Today is my fifty-ninth birthday. Next year I will be the big 6-0. As I’ve gotten older, birthdays have definitely become less of a thing than when I was younger. It’s been nice. We grilled brats, had some pasta salad, some baked beans, some chips, and my Queen made a butterscotch cake from scratch. My Robin can throw down some serious baking! I think I’ve had, like, three slices today. So delicious!
But then, to top it all off, my beautiful bride got me an awesome birthday present. I have been working on creating a garden plot, and we have a deck full of flowers, herbs and plants. I was on Facebook awhile back and got a chuckle at an ad the algorithm put into my timeline. She actually found the item and got it for me for my birthday. The Great Garden Gnome Massacre.
Yes. That is a T-rex attacking and devouring some garden gnomes! T-rex has one ready to go down his gullet, he has the next two in his tiny little arms, he has one pinned under his foot, and one poor schlub is clinging to the back spines that the T-rex most probably didn’t really have. For anyone that has a problem with that, he’s destroying frickin’ gnomes, so…
So yeah, my 59th birthday ended up being awesome! Robin can alter the climate, she can shatter the world with a thought, but MAN, can she pick presents! She is sitting next to me as I write this, shaking her head at my excitement. All that’s left is to find the right place for this. And maybe finish out my collection with the the other pieces.
But I’ll have to keep my eyes on the local raccoons. They are definitely up to something…
My last couple of posts have been kinda serious. These are serious times, but that doesn’t mean I have to always be serious. Besides, it’s not in my nature. I have been known to crack jokes at funerals. Something I learned from my Paw, I guess. He loved to crack jokes. Up until the day he passed.
There are those who think that my humor is a defense mechanism. I mask pain with humor, I mask stress with humor, I mask bad humor with more bad humor. What can I say? I have very strong defenses!
The way I see my humor is as an extension of God. Humor is a gift. It lifts people up in dark times, it strengthens hope in times of strife, it can provide strength when all else fails. It can be anything you need it to be; defiant, rude, helpful, playful, uplighting, downgrading. I find it useful.
I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease in my late 20’s. I had been in the U.S. Army Reserves for 12 years. Crohn’s was an automatic disqualified from military service. I had hoped to make it a career of serving my country. Nope. I went from being a well-respected, highly decorated Drill Sergeant to just a school teacher. Half of what defined me as an adult was gone.
Aww, he’s getting a Drill Sergeant hug…
I enjoyed being a school teacher, but I really enjoyed being a soldier. Humor helped me cope. I threw myself into teaching, then into school administration. I faced situations involving students that would break your heart. Student suicides, molestations, drugs, and just plain teenagers dealing with being teenagers. I used humor to defuse tense situations, I used humor to motivate, to inspire. I used humor alter perceptions.
A superintendent without honor attempted to hide a situation on a school bus. I followed state law. She put in a written reprimand that I should have not followed state law. I disagreed. After 15 years with the school district, my contract was not renewed. I was paid not to work for eight months. For whatever reason, I couldn’t find work in the field of education. Humor helped me deal.
Life is not fair. It’s not cruel, it’s just life. We choose how we deal with it. I choose humor. Gallows humor, puns, memes, dad jokes, they are all part of my arsenal. They make Robin’s eyes roll, they make any daughter Jessica groan, they make my grandsons giggle.
All of this hides my secret, my humor is for me. Anyone else who enjoys it is icing on the cake. Enjoy your icing!
Jordan Neely, a homeless man, was on a subway train reportedly threatening other passengers. In response, a Marine veteran, Daniel Penny, assisted by two others, was able to get Neely in a submission hold. Neely ended up dead, and Penny turned himself in to face criminal charges. New York Times
The case should be interesting. For sure, part of Penny’s defense will be that he was acting in self-defense. Anytime an incident like this occurs, it is a solid bet that some talking head will discuss the right to self-defense. What is this right, and how can a person apply it correctly? I can certainly address the first question. The second question is much more difficult.
Most people find the idea of self-defense to be self-evident, even instinctive. Throw a punch at someone, and they will duck, move to avoid or try to block it. They don’t want to be hit. So for most, the question isn’t whether a person can defend themselves, it’s to what extent a person can defend themselves. The death of the assailant is the penultimate price of self-defense. So when is this morally acceptable?
According to the Catholic Catechism, The legitimate defense of persons and societies is not an exception to the prohibition against the murder of the innocent that constitutes intentional killing. “The act of self-defense can have a double effect: the preservation of one’s own life; and the killing of the aggressor. . . . The one is intended, the other is not.” Love toward oneself remains a fundamental principle of morality. Therefore it is legitimate to insist on respect for one’s own right to life. Someone who defends his life is not guilty of murder even if he is forced to deal his aggressor a lethal blow… (par 2263-64)
Of course not everyone is Catholic, but I am, and this can certainly be used as a basis for a discussion of the concept. Self-love is a basis for the defense of one’s self. Based on what we read above, the intent of the defender is of great importance. If I am defending myself from an attack, is my intent to kill? Only I would know, and it’s certain that, in the moment, I may not know. Or I might think I know, then later think I didn’t know. People involved in a traumatic incident often experience one thought during an incident, only to have questions about it afterwards. This confusion is a natural occurrence, but doesn’t help us here.
