mousse high

We now have a pretty good idea of what Lauren's college years will look like. Keri, Lauren, Owen and I had a fantastic dinner at Tozi, an Italian restaurant at the corner of Gillingham Street and Vauxhall Bridge Road, a couple of blocks from our flat. The restaurant features chichetti (small Venetian dishes similar to tapas) and it is really, really, really good. Many thanks to the Trip Advisor contributors for their reviews. Everything we ate was delicious -- the bruschetta, calamari, a cheese plate, some ravioli with buffalo ricotta and a small pizza. Lauren, who is generally fond of desserts, just about fell over with her fist bite of chocolate mousse. When she took a spoonful of our burnt cream, I thought for a moment that we were going to have to seek medical attention. As Keri remarked, "Oh my god, I think she is high." Had we not eaten some of the deserts ourselves, we would have suspected that they were spiked. As it was, we got some insight into what an intoxicated Lauren will be like, and she will be quite entertaining.

Another good day, all things considered. Owen was up early again, awaking both of his parents and inspiring them to hit the running trail. I had another good run through Hyde Park. The weather here is near-perfect running weather. I suspect I will miss it when we get to Italy.

As Lauren was still sleeping, Owen took it upon himself to start writing out his postcards he is sending to his friends. Among his best work, really. Enjoy.

Lauren finally woke in the late morning, ate some breakfast and we headed out with all intentions of making the weekly market on Notting Hill. When told the walk from our flat would take at least one hour, Owen unequivocally declared it the "worst day ever." The promise of a few diversions along the way, most notably snacks and a playground, re-engaged Owen back and our journey was on.

The weather was pretty good when we started, the sun ducking in and out from behind the clouds with a steady, but not overwhelming wind. Minutes after we hit Hyde Park, the sun was swallowed entirely and the rains began, lightly at first. We made it to Kensington Gardens and into the snack shop at Kensington Palace for a quick lunch.

As we walked north towards Notting Hill, the rains came with a vengeance. Plans were quickly altered and we headed to the first tube stop outside off the park. Initially, there was some talk of spending the afternoon at the science center or natural history museum. By the time we reached the tube, however, such talk was long gone. My family was cold, wet, and slightly surly. We were headed back to our Eccleston Square flat.

As we were still walking up the stairs into our flat, Keri, Lauren and Owen were all stripping down, replacing their damp clothes with pajamas. It was 330 in the afternoon and, frankly, a 50/50 proposition whether we would leave the flat again today.

Keri, to her credit, had not done any house cleaning in our first three days in London. This, I know, has been contrary to every fiber of her compulsive being. Today, locked in the flat, she had hit the wall. She took out some cleaning materials from under the stairs and asked for my help in working the vacuum. As I peered in the closet, I noticed a squarish looking machine with some dials on it. Could it be? Yes, it was, in fact, the elusive dryer. For some strange reason, no one had bothered to tell us that the machine was, like Harry Potter, confined to the cupboard under the stairs.

After a couple hours -- and a couple of euro-size loads of laundry -- we pulled it together to head out to dinner. And we are all the better for having done it. Seriously, this is one of the best Italian restaurants Keri and I have experienced. The food was great, the ambiance inviting, and the waitstaff helpful and, more importantly, solicitous of our children. You will not be sorry if you try it. And, if you have a dessert-crazy girl like ours, you may just get a little insight into the future.

Did you know the human head weighs eight pounds?

"Daddy?" "Yes, Owen?" "Do you remember when there were two outs and I was on second base and there was no one on first base and the one coach told me to run on anything, only I didn't go when the ball was hit to third base?"

Following a day spent touring one of the world's great cities, one hopes one's children will have some great insight or revelation into the day's events or some moment of enlightenment that will have made it all worth it (whatever that means). The inner psyche of a seven-and-a-half-year old boy are where such hopes go to die. Owen is well known for asking lots of questions. Often, they have something to do with the matter at hand, i.e., "why was King Henry mad if someone killed the guy if he said that he wanted to get rid of?" or "what is the tallest building in London?" or "can you get a strikeout in cricket?"

Almost as often, they relate to some experience Owen has had in the past that has entered his thought process at that moment. Feeling compelled to share the thought with you, he will ask (for those he thinks were present for the seminal moment) if they remember when . . . . or (for those not present) if they can guess about whatever random event he is recalling. Don't even try, because you cannot.

