Christmas Past

My childhood memories of Christmas center not so much on Christmas Day but on Boxing Day (Dec 26th).... I've read of an old Southern (USA) tradition of passing and re-passing friends and neighbours on a Sunday stroll around town; on Boxing Day we drove to the East End of London where we visited and re-visited with family, running into others on our visiting list but still having to visit them in their own homes later in the day! Laughter, music, lights, decorations, chatter, and presents at every stop. Every home filled to bursting with family and ‘family’ … and food! Food! Italians have nothing on Anglo-Indians when it comes to food… You will eat! You MUST eat! “I know you’ll have something a little later at [x’s] home, but you’re here now, try just a little of this, try, eat!” Talk about feeding the 5000! Aunty Mary’s biryani was the best - and I never knew it to run out! And how I miss my Nan’s cutlets!

In the course of the day we might run into cousins and ‘cousins’ and both aunties and uncles and ‘aunties and uncles’ three or more times! My father liked peace, quiet, and solitude – but prized family above all else. On the drive home, after the hectic day, he would say he felt he had “maggots inside his head,” but he wouldn’t have traded it for the world. Neither would I.

We'd start at the Becks' which was bedlam - in the nicest way - with more people than a fire dept would consider safe, music piped throughout the house, and Chris and his band playing in the basement. Then the round of Ingram visits, picking up presents along the way .... My favourite Christmas present, every year, for many years - being allowed to pick out one of Uncle Denny's tie clips to keep as a hair clip. Then home, with detours to see the Oxford/Regent/Bond street lights.

I look back in gratitude (and occasionally awe) to those who populate those Boxing Day memories, like uncle Bobby, Uncle Lawrence, Aunty Gloria and, of course, my wonderful amazing Nan and my father. Both sadly missed.

My dad and I with Father Christmas in Trafalgar Square (possibly 1968 or 69).

Me & Mel Torme - A Thanksgiving memory

For this Thanksgiving, I thought I'd share a memory from a Thanksgiving many years, many chapters, ago. It's a memory that makes me smile; it reminds me of people to whom I was once close, and of the adventures I have had.

I don't remember the year. My life in Michigan was a constant fight with the world, a constant struggle, much of it is remembered by events that have to be linked together, rather than dates. It's a sad admission - especially for someone who remembers dates. But, it's nothing I can remedy.

I do know that I had the gold Honda and I was dating Emil. That puts me working at the Saturn Retail Facility - they were never referred to as something so common as a car dealership! I began working there shortly after my 30th birthday (1993) and left, I think in 1998. Again, the associations... 911 happened just after I started at the University of Detroit Mercy, subtract 2 years for community college, which I started in January... that must have been 1999.

I'm going to be so much fun when I'm a rambling old woman in a nursing home! 

For arguments sake, we'll say the year was 1994.

It was 1994. I'd been divorced since Christmas 1989. I met Emil in 1993 and we began dating somewhere in 1994. He was newly divorced. We each had two sons. All four boys were close in age - a two year span from the eldest to the youngest. All four were skinny, leggy, and sandy haired. Emil and I are short, with dark hair. The boys got along like the best of friends - and they were all well behaved. That's not mis-memory or wishful thinking. They really were! My boys adored Emil. His boys nicknamed me SuzyQ. I'm sure they had a reason. I'm sure neither of us knows what that reason was! But, they seemed to enjoy my company.

Emil and I lived in separate homes in metro Detroit. My ex-husband lived nearby and saw our two sons every day. Emil's wife remarried and took their two sons to the middle of the Upper Peninsular of Michigan, a distance of 360 miles. But she determined that the half-way point between their two homes was the St. Ignace side of the Mackinac bridge - 63 miles from her home. Emil had grown up in a small town near Saginaw, 100 miles from Detroit. His family remained there.

Thanksgiving rolled around. That American holiday about giving thanks among family ... no matter how far away. Naturally, my ex-husband wanted his children for Thanksgiving. My ex-husband's mother wanted to see her grandchildren and her son for Thanksgiving. Emil's mum wanted to see her grandchildren, her son, and his new girlfriend for Thanksgiving. Emil's wife wanted her children for Thanksgiving. And Emil and I wanted to spend time with all four boys for Thanksgiving. 

To appease everyone would mean planning, scheduling, and a lot of driving!

Emil left on the Wednesday to pick up his boys in St. Ignace and drive them to his family home. My boys and I left on Thanksgiving morning and drove to meet them there. The boys had a great time catching up and we had a lovely couple of hours meeting Emil's family. I left to deliver my sons to their father, and dinner with his family. Then I turned around and drove the 100 miles straight back to Emil and his family. Because we do crazy things for the people we care about!

We shared a few more hours with Emil's family then split up. He to drive his sons northward, back to their home. Me, southward, to mine, where we planned to meet later.

1994. Before cell phones.

I had bought the Honda at the end of 1990, after a truck made my very compact Omni even more compact, one week before Christmas! I had bought it from the Honda dealership where I worked at the time, at Michigan and Inkster. I bought it used. With 13 miles on the odometer. Joe, the finance manager there had pleaded my case with Pete, the owner. Joe, subsequently took me from that dealership to another at Ferndale and Woodward, and then on to the Saturn retail facility. I loved my little Honda. A Civic DX, rear spoiler, mud flaps, and A.C. - something the black Dodge Omni lacked! 

My little gold Honda was going to last me a long time!

I sped off down I-75, through Saginaw, where the snow started. Through Flint, where it became a blizzard, and on to where it truly was white-out conditions ... and the Honda decided to stop. I had felt the car slowing, turned on the hazards and got to the hard shoulder before the car quit. And there I sat. At the side of the road. In the dark. In a blizzard. White-out, where you couldn't see the car in front. I didn't know if my hazards were working. I didn't know if they could be seen from the road. I didn't know when a police car might happen by. It was 1994. I had no cell phone. I didn't know where I was. And, I certainly wasn't going to get out of the car. I didn't really know what my options were, other than to bundle up and wait for either rescue or death from hypothermia.

I sat for maybe 15 mins, although it seemed like an hour, when all of a sudden I saw the lights of a car pull up behind me. They weren't the lights of a police car. Two figures approached my door. Ok, option 3 flit across my mind: apparent rescue followed by death at the hands of strangers in some Michigan backwood.

One stranger knocked on the window, brushing the snow away and shining a light so that I could see his face. An older gentleman ... but still. I couldn't roll the window down. The car was dead, as dead as I feared I might soon be. I opened the door slightly and was told that they had seen my car get off the road, and that they were out looking for their daughter who hadn't yet returned home. Did I need help?

I spent much of my early years being raised by my grandmother.  A women of blind faith, who 'knew no strangers.' She believed everyone has a story if you're willing to listen. Some of that love and trust of humanity was imparted to me. My mothers distrust of everyone sort of evened things out. I have pretty good intuition. I told them that I did indeed need help in getting the car and me towed to safety.

They suggested I go with them to their home and call for the tow truck. Return with them to the Honda to meet the tow truck. Ride with the tow truck to drop off the car, then return with them to their home and ... well, we weren't really sure of the next part.

So, I found myself being driven to a home, I knew not where. As we drove the short distance, they introduced themselves. They seemed like a decent, middle aged, Mid-Western, mom and pop. We arrived at their home, decorated for the holidays, fire in the grate, table set for dinner, teenaged and younger kids running through the house. All waiting for their elder, college aged, sister to arrive. I felt safe.

We called the tow truck, towed the Honda, and returned to their home to determine the next phase of my evening. I was trying to do a mental calculation of where Emil might be, would he have reached St Ignace by now. Was the blizzard as bad further morth? I was invited to stay and join them for Thanksgiving dinner. But the blizzard was abating. I was preoccupied with getting home. Emil was supposed to get to my home later, and my boys early the next morning. I decided to call my friend Raab.

Raab was an ex-boyfriend. He lived not far from me. He didn't like driving long distances. He considered long distance to be anything out of Wayne County - and, actually, even much within the County! This was Thanksgiving. He was with his family. There was a blizzard, although now probably just slush and snow. I was certainly out of the County. In fact, a few counties over. I was 66 miles away, in Fenton.

You do crazy things for the people you care about. Raab drove all the way up to Fenton to rescue me - my second rescue of the evening. And what did he get for his troubles?

He knocked on the door. It was answered by the gentleman of the house who immediately introduced himself as Mel Torme. I saw the laughter rising in Raab, quickly thanked my hosts, and almost pushed Raab to the car before his laughter exploded. Yes, my hosts were Mr. and Mrs. Mel Torme of Fenton. Apparently no relation to the other, more famous one.

Raab deposited me safely at home. Emil arrived safely many hours later. The Honda was never seen again - to be replaced by an evil red Ford Escort, and then by my beloved Silver Steed.

Many years later, while living in Fort Myers, I met a man wearing a baseball cap that had 'Fenton, Mi' emblazoned across it. I told him I had once met a Mr. Mel Torme of Fenton, Mi. He knew him well. They were neighbors. Mr. Torme was a well known and loved fireman in the town.

This is my Thanksgiving story. The one that reminds me every year that we do crazy things for the people we care about, that I have been loved, cared for, and cherished by many wonderful people, that there are angels among us, and that I have much for which to be thankful.