So clearly Penny thought he needed to defend himself. I would argue that he did not intend to kill Neely. For this I call upon my own knowledge, having taught basic hand-to-hand combat skills in the U.S. Army. A person who intends to kill has several, more direct, methods of subduing a threat. Penny could use punches and kicks to help nullify the threat, which has the benefit of keeping Neely outside of the reach of the attacker. Penny could have used a weapon. New York City has stringent gun laws, so it would be unlikely that Penny would have had a gun, but he may have had a knife, or he could have grabbed any number of items from someone on the train to use as a weapon. A briefcase, a belt, a travel mug, any of these could be used as what the military calls a “field-expedient weapon”.
Instead, Penny closed with Neely, got behind him, and was using a submission hold. Many reports have called it a “choke hold” but this may be a misnomer. A choke hold in MMA impedes breathing, often causing damage to the trachea. In the video the point of Penny’s elbow is at Neely’s chin, which tells me that Penny’s goal was to clamp down on the carotid artery, causing Neely to temporarily black out, ending the struggle. That Penny put Neely in a recovery position on his side afterwards is another data point in favor of Penny. A person who is attempting to kill someone doesn’t worry about putting them in a recovery position. If I want them dead I don’t want them to recover. Closing with a person and submitting them to a submission hold is a difficult task. Most people shy away from close combat of any kind.
Worse case scenario, if Penny was in fear for his life, he could be justified in killing in self-defense. So was Penny in fear for his life? Penny is 24 and a Marine combat veteran. The easy trap to fall into is to think that such a man shouldn’t be afraid in such situations. The term ‘fear’ as used here doesn’t just mean the emotion of fear, but also fear as as an intellectual concept. Penny could conceivably have no fear during the confrontation, yet have a concern that Neely could take his life. A witness reported that Neely, “went on an explosive tirade just before his caught-on-camera death, telling people he was willing to “kill a motherf—-er” and “[take] a bullet” and go to jail.” NY Post This witness also stated, “Mr. Neely, he gave people cause to feel that their life was being threatened. He didn’t care. He said he didn’t care.” The witness was a 66-year old woman who thinks Penny is a hero.
Was Penny to wait until Neely actually attacked someone? Neely was reportedly throwing trash at people, and threatening to kill them. When is a reasonable time to intervene? After the attack? Before the attack? The trial, if indeed there is one, will address this question, to be settled by a jury of Penny’s peers.
My take is this. Penny acted to prevent a man from acting out on his threats. He attempted a submission hold, and Neely died. While the coroner has ruled the death a homicide, the actual reasons for Neely’s death have not been released as of the date of this blog. I think that Penny was justified in doing what he did. I am certain he did not go into this thinking he was going to kill Neely. Penny was defending himself and others from a man who was reportedly acting in an aggressive manner, and had made threats to kill.
A court of law will hopefully address the legal aspects of Penny’s actions, but I can’t help but think I would act in a similar manner should I, heaven forbid, be in a similar situation, especially if any of my family are present.
Freedom is the ability to do what one ought to do. Freedom does not mean that there are not limits. Imagine a person acting with no limits. They get angry with another person and kill them. Are they free to do that? What about the freedom of the victim?
Thus freedom is limited by what is right and true. True freedom, then is the ability to act within what is right and true, to allow a person to do what they ought to do. That freedom has no negative consequences to anyone else. The existence of that freedom, however, benefits others.
True freedom allows us to create. As long as that creativity is based on what is right and true, it benefits others, either actively by providing goods or services to others, or passively by representing a view of what is right and true to others, which can inspire them in their own creativity.
True freedom does not come at the expense of others.
It’s Friday, May 12. It’s been two weeks since returning from our London/Wales trip. I’ve been thinking about that trip every day since, and thought I should write down some thoughts. First of all, do you know how it feels when a vacation doesn’t go the way you had planned, and isn’t as exciting as you had hoped? This wasn’t like our trip.
This trip met or exceeded every expectation I had of it. I found the trip exciting, restful, awe-inspiring and downright fun. Somehow, despite everything I ate and drank, I lost five pounds, so that was definitely a plus! And yet, despite everything I did and said, I came back married to the same woman I left with, despited numerous instances of climate-change and being introduced to the smell of vanilla, even though I have no sense of smell!
As we sat on our twin beds in the Radisson Blu Heathrow, we talked about the trip. I asked Robin what her favorite part was. I thought she would have said the High Tea in Kensington, but she said her favorite part was The Play That Goes Wrong in The Duchess Theatre in London’s West End. I figured it would have been something in London. Opposites attract, apparently, and I married a big-city girl. She likes everything about big cities; they’re hustle, the big-city lights, the things you can do. She likes plays and fancy to-dos like high teas. She grew up on a farm, but farming is definitely NOT for her. Me? All country, baby! Give me open skies, mountains, rivers and streams. I could definitely see myself being a sheep herder. I’m small town, everybody-knows-everybody-else kind of guy. Big cities exhaust me. My threat radar is always on, and hyper-vigilance is very tiring.
In line with that, my favorite part of our vacation was the Fairy Glen. It was there that I felt the most connection with the land, and certainly laying a part of my parents to rest there had a large part of my feeling. I loved Conwy. I loved the pubs, the people we met. I loved the mountains, the valleys, the sea. I loved being around things that oozed history. Being around human artifacts that were 12,000 years old was an amazing experience. Attending a church service in an 800+ year old church was amazing. Visiting different castles was an awesome experience. Looking from a mountain at the wonders God has wrought on a small part of the land He formed with His hand was a humbling, and awe-inspiring, experience. I would go back to Wales in a Conwy minute!
