  Coyote.  I refuse to believe it.

The minute I hear we have a honeybadger, I'm calling bullsh*t...

...from inside the house.  Why tempt fate?

Hello, Blog....

...We meet again.

This weekend, a bountiful selection of shoes and I will be heading to Russia, where I expect to spend the next two(ish) months... because, what better place to while away the wintry hours than in Russia?!  It makes about as much sense as last year's three-month summer vacation in Afghanistan, which was really just marginally hotter than I imagine hell to be around the same time of year, only less inviting.

As of this week, the 10-day forecast for Moscow is pretty grim, with high temperatures hovering around a balmy 7 degrees.  Fahrenheit.  Today it was TWO.

So, that said, it promises to be an interesting winter.  Does anyone know if they make ice skates that look like stilettos?  Because they darn sure make stilettos that look like ice skates.

(And if you're wondering if I would buy these, the answer is Yes (or, I could make three car payments instead; it's really a toss-up).  If you're wondering if I would break my butt in these, the answer is also Yes.  If these had been around in the mid-90s, Tonya Harding could've saved herself a ton of trouble and let fashion do the work for her, instead.)

So, to my avid readers (both of you -- and I do mean that literally), I say, Welcome back!

And to Mother Russia and Old Man Winter: Armed with an overnight shipment of boots and coats on their way from Zappos, I say to you both: BRING IT ON.