Autumn kayak at Deer Prairie Creek

A gorgeous morning spent kayaking Deer Prairie Creek - which is apparently shaped like a string of V's or W's - the pointy ones, not the rounded ones. Each slant with a tree in the middle and a sand bank on your planned tree evasion route. You know, just enough length to get up speed before another turn ... but the kayak in front of you has stopped to avoid the next tree... I don't do sharp corners well in a kayak! Especially when followed by sudden stops.

Upon return, my kayak looked as though I'd been out doing a tree survey; checking that those were indeed saw palmettos on the banks. If you've ever come in contact with a saw palmetto, you know how they got their name 😉. Each stem has teeth, like a saw. The saw catches on to fabric and skin, it doesn't discriminate, and cuts and cuts as much as it can. 

Still, a glorious morning on the water. We saw alligators, turtles, osprey and limpkins. We fought the wind on the way out and made sure not to get blown over the weir on the way back. I really do need to get out kayaking more often. Although, perhaps not at Deer Prairie Creek... i think I'll save that for hiking.

Eagles Landing 9/17/2021

I was assigned to be the logistics (logs) helper, so my day was relatively easy! At least, I consider it easy - some people hate doing logistics and prefer to do 'real' work; the sweaty, dirty, dusty kind. I enjoy doing both.

Lots of driving - yes, I was given the keys to the truck and have been zipping back and forth between Texas and New Mexico, with time hanging out in various places on base - trying to determine the locations of basic things like available showers for 20 people, laundry where they will wash by the pound - they don't generally have websites! - grocery stores, relatively inexpensive places to eat out or order carryout - we have no showers, no laundry facilities, and no kitchen on site, although we do have a microwave and a fridge.

We each have a visitors pass for base and another for camp, and we have to keep them on us at all times. The pass for base is a piece of paper, 8.5"x11" ... I wonder how many we'll lose!

The camp is intense - chaotic - lots of hard work going on there in the dust and heat, and so many Afghan evacuees, or 'guests.' The greyshirts (TR volunteers) who work in the warehouse look exhausted at the end of the day and I feel guilty.

The scenery is desert, very different from the Florida swamp I spend time surveying, and very much as I would imagine parts of Afghanistan. I wonder what these guests think of their situation - in a camp, with limited freedom of movement, guarded by the army. Its quite surreal.

Our freeway exit is the last before Mexico. There's a lot to think about.

Eagles Landing 9/16/2021

While waiting to board, I began replying to a recently received, lovely long letter from a friend in the UK. A little boy sitting opposite me was intrigued. I wasn't sure if it was because I was actually writing with pen and paper, or because I was writing on airmail paper (Basildon Bond, of course!), thin, with the guidesheet underneath. It's one of those little archaic pleasures that my schoolfriend and I still enjoy.

I'm bemused that the airline announced they had run out of overhead storage space on the flight from Tampa to Dallas, Fort Worth. It begs the questions how and why... if each traveller is allowed one 1 overhead and one personal piece of luggage on the plane, how do they run out of space almost every time?

On the flight from Fort Worth to El Paso, I noticed a soldier clutching a stuffed toy  dog. Naturally, I was curious about the story behind this. The dog is Fido, "The emotionless support dog." Fido was given to Sergeant Hebert and Specialist Buckley by pupils at a school where they did outreach. Fido has travelled with Hebert and Buckley to Iraq, Kuwait, and assorted countries within Europe and the Middle East.

Hebert and Buckley were on their way to Ft. Bliss, and then on to Louisiana - going home early because they had each lost their homes in hurricane Ida.

Lisa, my fellow TR volunteer, (we're known as Greyshirts) had flown in from another TR op in Louisiana - working disaster relief in the neighboring town to Hebert and Buckleys' lost homes.

Barely off the plane and on base at Fort Bliss, my first assignment was to help assemble 20 army cots for our sleeping quarters. I travel for comfort in a casual dress and flip flops ... but, there were cots that needed assembling!

They lied ... We DO have ac!!! - at least where we're sleeping. And it's every but as humid as Florida!

Some team members had arrived in the morning, some the previous week and had been billeted elsewhere, they had all been working in the camp and arrived at base tired, dirty, sweaty and hungry - with stories of the gradual order that was coming to the camp. With the move from one billet to another - this one with no kitchen, we got to know each other over dinner at Chili's.

Lights out at 10pm ... Lights on at 6am.

Eagles Landing 9/15

I'm a volunteer with Team Rubicon, one of the few non Veteran volunteers in this primarily Veteran Disaster Relief organization. This week I'm deploying to one of the many current operations - but this one isn't flood or fire related.  This op is one of several around the country in which the army is working alongside a number of relief organizations to re-settle the Afghan evacuees.

I am deploying to Fort Bliss in Texas and working in the camp in New Mexico. Lest you think that sounds exotic and 'cool,' this came with my dispatch orders: "Billeting will be in a large, open, unairconditioned, government warehouse building with plenty of room for us to spread out for COVID protocols. We will be on cots. There are bathrooms in the billeting area but no showers which will be sourced at a nearby gym and perhaps other locations nearby on base. Daily temperatures are averaging in the mid 90’s with low humidity. It is a desert. It is very breezy and sometimes very dusty."

Oh, without doubt, this is going to be an experience I'll remember!

Island Innovation Ambassador - 2021

I am honored, and excited, to have been selected as an Island Innovation Ambassador for 2021. I look forward to learning from, sharing, and collaborating with, this diverse and inspiring network of professionals.

I was introduced to Island Innovation in 2019 by LinkedIn contact Paul Kreutzer, someone I have never met, but with whom I maintain a running correspondence. Paul thought I might be interested in joining the group and attending the free, annual, virtual, global conference. I researched the group and, from their website, found that they are "a social enterprise and digital media platform at the intersection of sustainable development and communications, offering specialised services across various sectors. We bring together the private sector, government, utilities, NGOs and universities to advance innovation for sustainability and prosperity in islands worldwide."

I was able to attend some of the many presentations in 2019 and found them interesting and the concept fascinating. This was pre-pandemic. Now, of course, virtual conferences are commonplace.

Following Island Innovation on LinkedIn and Facebook introduced me to a wealth of information from professionals all over the world, working on a variety of issues affecting islands big and small.

During the 2020 conference I listened to the experiences of some of the then current Ambassadors, and in late 2020 when I saw the call for Ambassadors for 2021, I wondered if I had the requisite skills, background, and time available to even consider applying.

The main responsibilities of an Ambassador are to: Participate in 1 monthly training session on sustainable development topics; Participate in 1 monthly meeting on Ambassador Program updates; Organize an event in the local community, prior to the Virtual Island Summit 2021; Promote the Virtual Island Summit 2021, and an option to create a video inviting your community to participate in the Virtual Island Summit 2021.

I felt that these were items within my capabilities. Additionally, the application stated that Ambassadors needed to be “passionate about island issues, innovation and sustainable development, of any age, who reside or have resided on an island, with a commitment to represent their island/country, who are able to participate in our activities and meetings, and who are strongly committed to building more sustainable islands.” I submitted my application, crossed my fingers, and was delighted to receive an email stating that I had been accepted – with a reminder that “Island Innovation Ambassadors are considered the face of Island Innovation and will work closely with key stakeholders in the Virtual Island Summit. They will represent their community and network with policy-makers, entrepreneurs and NGO leaders while gaining industry experience and exposure. There will also be a network for future scholarship opportunities.” It was a good way to end 2020 and begin 2021.

I was born and raised on an island, specifically, the UK. My life journey blew me ‘across the pond’ to the USA and planted me in Metro Detroit (Michigan) for a couple of decades, then Florida and Kentucky, and back to Florida. During that journey I raised two sons while earning my bachelor’s degree in civil engineering, became a Certified Floodplain Manager, became a dance teacher, weathered the great recession, became a CRS coordinator for the City of Venice, moved on to the Florida Division of Emergency Management Bureau of Mitigation - Floodplain Management and, most recently, returned to the City of Venice to open my own company, Dancing Waters Consulting, LLC - appropriately named for a dance teaching water resources professional.

My community, the City of Venice, comprises sixteen (16) square miles in Southwest Florida. The city’s general boundaries are the Myakka River to the east and the Gulf of Mexico to the west. A portion of the City is an island, created by the Army Corps of Engineers with the construction of the Intra-Coastal Waterway (ICW) in 1964. In essence, the City is bounded by two major bodies of water and bisected by another. In addition, there are many creeks, tributaries of the ‘Wild and Scenic’ Myakka River, which lead to bays, which flow out of the Venice inlet to the Gulf of Mexico. It is a wonderful place for anyone involved in water resources, particularly floodplain management and resiliency.

The City is a reasonably affluent and very picturesque community. The City has an approximate population of 23,000 – sixty-two percent (62%) of which are retirees. We rely heavily on our ‘snowbirds’ – residents who only reside here during our hospitable winters. Resiliency - climate, economic, and social - and sustainability are important to us.

The Ambassadorship program kicked off 2021 in high gear. An initial meeting provided a platform for us to introduce ourselves, virtually. It is exciting meeting professionals from as far afield as the Orkneys, the Falklands, and closer to home in the Caribbean., All participants engaged, happily sharing projects, and asking questions. Like all good conferences and training programs, each conversation leaving participants energized. It is exciting exploring new software, like Remo, enhancing the Zoom experience, and reading introductions on WhatsApp - although that has the potential to either overwhelm or force you to refine time management skills! I have not yet signed up and joined the Slack channel, but I understand there are numerous thought-provoking conversations happening there. It is easy to see the networking in action and potential collaborations forming.