We are all humans beings, and as such we have regrets. I regret that our change in the soccer schedule shorted Robin’s time in London. I know there were things she would have loved to see. Buckingham Palace, London Bridge, Westminster Abbey, I know she wanted to ride the London Eye. Maybe another play. We visited the St. Paul’s Cathedral gift shop, I’m sure she would have wanted to visit the cathedral itself.
I regret not being able to hear live music in a Welsh pub. I didn’t get a chance to have a conversation in Welsh, which I have been studying for a year. I regret not eating the cost of our Hotel Football reservation to go see Wrexham win promotion to the English Football League. I regret taking Robin on the walk on Conwy’s Castle Wall. I regret we couldn’t stay longer.
Back in October, I posted a blog on hireath, a blend of homesickness, nostalgia and longing. It’s a pull on the heart that conveys a distinct feeling of missing something irretrievably lost. I thought I had it before. But having been where we’ve been, I sit here now and feel it in spades. Wales captured my heart and my soul. It is my hope that one of my children will do me the honor I did for my parents, and spread my ashes at the Fairy Glen. I can then be part of the land I have come to love.
That’s what this trip did to me.
Mae gwlad Cymru wedi cyffwrdd fy nghalon yn ddwfn.
Wednesday, April 26, Robin and I got up early, took everything down to the car, put the key to the townhouse in the lockbox and said goodbye to the seagulls and jackdaws. We left Conwy and drove the rental car to the rental car return at Manchester Airport. I called for a cab, and we waited. The man I spoke to said it would be ten minutes. After 20 minutes, we decided the cab was not forthcoming, and we hopped on a shuttle bus to the taxi stand at the airport terminal. That reads like it was easy. It wasn’t. Robin and I had an overloaded suitcase and carry on luggage each. Robin had her purses and I had a briefcase and a CPAP machine. Getting all that onto the shuttle was anything but easy, but we got loaded onto the bus, and off we went.
We picked up a cab, and he began the driver to the Manchester Piccadilly Train Station. Robin and I kept looking at our watches. We thought we had left Conwy with plenty of time to make the train, but the cab issue had eaten a lot of time up. Robin and I were actually preparing ourselves to change our train tickets. We were sanguine about the prospect. We knew we were going home, so the rest was just details. A small part of me was hoping we would be stuck in Wales. A small part of Robin wanted to kick that small part of me’s ass, because she, by God, was going to be near the grandkids, and I was hoping to be near her, whether I wanted to or not. After 34 years of marriage, I decided I wanted to be near her, so heading home was our goal. Another goal today was to make it through one day where I did not smell vanilla, or observe a climate-altering spell centered on my wife.
As it turned out, we got to the train station, identified our gate, and got there just as they were boarding. We trundled our luggage aboard, found our seats, and got ready to ride to London.
Check out of townhouse – Check Return rental car – Check Board train – Check Avoid vanilla scent – Check, so far
The trip to London went without a hitch. Not so for the guy sitting next to me. The porter came through to check our tickets. When he checked the guy next to me, he found out he was on the wrong train. He should have boarded a train that left seven minutes earlier. He was heading to Birmingham, which was in a completely different direction than London. Fortunately, the guy could get off at the next stop and catch a connecting train to get him to the right destination.
The man sitting next to Robin was interesting. He was a young man, and seemed a decent fellow. During the course of our trip we learned that he would rather be anywhere else than where he was. He worked in Manchester, and had to ride a train a couple of hours a day to get from where he lived to where he worked. He was ruefully envious of the travel Robin and I were doing. It provided perspective for me. Robin and I were on a possible once-in-a-lifetime trip, and he was mired in everyday life. As I said, he seemed a decent bloke, so we wished him well when he got off, to be replaced by a young woman who was clearly traveling for business.
We arrived at Euston Station in London, and grabbed a cab to take us to our hotel near Heathrow Airport. We were looking forward to checking in, and just resting before our flight on Thursday. Our travel agent had booked us a room at a four-star hotel, so we had that going for us. The cab ride seemed to take forever, but we finally arrived at the Radisson Blu Heathrow. The main lobby of the hotel indicated we were definitely in a swanky place. I immediately felt uncomfortable, Robin immediately looked like she was in her element.
The Main Lobby of the Radisson Blue Heathrow. Swanky!Here we see a Robin in her natural element. Chic, elegant, and beautiful. And the hotel was pretty good too!
We had arrived a bit before our check-in time, but they allowed us to check in early and we headed to our room. The walk from the front desk to our room seemed to take as long as our train ride, but we finally got to our room. We went in and…there were two twin beds. Robin and I stopped at the sight. It had been decades since Robin and I had slept in a twin bed. We looked at each other and shrugged. It was for one night, and we were going home.
Take train to London – Check Take cab to hotel – Check Check into hotel – Check Avoid vanilla scent – Check, so far
The Radisson Blue had a McDonalds next door. Robin thought it would be neat to see how different the food would be from an American McDonald’s. Turns out it’s not all that different. You placed your order at a self-service kiosk, waited until they called your number, got your food and sat down to eat. I didn’t think the food was all that different. A McDonald’s is a McDonald’s. I might have gotten excited if they had McCrumpets, but no.