There may be no better way to expose oneself to a barrage of such questions than an afternoon spent on a Big Bus tour, one of London's on-and-off guided bus tours. I much prefer to walk, particularly in a city with traffic issues like this one, but in the interest of covering more ground and keeping the children engaged all afternoon, we bit the bullet on the Big Bus. Our tour started around 130 (Owen sleeping off his manic Thursday and the rest of us still a tad jet lagged) at Victoria Station going west towards Hyde Park. We were blessed with a sunny afternoon, one of the few we will see during our trip here.

We looped back east by the American Embassy (a rather unattractive building that Owen declared his highlight of the day because, seemingly unlike the rest of the city, "I've never seen that before") and headed up through Mayfair via Bond and Regent Street. Lauren's ears perked up at the tour guide's declaration that Hamleys was the world's greatest toy store. I am told we will be making another trip back there before our time in London ends.

Down Regent Street to Piccadilly Circus which, as always, left me slightly disappointed. When you combine "circus" with a word as absurd as Piccadilly, you expect some outlandish stuff to be going down. In reality, it is a few electronic billboards and the Shaftesbury fountain (again, the name cannot help but to raise one's hopes only drown them in the fountain's waters). It took us another 20 minutes or so to get to Trafalgar Square, during which time I made the mistake of checking my email. As will all things, this caught the eye of the small boy seated next to me. A rule was quickly established that the phone could be used (by either of us) only if the tour guide has ceased talking and we were stopped in traffic. A good part of our trip was then spent debating the meaning and application of those terms.

Down past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben (which I am sure you all know refers to the bell and not the clock tower, at least that is what our guide said) and around the south bank to Waterloo Bridge and then back to the north and the City of London, which, our guide explained, dates back to Roman times. The City seemed to have a streak of misfortune in 1665 and 1666. The first year saw the Bubonic Plague wipe out 100,000 people, about 15% of the population. The latter witnessed the Great Fire, which destroyed the homes of probably close to three-quarters of those who lived. I am fairly certain these events gave birth to the now ubiquitous guy on the street corner with the "end is near, repent!" sign.

Our tour went east past St. Paul's Cathedral, again over the river and back again, this time over London's most famous landmark, the Tower Bridge. We de-bussed outside the Tower of London, provided our starving children with foodstuffs (coffee ice cream for Lauren, waffle with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce for Owen).

Owen also managed to find an ice cream truck that offered some icee-like concoction. Before I knew it, Owen was asking the truck driver whether his drinks were "italian ices or icees?" I am fairly certain the driver had not a clue as to what an icee was. In any event, he answered the question, provided Owen with a cherry whatever-it-was, and gladly accepted two pounds for his trouble.

We look forward to returning to the Tower next week with Keri's parents for a proper tour. Speaking of which, a major thank you to my father-in-law, Randy, for tending to our goldendoodle, Charlie, and his infected paw pads. We know Charlie is in good hands and very much appreciate your help.

After walking past the Tower, we caught another bus back to Victoria Station, picked up some postcards for the kids to send to friends and, in my highlight of the day, introduced our children to a public house, this one with a basement restaurant. I got to enjoy my first pint of Guinness since we got here and Keri sampled a local cider that, by all reports, was "pretty good." The hamburgers were decent but not great; this is England, after all.

Finally, I need to address a matter of great import. Several of you have been disappointed by the somewhat non-edgy tone of this blog. I will do what I can to add a bit of snark but, as may be evident by now, I am struggling to find snark. Indeed, it may be hard for me to do so after days like today when I can enjoy dinner with my family and a pint of God's nectar in this wonderful city. And yet, the rains are supposed to return tomorrow so, if all goes as expected, there will be at least three good meltdowns and plenty of writing material. Hope.

owen attempts to channel the merry wanderer of the night

At some point, Owen will hit the wall. He has to. I heard him scurrying around at 1230 and then again at 630am. He tells me he went back to sleep, but I have my doubts. When I got up around 730, he was having a nice conversation with Puppy, his ever-faithful companion. Owen had finished a bowl of Frosties and run down a full battery in his iPad. He was happy to see me, to have a little company (in addition to Puppy), and asked if I could help find some "sports" on the tele.