I was introduced to a podcast on Sargassum, the issues concerning this seaweed – and projects utilizing it in unique ways. I participated in a training offered by The Strategy Innovation Group (SIG) and was subsequently accepted into the SIG Discovery Process Program. I am looking forward to this program and the opportunities it offers to learn and hone strategies for teams and stakeholder engagement.

The February calendar has some interesting items – all but the Ambassador trainings are publicly available. Information and registration can be found on the Island Innovation website. Check it out, perhaps it will pique your interest to be an Ambassador in 2022!

For more information about Island Innovation, please check the following resources:

• Website
• Island Finance Forum
• Blog/Insights
• News
• About Island Innovation

#IslandInnovation #SDG2021 #IslandAmbassador

Chaos and Opportunities

Sun-Tzu said “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.” I found this to be true during the ‘great recession’ of the last decade; a period which unmoored me and changed my perceptions and behavior. It stripped me bare of all my financial equity and most of my belongings. It forced me to take stock of my abilities, my confidence, self-esteem, and boundaries – personal, physical, mental, emotional. It was, as they say, a learning experience.

It was this experience that enabled me, in 2019, to leave a job that I loved, at the Florida Division of Emergency Management (FDEM) - Bureau of Mitigation, Floodplain Management, to strike out for pastures new. My own company. Time to sink or swim (again?). The fact that I had the support – and admiration – of my boss, Steve (the State Floodplain Manager) was encouraging. Thus began 2020.

I spent January creating my website and social media, catching up with contacts, reaching out to new and budding networks. I suddenly had a contract!!! Not a large one, but somebody trusted me enough to employ me - and pay me the rate I requested. It was exciting.

As we know, the year quickly took a turn for the worse. We began hearing about Covid, but information was conflicting. Reaction and regulations differed depending on the country, and even the part of that country, in which one resided. Finally, on March 1, the Governor of Florida issued Executive Order 20-51. This order directed the State Health Officer and Surgeon General to declare a public health emergency in the State of Florida. This was followed on March 9th with Executive Order 20-52, declaring a State of Emergency. Many other Executive Orders followed, suspending on-premises food and alcohol consumption for customers, closing gyms and fitness centers, requiring visitors to Florida to self-isolate, limiting gathering to a maximum of 10 people, until, on April 1, Executive Order 20-91 stated unequivocally that “Senior citizens and individuals with a significant underlying medical conditions… shall stay home…” and that “all persons in Florida shall limit their movements and personal interactions outside of their home to only those necessary to obtain or provide essential services or conduct essential activities.” This was Florida’s version of lockdown – with many items included in ‘essential activities’ that were excluded in other regions of the world.

Although lockdown, throughout the world, was undoubtedly painful for many people, it was amusing seeing the memes posted by introverts. I am one of those introverts. My friends know that I lead an active life, but as active as it is, it is also largely solitary. It came as a mild shock, largely a surprise, and an oddly humorous revelation, that what many people considered hardship, sacrifice even, was, in effect, my typical life! I would have trouble filling a bubble limited to 3 or 4 people! Perhaps this is something that I need to reflect on once the threat of Covid passes.

Limiting activity had many repercussions, especially in a state top heavy with seniors. The closure of bars and restaurants meant unemployment and a corresponding increase at food banks … food banks whose volunteers had been told to stay home. Again, I am in that demographic still allowed to leave home for essential activities, and opportunities began to present themselves.

I belong to Team Rubicon (TR), a disaster relief organization. Most members of TR are military veterans, one percent (1%) are “kick-ass civilians.” I am not ex-military, but TR is a good fit for me. TR put out a call to man food banks throughout the nation, and I answered that call in both Manatee and Sarasota Counties, eventually leading TR operations on two (2) projects providing food to more than 500 people each day. I would not have had the time had I been working a 40-hour job at FDEM. Fortunately, my efforts were applauded and supported by the gentlemen on whose contracts (by this time plural) I was working.

Later in the year I was able to deploy remotely with TR, on the four (4) hurricanes that hit Louisiana. Deployments like that are truly humbling experiences.

2020 was also an election year. Seniors typically provide the manpower at precincts on election day – and, in Sarasota County, there is a lengthy waiting list. The call went out that paid volunteers were needed for the primaries. I applied, was accepted, did the online and in-person training to be a poll worker, and worked as an Inspector at a nearby precinct. This was a great experience, especially as I had been a US citizen for less than a year. I had also recently become a precinct captain for my precinct. In ‘I know why the caged bird sings,’ Maya Angelou describes her grandmother as being ‘a precinct captain; a very important person.’ This makes me laugh. It really means that I am responsible for making sure that ‘my’ registered voters have the correct information to enable them to vote (where to vote, who is on the ballot etc.,). Being involved in the electoral process meant that I had updated and correct information at my fingertips! And this was going to be an election year like no other!

After the primary election I was asked if I would like to be an Assistant Clerk for the General Election. That sounded interesting - dealing with the serious issues that an inspector is not equipped to handle, so I applied, was accepted, did the online and in-person training, and worked at a different precinct for the November election.

In between the elections, paid volunteers were sought to help fill numerous temporary positions at the Supervisor of Elections. Again, these are typically positions filled by seniors, many of whom were not allowed to leave home. I applied to do a couple of hours a week. I was blindsided by an offer of 40 hours a week to scan the Vote by Mail (VBM) ballots and verify the signatures. That was more than I wanted to do, but VBM was shaping up to be a really big deal in this election… I spoke to my clients who, to a man, said “do it, and thank you!” I spoke to HR and said that if I needed to step away for phone calls concerning my business, then that came first. Everyone was on-board, so I participated in the election of 2020 on so many levels it was both informative and entertaining.

2020 was also the year of the Census. Now, that was a learning experience! As a Geographic Information Systems (GIS) person; a map maker and data analyst, it is always interesting to see how other people develop and deploy GIS software.

I should add that I was free to take these opportunities because I have no-one depending on me. It sounds harsh, perhaps pitiable - or pitiful, to say that my life is expendable, and that is not what I mean to infer. 

For too many people, 2020 was a horrible year. However, pandemic aside, it was one of the most enjoyable and fulfilling years of my life. In trying to remain sensitive to others, I delayed writing this, but I also wanted to share with friends. Besides volunteer opportunities, my 2020 was filled with the following memorable activities:

• I had a photo accepted in the Museum of Youth Culture ‘Grown up in Britain’ exhibit.

• After 20+ years as a Servas member, I became a Servas interviewer and even conducted my first interview. Unfortunately, no travelling is taking place, and may not resume until 2022. When it does, I’ll be ready.

• I participated in a GIS competition, beta testing new GIS software.

• I participated in the annual Horseshoe crab survey season, surveying Charlotte Harbor Estuary.

• I became certified, through the UN, on designing resilient cities.

• I did my first ever tree survey.

• I surveyed eagle nests!

• I was selected to represent my City as a 2021 ambassador for Island Innovation.

Yes, for me, 2020 was a good year.

Lockdown- the beginning

Early January 2020, I began getting my company organised, I sponsored a floodplain management training, I called municipalities and offered my services. I ordered all my FEMA manuals. I downloaded a variety of open source software. I was prepared, or at least prepping.

I had attended the Presidential candidate debates while I was living in Tally. Having returned to Venice, I thought I'd check out what the Venice Democrats were up to … and then Dave and I met for lunch. The meeting derailed me and threw me into a deep dark hole.

You have no-one to blame but yourself when you choose not to see the signs; the friends you don't get to meet because they're racist, the things you don't get to do because he's hungover, the arguments because he's drunk, the arguments because he hasn't had a drink, the trips destroyed because of alcohol, ignoring the quiet voice inside saying "leave now. Walk away now. I know you love him, but you don't deserve this." My anger at myself for allowing the relationship to continue, my introspective questioning why I kept taking him back… The grief, the anger, the sadness hit me hard, to the point of paralysis. I did not come out of this until March … in time for the country to join the rest of the world in Covid lockdown.

At the Venice Democrats meeting in January, I had innocently asked about the elections, poll watching, precincts. I realise now I had been quite vague so when 'they' said "we'd love to have you as a precinct Captain" I said "oh. Ok. Sure. Sign me up." And so, I became a precinct captain; the cheerleader who chivvies everyone to the polls to cast their ballots, making sure they know for whom those votes should be cast. The chivvying, in my case, takes the form of a weekly newsletter. Nice and impersonal, very informative, all my organizing done from the anonymity of my computer screen … except the registered Democrats in my precinct began emailing me and calling me, telling me how much they enjoyed the newsletter, asking questions, stopping me to chat in the parking lot.

My precinct is a little one – we are an anomaly in this very red (Republican) county; currently we have 324 Democrats, 326 Republicans, and 225 non-party affiliates. The numbers fluctuate, but only by 1 or 2 a week. Having this knowledge has enabled me to embolden my little band of Democrats: they no longer whisper to each other when they're at the pool, they've been ordering car bumper stickers, I set them tasks each week; read up on one of the seven races, know why you're voting for the candidate - and why you're not voting for the other candidate. It's a bit like being a cub scout den leader again, except they're 70, not 7, there are no merit badges, and there are 300+ of them instead of 10. It's actually quite fun! - and I feel I'm doing my bit towards the election, towards maintaining democracy.

