Off towards Merry-ment

The song Mr Brightside by the killers is apparently having a renaissance as an anthem for club goers and soccer hooligans everywhere. I think we should use it for the upcoming ection-elay (too soon too soon; can't say the word). Anyway I expect all of you to memorize it pronto; I don't want to bang my head alone. 

We are getting alerts that high waves may be breaking at Nazare the week we arrive in Portugal and this is big...tennis rackets and golf clubs may have to go down for a day. Then we fly to Lech on the 18th to a slightly sad diminished group- two of my favorite families won't be there this year, nor will our beloved Frau S. Sigh.

The highlight of last week was going to San Quentin with Cathy BB - who was blown away as people always are when they visit. Hearing the clanging iron gate behind you..mingling with the prisoners, seeing their weird happiness at the program, at the fact you are visiting, at their work; seeing the ominous, barbaric- only in America building that is death row; tasting the tequila I poured when I got home, far away from the hell that is a U.S. prison....all of it leads to sensory overload and a profound sense of both happiness and unease. You all have to come once; it is a tiny life alteration.

The strangest part was the new development director was a woman with whom I had apparently been on a student committee in college. She remembered me when she saw my name as a donor; and she was the one who toured us around. It was wonderful- we loved her. Then she said that she, a woman I did not remember, had a photograph of me and her and another friend in Mexico circa 1987. She later sent it to me; we don't appear to be sober.

I didn't remember her, but I definitely remember the night because it was both the night I was kicked out of Señor Frogs..a place that is raaaather difficult to get kicked out of, (a travesty of justice if I recall) and the night I dove into the shallow end of the pool and almost paralyzed myself. I came away just with a bloody face but it really could have been different. 

I look at our fresh little faces and see the unfathomable contrast between us, with our guardian angels hovering above Mexican swimming pools, and the men in SQ.  I find it moving that this woman and I were connected in college trying to do some good, and then somehow meet up again 35 years later in a prison parking lot. I don't know what the algorithm is that connects both situations...three parts white girl guilt and a splash of tequila I guess. 

xx

Just before the swan dive

The End of the Steep Part and Naked green Physicists

 

Reinhold Messner has said that the reason he walks up and down long scary hills is because it makes his bed feel cozier when he finally gets in. For me it is the pasta at the end of the rainbow; but to each his own. 

One day we had planned a familiar but very tiring slog and I woke to a distinct feeling of I don't want to do this. Luckily I hike with an Alpine angel - reminding me to take small steps, and leaving sugary drinks on the path when he thinks I may zing off into the wrong direction.  He is also very good at mentioning when the really steep part will end so one doesn't lose hope. In truth, there is no end to the steep part- in the mountains or in life; but I know what he means. 

So in Lech we were. Lots of people in town, lots of time walking around gazing at the astounding views and then congratulating ourselves in bathrobes by the pool. We are a slightly rogue group in that we have paid for half board (so dinner and breakfast included) but we seem to be out all the time. The owner of the hotel now approaches me in a slightly intense way to ask what the hell we are doing each night. This is a problem because we are accustomed to Frau S who exuded the vibe that everything we did- skied, got drunk and didn't ski, got sick, got well, went out, stayed in, divorced the first guy, married his brother, wore white after labor day...anything we did was an inspired plan.We came; we paid the bill; we came again. 

Peter and Will raised the collective IQ quite a bit at the dinner table or on any hike. Peter is going back to a high paid consulting job and he is definitely in the right profession. I caught him explaining astrophysics to Heather's 15 year old daughter, and then when we got to Zurich for a few days he came back with reports on the Swiss method of pricing ice cream. They charge four francs for one scoop, and -stay with me on this- 8 francs for two scoops, and yes 12 francs for three. He found this fascinating- they did not offer any incentive for buying more, but in Swiss fashion just did the math for you in case you were dim.

The three Exonians were in the main square in Zurich and a man approached offering to write a song about them at that moment. He asked them to each tell him how they were feeling. Will said tranquil, Peter said peaceful, and Frederick said happy. The guy looked at them with disgust and said "I can't write a song with that!" Apparently nothing rhymes with tranquil.

I am presently in the first class lounge of BA in dark glasses on very little caffeine, because I am doing this jet lag app that tells you when to drink coffee and get light in the eyes. Thomas forced me to drink some coffee because he is too afraid to let me fly sober. So I have probably screwed it up already.

It is amusing to me how I can spot my fellow San Franciscans easily at Heathrow: the women dress like I do- expensive with messy hair and a distinct liberal vibe. The men are more diverse - but they all look rich and tech like- some with great bodies in their sixties, some (presumably the really successful ones) in full wig and bad shoes. My people. How I wanted to kiss them.

