And by Queen, I mean the much-loved late QEII, in deference to my much-loved late Grandma Fern, who hated Camilla Parker-Bowles with the fire of a thousand suns.

Not That Kind of Weed

I am happy to report that, after seven solid mornings of work, I have finally got the weed situation under control. In the berry patch and veggie garden, it looked as though someone had planted a thick groundcover throughout. After my first hour of weeding that area, I looked up and felt a sinking despair, with a mere three square feet cleared and so much left to go. However, as my former boss used to say when we had a financial position he wanted to reverse, I just chipped away at it and here we are.

Who’s Eating Off The Floors Anyway

The hardest thing about travelling is leaving Rex behind, it’s true, but it’s also true that Rex is JUST FINE. He’s better than fine, actually, because he boards at a kennel that is known as the Country Club for Pets at which he a) has his own “suite” for sleeping and eating, b) has playtime with other dogs, and c) is known and loved. There are young people whose entire job it is to play with and cuddle the dogs, and one of them runs the Instagram account, so I was able to check in daily to see the big galoompa bounding around, wagging and barking. He always jumps into the car enthusiastically when I ask him if he wants to see his friends, and then he jumps into the car enthusiastically when I pick him up. He’s basically enthusiastic about everything.

Everything, except water. Unfortunately, due to a plethora of dogs and Sunday staffing, the kennel was unable to bathe him before I picked him up. No problem, I thought. He needs a cut anyway. I called the groomer only to find out that his girlfriend was on vacation, and will not be able to take him until this coming Thursday. Let’s just say that Rex is very, very dirty, and leave it at that. Things are not improved by his love of rolling in dead dry grass, and because his fur is just generally filthy, brushing out the grass only lodges it in further. Basically, he spends the day shedding things all over the house. I can feel little…somethings in his fur, said a gentleman I speak to daily on the walking path, as he petted Rex. Clouds of dust rose from Rex’s off-black body, like that of Pigpen’s from Peanuts. Those are grass seeds, I replied grimly.

My sister-in-law, unaware of Rex’s absolute fear and loathing of water, suggested I put him in one of our walk-in showers, just to get some grime off. I immediately pictured a terrified and traumatized Rex bursting, Kool-Aid Man-style through the shower door, leaving a Rex-shaped hole and shattered glass in his wake.

Well, it’s a small price to pay for his happiness, and in the meantime I am vacuuming a lot. Pristine floors are overrated anyway.

The Royal We

Weeding backlogs and a filthy dog are worth it to be able to travel to places I’ve always dreamed about. One of my clearest early memories is from the summer that I was six, and was staying with my grandparents: Grandma Fern woke me up at 2:30 am so we could watch the Royal Wedding together. I remember watching Diana getting out of the car absolutely ensconced in silk, and that gigantic dress and train seemed to me the absolute height of beauty. Nothing could have been more gorgeous. Nothing could have been more special than being awake while everyone else slept, just me and Grandma Fern. Thirty years later, I got up at 2:30 in the morning for another Royal Wedding watch with my Anglophile friend Julie (HI JULIE), who provided tea and scones with clotted cream. The moment I got home I phoned Grandma Fern, and we spent a lot of time dissecting the details, including whether the aforementioned Camilla Parker-Bowles should have been INVITED to her stepson’s wedding. She is NOT his stepmother, do not say that, do not ever say that! She’s nothing but a home-wrecker, Grandma said sternly. Grandma Fern was not interested in the expectations of the era and time healing wounds and the heart wanting what the heart wants. I changed the subject to Kate’s sleeves.

Ever since that day in July 1981, I have been interested in the British Royal Family in general, and Diana in particular. My interest may have bordered on obsession; I still have all my scrapbooks, special edition People magazines, and the myriad coffee table books featuring Diana, the Radiant Princess that I would receive as Christmas gifts. I have not one but two paper doll books of Diana and her clothing, one to cut out and one to keep, and let me tell you, that wedding dress was a bitch to cut out. I am rarely, if ever, affected by celebrity deaths but I was devastated by Diana’s. I avidly watched The Crown up until Season Four, and then shut it off, never to return, because I could not handle reliving the crash, fictionalized or not.