Covid lockdown brought another element. The Governor's Executive Order mandated that all those aged 60 and over remain home. Florida is known as God's waiting room. The common saying hereabouts is "when you retire you move to Sarasota. When your children retire to Sarasota you move to Venice. When your grandchildren retire to Sarasota, your children move to Venice and you move to Englewood." All those retirees do a lot of voluntary work. Suddenly, as food banks were being over-run and polling locations were being prepped, those volunteers were ordered to remain home. Not only was I still allowed out - taking necessary precautions - but I was now able to volunteer for positions not usually accessible to me because of a perverse twist in ageism!

2019 - The abridged version

2019 was a wonderful year. I traveled the State as part of the State Floodplain Management Office (SFMO). We worked on a pilot program that impressed FEMA, a program we hope will be rolled out across the country. 

I had been 'on a promise' for the job with the SFMO before I left to see the world in 2018, and was excited to explore its opportunities. Dave and I had got back together, we'd even agreed to move to Tallahassee together; we were in this for the long haul … until we weren't, barely 2 months later, when he decided to stay in Sarasota with his new girlfriend, Caroline.

The job with the SFMO allowed me to stay in Venice, working remotely, until March or April. During that time I saw many potential red flags - and I wasn't sure if the excitement and potential of the job could outweigh them. But, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and off I went to Tally … keeping my place in Venice, and renting a room in Tally, for just a bit longer while I checked out just how red those flags were.

As the year went on,I realised that I loved the work but felt very constrained. Since becoming a single parent in 1989 I had fought to maintain balance in my life. Suddenly I found that plans were being switched at a moment's notice and that maintaining balance in my own life was beyond my control. I found that I loved consulting with municipalities - and their consultants - but also frustrated that I was consulting with those same consultants, many of whom would, or could, do nothing to make the recommended changes. I found that, although I was a viable member of the team, I had no outlet for many of my diverse skills.

In September I travelled to La Rochelle for an international flood conference. Paid for, like so many conferences, from my own funds. But, this time, I was presenting. I loved the exchange of ideas from many countries - similarities in risk and 'buzz words," but vast differences in national leadership and programs. It gave me a lot to think about.

I returned from the conference wondering if I might be better off on my own. Steve, my boss, answered those questions in the positive - encouraging me to leave whilst expressing his desire that I stay! His final comments to me, when I eventually left, were "I thought, when I hired you, that I'd never be able to keep you. I knew I'd be grateful for every day I had you here, and I have been.'

I left the SFMO in December and travelled back to Venice. A new year, a new decade, a new beginning. A new company all of my own. I'd been in 'sink or swim' situations a few times before. This time it was one entirely of my own choosing. 2020 beckoned enticingly, full of promise.

June 8th: Goodbye Fes, hello Meknes

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We set out to cover all the places we missed yesterday, with the bare bones of a plan which was continually upset by Ramadan practices. Moral: don’t ever travel in a Muslim country during Ramadan unless you have your own transportation, carry petrol and food with you and can go easily with the flow … We were travelling light, on a budget, and we had train connections to make.

We sought out busses again, but to no avail. I stopped in a local shop to ask directions and best way of getting to the places on our agenda, and we were told that taxi was our best - really only - option. The shop employee was only too happy to negotiate a “fair” price with a very unhappy, very unwilling taxi driver who spoke no english or French and apparently only a smattering of Arabic. For this price, the driver would take us to each place and allow an “appropriate” amount of time for us to visit each place before moving along.

We asked to be taken to the Necropolis de sultan Merinides, thinking that would be the best place to begin, high on the hill before the noon day sun, also the location furthest from our hotel. The driver had no idea which place we meant, so we had to point … up there on the hill! INauspicious beginnings... The ruins are large monumental tombs, believed to date from the 14th century when the Merenides dynasty ruled over Fes, but it is not known who is buried in these particular tombs! They provide a spectacular view of the historic city, and an excellent place to hear the call to prayer broadcast simultaneously from the 400+ mosques in the medina. The taxi driver wound his way up the hill, parked alongside the monuments and indicated gruffly that we had 5 minutes! Just enough time to wander and snap a couple of photos. He then determined that our next stop should be the Royal palace which you can’t actually visit, but you can jump out of the taxi and snap another quick photo under the watchful eyes of many armed security guards. The royal palace, Dar Al Makhzen, was built in the 13th century during the Merindes dynasty. Its 80 hectares encompass a madrasa (school), mosque, parade ground and gardens. There is a large square in front of the palace - the place of Alawites - but we were the only people there.

We drove past the Bab Sammarine - the Sammarine gate, one of 14 ornate gates to the medina - on our way to Le Jardin Jnan Sbil et la place Boujloud. But, Ramadan …the gardens were closed until later that day. The driver agreed to take us on to Le Musee Dar el batha. But, Ramadan … the museum was closed. The friendly young guard, who spoke impeccable English, French and Arabic, helped us deal with the increasingly agitated taxi driver. It was agreed that he would take us to, and leave us at, the Bab Boujloud entry to the medina where we would probably find food. From that point on we would be on our own. But, the museum and gardens should be open by the time we walked back.

We drove through the Andalusiyya quarter, the oldest part of the medina, to see the Spanish style wooden balconies that my aunt remembered from previous visits. Then had a dismal lunch just outside the medina. So few places were serving food that we were just happy to sit, eat and regroup in the intense heat.

We walked back to Le Musee Dar el batha, following the blue dots on my phone as we had in so many other situations. The beautiful museum, which showcases art and cultural traditions of Morocco, was a 19th century palace and a summer residence, built by Sultan Moulay Hassan I, who was committed to modernization and reform. We stayed there for hours wandering through the various rooms, each with a different yet ornate door, and lush gardens. Jacaranda trees!I first saw Jacarandas when I went to Guatemala and thought they were the most beautiful tree I’d ever seen; the flowers almost transparent. I was thrilled when I moved to Florida and watched them bloom each spring, and here they were in this garden. It was a delightful surprise and began to make up for the stress of dealing with the taxi driver in the morning.

The guard at the museum told us that we really should visit Le Jardin Jnan Sbil, gave us directions and sent us on our way. The garden is a far cry from the hustle and bustle, frenetic pace of the medina. It is peaceful, quiet, calm …. it is where the locals visit to picnic, and stroll. Rose beds, reminded me of England, jacarandas and avenues of palm trees recalled my home in Venice, Florida. It was the perfect continuation of the day, but we still had other places on our list ... we had to pick up our luggage from the riad and be at the train station for our journey to Meknes.

We left the gardens and tried to hail a taxi cab., thinking that we could possibly fit in the Medersa abou inania and the castle. The Medersa is part of the Kairaouine University, an architectural masterpiece built in 1350 and, unbelievably, open to the public. We couldn’t get a taxi cab to stop for us. No matter where we stood they just whizzed right by us. In desperation we asked a passing trio of armed guards were we could get a taxi. Their response was to step into the street and wave one down for us! It’s amazing how quickly a taxi driver will stop for armed guards …

Taxis in Morocco have an odd system; if they already have a fare, they will stop to pick up additional fares, and the burden of paying for the entire ride - not just their portion - falls to the new fare. We requested the castle as it was relatively close by, but found ourselves being taken back to the Necropolis de Sultan Merinides. Producing maps didn’t help, neither the driver nor additional passenger seemed to know where or what we meant by the castle and we drove back and forth and around and around the town, with the fare ratcheting up and the driver becoming more and more irate … Ramadan; it was getting closer and closer to the time to break the fast, and all the drivers on the road were showing signs of road rage exacerbated by the heat. It really was a comedy of errors. So, time being of the essence, we asked to be taken to Medersa abou inania. Then, with traffic against us, resigned ourselves to returning to the riad.

We made it back to the riad, thanked Isham for his hospitality and began our walk back to the taxi rank for yet another round of bartering over the fare as the drivers all want to be close to home when it is time to break their fast - and the fares are increased because … Ramadan! Although we had walked back and forth from the riad many times during our stay, my aunt decided that now was the time to try out a new route, after all didn’t have anywhere special to be - just the train station for a soon to be departing train. Some times on this trip I have been patient with my aunt and she with me. Today had not been one of those days, for either of us. Now we were being severely tested.

We made it to the train station on time, taken by possibly the only driver in Fes who charged a decent rate. He must be new to the business! Soon we were on our way to Meknes. We hailed a taxi at the station and were told somewhat solemnly that it was in the old part of the medina, no-one goes there, the driver wouldn’t be able to take us to the door and wasn’t actually sure of the exact location, and he wanted to be home soon for Ramadan. To be honest, I had spent 23 years in Dearborn, Michigan, and had enjoyed the feasting and celebrating that goes along with Ramadan in the Arabic capital of America. But now it was just getting on my nerves. My blood pressure rising with each mention of the word!

The driver dropped us off at what he hoped was the closest location to the riad and, once again, we trusted our direction to the little blue dots on the map on my phone. Some boys in the street saw us and offered to show us the way …The medina in Essaouria is spacious and open, Fes is frenetic. Meknes just seemed dodgy., back alleys with dubious types. It appeared to have no redeeming qualities. For the first time on this trip I had my doubts. Following both my phone and the young men we walked up a steep hill through alleys with little going on and finally found ourselves outside the Riad Idrissi.

We were welcomed into the riad where we would be the only guests that night and, I thought later, for many nights both before and after. We were asked if we would like to join the family for dinner that evening and if we would like to see “an exhibition” that the owner gives of rugs, jewellery and fossils, on travels around the world. Excitedly we agreed to both…. and were then led to our rooms in what could only be described as the penthouse suite. The riad was gorgeous, our room was cosy with a large patio overlooking the medina.