Having eaten at a two-star fast food restaurant, we walked back to our four-star hotel. I didn’t say anything to Robin, but when we entered the hotel, her back straightened, and her walk turned into a regal glide. She was where she should be, surrounded by elegance, pomp and circumstance. I’m a grunt. I’m as far from elegant as a man can get. All I cared about was, was my bed comfortable, and was there room service? The answers were yes and yes.
We did nothing else that day. We stayed in the room, and ordered room service for dinner. The only excitement we had was when I ordered an Italian beer, Peroni, with the meal and it don’t arrive with the meal. I called room service, and the guy on the phone said one would be sent up. Kind of like the guy who said our cab would be there in ten minutes. Yeah, my Peroni never showed up. But you know what? We were going home.
Lunch – Check Rest and relaxation – Check Room service dinner – Check Avoid vanilla scent – Check, so far
The next morning we went to the front desk to check out. I mentioned the beer that didn’t make it to our room the night before. The guy at the front desk actually spent some time looking into it, including personally going to the room service office and checking the receipts to verify that I had, indeed, not been given a beer I had ordered. The beer was Ł5, but I figured a four-star hotel would need to know when an employee promised something they didn’t deliver. Turns out I was correct. Robin saw that the Ł5 was reimbursed to our card that day, before the charge for the room had cleared the account. Four-star service for even a small affair. Fair play, Radisson Blu!
The hotel had a shuttle bus to the terminal, so we bundled our bags on board and off we went. We got checked in with the airline, went through the British version of TSA, and made our way toward our gate. Our path took us through the World Duty-Free Heathrow, a wonderful, capitalistic experience that everyone should do, at least once. I would have purchased some more single malt, but we were already at our limit, luggage-wise. Robin did get a laser-etched Cadbury bar. Only a thousand were made, and hers was like #480. It was etched with icons of London, in honor of the King’s Coronation which was happening the following week.
A laser-engraved chocolate bar that Robin got, just for shits and giggles.
We boarded our flight for Atlanta, an 8-hour experience. Take a 325lbs, 6ft, 1in man and cram him into a seat in a metal tube with a hundred other people for 8 hours. We did have seats with extra leg room, but there were a couple of occasions where I had to get up just to straighten my legs. But you know what? We were heading home.
Check out of hotel – Check Check in with Virgin Atlantic – Check Pass through security – Check Board trans-Atlantic flight home – Check Avoid vanilla scent – Check, so far
Robin and I cramped in style!
Prior to landing in Atlanta, the passengers on the flight were served a tea. It was actually very good! It was a nice touch by Virgin Atlantic. While not as posh as the High Tea we had at Kensington Palace, it was a fitting way to conclude our trip to England. Finger sandwiches, a scone with clotted cream and jam, and tea.
Robin checks out the box our Mile High Tea came in.
We arrived in Atlanta. We had to go to baggage claim to get our luggage to take it through customs. Customs meant getting into a long line to speak with a customs agent. I had to constantly overcome the urge to moo like a cow. Fortunately, the line moved quickly, we got to a Customs agent, answered a few questions, gave them a note from Robin’s mother, signed over our first-born, and voilá! We were clear.
Now here is the first time I nearly caused a climate-altering incident for myself. We got off of our flight, which we got on to after clearing security at Heathrow Airport. We got off of the flight inside Hartfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, picked up our luggage to clear Customs, within Atlanta International Airport, so what do you think we had to do next? Go through TSA security to be able to get to our flight to Indianapolis! Sheer, unadulterated bureaucratic stupidity! Some idiot said to themselves, “Somebody might pick up a weapon in Customs and use it to cause mayhem on another flight, so let’s check ’em again!”
As if the dehumanizing process of going back and forth through the friggin’ forever line at customs wasn’t stealing enough of our soul, we had to go through another zig-zag line to put our bags through another check, with minimum-wage employees being irritated with tired, irritated travelers who are should know the little idiosyncrasies that Atlanta International Airport TSA has that are just enough different from other airports as to lead to confusion in the travelers. Somebody please explain to me how this added level of dehumanizing security makes travel safer? But you know what? We were headed home.
Arrive at Atlanta International Airport – Check Go through Customs – Check Go through TSA security AGAIN – Check Avoid vanilla scent – Check, so far
The flight from Atlanta to Indianapolis took no time at all. The flight crew barely had time to pass out snacks and drinks before we landed at Indianapolis International Airport. We collected our luggage, got picked up by our daughter Jessica, who took us back to our home, to the delirious tail-wagging and semi-barks of Rowdy and Yuki, who were totally convinced we were never coming back.
Our last full day in the paradise that is Wales was to be spent in the resort town of Llandudno. This delightful little town is on the coast of Liverpool Bay, just a mile or so north of Conwy. The plan was to spend some time there, then get back and finish packing for our return home. We had reservations at a new place called Shakespeare’s in Castle Hotel, Conwy for dinner at 6:00.
We got up fairly early and drove east over the bridge from Conwy to Llandudno Crossing. From there it was just a hop, skip and a jump to Llandudno. We drove to the main square and found a parking place close to the beach. The businesses there were just starting to open, and we found ourselves a nearby cafe to get some breakfast, and the requisite coffee.
Robin, Ranger and I getting ready for some early morning tucker to get our day started right!
Robin had the Bacon Bap(sandwich) with a cappuccino. I had an egg with bacon, sausage, beans and toast and black pudding, with a mocha. Ranger just watched.