A few of you asked what classes Frederick is taking: 

Quantum field theory 

Quantum electors dynamics

Particle symmetries

Differential geometry

Quantum information

Saying goodbye to him this time was a little hard. We spent a week hardly visiting a museum or new restaurant because we were at the home supply store or hardware store. We keep trying to fix toilets or clean the oven or buy things to feather his little nest; and our presence was getting perhaps a tad irritating. I even got the idea he needed a way to get out in case of fire and bought a ladder that hooks onto the window and can be used only once according to the instructions (LOL!!) When I told P and K at lunch what I was thinking..they finished my sentence: "you bought a fire ladder?" It is so refreshing to speak to them about safety as opposed to my team who find me ludicrous. I am now thinking that instead of the ladder (the window is too wide so it won't fit) that F should run down in a full neon green fireman's coat. I am trying to convince him no one is sexier than a fireman, especially because to avoid getting burned alive on his way three flights down, he would have to be naked because clothing can burn into his skin (free blog fire safety tip). So beware of the naked physicists in green, London.

He had drinks with Joe Moore's daughter who is at Oxford for the year- she grew up In Vermont but as you know is from old San Francico stock, and F said he found it so nice to speak with someone that loves his home town instead of listening to the usual wearisome diatribes on what is wrong with the place. In fact he has been feeling quite a bit of nostalgia: he asked for artsy photos of San francisco for his bedroom to remind him of fog and caffeine infused north beach (we ranked number one for coffee lovers!!) and that strange beautiful light that belongs only to us.

I always listen to a lot of Stones when in England and since Let it Bleed it note for note possibly the best rock and roll song of all time, that shall be the anthem for this entry. Despite the cocaine and hooker references I think it conveys an appropriate level of motherly love and concern when leaving one's kid far away on the top floor with lots of homework and no fire escape. But I am not worried: he has P and K and a decent facility with the vacuum cleaner. And of course he has all of you with your love and frequent flyer miles. 

So sing on beautiful San Francico; Sing on, all ye friends of budding quantum physicists; Sing on men in wigs and techies next to me in fancy seats; Sing on my tribe- thanks for supporting Chico as you do. Thanks thanks thanks

You will always have a place in my parking lot.... xxx

Fish market in Loulé

H and W with new friends

Peter and W in a physics lecture

Beauties cruising in Ida's new golf cart

Exonians on the Bahnhofstrasse over a petit breakfast

Small Portuguese beach lunch 

At the Portugal vs Luxembourg (we won 9-0)

Moving in to Elm Park Gardens

Postscript

Since I began this blog entry, he has been to his first days and is very excited. He said the group is next up in the nerdy level- the mathematicians at Imperial will not allow any non mathematicians into their lounge, which in case anyone is asking is worse than the one for physics. The physicists have a large deck that overlooks all of London and the math people are in the dungeon. But you know I will find a way into that group too. As I always say, I grow on people. 

He has joined the tennis club, the ski club the chess club, the yoga club (to meet women); and the gymnastics club because he wants to learn to do a back flip on dry land and not in the pool. They said they could teach hm. 

At the first lecture, the professor tried to intimidate them a bit with a warning that this might be a little hot for some -especially he said for those that didn't go to Imperial for undergraduate; and those people should prepare themselves to do a little more reading. But a heaping dose of Exeter and a double major at Chicago has toughened Chico up a bit. As he said "it pretty much seemed like the usual ride". 

London digs, Temperate climes, cold seas, USWNT, Rubik's Cubes

 

The Hallowed Halls of F's new school (looks rather frill-free) 

As most of you have heard, we came, we saw, we rented. Our first day we saw a tiny (418 square feet) apartment in South Kensington that would not fit much more than Chico's enormous desk. I was sort of open to it, but T said it "smelled like glue". Then after much research and graph making and deep deep analysis, he announced if we spent more money, the apartment would be better. Interesting. I think his point was actually the market was rather efficient and we would not pull a fast one over a landlord in London by getting something for nothing. So we took a rather charming, rather large place on the border of Chelsea and South Kensington, very near the wonderful King's Road. It is so fancy in fact, it comes with access to a garden and key. F is not the biggest fan of reposing on lawns, but we shall see. 

We will move him in beginning of September, Inshallah. So come visit if you dare (but be warned I am not paying for a cleaning lady), or at least drop in for a garden stroll. 

Our landing was rather exciting- there was, thank god not known by me, lots of wind across the runway. So after trudging across the Atlantic for 10 hours, we land on only one side of our wheels and the plane sort of leans weirdly to the side. Somehow we were in first class this time, and I looked at Chico with a sort of hopeful "Maybe this the way it feels at the very front of the plane...?" Anyway we went around again and just when I tried to curse the pilot, we read that another airline had tried three times and given up and landed in Scotland. So welcome to England I guess. 

Maybe it's my imagination, but England isn't the same without the Queen. I mean does anyone really get excited to see Charles and Camilla? 

Portugal seems to be, climate-wise, the place to be in Europe. It is burning up everywhere but here it is slightly cooler than usual. It's perfect for tennis, and the morning swim makes us gasp and congratulate ourselves (64 degrees). 