We settled in and were called for the “exhibition,” where the owner showed us beautiful rugs and silver jewellery, but grew more and more surly and displeased as we oohed and aahed with our wallets remaining closed. My aunt did purchase one small rug - I’m sure she felt under no duress! Dinner was served at a separate table from that of the “family.” They were sullen, surly, ignored us and made no attempt to interact with us. It was all very strange - but the food was delicious.

In no mood for any more tramping around strange places, we retired to our room to watch the sun set over the medina. We had been told to keep the plug in the shower closed until we were running water, otherwise the smell from the sewer rose through the drain. I asked my aunt if she knew how to open and close the plug before she had her shower and received a very terse (I’m not a child) “yes!” … scant minutes before the bathroom flooded. Sometimes you just laugh at the silly things that happen, sometimes you cry. That night I cried. I was being worn down very slowly by the travel and the heat, by trying to accommodate my aunt who was doing her best to accomodate me, by the constant language interpretation issues; this trip to Fes & Meknes was beginning to look like a mistake. We fell into our beds with terse, but hesitant, goodnights - and then a gecko ran across the wall by my bed! I smiled. Wearily. But I smiled. Tomorrow is another day.

June 7th: Fes

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Well rested, we sat on the rooftop terrace and enjoyed our breakfast of olives, laughing cow cheese triangles, apricot jam, an assortment of breads, and coffee. Surveying the vast medina in front of us, we planned our stay in Fes: the medina, obviously; the Necropolis de sultan merinides; the royal palace; le Jardins de boujeloud; Le Musee Dar el batha; the Medersa abou inania; and The castle. We should be able to ft all of that in in a day and a half…

We stopped at the bank on the way to the Place R’cif .. and that’s where the fun began. The medina is easier to navigate from Bab Boujeloud - the opposite side of the medina from where we were -, so we looked for a bus to take us there. Apparently taxis are a greater stimulus to the economy so we were told continuously that no busses run around the perimeter of the medina. I’m sure this can’t be true, but people were adamant. So, we hired a taxi to Bab Boujeloud. On departing the taxi we were instantly accosted by guides - all wearing “official” badges. We talked to one guide, and instant a fight broke out between him and other guide, each insisting the other was not “official.” It was not pleasant, and a far cry from Essaouira. Welcome to Fes! While I dealt with both of them - more with looks , gestures and tone of voice - telling them that neither one of them was required, my aunt had picked up another companion. Walking quietly beside her and telling her what sights to look for in the medina was Abdullah. He remained our guide for the day, patiently explaining the history, architecture and culture of the medina. He had been a science teacher and was delighted to answer all of my questions. He led us to all the monuments, as well as the artisans with whom he obviously had agreements. We watched tanners dyeing skins, weavers at work (agave silk!), craftsmen engaged at their various skills. This is a given with guides, and it would be naive to think otherwise, but he was well known - and obviously respected - throughout the medina.

The medina really is labyrinthine, and there is so much to see. Oh gosh, if I had money... the craftsmanship was astounding and, realistically, very inexpensive. We watched silver, copper and bronze smiths at forges, saw breathtaking displays of Berber rugs, saw them them chisel ceramics and visited the tannery ... would that I could afford something from each place. My aunt surprised me with a gift of a gorgeous leather jacket from the tannery. I chose a style and colour, they measured me and delivered it to our riad that evening. One could get used to this lifestyle! A stop at an antique store netted a marriage proposal from the owner, Hush Hush … my future wife is sitting next to me now, inshallah. Um no. That was the signal to leave! Again, I’m not naive enough to believe this doesn’t happen every hour, at least!

We meandered through the medina entering the Bab Boujloud, the western entrance to the old medina. We traced the narrow alleys, suddenly and unexpectedly running into donkey trains making deliveries. Thanks to Abdullah we were given entry to Glaoui Palace - The Old Palace, the Pasha of Marrakesh’s second home. Once very grand, but poorly maintained and in need of repair since Morocco's independence from France in 1956. It was still a treat to see the opulence that once was. We stopped to peek into El Karaouiyne Mosque and library, open only to Muslims. The mosque was founded by Fatima al-Fihri in 859 with an associated school, or madrasa, which became one of the leading spiritual and educational centers of the historic Muslim world. It is said to be oldest existing, continually operating and the first degree awarding educational institution in the world. We visited the Tomb of Idriss II, founder of Fes, but again were only allowed to peek inside. The day was hot, the medina crowded, the sights and scents overpowering. There was only so much we could do. We conceded defeat after visiting the ceramic factory and were brought back to Place R’cif by a taxi driver with a penchant for the Barcelona soccer team. The Necropolis de sultan merinides, the royal palace, le Jardins de boujeloud, Le Musee Dar el batha, the Medersa abou inania, and The castle, they would all have to wait for the morrow … with an earlier start and a better plan.

We returned to the riad, where Isham was waiting for us. Shortly thereafter my jacket was delivered but the credit card machine was having problems and cash would be a better alternative. My aunt left with the man from the tannery … and neither Isham nor I were sure if either would be seen again!

May 21st: Goodbye Norwich

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Packed and ready for the next phase of this adventure; leaving Norwich for a few weeks in Essaouira. Robert walked me to the bus station where I caught the inordinately inexpensive Megabus, to be met in Stratford by Alex. I hadn’t seen Alex in about a decade, and this was a lovely chance for us to gad about the streets of London together.

We travelled to Liverpool St. Station where, I had been ‘reliably’ informed that I could leave my luggage. I would have been better off leaving it at Victoria Coach station. Sometimes this information is difficult to find, even for someone like me! We walked past Trafalgar Square, Chinatown, old familiar haunts, and sauntered in to the British museum. Entrance to the museum is free / donation, which makes it the perfect place to visit whenever the mood strikes. Such an enormous place it can only be consumed in small bite sized pieces. And crowded! I’d forgotten about the crowds in London. We decided to tackle a small part of Greek history and then escaped the crowds for a tasty lunch of falafel & schnitzel at Maoz in Soho.

We walked back to Trafalgar Square for evensong at St. Martin in the Fields, possibly my favourite church in the whole of London. It dates back to 1222, but the present church is Georgian. The simple interior is in sharp contrast to the imposing exterior. It’s a wonderful City church, fully involved in the lives of the citizens, and the citizens involved in the church which has been at the forefront of religious broadcasting, peace and social justice movements, activism … It is the home of the world renowned Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields chamber orchestra, who have taken to touring South West Florida in the winter! There are frequent concerts, even the sing along type, seminars, jazz evenings, and a cafe in the crypt. When I was young I loved the architecture of the church - inspired by Christopher Wren, but designed by James Gibbs. As a teenager I learned about Dick Sheppard, founder of the Peace Pledge Union - and with whom I share my birthday, and became more interested in the church outside of the religious aspect. Nowadays they do a lot of work with the homeless - just as they have throughout the centuries. As their website states, “St Martin-in-the-Fields is a unique configuration of cultural, charitable and commercial initiatives rooted in the life of a vibrant Church of England congregation.” When I miss home, London, this is one of the places I miss.

Evensong was peaceful, a nice place to relax … Alex in a pew, and me in one of the boxes … until we were interrupted by the world outside; a homeless person ran in and up to the choir. He was removed by one of the vergers, built like a security guard, but one of the singers was visibly shaken. The vicar carried on with the service, a sign that this was not an unusual occurrence. The swift removal made me wonder how much the charity work truly impacts the life of those immediately outside the church.

We had some time to spare before my next appointment, so we walked around the corner to the Halfway to Heaven pub for a quick drink. Alex kindly walked me to 6-9 Carlton House Terrace, otherwise known as the home of The Royal Society - “The independent scientific academy of the UK and the Commonwealth... a Fellowship of many of the world's most eminent scientists … the oldest scientific academy in continuous existence.” They hold many events and lectures open to the public, tonight’s lecture was “Why philosophy of science matters to science.” One of my favourite topics. The lecture hall was full to bursting. Oh, I do miss things like this.

I picked up my luggage and caught a late coach to Luton airport where I planned to spend the night in readiness for my early morning plane to Morocco.

The coach ride and my time at Luton gave me a chance to think of all that I had done and seen so far on this trip, and of all the adventures to come. It had been a brilliant day with Alex, I really shouldn’t leave so much time between visits. I even came away with a lovely gift, a signed copy of his new book of poetry.

May 18th: Birthday Celebrations

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Today was a special day - Robert’s birthday. I set the alarm so that I could run down to the market as soon as it opened and be back in time to do a nice breakfast for him when he woke up. The Norwich market website gives opening times for the stalls - don’t believe a word of it! I hung out, in the rain, wandering around, getting to be on first name terms with the stall holders and learning how to make gluten free bread, while waiting to buy a couple of quail eggs… I had seen them on previous days, I knew which Butcher stall sold them, so this was no flight of fancy. But today, of all days, this particular butcher showed up late… and when he did he had no quail eggs. Only duck eggs. There were no signs of stirring from Robert’s room when I arrived home, so I was able to surprise him with baked avocado stuffed with duck eggs, shrimp and tomato … he opened his birthday cards from friends and family, and we decided to return to the castle for a tour of the dungeon and a chance to see the museum and art galleries properly.