Having fortified ourselves, we walked the half block to Llandudno Beach. It was low tide, so we had a chance to do some beach combing. We found some nice, intact shells, some interesting jelly-like creatures, and quite a few small, dead crabs. I realized that was probably why the seagulls looked so fat.
The end of my cane gives you an idea of scale. It was a clear, jelly-like creature that reminded my of the face hugger from Alien. After an extensive search of the Interwebs, this may actually have been squid eggs.
After the beach combing, we walked the board walk on the Llandudno Pier. There were some nice shops along the pier, as well as some great views. Llandudno is located on the east side of a peninsula that juts out into the Irish Sea from the Avon Conwy estuary. At the tip of this peninsula was a large hill called the Great Orme. Robin and I wanted to go up to the summit of the Great Orme, and there were three choices; Walk, ride the Llandudno Cable Cars, or ride the Great Orme Tramway. Walking was quickly ruled out. The cable cars were ruled out when we saw we would need to walk uphill a ways to get to the cable car station. That left option 3, the Great Orme Tramway. The tram station was a few blocks from the pier, so off we ambled, as only two old farts with canes can amble. Check that! One old fart, and a gracious, beautiful, silver fox who made Llandudno a classier place with her presence.
Llandudno Pier.Great Ormes, from the Llandudno Pier.
The trip up the Great Orme was to be in two stages. Midway up the hill we would change trams and then head up to the summit. Once at the summit, there was the Summit Complex, which had a cafe. All low-speed, sedate places that we could handle. We’d spend some time up on the summit, then head back down. Easy-peasy!
The Great Orme, aș seen from our tram. Back in that area are burial monoliths that are 12,000 years old. That dates back to before the end of the last Ice Age!
The views of the summit was worth the trip! You had the Irish Sea to the north, the Snowden Mountains to the south and sheep all around. Robin and I took a long look round, then stepped into the cafe. She had a Victoria Sponge with cream filling, I had a chocolate eclair with cream filling. She had her cappuccino, they didn’t have mocha, so I had a cappuccino as well. Life was good!
The trip back down was as uneventful as the trip up. From the station we walked the few blocks back to where we parked. From there we drove a half mile to the Penderyn Distillery. A few months ago I had ordered some Penderyn Hiraeth, a single malt whiskey online. It was REALLY good. The original distillery was located in South Wales, but they had recently opened this distillery in Llandudno, and I was very interested in getting some single malt direct from the distillery! I ended up getting a couple of bottles in the Penderyn Gold series, their Sherrywood and the Rich Oak. I will be happy to do a separate blog on the tasting!
From the distillery we headed back to Conwy. We got everything stuffed into our suitcases. We figured our suitcases would be heavy, but decided we’d pay the overage fees. we cleaned up the townhome a bit, then headed to Shakespeare’s, located in the Castle Hotel, for dinner. As with everything else we did in Conwy, the restaurant was awesome! The food was excellent, and was a fitting end to our magical stay in Northern Wales. I still wanted to retire here and raise sheep. Every time I said that, Robin shook her head. She did not want to be away from the grandkids, and that was that. It would be very bad luck to have Robin invoke her climate-altering mood on the last night of our vacation, so I let the matter drop, and we headed to bed, anticipating an early morning wake up to get to Manchester and catch the train back to London.
Sunday was a bit of a throw away day. We drove back to Conwy from Manchester in time to attend services at 11:00am at St. Mary’s and All Saints Church. It’s an Anglican Church, so it was just enough like a Catholic Mass to be a bit confusing. Add to that parts of the service were in Welsh. I was able to follow along for most of it. The people were very friendly and it was very cool being an a church that has been actively serving its community since the 1200’s. The rest of the day was spent doing laundry and cleaning up the townhouse in preparation of leaving on Wednesday. We did manage to try out the Bakewell Tart. So good!
Monday was going to be a castle and drive day. The plan was to visit Castell Caernarfon (pronounced car-narvon), Castell Beaumaris, and take a drive through Anglesey Island, also know as Ynys Môn. As was the case throughout our trip, the weather cooperated.
We began in Caernarfon. Anglesey is separated from Wales by the Menai Strait. Caernarfon is on the Wales side, on the south end of the Menai Strait. The drive to Caernarfon was fairly quick, and the road came out on the town square, right in front of the castle. It was a splendid sight!
Robin posing on the town square, in from of Castell Caernarfon.
We were there right as the castle opened, but it was not part of the plan to go inside the castle. We had a lot of miles to cover. We did walk around the castle, and I took some time to mess around in the nearby tidal flat. Robin had another fall, this one after stepping off of a curb she didn’t know was there. She was OK, and I stared at the curb, daring it to try it again. After a few moments, I felt we were good to go, as the curb did not seem intent of repeating its attack.
Robin and I in front of the main gate.The front of Castell Caernarfon. Imagine trying to storm this bad boy!The King’s Tower, also known as the Eagle Tower.The Queen’s Tower.
We stopped at a nearby pharmacy to pick up some cold medicine, and had an interesting shat with the pharmacist. He was a young man who was very interested in the states, once he realized that’s where we were from. His questions centered over which states had constitutional carry. He said he wanted to be able to carry a gun. Vastly different from the guy on the Snowden Mountain Railway train who thought we needed to do away with the Second Amendment. I guess, in his mind, we all go around wearing guns. I tend to conceal carry, so I am definitely not one to judge…
From the town square we went a half mile to Segontium, a Roman Fort. The fort’s foundations were the only thing left from a fort that dated back before the birth of Jesus. There was a very powerful sense of age as we walked around. I could hear the sounds of the garrison as I walked around. I don’t speak Roman, so I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but…
One of the barracks.On officer’s bath.A storage area.
