The street is quieter than it usually is as there is a gas replacement project in the middle of the village. Through traffic can't get from one side of the Tring to the other, so there's a bypass on less picturesque roads. Later today I'll be taking one of them to get to where my cousins lived. I've taken that bus many times, and have even documented it once or twice in this repository.
In doing the research here, I found that one of them was back in November 2006. My English son was a year and a half old. He and his mother lived in a flat that's than 1,000 feet away from here. Henry's uncle owns it now, and later this week my own mother and father will stay there.
As I've said many times in the past, I'm not from here. I also never feel like I belong in the United States. As first-generation American, to English parents, I feel less connected the older I get. I've been single for most of my adult life, except for a pair of failed marriages. This means I spend a lot of time writing in odd places, putting down my thoughts in words in an attempt to figure out what this is all about.
I've just had a meal out here, something that's not easy to find at home. The bacon and sausage are different, and I don't have the words to describe how. The place is called the Black Goo, and it is packed as the time nears noon. I've just ordered a second coffee so I can sit out here a bit and reflect.
I don't write on this blog much anymore. Social media disrupted this space, as did life. When I was active on here, I wasn't active on Twitter. Now I document many of the same issues there as I did here.
"There" and "here" have multiple terms throughout the course of this posting.
In the distance I can see the number 500 from Aylesbury to Hemel Hempstead. If the gas line replacement wasn't happening, it would come speeding right past this place. I am sitting right next to the window and as I look to my left a the row of houses, the curb is less than 30 feet away. All manner of traffic would come right past here, fast, and no one would notice the difference.
But today, the 500 has to turn left and head out a different way. A steady breeze blows the awnings rather than a 12.65 tonne double decker, and I smile as I ponder whether its possible this same air blew across Virginia two days ago when I began this latest journey.
I invest a lot into these trips because I want to experience my family and the different way things are here in England. I want to get better at the words to describe the differences, and I also want to accentuate the similarities. My feet are currently on bricks as I watch an endless stream of people seek to enjoy communal space.
After all, that's why I remain in Charlottesville. I may be solitary, but I can never be lonely in a place like the downtown Mall, where I have spent most of my waking life for the past dozen years. In doing the research for this piece, I came across a post from January 2009 when the re-bricking project had begun and so had my post-marriage life. I was despondent. I was on the brink of losing hope.
Despair waned as the project neared its completion, and by that summer both myself and the mall had survived. Reading these words takes me back to then, especially as I am sitting now on a road whose full utility is temporarily hobbled. Vehicles continue into the village, but they can't get all of the way through. They have to turn around at the library, just before they get to the sandwich shop where my English son has begun his working life. I am ecstatic that he is still working despite my visit. his world doesn't stop just because I'm visiting. And why should it?
I have two and a half hours before he's off work and I want to get some hiking in. Yesterday I walked 12 miles. There are some hills in the distance I want to try to get to, to see if there's a public footpath I can connect to. What I like best about here is the extensive network of well-signed trails that allow people to explore the landscape. I want that in Virginia, but private property rights trump everything and it takes a long time to connect all of the pieces together.
I still believe, though. I still believe that I can draw upon my experiences to continue a professional life that boils down to one objective: To make the world around me a better place through sharing of information.
I don't have any answers. I stumble through my life with a pen and paper seeking to be humble. I seek to promote cooperation and I seek to inspire hope. I have been at the breaking point of my life so many times, but I haven't broken yet. There is peace in knowing that I have made it here to see my English son so many times and that I get to have experiences like the one last night, where we walked from Tring to Hawridge to have a meal at a country pub called the Full Moon. Along the way we talked about music, about words, about forests, about life. I'm excited to think about how well all three of my children are doing, and how I hope to live a life that supports them.
More to come. Maybe I'll get back to writing in this thing after all.
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