The dungeon tour was quite interesting, with all manner of instruments of torture through the ages, and plaster-cast heads of executed criminals. We toured the castle exhibits and extensive galleries - a great place to spend a rainy day, perhaps many a rainy day. The castle may be small, but the galleries are so extensive we still didn’t make our way through all of them. Glorious artwork and fascinating exhibits to linger over. And a study center! He’s very lucky to have this amazing resource within walking distance. Again, it just made me love Norwich all the more.

We left the castle and walked across town to his birthday present - Afternoon tea at The Assembly Hall. The Assembly Hall is an elegant Georgian home in the City, and holds English Country dances occasionally. The room was beautiful, stately, a piano played softly in the background … and the food … who knew that you could simply smile at the wait staff and say “ooh yes please” when refills of the teapots and tea trays were offered. We dined on dainty sandwiches of Norfolk ham, smoked salmon, egg and cress - all cut into little triangles. Added to that were cheese toasties and tomato chutney, brioche rolls filled with goodies, and, of course, both sweet and savory scones … with an assortment of pastries and cakes. With such a tea, there ought not be need for food for the remainder of the day. We looked in disbelief at the menu for Christmas dinner; it would take a couple of days to get through, and a gym membership should come as part of the deal!

We walked back to the castle to see more of the exhibits and then retired home… for a dinner of delicious Cromer crab. I think the birthday boy enjoyed his special day.

May 17th: Norwich Castle (part 2)

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Norwich castle called, again. We were used to the path there by now, and all the plaques and artwork along the way. But today we gained entry to the castle itself. The castle is 900 years old, built by the Normans. It is very much a part of the City, not just a tourist attraction. The castle isn’t as big as it appears, but we wandered the exhibits, stopping at the games section to play Nine Men’s Morris, or mills or merels as is sometimes called. Mills is “an abstract strategy game that dates back to the Roman Empire.” This and Boggle were my favourite childhood games … and I’m still up for a challenge against a worthy adversary. I’ll be kind and won’t name the winner of our games … We didn’t have time to do the dungeon tour, and ran through the art galleries. Walking back home through the alleys and into the city center yielded shop windows full of bunting - everyone preparing for the upcoming Royal wedding. The Bridal shops had put masks of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle on all of the mannequins. It was all quite amusing, but lovely to see - very British.


In the evening we went to see Shift, playing as part of the Norwich festival. An acrobatic display, fittingly performed by the Barely Methodical Troupe in the circus like Spiegeltent.

May 16th: The scenic route to Sutton Hoo

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Robert booked the car from his car club and we had Sutton Hoo, and possibly tea with my school friend Liz, in our sights. Of course nothing goes quite as planned, does it? Noticing a sign for ”the lost city” of Dunwich - the early medieval capital of East Anglia, now all but lost to coastal erosion - this floodplain manager had to request a quick detour. Coming to an intersection with signs to Dunwich one way and Walberswick the other, Robert suggested we see Walberswick first. Walberswick is Britain's secret celebrity enclave on the coast, and remembered fondly by Robert from childhood visits. Dunwich could wait.

At the entrance to the village we screeched to a halt and jumped out of the car to roam the unannounced 15th century ruins in the grounds of St. Andrews church. There was a bitter chill and biting wind that was to accompany us for the day, and I was dressed for the unusually hot weather we had been enjoying. The ruins are large and and indicate the former size and prosperity of the village. They were astounding to wander through. We were unable to venture into the modern church as a service was in progress. We took a quick run down to the beach to see the coastal erosion and flood defences, and noted the warning signs for adders; the only poisonous snake in the UK. The Parish Lantern Tea Room in the village beckoned us in from the cold and wind, enticing us with hot chocolate and hot buttered crumpets. It would have been impolite to refuse. For the uninitiated, crumpets are cooked in similar fashion to pancakes, but the batter includes yeast. They are scrumptious ...

Sated, and warmed, we retrieved our car which was parked by the village sign, stolen in 1984 and donated to the village by the new ‘owners.’ We pointed the car towards Dunwich. It is hard to believe that the small sleepy village of Dunwich was once a bustling port to rival London. Most of that town, listed in the Domesday book, was largely destroyed by storms in 1286 and 1347 and by ongoing coastal erosion. The village is all that remains… We toured the museum with low expectations, but were pleasantly surprised. Dunwich takes pride in its former glory and acknowledges the effects that climate change and sea level rise have had on the city. They take flood and coastal defence very seriously. I could happily return to the museum. We took a quick drive to the beach but it was too windy to do more than say “I’ve been to Dunwich beach.” Unfortunately, we didn’t see the 123-ft long scroll, painted in the 1930s by a local artist. The scroll depicts every house in the village, including animals and notices on notice boards. Exiting the town we passed the ruins of the Greyfriars’ Monastery, but they didn’t appear as impressive as those we had seen at Walberswick, the day was getting on, and Sutton Hoo was still many miles away.

It was past lunchtime so we stopped first at one pub, then another, then another … Sorry, we stopped serving lunch x minutes ago… so we pulled into a local Co-Op grocery store that had a cafe. Yes, food! Oh, and look … a few snacks to help us on our way; walnut whips, salt and vinegar chips, Club biscuits, ooh, greengage jam; we haven’t seen that in a while… Pure decadence!

Continuing on to Sutton Hoo, but realising it might be out of our reach, we saw a sign for Orford Castle. Robert had been advised that Orford was a better trip than Sutton Hoo, so … Parking was easy, the castle didn’t appear too big. This could be fun. On entering the castle - which is actually the keep - the most protected part of a castle, and all that remains of the original structure - we were offered samples of the local wines. Yes, let’s get the tourists tipsy before sending them up and down countless flights of narrow, steep, winding, steps! The keep is a polygonal tower, built by Henry II in 1165. Henry II was the one who quarrelled with Thomas à Becket. The castle was built, strategically, by the River Alde, also known as the River Ore in Orford. It is a lovely building to explore and contains a really good museum which includes details of the Wild Man of Orford; a mysterious ‘merman’ who was caught, imprisoned, and swam to freedom. Our blustery view from the top was of the river, the lighthouse, and Orford Ness - nature reserve, and the birthplace of radar. We explored the keep fully, and I think they locked the doors behind us as we left!

We departed Orford, once considered “a Town of good account,” described by Daniel Defoe in 1722 as “once a good Town, but now decayed” and now considered “a quiet backwater away from the the hustle and bustle of modern life.” Sutton Hoo was out of the question, so we were homeward bound. Except … it was still quite light, and Robert mentioned an offshore wind farm at Leiston, only marginally out of our way. But our journey took us almost, sort, of past the Ship Inn in Blaxhall, known for its folk events and frequented by Robert in is younger days as a Morris Man, so of course we had another detour. Continuing homeward we drove through Snape, sometime home of Benjamin Britten, and stopped to stretch our legs on the coastal path at Snape Maltings. Finally we reached Leiston, but there was no wind farm in sight, only the Sizewell Pressurised Water Reactor and most modern nuclear power station in the UK. Unfortunately, we were too late to visit the visitor’s centre.

Homeward bound, for the upteenth time, and hungry, we began to look for a quaint village pub. But we couldn’t pass by Leiston Abbey ruins, spied towards the rear of a roadside field. Neither of us had ever heard of Leiston Abbey, but the ruins are mainly 14th-century remains of an abbey considered “among Suffolk’s most impressive monastic ruins, with some spectacular architectural features.” The ruins are adjacent to Georgian buildings, and both are in current use as a retreat center.

The sun had set and we were hungry, yet the pretty villages yielded no restaurants. until we came across The Crown Inn in the pretty little village of Westleton where the waitress had us in fits of giggles as she sounded like Sybil from Fawlty Towers.

We arrived home very late, learning en route how to add time and money to the car booking on the car’s on board system.We had also learned how to manipulate the sat nav system, adding stops along our journey, enabling voice directions - good things for Robert to know. All in all, today really had been a journey of discovery. But we still hadn’t been to Sutton Hoo.

May 15th: Here be dragons

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Click for photos of the stone carvings in the Cathedral

My cousin Kookee was back in town, so we had lunch together in the market. He was always my favourite cousin - I don’t think that’s changed.

Norwich is special - it doesn’t just have one cathedral. No, it has two. One for the protestants, the other for the Catholics. And they’re both beautiful buildings. St. John the Baptist Cathedral is the Catholic cathedral, built in 1910, and is situated on the outskirts of the City center. It has few statues, but it does have a Lampedusa cross - made from pieces of a boat that was wrecked off the coast of Lampedusa, Italy, taking the lives of 311 Eritrean and Somali refugees fleeing from Libya to Europe. 155 refugees were saved by the people of Lampedusa. The Cathedral is sleek and bright, with pillars and other decorative features of Frosterley marble which is studded with fossils. Robert and I spent ages gazing at each pillar, each slab, picking out our favourite fossils. Each pillar has a number of stone faces, and dragons, near the base. We discovered one face that was upside down but, when we asked about it, no-one else realised it was there! We also spent time trying to discern which of the faces were of the stonemasons who built the cathedral. I don’t think we found them. Oh, and the Cathedral has a tower, with 280 steps up a spiral staircase. You can climb the tower on select dates ... you know we’re going to do that as soon as we can!