Keri and I both went for runs this morning, me in Hyde Park and Keri around the neighborhood. The cool weather really does do wonders for the quality of a run.  I was a little surprised not to find Owen holding court at Speakers' Corner as I finished my loop, given his early jump on the day.

Lauren slept in, resting up for her big day at the Globe Theatre. Thanks to Miss Abrams, Lauren's third-grade class had studied and then performed an abridged version of A Midsummer Night's Dream, and she was thrilled to be seeing an adult production in a theatre that was designed and built to -- we understand -- mimic the very place most of Shakespeare's plays were performed.

I highly recommend the Globe for anyone who enjoys the Bard. There really is something unique about watching a Shakespearean production in that environment -- a round, three-level theater with an open roof and standing room only space for the groundlings in between the seated audience and the stage.

The production itself was fantastic -- capturing well the balance Shakespeare sought in this play between pure farce and a somewhat serious consideration of the complex relationship between love, power and timing. Lauren really enjoyed the performance, in particular the play within the play after the wedding in act V. Owen, to his everlasting credit, sat through all five acts without so much as a single request for my iphone. He identifies as his favorite parts those involving Nick Bottom, the weaver who fancies himself an expert thespian and who is given a donkey's head and tail by Puck during the middle portion of the play.

We walked back over the River Thames via the Millennium Bridge and around St. Paul's Cathedral. Owen observed several times that the dome resembled that of the American "government." As I was about to launch into a lecture regarding the separation of church and state, Owen further explained himself and it became clear he was referring to the Capitol. Dodged that one, for a few days, at least.

A tube ride back home via a stop off at our new best friends at the launderer before we headed out for dinner at Wagamama, Lauren's self-declared favorite restaurant. Owen finished his dinner early and, despite his early wake-up, was still raring to go. A somewhat facetious suggestion that he run a few laps on the plaza in front of the restaurant resulted in Owen doing precisely that.

It is now 930pm London time and Owen is excited to be watching his first episode of Chopped. I'd like to think I am going to be able to outlast him and that I will be able to fall asleep, knowing he is asleep. That is looking pretty precarious at the moment.

frosties -- they're what's for dinner

We finally left JFK around 1pm yesterday. The flight was uneventful, which means the fates had blessed me by placing an aisle between Owen and me on the plane. Sorry, Keri. I took the opportunity to watch Life of Pi, which I knew I would have to see sans Keri anyway, given her abhorrence of cinematic depictions of violence to animals. The movie was very well done and Pi was a truly compelling character. His struggles -- real and imagined -- were overwhelming. I am not a huge fan of water travel as it is, and let's just say the movie only confirmed the rightness of my opposition to seafaring as an acceptable mode of transportation.

We got into Heathrow close to 1am. The business through which we are letting our flat arranged for a driver to pick us -- and the army of luggage that accompanies us -- up and take us to the flat, which sits on Eccleston Square in the Belgravia section of London, wedged in between South Kensington, Chelsea and Westminster. Our flat is at the top of three flights of stairs, giving me the first of what I suspect will be many opportunities to supplement my exercise regimen with four sets of good old fashioned European stair-bag climbing.

After sleeping in, Keri ran out to get some essentials -- Frosties for Owen, coffee for us -- and then we headed out, our first stop a local launderer. Our flat was advertised as having a washer/dryer.

That turns out to be about 30% accurate, as there is something that purports to be a washing machine tucked next to the refrigerator. The instructions for said machine describe some amazing method by which you can wash a load in as little as 55 minutes. Seriously. There is further no evidence of a drying function on the machine. The prospect of Keri spending most of the next two weeks doing laundry inspired what will probably be the best decision I make over the next seven weeks -- insisting we drop off our clothes and have them washed and dried by a professional for six pounds a load (insert sick joke here, Eric Schaefer).

The laundry disposed of, we headed to Victoria Station, a grand train station at the heart of London. Owen was most taken by the presence of a Burger King.