In the photo above, there was litter in the storeroom. Some idgit visiting an ancient site decided the best place for the trash was in the ancient site itself. Even the Welsh have Those People. Robin gets greatly irritated when people litter. She began voicing her irritation to me. The clouds darkened, the grass around her began wilting, and for once I wasn’t the object of her wrath. Yet, I still found myself smelling vanilla. Since that wasn’t fun, I climbed down into the ancient storage area and policed up the litter. Instantly, the sun came back out, the grass perked up, and little birds and butterflies began flying around Robin, landing on her and immediately taking flight again. It was a startling site. However she smiled at me through the swirling fauna, and it made it all worth it. Robin has a million-dollar smile.
I like this shot.
From there, we drove to Bangor and crossed the Menai Strait over the Menai Suspension Bridge.
Menai Suspension Bridge, with the Snowden Mountains in the background.
After crossing the bridge, we drove to Beaumaris, home of Castell Beaumaris. We actually stopped to use the public restrooms, and decided to give this castle a look. It was the fourth castle of the four Edwardian Castles that formed a World Heritage Site. It was an unfinished castle, but still impressive.
Castell Beaumaris. It has a freakin’ moat!Robin at the main gate.Main gate selfie!The interior defenses. Castell Beaumaris is an example of a castle with concentric defenses.It’s a courtyard now, but it used to be the Great Hall.The castle’s chapel, with stained glass windows.The Menai Strait from the castle walls.
From Beaumaris, Robin and I drove around the edge of the Druid’s Isle. Much of the island has been declared an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty by the British government. We could see why. It was beautiful! Rolling hills, sea views, cliffs, gorgeous green grass, the requisite sheep, although there seemed to be more cattle farms than sheep farms. We traveled the coast to Amlwch, on the north coast. There, we turned left and cut across the island to get to Holy Head on the west coast, as time was slipping away.
Just to the west of Holy Head is another Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, South Stack. There is a light house there, as well as cliffs that contained thousands of sea birds. We drove up to the visitor’s center. Robin was not going to chance the paths on the grounds, so I set out to take a look.
The lights house was on a small island away from the cliffs. It makes for a captivating photograph, so of course I took a few pictures. Nearby was a structure called Ellie’s Tower. It was a haven for bird watchers and ornithologists, who were looking at the sea birds and talking about bird things. I left them to their devices, and took a walk through my first moors. The area was extremely beautiful. I wished I could smell the sea, but you could hear the waves against the cliffs, the cries of the birds, and the sound of the wind.
The moors at South Stack.Gorgeous!My path back to the visitor’s center.More moors!
It was a place I wished we could have stayed longer, but the day was drawing to a close. My path had taken me down a bit from the visitor’s center. I began walking up toward Robin. We drove back to Conwy.
The night before, the Northern Lights made a rare appearance all throughout Wales. Robin and I went to a beach to see if there would be a repeat. The sun set, and we waited to see if the Northern Lights would appear. It seemed to take forever for the light to go away. After a bit, Robin surmised that what were were seeing wasn’t the fading light from the sun, but the southern end of the Northern Lights. While not as prominent a display as the night before, It was my first view of this celestial display.
Friday, April 21, Robin and I were heading back to Manchester. When we originally scheduled our trip, we had rooms in Hotel Football for the Manchester United v Chelsea match. When that got rescheduled, we were able to get a refund for the tickets, but we could not cancel the hotel room. So we decided to go ahead and use it. The plan was to go there on Friday, spend Saturday doing something fun, then return for services at St. Mary’s and All Saints on Sunday. But first, some lunch in Conwy. Robin had a prawn taco salad and I had a very delicious chicken, bacon and ranch panini. Priorities.
Here is some random internet prawn…
My delicious panini. Mmmmm
The trip back to Manchester was uneventful. I was quite comfortable driving, and Robin was quite comfortable not saying “CURB!” every two minutes or so. We got checked into Hotel Football, and made a quick run over to the Manchester United Megastore. My friend Craig was wanting a shirt for his son. We told him the price of a jersey, and he quickly decided a different kind of shirt was called for. We found one, and threw in a poster of his son’s favorite player, and headed back for dinner.
I started my dinner off with a Red Devil, a cocktail that was topped off with a couple of red peppers. Why? Because Manchester United, that’s why! It was perfectly paired with my meat pizza. Robin was laughing at me, which is preferable to the climate-changing mood I often cause. I’ll take her smile any day!
Robin is laughing at my drink choices.
Kill some animals and throw it on my pizza!
Saturday saw us heading to Bakewell. This is a quaint English village in the Peak District National Park. It is home to the world-famous Bakewell Pudding. Our plan for the day was to have a nice morning of shopping, and then head to Poole’s Cavern to check out a cave. The drive through the Peak District was nice. The scenery was excellent, and the weather was perfect.
Bakewell was a picturesque village. Shops abounded, as did cafes and coffee shops. Robin and I browsed several shops, then saw a sign for a bazaar of some type. We followed the signs, and found a Scout building that housed quite a few vendors. The British version of the Boy Scouts was just Scouts. Makes sense. The bazaar was a fundraiser, so now we had a good reason to buy, as if we needed a good reason.
One of the many cafes in Bakewell. Notice the dogs.