We left the Cathedral for a stroll around the nearby Plantation Garden. Norwich is full of wonderful surprises like this. The garden was originally a chalk pit, but was transformed as part of the vision of Henry Trevor, a local businessman. It is well hidden, and one stumbles upon it. A well kept secret containing a fountain, terraces, rockworks, woodlands, shrubberies, lots of garden beds - all in bloom, serpentine paths through both the gardens and the woods. Although it is hidden there were many young people sitting around reading books, sketching, and just enjoying each others’ company. It was pleasant place to be on such a pleasant day.

We left as the gardens were closing, and walked back to the Cathedral for vespers, sung in Latin. It’s funny - neither Robert nor I are church goers, but we seem to be visiting every church and Cathedral in Norfolk!

We had time to walk around the Cathedral gardens, all in bloom and very pretty, and chat to one of the men who volunteers at the church. Then it was time for Vespers. They even sang The Magnificat - but not the Gumley House version. Gumley was my senior school, The Magnificat was our school song.

May 13th - 14th: Strangers and Cousins

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May 13th: Strangers’ Hall and Kemps’ Leap
We visited Strangers Hall, a lovely Tudor house from the 13th century, and home to many former persons of prestige in the life of the City. This time we checked the schedules and went when it was open! That always helps! The original ‘strangers’ were Dutch, Walloon and Flemish refugee weavers fleeing religious persecution. It’s odd to contemplate, given the politics surrounding refugees throughout the world today. Strangers hall appears small from the outside, but it is deceptive. Rooms lead into other rooms and each time we thought we had seen it all, another room or floor presented itself to us. The views of the garden were beautiful. We walked back past the maddermarket theatre which is a permanent recreation of an Elizabethan Theatre, and stopped at the wall which William Kemp leaped over at the end of his nine day morris dance from London to Norwich in 1599. Thankfully, there’s a plaque commemorating this event, otherwise unsuspecting non dancers might not understand its significance!

May 14th: Catching up with cousins
A quiet day at home, washing windows, laundry - all the mundane stuff, and trying to reach a decision about where, or even whether, to watch the Royal wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. Our options were the Cathedral - with organ accompaniment, or the pub. But which pub? None seemed to be advertising anything special, and we really didn’t want to watch it at home as neither us could be considered a royalist. But, we did want to celebrate with people who want to celebrate joyous occasions in life - and a wedding qualifies.

We took a walk down to the Cathedral to see what exactly they were offering, as we weren’t sure if we could take a picnic into the nave, and we were really hesitant about the organ accompaniment. Our fears about the later were confirmed; we were told about it with a grimace and a shudder.

While at the Cathedral we sought out Edith Cavell’s graves, yes it appears she has two as well as a couple of monuments, and Nelson’s monument. I do like the quote inscribed on one of Edith Cavell's monuments; "Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness for anyone."

A few days earlier I had decided to call my cousin Kookee and let him know I was in the country. Surprisingly, he was working in Norwich all week. In fact, just around the corner! So we arranged to meet up for dinner. It was fabulous. It had been such a long time since I’d seen either Kooke or his wife Larraine. We had so much fun over drinks, walking past the fully laden wisteria at St. Giles church, and settling in for a rather delicious Indian meal.

May 11th - 12th: Norwich Festival

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May 11th: Festival Launch
We heard drumming again in the early afternoon and thought we knew just where to go, and what to expect. How mistaken we were! We followed the sound of the drums all the way to the library just in time to witness a full rehearsal of the festival launch. Wow! Wow!! The drummers become part of a mobile hanging from a giant crane - they float over and around the library, with a trapeze at the very top. It was stunning. The festival launch should be very exciting.

We had tickets for ‘Passionate Machine’ by Rosy Carrick, which was a wonderful one-woman show about building a time machine; “Everyone writes instructions to their future selves. But what happens if the future starts writing back?” It was a terrific concept with some amazing lines. Now I have to add “Volodya: Selected Works of Vladimir Mayakovsky” to my reading list!

Robert decided that he wanted to be a part of the festival parade from the Cathedral grounds to the library. I’m lazy - I wanted a good vantage point from the library. It was amazing. The crowd was huge - it seemed that all of Norwich was there to watch. The performance was exhilarating - there’s something about drums, and of course a trapeze artist performing high above the building tops. Well, it was quite spectacular.

May 12th: Hackspace
Robert had a doctors appointment in the morning, so I thought I’d explore the Hackspace open day. It’s not as subversive as it sounds! It’s really just a group people who “enjoy making and recreating things, inventing, investigating, collaborating and generally tinkering.” Writing code and making small things go. In other words, my tribe… one of my tribes? They were offering an Arduino workshop, which is something I am interested in. Although I think I’m leaning more towards Raspberry pi. Robert decided to walk down to jin me but, naturally, we took different paths. So I arrived home as he arrived at Hackspace. Communication. Ain’t it great! He did, however, explore the facility and got the guided tour as part of their open day.

Chips and Cornish pasties for dinner. I’m returning to the USA the size of an elephant…

In the evening we lined up successfully for tickets to see Kumkum Malhotra performed in the Castle Meadow. The play is based on Preti Taneja’s award-winning novella set in New Delhi. It is about the plight of women, and the repercussions of one misunderstanding. It was interesting that the play processed through the castle grounds, with the audience following.

My big surprise of the day was an email from Dave. No, you don’t understand this … Dave does not email. He’s a wizz at fixing appliances but, otherwise, a bit of luddite! I’m really good with modern technology - but it’s currently failing me and my computer is still not working! I’m thankful I can use my phone as a computer.

May 10th: Day out at the University of East Anglia (UEA)

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A lazing morning but, just before lunch, we heard drumming in the distance, but getting closer. Where could it be? What could it be for? We raced down the stairs, out the door, paused to listen, then ran straight into Transe Express drumming up enthusiasm for the upcoming Norwich Festival. It looked as though the opening of the festival will be fun.

We caught a double decker bus - my first since I’ve been home! - to the University of East Anglia (UEA). We picnicked on the grounds and were joined by magpies as we surveyed the Beasts sculpture by Lynn Chadwick. The “three 'Beasts' (Crouching Beast II, Lion I and Beast Alerted I) are monumental animals captured in various states of action, made of welded stainless-steel sheets.” We were unimpressed.

We took a guided tour of the "Superstructures: The New Architecture 1960-1990" exhibit at the Sainsbury Centre, which we both found fascinating. The exhibit marks the 40th anniversary of the opening of The Sainsbury Center - the first public building designed by Norman Foster - and had wonderful models of the Pompidou Centre by Richard Rogers and Renzo Piano; the International Terminal Waterloo by Nicholas Grimshaw, the Hopkins House by Michael and Patty Hopkins, and a three-metre-long model of the Sainsbury Centre. Overall, the exhibit explored “architecture's fascination in the post-World War Two decades with new technology, lightweight structures, pioneering building techniques and innovative engineering solutions.” We were fortunate that we were two of three people on the tour - the other being a professor at the university, so our many questions were answered thoughtfully and precisely, and we were given plenty of time to explore the various models on display.

Remaining at the UEA, we walked over to the Thomas Paine Center for a lecture by Professor Steven Vertovec on "Global Britain: Super diversity," part of the Global Britain: Beyond Brexit series. The panel discussion afterwards was chilling. It’s is painful to consider the changing situation of immigrants - not refugees - in many countries across the world. It feels that the world is changing, borders are going up and countries opting for isolation.Being an immigrant, it is difficult to contemplate the ramifications.

May 9th: Norwich Cathedral

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In the afternoon we walked to Norwich Cathedral; we had passed it so many times but planned our visit to coincide with evensong. It is a beautiful Norman Cathedral, and has a labyrinth, cloisters, two memorials to Edith Cavell -a British nurse celebrated for saving the lives of soldiers from both sides without discrimination, and executed for helping allied soldiers escape, a few green men lurking if you look carefully, and a font that was a chocolate vat in a former life. Really! It was a gift from the confectionary company, Rowntree Mackintosh, when they closed their Norwich factory in 1994. The Cathedral is also home to a pair of Peregrine falcons and their recent babies. The hawk and owl trust has a tent outside with information on the birds, and telescopes and live video for those that want to watch them. We walked the labyrinth while waiting for evensong to begin. As non believers we were hesitant to go into the chapel where evensong was being held, especially as the procession passed us by and the priest at the front welcomed others to join him … we felt as though we had some kind of distinguishing mark calling us out as non believers, but the kindly priest at the back of the procession gestured for us to walk behind him. So we did, and what a lovely thing to witness. It really is lovely hearing a choir in a Cathedral.

We walked home through the grounds of The Great Hospital, founded in 1249 and used as a nursing home today. It’s a beautiful building, with gorgeous flower beds. Apparently Norwich residents can apply to live in the (non nursing home) residential buildings. I wonder how long that waiting list is!

Dinner was pork pies with Stilton, washed down with ginger beer. I’m definitely returning home several sizes larger - even with all this walking up and down hills! This was not the diet plan I had in mind!

In the evening we walked to The Reindeer pub where Robert’s friend Tony and his band have a regular gig playing folk music and singing folk songs. Yes, we even waltzed.

May 30th: Nomads in training

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My aunt was up bright and early - packed and dressed for a trip up the amazon … but our CTM coach wasn't leaving from Essaouira until 1.15pm… Me, I woke with a blinding  migraine. This was an auspicious start, but the ticket had been bought and I was looking forward to seeing some of the country outside the medina of Essaouira.

At noon we walked to Bab Sbaa and caught a taxi to the CTM station and caught the 13.15 to Agadir, but nit before my aunt had found the French bakery she had been looking for. We had planned our buses, but not our hotels and had not taken Ramadan into consideration. This, we came to find out, was a huge mistake!