Figuring there was enthusiasm for all things royal, we walked over to Buckingham Palace. A steady wind was blowing, lodging some microscopic particle into Lauren's eye. After a few difficult moments (pictured below is Lauren hiding behind her father and brother as they mock her pain) -- and before the Palace Guard was called in -- she rallied. Walks through Green Park and St. James Park followed, leading to the thing-Owen-was-most-excited-about-seeing-on-our-trip, Big Ben. By the time we arrived, Owen's "tired legs" and what I took to be some genuine surprise that Big Ben was not bigger resulted in a happy, but not ecstatic reaction. I tried to explain that there was a building attached to Big Ben called Parliament that had an really important function in human history. Crickets from the Eckstein children.

The kids' first tube ride, a journey into Sainsbury's (for a family size box o' Frosties) and dinner at some Portuguese chicken joint around the corner before we called it a day. Following his third bowl of Frosties, Owen is now reading Lauren's copy of a children's version of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, the play we are to see tomorrow at the Globe. The plot is pretty confusing. We hope knowing the story will help keep his interest. Just in case, I will make sure my phone has a full charge as five acts of Angry Birds can take out a whole battery.

binder clip belt -- the latest in new york fashion

Technical issues. Two words feared by all travelers. We heard them broadcast over the JFK terminal 7 intercom this morning at 7:15, about the time we were told we would be boarding our flight to London. Does any airline ever provide detail beyond the entirely non-specific "technical issues" to describe the basis for a delay? I suppose not, as no one wants to board a plane knowing, just one hour ago, a critical engine part had to be replaced. In our case, though, the "technical issue" is of such a magnitude that our plane is going nowhere today. We are waiting for a different plane to arrive and be turned around so they might as well give us the truth, however benign or substantial, i.e., non-technical.

On the plus side, we shared a lovely ride down Atlantic Avenue this morning with Spencer, friend to Dan and driver to the music world. Keri and I also got to wake our children up at 445. I know this does not speak well of me, but I always take some pleasure in waking up the two human beings responsible for doing the same to me over the last nine years.

British Airways also gave each of us $19 in food vouchers, with the only catch being that each voucher must be spent only in one place. Owen is plotting how he is going to use every last penny at the in-terminal McDonald's. It would seem an impossible task, but I think he is up to it, having spent the last several years preparing for this very moment.

Rumors are also circulating about some EU law that obligates carriers to provide some amount of compensation for non-weather flight delays, including full refunds for flights delayed more than five hours. I have trouble believing this is accurate, and suspect that, should there be any truth to this, the airline industry's American lobbyists have created a massive exception to this law so that it does not benefit American citizens, residents and, because this is something on which most congresspeople can agree, undocumented immigrants.

Yesterday gave us an opportunity to spend the day in New York. With a steady rain falling, we figured a trip to the American Museum of Natural History made sense. About half of New York apparently had the same idea.

Lauren and Owen enjoyed their rain-filled walk to the subway. Apparently unfamiliar with what folks around these parts call a "puddle of water," both kids stepped right into the middle of these strange looking things and emerged with wet shoes, soaked socks, and sour dispositions. Owen, like his daddy, enjoys a good subway ride, so that helped somewhat, and the trauma was eventually remedied by replacement socks purchased at the museum store, sharks for Owen and butterflies for Lauren.

We were also helped by the presence of my parents, my cousin, Jennifer, and my Uncle John. Everyone seemed to enjoy the sea-life and dinosaur exhibits and the Hayden Planetarium (sadly, no Neil deGrasse Tyson). Really a great museum. At some point I need to go there without my children so I can actually spend the appropriate amount of time going through the place.

On our ride back to the hotel, it was pointed out to me that my uncle was keeping his shorts up with a binder clip. This news raised a number of questions, none of which could possibly receive an adequate answer. There is really never any excuse for leaving using any kind of office supply as a fashion accessory. This is particularly unacceptable in any public setting. Still a little drunk on the joy having seen his daughter married, my uncle cannot be held fully responsible for his behavior. Hopefully, the clip did not get rusted out on our walk back to the hotel.

kooie the kalah

The reason we came to Brooklyn. Yesterday afternoon my dear cousin Katherine married a wonderful man, Dan. Katherine (and her sister, Jennifer) are my double-first cousins. That is, their father is the younger brother of my father and their mother is the younger sister of my mother. (Let me know if you need a Venn Diagram.) They are, in a lot of ways, like my sisters.