A cool looking hotel in Bakewell.
Robin adds class and elegance to whatever place she visits. Me? I’m a grunt. My presence lowers property values.Bakewell was beautiful.Robin is relaxing in a well-manicured English garden. Ranger is stalking his prey…
The nice thing about the bazaar was that we got talk to a couple of the vendors. Lovely people. Of course Robin got into a deep, philosophical discussion with a vendor about the differences between Star Wars and Star Trek. Give her a chance to get into it, and she will wax philosophical about the virtues of the world of Star Trek. Original series, not those lesser series that came about later. Yup, I married a Trekkie. Live long, and prosper.
We had lunch in an Austrian cafe, Tiroler Stübel. One thing we noticed is that the Brits are a very dog friendly country. There were dogs everywhere. We had no problems with it. We like dogs, and all the dogs in Bakewell were as well-behaved as their owners. In any event, the food was excellent and Ranger-approved. From there it was time to bid Bakewell goodbye, but not before we purchased a Bakewell Pudding, and a Bakewell Tart for later. We had to see what all the fuss was about, of course.
Robin and I both grew up in Indiana, so we were no strangers to caves. We both enjoy caves, so we were looking forward the British version. Poole’s Cavern came up in a Trip Advisor itinerary, and I booked a couple tickets online. There was a visitor’s center and a gift shop near the entrance. We sat down to await our tour, and I passed the time by giving silly names to the prehistoric creatures painted on the ceiling. Robin rolled her eyes, but I was at least able to avoid smelling any vanilla.
All I know is, there were some goofy looking prehistoric animals…the Shark-mander, Gator-Shark, Frog-newt, etc.Poole’s Cavern, in all it’s glory!Ranger checking in with the only place in the world with stalagmites that have this color on therm.A large calcite deposit. The water in the middle was forming mini brimstone dams.
Ranger was scared of the dark.
A scene from Derbyshire on the way back to the hotel.
We made our way back to Hotel Football, where we watched Wrexham win promotion to the Football League. After watching Welcome to Wrexham, Robin and I became Wrexham fans, and cheered them on as they achieved their goal of promotion, after 15 years of playing down in the National League. I fyny’r dref! Up the town!
So after a busy day at Betws-y-Coed and Harlech Castle, Robin and I finished the day at two pubs in Conwy, the George & Dragon, and Ye Olde Mail Couch. There’s a reason we did two pubs in one night. Robin and I had gone in search of a pub that was televising the Manchester United match with Sevilla. Of course, we had seen the first leg in person, and wanted to watch the second leg in Sevilla, Spain on television. We had heard previously that the two pubs were known for showing Man U matches. We had been to the George & Dragon previously, so we went there.
George & Dragon pub
My English Fizzes. Somebody drank one of them!
We ordered some food, and they had a drink special so I got a BOGO on an English Fizz, a drink made with Torquay Gin and served over ice, with peppercorns. I don’t drink cocktails often, and they are usually whiskey-based when I do. My good friend George McFarley is an avid gin aficionado, so I got these drinks in his honor. Yeah, that’s why…
The George and Dragon. Note the upper slate board. This comes into play later.
As Robin and I ate, a group of gentlemen sat down at the table next to ours. They are very friendly, and introduced themselves to us. Gary, Kevin, Eric and Andre were their names. Gary was a latecomer to Conway, and was the youngest of the group. The other three were all 78 years old, and had lived in Conwy their whole lives. Andre was actually born within the town walls, and so was referred to as a ‘Jackdaw’. If you don’t know, the Jackdaw is the smallest of the Raven family. They have a silver face, and orange-rimmed eyes that sparkle with intelligence. One had visited me our first morning in Conwy.
These are the guys we met at the George & Dragon. From left to right, Gary, Kevin, Eric, and Andre. Kevin, Eric, and Andre are all 78 years old and grew up together in Conwy. Andre loves to tell long tales. Kevin and Eric pipe up when he’s telling BS. They were a hoot!
Andre was certainly the most talkative of the group. The first thing he did was to ask Robin and I if we had ever heard of “trout tickling“. We assured him we had not, and sensed a trap by the locals for visitors. He then proceeded, in great detail and gusto, to describe the process, including the motion with his fingers that he used to put the trout into a trance. He would then grab the trout by the gills and pull it out. Eric leaned in and said with a smile, “It’s quite illegal.” Andre then showed us a trout he had caught with his hands. It was at this point that Robin and I knew we were in the presence of authentic Welshmen.
We had heard that the Welsh were a friendly, laid-back, mystical people. Everything we had heard, and more, was proven true by our meeting with Gary, Kevin, Eric and Andre. They openly accepted two Yanks like old friends, shared their lives with us, listened as we told a bit about ourselves, and generally had a great time. Eric got up to leave after a bit. His wife was “not doing well”, and he was going to be with her. The looks I saw from the others told me that “not doing well” was the Welsh way of saying she was in hospice care. My heart went out to him, that, even in his pending grief, he had come to share time with his mates, and with his two new mates from the States.
I sat back and listened to the conversation. Usually, I am the more outgoing one, and Robin sits back to listen to my stories and interactions. She seemed to be connecting with the group, so I let her lead the conversation. Andre told several stories, and Eric, Kevin and Gary were quick to let Robin know when Andre’s story was ‘teirw’, i.e. bullshit. I could tell by the mischievous glint in Andre’s eyes when he was talking. The Irish would call it blarney, the Welsh call it “adrodd stori”, story telling.
