blown

Air Traffic over Britain, courtesy of the BBC. Except when it isn't, courtesy of Eyjafjallajökull.

Looks like I'll be rescheduling that London trip again, given that, according to the Times:

The perfect combination of calm atmospheric conditions and unrelenting activity of the Eyjafjallajökull volcano means that the cloud could loom over Britain until late next week.

While there could be brief spells when the plume clears parts of the airspace, it is not certain that these will be long enough for airlines to resume flights.

This would be the same trip that I rescheduled in September when I came down with the flu, and picked April 22nd at random, because April seemed like a good time to go to London.

Except when volcanoes blow.

lost weekend

My little brother used to do this: get so worked up about an approaching holiday that when Christmas or Easter or some other goodness hit he would awake in an explosion of vomit.

Sick.

I've been spared the effluence, but when the fever that sneaked in on Tuesday rocketed skyward on Wednesday it became more than clear that the bag I packed optimistically the night before for London wasn't going to board that evening flight to Heathrow, and neither was I.

So no London for me. At least not until the Spring.

See you then, Friends.

sincerely yours

There's a quiet scene in the movie Julie & Julia where Julia Child travels to Boston from Paris with the co-author of her momentous cookbook to meet a friend who is in publishing.

We've heard about this friend all the way through the movie, and it only becomes clear when they arrive at the train station that Julia has never actually laid eyes on her.

They're pen pals. They've been pen pals for many years.

Meryl Streep plays the bit brilliantly: a little dismissive in a "don't you worry about it" way when her colleague appears alarmed that she's never actually met this important contact. Because so much depends upon this friendship now -- it will be the bridge that gets the cookbook published, and they both seem to know it.

At last the friend arrives and they know each other instantly. The clip isn't easily found online which isn't surprising because it contains no pots or pans; there is no food in the frame, or ecstatic eating. There are only the words, at least as I remember them -- "my dear friend"-- spoken low as the small woman arrives in a rush and takes both of Julia's hands in her own, welcoming her from far way, knowing her from old.

It's my favorite scene of the movie.


I'm firming up plans for a long weekend in London and afield where, among other lovely things, I'll be meeting up with some of my pen pals.

The giddy: it grows.