The Importance of Being NOT Jet-lagged



It can be kind of cool to wake up at 3am, ready to go. On the first night / early morning, I tuned into the Giants game streaming online and cheered when Pablo Sandoval hit a grand slam as I worked on my email. Going for a run is pleasant - no traffic on the roads, a few runners giving a righteous grunt to each other as we pass. You can listen to a ballgame, get through your email, exercise, and still arrive at the office (walking!) before 8. Of course by mid-afternoon you feel like garbage, but your co-workers understand when you lay your head on your desk and grab a power nap.

After a few days of it, though, waking up at 3am isn't all that fun, especially when you go to bed around 11.

That's why today was a special day. A full night sleep! Sleeping in! And in our new apartment, no less (upgraded yesterday after the first one kind of sucked).

I arrived on Monday and worked a full week. Walking to work, I get to avoid the crowded tube and check out various neighborhoods. Ava and the kids got here on Wednesday in pretty good shape, and by Friday were ready to embrace their roles as tourists. The advice on the changing of the guard was (a) not to go, and (b) get there early. They ignored the first and kind of the second, but managed to still see the redcoats as they changed themselves. Then they walked the short walk to Google where we enjoyed a fine lunch.

Today was the best. When you are a Californian, there is a novelty to an overcast, cool July day (overcast, I said, not foggy - we get plenty of those). I'm sure this too will wear off, but for now it was kind of enjoyable. We didn't do much in the morning, but headed out in the afternoon to Regents Park, where I had used my birthday sterling (a gift from Mom and Dad) to get us tickets to a production of The Importance of Being Earnest, which was staged at the open air theatre. As if to prove the locale's undeniable openness, the rain started precisely when the play did. Now us Americans frequently hear about the Brits' stiff upper lip, so I was rather surprised when a pleasant voice came on instructing the actors to leave the stage and the audience to seek shelter by the bar. What, a little rain sends them scuttling? Pansies.

The weather mocked them, the rain stopping as quickly as it had started, to be replaced by the only bright sunshine of the entire day. But soon the fashionable grey gloom returned, the actors resumed acting (many words, much wit) and by the second act the rain had returned. This time, the Brits didn't disappoint. The rain grew denser, the actors persevered. The ramp encompassing the stage grew slick, the female lead "skied" down it on her boots into the arms of the male lead - not part of the script, but a twist that delighted the audience.

Tonight, a 20 minute video chat with Mom back in California. When I first came England in 1970, I would follow the Giants by stealing a peek at the 2 day old baseball standings in the Herald Tribune on a newsrack. My only communication home was letters (those flimsy blue aerogrammes) and one telegram. Today we talk face-to-face with Grammie (for free!) and listen to Giants games live. But still, we laugh to Oscar Wilde, raise our umbrellas against the London sky, and walk through the park eating ice cream.

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