One of the things Eric shared with us before he left was that “pub” was short for “public building”. It was a place where people could gather, share news, share stories, and basically interact. A pub is a microcosm of the society at large. Everyone has a story. That story has good and bad parts. It has catastrophes, calamities, celebrations and wonders. Those stories get woven together into a small subplot in the story of a community. Everyone knows the regulars. In Welsh pubs strangers are welcomed, and become part of the pub’s tapestry. Robin and I felt very much a part of it, due to Gary, Kevin, Eric and Andre.
Kevin told us of his visit to the states. He visited the Grand Canyon, Texas, and Michigan, where he stayed with family for a couple of weeks. He was impressed with how big the US was. He really liked Texas. Gary was from County Yorkshire in England. He was slightly younger than Robin and I, so he was about 25 years younger then the other men. Robin grew up in a rural farm in southern Indiana, so she was clearly with her people. For once, I had the pleasure of seeing her interact with others in a relaxed atmosphere, without my customary practice of making myself a major player in any conversation. I really liked watching her animatedly talk with others. She is very intelligent, yet does not talk down to others.
We were well into our conversation when we learned that George & Dragon was not showing the soccer match that evening. Every Thursday Night was Trivia Night, and at the George & Dragon, that was a big deal. It was why Gary, Kevin, Eric and Andre had come. Hearing that there would be no Manchester United match shown, Robin and I reluctantly said our good byes and headed to Ye Olde Mail Coach to catch the match. Eric and there others warned us that the crowd at Ye Olde Mail Coach was a “rougher crowd” but that we would be OK. That was good, because I’m not afraid to start an international incident in defense of my wife or myself.
We walked the two blocks to Ye Olde Mail Coach. When we entered we saw two things. They were certainly showing the match, and Sevilla had already scored a goal. Stunned, we found a small table, got our drinks; Guinness for me and a water for Robin. As the match wore on, it became clear that somewhere during the trip top Sevilla, aliens had kidnapped the Manchester United team and replaced them with replicas manufactured in China. In a winner-takes-all match, they were slow, lethargic and ineffectual. They ended up losing 3-0. I only had the one Guinness, but certainly felt like I needed something stronger. Robin and I agreed; we would have been better off staying at the George & Dragon and playing trivia. Robin and I usually slay at trivia games, as were are both vast repositories of usually useless knowledge.
As for Ye Olde Mail Coach, I feel the need to explain “rougher” crowd. The clientele at the George & Dragon were older, and appeared to be more restrained in their behavior. Ye Olde Mail Coach’s clientele was younger, and a bit more boisterous. No one was confrontational or even hinted at animosity. They were there to drink, and to have a good time. There was a group of about 10 people in an area above where Robin and I were sitting watching the match. One of them would occasionally yell out, the laughter was loud and unrestrained, and one woman in particular was laughing and singing. She reminded Robin and I of a Jeff Foxworthy bit where he said of a woman who was dancing on the table singing, “Her top is coming off before the end of the night.” A different crowd but still Conwy, still Welsh.
It occurred to me after Robin and I returned to our townhouse that it seems that perhaps this is missing here in the US. I’ve been to several here in my town of Speedway. The crowds appear different. The goal seems more to consume alcohol than to connect. We seek to numb what we feel, rather than share with others what is going on. We could do with more story telling. Having to differentiate when someone is engaging in teirw or adrodd stori can be entertaining, especially when the person also shares actual stories. Interactions like that engage the brain, it connects you to the story teller, and the others that are listening, and sharing stories themselves.
Robin and I could tell that Gary, Kevin and Andre were sharing Eric’s pending grief. Eric knew that whatever happened, his mates would be there to share his grief. That sense of camaraderie cannot be underestimated. The family is the foundational building block for a society. The next most powerful thing are the friendships developed between families. This creates a sense of society, a coming together of groups of families as a community. Pubs are important to that. The guys said as much during our conversation, and they are not wrong. Smartphones and the Internet have our heads bowed down looking at small screens. We go online to seek community, while withdrawing from our actual community. The next time you are out in public, look around. See how many people are staring down into their phones. How many are talking with others? When someone walks by, do they acknowledge you with a nod, a smile, or a greeting, or is the eye contact fleeting as they see an obstacle, go past the obstacle and look back down at their smartphones? Solitary existence is not a sound tenet of a healthy society. It is anti-social behavior.
I used to be a member of the Speedway Lions Club, a philanthropic organization that had meetings twice a month. We met, we conducted civic improvement projects, coordinated social events like Trunk or Treat at Halloween, built a large gazebo at one of our parks that is used for a summer concert series, and other civic-minded projects. It caused us to interact socially, and we came to gather to make our community better. I left the organization because I had a lot of irons in the fire at that stage of my life. I may look at rejoining them now that I am semi-retired.
Are you participating in any similar organizations? How about a church group? Sing in the choir, the Rotary Club, the Knights of Columbus, any number of established groups. Get involved. Help out the needy, work with others to make your community better. Connect. Don’t look inward, look outward. People often look inward to “find themselves”. You find yourself in the service to others. You find yourself when you discover your place in the community.
Don’t waste a lot of time looking at your phone. Go to a pub. Gary, Kevin, Eric and Andre, or people like them, will be waiting. Lift a glass together and say, “Lloniannau! (Cheers!)”
Meditations of a Bald, Fat Guy 