F and Henry T are living a pretty clean life in anticipation of the Barcelona portion coming up next week. They sampled various war museums and pubs in London and have been seen reading actual books made of paper. In the rest of his free time, F can be found by following the sound of his clicking his Rubik's cube around. We were two days in Porto which was hideously crowded with drunken tourists, but we were in the best hotel room of my life at the Hotel Monumental. I didn't want to leave.

So here we are back in Quinta do Lago with empty nightclubs, and backhands foremost in our minds. 
This women's world cup down under is killing me. Lord knows I love these girls, but I can't wake up at 2 am to see them. But get into it people! The characters are so incredible....one of them is Denis Rodman's daughter, and there is a selection of the baddest ass yet somehow also adorable women. One in particular is Rose Lavelle who as one podcaster said is the kind of person when the bar is about to close says...No problem, I know a place that's open for another two hours..." Always having a good time, and plays this joyful kind of soccer with brilliant little moves that bring energy and smiles when she comes on.

Simply google Rose Lavelle karaoke..lol. Then cheer cheer cheer! Apparently during the Holland game which we tied alas, the Dutch coach tried to smack talk our team (US! out of shape??) and then an egregious foul on their part got our fabulous Lindsay Horan so mad she went out and scored immediately. Do not make this woman angry. 

 Germany is also looking good so we Wehlens are pretty smug. But rear ends in front of the TVs my people. 

Boys on famous bridge in Porto

Love the British sense of the ridiculous

Boys at the fancy private club of P and K the first night

Living Room in my Porto room; below the dining room

wildly into the 70s emerald green marble vibe in my Porto digs

Double Stuffed Physicist

 

Biting the apple of knowledge

“The best thing for being sad,’ replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, ‘is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in you anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then – to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags in it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the thing for you. Look at what a lot of things there are to learn – pure science, the only purity there is. You can learn astronomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six. And then, after you have exhausted a milliard lifetimes in biology and medicine and theocriticism and geography and history and economics – why, you can start to make a cartwheel out of the appropriate wood, or spend fifty years learning to begin to learn to beat your adversary at fencing. After that you can start again on mathematics, until it is time to learn to plough.” 

T.H. White, The once and Future King

First of all God bless Burke's school and our brilliant, possibly alcoholic, never-would-be-hired today teacher Mr. Bell for having us read The Once and Future King. Never knew it would come in so handy for a quote for Chico's graduation. 

I always find graduation season melancholy. I don't like saying goodbye to a place that has embraced my kid while sprinkling fairy dust of knowledge on his head. I don't like saying goodbye to his friends, and ours, and in both cases (Exeter and Chicago),  to places that we will not see very often again. Sigh. And as excited and happy and proud as the parents are at these times, in my experience, the graduate tends to be exhausted and emotional and disorganized. 

But anyway, we came we clapped we packed. And young F, while very sad and slightly weepy to say goodbye, bounced back as usual. (Weebles wobble but they don't fall down. Do you remember that commercial from the 70s?). Frederick is a weeble. The summer ahead looks rather good and he gets to start studying in London in October, season pass to Lech in hand. So there is that consolation. 

Martha was in full Martha mode: dressed like the Queen mother on the days when she gardens- flowered dress, straw hat, sensible shoes- racing around like friendly paparazzi.  She was trying to brag about F, but at this sort of graduation, these attempts fall laughably short. She tried the whole astro physics thing to a guy whose daughter was getting her PHD in chemistry. For every cum laude she came up with, there was a magna to contend with.  No matter. Martha is nothing if not good at the pivot- we heard her telling people "her grandson double majored in Astrophysics and Astrophysics." In her eyes, he is more that just a budding Astrophysicist. 

He is a double stuffed one. 

I told Thomas F seemed to have come, somehow into full adulthood. It's like a border has been crossed, a certain shyness dissipated, a new confidence born. As proof, he came home and immediately cleaned out his closet of old clothes and then started work on two of the three jobs he has this summer. True, two of those are unpaid, but Frederick is a purist, and he seems to have mastered the art of working for little or nothing, then going seriously long in the stock market. 

I marvel at how lucky F was to have landed here of all places. A place that, according to a long research project analyzing "top" colleges, puts UChicago highest in the intellectual category. It's the place where the kids talk about what they are learning if they ever in fact go to a party. F told Andrew that is was not uncommon for him to study an extra 8 hours after a day of classes; and yet I wonder if he would say fun did come to die here. I don't know that he would. Interestingly, his closest people at the end were all women. Women with whom he cooked dinner and shared break up stories, and one time when I phoned him, with whom he had gone antiquing. (insert smiley face). His last semester was spinkled with all sorts of exotic things like parties and dates and sunrise swims in the lake. These things did not really happen in the early years on the road to his double stuffed major. 

He said he is more attached to Exeter than Chicago as much as he liked it. Part of that is Covid, part of that might just be that first love is first love. 

I realize this is meant to have more photos...and I will provide, just as soon as the Queen Mother returns from Canada with her camera. (She can't apparently download from abroad...) 

more in a jiffy xxx

Bestie and Roommate Angelina