It felt surreal to be in places I had watched and read about. I teared up when I saw Buckingham Palace, thinking how much Grandma Fern would have loved seeing it.

I share a birthday with the late Queen Elizabeth, and to see Westminster Abbey, where she and all the other British monarchs were coronated, was incredible. It is impossible to thoroughly tour everything in London in only five days, but this was on my must-visit list. My husband booked us tickets, and we spent a few hours audio-touring and being amazed.

I did not realize how many burial vaults are in Westminster Abbey, not only of monarchs but also notable scientists, politicians, and writers. There are over 3300 people buried there! Jane Austen is not one of them, but she has a memorial stone in Poet’s Corner.

Another place I wanted an in-depth tour was the Tower of London. I love these kinds of historical buildings and as we went through the rooms, I imagined what it would be like to live or be imprisoned there.

The Tower also is the home of the Crown Jewels, and we were able to see them as well as the changing of the guard in front of the building. It felt incredible to be there, like I was a tiny part of history.

My husband had planned a secret afternoon post-Tower touring, and that included a rooftop flower garden and a walk to a tiny church, St Dunstan, a medieval structure in the middle of city streets. I love a medieval structure!

One of the biggest highlights was seeing Hamilton at the Victoria Theatre, which was a three-minute walk from our hotel. Hamilton is my favourite musical, followed only by Evita and The Phantom of the Opera, so I was VERY excited. It did not disappoint! For those of you who remember my 2020 obsession with the soundtrack, you will know how moved I was for the entire time, and how I sobbed when it was quiet uptown.

London! What a fabulous city, I cannot believe I was THERE. I looked at the Rosetta Stone! With my own eyes! And you can bet that I said Look kids, Big Ben! Parliament, approximately one million times over our five-day visit. Mostly in my head, to the benefit of my marriage.

Weekly Reading

I will share my vacation reads in a separate post (spoiler alert: I had a LOT of DNF’s), but let me tell you about this incredible week of reading: two of my favourite must-own authors had new books out, David Sedaris and Ann Patchett. Since the Sedaris came out a month after my birthday, and months before Christmas, I pre-ordered it. I didn’t even know that Patchett had a new book coming out until it was already released, and when I discovered this fact I jumped up from the table where I was having pre-game drive coffee and scurried over to where our safari-mates, a delightful couple from NYC, were seated. The night before, the woman and I had bonded over our shared love for Patchett, Elizabeth Strout, and my Fuck the Patriarchy lipstick case. I think I had jazz-hands as I told her that there was a NEW ANN PATCHETT OMG and of course I bought it when I went to pick up my preordered Sedaris after arriving home.

All of which is to say that it has been a five-star reading week!

The Land and Its People. I will say I had a tiny bit of trepidation because Happy-Go-Lucky, Sedaris’ last collection, left me upset and depressed. If you know, you know. However, The Land and Its People affected me in the same way Calypso did – I found myself laughing until I cried. A few of the essays about his parents are heartbreaking, but mostly I was literally guffawing the whole way through. GUFFAWING. I also – as with Calypso – found myself feeling seen, as he talked about DuoLingo, getting his steps in, and going on safari in Africa. This was absolutely wonderful and hilarious and felt like a breath of wry fresh air.

Whistler. Ann Patchett can do no wrong in my view, and this glorious new release is no exception. Oh! I loved it so much. It’s the story of a woman who encounters the man who was briefly her stepfather, after over four decades of absence. It’s about secrets and family, friendship and love, trauma and healing. All the characters are so rich, and the story is just so beautiful, made even more poignant as the stepfather was based on her late, dear friend Jim Fox, and that there are three fathers featured in the book, which Patchett famously has written about having. The main character and her sister are around my age, and there was so much that resonated so deeply, from aging parents and cleaning out houses to the claim that “old men love me.” Girl, same. It’s just a breathtakingly beautiful book and the ending left me staring into space for many minutes. It’s just so hopeful and gorgeous, with a message that people are good and decent, despite how things sometimes feel.

The thing about going away when we did is that when we left, it was spring, and now it is full-on summer! I have to keep reminding myself of the day and month. It’s the last full week of June already! It looks to be a beautiful one here in the Okanagan valley, and I hope it’s beautiful where you are. xo