I would like to say I have photos of the drive from Essaouira, through the Anti-Atlas  (or mid range Atlas) mountains… but the combination of winding road, lurching bus, migraine and impending cold took its toll. A young French girl two seats behind looked as though she might keep me company, but no. I was alone in increasing the discomfort of my fellow passengers! Periodically I was able to look up, and through the window I saw camels, donkeys, hills, mountains. I'm sure it would normally be a pleasant drive.

We had planned a 3 hour layover in Agadir, time enough for dinner in the city because even the government website states there’s nothing of interest there! The City was decimated by an earthquake in the 60’s and has been rebuilt … there’s little but hotels there now. However, I was sick and didn't want to move, much less think of food! We opted to wait out our stay in the bus station; clean, not unfriendly, but not welcoming either. We sought the toilets… and discovered that they were, as my aunt explained so disdainfully, “Turkish style,” - a hole in the floor. The first time I encountered toilets like this was many years ago when our families camped together in France. They were an affront to my sensibilities then but now, as an adult, just a different way of doing things. However, we opted out.

We walked upstairs to the restaurant area and asked a young man if there were other toilets in the restaurants. He kindly volunteered to run to the third floor and find out, so that the “Old lady” wouldn't have to tire herself. I don't think my aunt realised who he meant! No other toilets being available, he asked if he could sit with us to practice his language skills. His name is Salah and he has his own business called Afolky Excursions. His facebook page is “Nomadic Berber.” He is Berber - similar to a first nations people; native Americans in the US or aborigines in Australia; the original people of Morocco. His home was the dessert. He has been working ad a guide since he was 22. He is now 28. He told us that all the restaurants would be closed until 7.30 because of Ramadan. So we stayed and talked, and wandered in and out if the building - the cold and wind increasing as the day wore on. I don't think I've ever felt such a biting wind, or felt so miserable.

Our bus to Tiznit finally arrived but, instead of allowing us to board, the drover informed us he was going for dinner. We could do nothing but sit in the wind, awaiting his return! Note: do not travel in a Muslim country during Ramadan!!! The bus departed for Tiznit 40 mins behind schedule, and in the dark. I can now say I can make a bus pullover for me in the middle of nowhere! I need Excedrin migraine! Theraflu!  … and no more lurching buses!

We arrived in Tiznit and a fellow passenger helped us find a reasonably priced hotel, not far from the CTM bus stop. Too late for dinner, and the “breakfast included” would not be forthcoming because of Ramadan … However, the kind receptionist at the Hotel Assaka sent someone to the pharmacy, and a tube of paracetamol was duly delivered to our room. Drugged, cold, chilled to the marrow, I fell asleep. I'm sure my aunt was thrilled with her choice of travel companion.

June 6th: Slow train to Fes

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The alarm clock went off at a cruel and inhuman hour; we had purchased tickets to Fes. My aunt had it all planned, we would walk to Bab el Menzeh and catch a taxi the short distance to the Supratours office, near Bastion su Sud, for the 6.30am bus. No problem … until we reached Bab El Menzeh and ne’er a taxi was there in sight. We were told they don't start running until 7am… It was now 6.15am. Only one thing for it, sprint through the Place Orson Welles, past Bab Sbaa, through the gardens. I say sprint, but my friends know I don't run - although my kids claim they had to grow such long legs to keep up with my walking pace. As for my aunt, well, she’s a game old biddy, but I've seen snails outdo her. I grabbed the bags and set off, hoping against hope that the bus wouldn't leave early. Rounding the corner I could see the bus still there, motor running. A glance behind and my aunt was nowhere in sight! I ran into the ticket office, showed the tickets, went outdoors to plead to hold the bus, when she suddenly appeared. Yes! We were on our way to Fes, in 3 hours we would be in Marakesh.

It was still Ramadan, so at 7.30am the bus stopped for the driver to eat. Lo and behold, there was a stall flying a Union Jack, displaying pictures of mouth watering burgers, fish and chips … but, closed for Ramadan. I'm interested to see what changes take place after Ramadan.

I watched the countryside pass by. Looking forward to sights of the Atlas mountains, but we edged onto the motorway and sped on to Marakesh.

We disembarked, knowing we had 30 minutes to have some lunch and find the train before it departed. Thankfully the coach had deposited us right at the train station, no searching except for the platform number. No lunch. No food anywhere, except for the bread, boiled eggs and yogurts we'd had the foresight to pack.

The train station in Marakesh is lovely; clean, well organised, the employees friendly and helpful - even in a language they didn't know! The train was waiting at the platform … I love train rides, and this was going to be a long one! We boarded the train and, as with everything else when we travel, I let my aunt make the choices… because I refuse to get settled in one place then move to another. So, if we had to walk the length of the train to find a clean, unoccupied, compartment, then that's what we were going to do because we would be on this train for 8 hours.

Settled and comfortable in our compartment, the train slowly chugged its way out of the station. I hadn't had time to look at the route. I hadn't had time to check out the things to do in either Fes or Meknes… all I knew was ‘old medina.’ I was tired, grumpy, and facing backwards unable to take photos of the anticipated change in the countryside. But, we were once again on the move. Next stop Fes.

The countryside changed enormously as we headed almost due North, from Marakesh to Casablanca, from Sandy to lush green and plenty of agriculture. We passed through Casablanca, seeing the ocean in the distance, and continued northeast, along the coast, to Rabat. Public transportation reveals a lot about the communities it passes through. The commuters at Marakesh train station held a near 50/50 mix of European and Arabic clothing. Rabat could have been almost any European city; young, smart, jeans, dockers, cell phones glued to their ears … even the slow walk had been replaced by the rapid weaving those of us from big cities are used to. I'd love to explore this City. We stayed northeastward, towards Kenitra, wondering whether we were in Morocco or speeding through the English countryside; stone walls, fields of green vegetables and golden wheat. Our fellow commuters confirmed that we were not in England.

At Kenitra we turned Eastward, watching the homes become poorer, more sparse, with small cities or towns in the distance. Our fellow commuters definitely more Arabic than European. Meknes, where would be in a couple of days, and finally, Fes. I had done no research, I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I wanted a hotel to aim for and not just to direct the taxi driver to “the medina.” I finally made myself understood to my aunt, and we sat and looked though the usual - expedia, trip advisor … everything was booked! Finally, Riad Dar Guennoun. They had a room with 2 beds, and we could reserve it. I had asked about transportation at the ticket counter in the train station and was told that taxi fare to the medina should run around 10 dirham, and that there were no buses. I get the feeling that people assume we won't rough it on a local bus, how wrong they are!

The taxis wait in line outside the train station, much the same as anywhere else in the world … they all insisted the charge would be 50 dirham … “old part of medina, far away, is Ramadan.” Welcome to Fes! I seriously can't wait for Ramadan to end. I may celebrate with them.

The taxi driver wanted assurance that we had a reservation, as the Riad was not on a main street and someone would have to come out and get us. So our trip was conducted with me connecting to our hotspot, transmitting information to my aunt to translate into French for the driver to make phone calls in Arabic to the hotel staff, all while zipping around roundabouts. Welcome to Fes!

The taxi driver waited with us until the young male receptionist from the hotel came to meet us and walk with us to the hotel … just up these steps, and these steps, and around this corner and up these steps, to this street and up these steps and here is the hotel. We don't have a room at the rate you reserved, but we have another with 2 beds, just up these steps to the top of the riad. I should point out that the steps in the riad resemble those of old cathedrals; they are stone, steep, narrow, and spiral. And we had had a long day.

I told my aunt to stay put while the receptionist and I went all the way back down to fill out the papers and for me to get the wifi password. I would return and we could decide on dinner. As I began filling out papers, sure enough, there she was by my side! I summoned all that was left of my patience and asked whether she wanted to go out for dinner now, or return to the room and look through a map.  You guessed it, the answer was “yes.” I know this is my fault, I know I should have made a better attempt to learn French before my trip, but still, something inside me died. We walked out of the hotel, retraced our many steps to the street and sought a restaurant - because it was now well after 7.30pm, and food should be available for tired, hungry travelers.

We found the Cafe R’cif and were led to the elegant rooftop terrace where we ordered tea. Apparently that was the signal for the waiter to forget about us … more running up and down stairs to make it known that yes, we would like to eat. SOON. Two lamb tajines please …  Delicious as they were, they were consumed in stony silence.

During dinner we were approached by a young Italian woman, a student, wanting to know if we wanted to share a taxi to the airport the next day. She then told us about her hotel, a nearby riad, Riad la Source Bleue … at ground level… that included breakfast, was cheap and very clean.

You know what comes next, don't you? My aunt called the current riad to cancel our stay - although they had our bags. I found the Source Bleue online and made two reservations, one for 2 nights, the other for one night … just in case. We walked to the new riad to check that it was acceptable. I sat, firmly planted in the lobby, sending my aunt up the stairs to see the rooms. One of the two managers - both named Isham - accompanied us to the Riad Dar Guennon where we picked up our bags and then brought us safely home to the Riad de la Source Bleue. We ascended the steps to our room… only to discover that we had separate rooms, a salon separating the rooms with a balcony looking into the riad, and a bathroom with toiletries… all for a total of €30 per night, and that included breakfast!!!

A separate bedroom. Heaven! I don't remember if I wished my aunt a good night, but I remember closing the door, happy to be alone, at last.