Along with my brother, Michael, the four of us grew up together. Katherine is nearly six years younger than me and, as such, occasionally got left out of things -- like a family trip to Switzerland in 1978. Mike dedicated a song to the absent two-year old Katherine one day as we were hiking in the Alps and happened upon a herd of cattle. The song, Katheriney Koo, Where are You? (taken from "kuh," which is German for cow) became an instant family favorite. Imagine the Von Trapp family signing Scooby, Scooby Doo, Where are You? and you get the picture. The song perfectly captured that our family was incomplete without our Kooie.

Katherine met Dan in New York in 2001. Things did not work out the first time and they went their separate ways. A mere eleven years later and a shared trip to North Carolina to celebrate the bris of their friends' son gave them a second chance. (This is a super-condensed and regrettably boring version of what is really an amazing story.) This time, the bad judgment of youth well behind them, Katherine and Dan were together to stay.

Keri, Lauren, Owen and I first met Dan one year and two days ago. We knew that first night that he was a mensch, a wonderful cook, and that he and Katherine were in love. Owen remarked after meeting them that the next time we would be in New York would be for their wedding at which he hoped to be the "ring kid." Lauren echoed that she would be the flower girl. Quite prescient, my children.

And so it was, a truly joyous afternoon and evening as Katherine and Dan committed themselves each other in front of family and friends. Lauren was the most beautiful flower girl I have seen and Owen the most handsome ring "bear" (one step closer from ring kid, I suppose).

Katherine, as those of you who know her would expect, was a beautiful kalah (bride). I was honored to be asked to help hold up the chupah, which gave me a great vantage point from which to look into the faces of Dan and Katherine. They looked totally content, as though their souls, always meant to be together, had finally found each other. And our family feels a whole lot more complete today.

welcome to new york

Among my favorite things about New York are the people. Brash, honest, and profane, New Yorkers are a gift to the world. They also happen to be a small gift to me, in particular as it relates to my children's perception of my use of "bad" words. I dabble from time to time in the forbidden lexicon, but am by no means a master. Given their apparent non-exposure to such words from other people, however, my children have come to the conclusion that I am the frickin' curse champion of the world. No longer. Today alone allowed us to hear three separate people bellow out variations of the f-word to their fellow New Yorkers for what appeared to the the slightest affronts. God bless you, good people of New York.

Another of my favorite things about this city is mass transportation, in particular, the subway. Not only does the subway serve the obvious, important, purpose of moving millions of people from point A to point B, it serves the somewhat subtle, but critical end of putting human beings from diverse backgrounds in close, confined spaces on a daily basis. Our home city is filled with people driving their cars to their stand-alone homes, many inside gated communities. I can't help but think the lack of a community ethic in Phoenix would be helped just a little bit by something like the subway.  (Pictured below is the subway sign that inspired Owen to say to a middle-aged subway rider, "Excuse me, but I think you are not supposed to lean against the doors." Thank you, sir, for not telling my son to blow it out his a**.)

In terms of our daily activities, we began the day by seeing some of our Phoenix family who made the trip here for tomorrow's wedding of my cousin, Katherine. We then ventured into the East Village where we enjoyed a wonderful brunch with Keri's cousins, Sharon, Joe and Adina.

After stuffing ourselves with bagels, lox, rugalach and chocolate babka, we returned to Brooklyn for a rehearsal lunch/dinner at a fantastic pizza place called Speedy Romeo. I was in no way hungry when we hit the restaurant and somehow managed to stuff down three different appetizers, four types of pizza and three kinds of desserts. I highly recommend it for anyone in the Clinton Hill area.

After "linner," the four of us decided to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. Actually, only three of us voted for that. Owen made clear his opposition at the outset. Following a series of manipulations the details of which are now hazy, Owen relented.

Somewhere over the East River, things took a turn for the worse, Owen decided that he had been sold a bill of goods and stopped all forms of communication. Fortunately, our arrival at City Hall Park in Manhattan created the prospect of a cherry slushee which, miraculously, allowed the power of speech to return to our younger child. Keri and I are quite concerned that we are headed to a no-slushee/icee continent.

We ended the evening by going to the roof deck of our Brooklyn hotel, where we ran into Katherine's fiancee, Dan, and his family. Dan was kind enough to share with us a 44-year old bottle of Canadian whiskey that his grandfather had never bothered to open. A toast to my future cousin-in-law and his great family, tomorrow to become part of ours.