I'm in London again. Actually, I'm about to fly home. Writing this missive from the United Club after three nights in town. This wasn't a grief journey to write the eulogy (March) or an impulse trip to watch Josh Kerr break the world record in the mile (July) but an actual business trip.
I did a lot of writing on each journey but I not only completed a new project while I was here but had actual business meetings. The doormen at my hotel don't know what to make of me, dressed as I normally am in a hoodie and shorts. My profession is not obvious and I'm certainly not your usual posh hotel guest. So when I showed up in a suit and asked for a cab to the Reform Club, I am certain the level of mystery rose a little higher.
My oldest son flew in from Italy, where he now lives, for a couple dinners. I had yesterday all to myself, so I wandered without purpose, finishing one book and leaving it in the pub for the next reader to pick it up and enjoy. It rained steadliy throughout the afternoon. Then I went to the Waterstone's in Trafalgar Square and bought two more (Oh William! by Elizabeth Strout and Barbarian Days by WIlliam Finnegan). Just to prove you can't have too many books, I bought something interesting about beating anxiety here at Heathrow just an hour ago. To make the journey a true "Huzzah!" adventure, I somehow got moved from basic economy to the Polaris pods for the flight home. Someone is truly looking out for me.
But every adventure has its dark side. Literally. The light switches in my hotel room had a setting for what is essentially, complete darkness. No ambient light. There was also a setting for full illumination, and if I'd been looking carefully, a third switch for subtle floor lighting for middle-of-the-night visits to the restroom. I am a full darkness sleeper. Little makes me happier when I'm falling asleep.
I did not heed this third setting, instead plunging the room into complete and utter darkness. It was a little after 1 am when I made my way to the gorgeous Japanese toilet with the heated seat and bidet. I moved carefully. Braille. Made it there without issue. The room had an end table, a luggage rack, and a nightstand by the bed.
Well, you can guess what happened on the way back: stubbed my toe on the luggage rack (it is bruised and may be broken), tripped over what I think was the footboard on the bed, then slammed my head into the nightstand. I applied compression instantly but still managed to leave a crime scene on the white hotel towels AND the white duvet.
Bear in mind, I had not been drinking. I want to make that clear. I'd gone to bed at a relatively early time. I was just being stupid. This is why people have companions. We all need someone to say that walking around in total darkness is a very bad thing — and wouldn't it be horrible if you fell?
This is the adjustment in my life as I learn to fly solo. We all need a north star. Clearly, I need to do a better job about making wise daily decisions. I'm pretty good at making major life choices (or so I tell myself) but perhaps it's time to give a little more thought to simple acts of safety.
Let's chalk it up to a learning experience. I don't see a new companion coming into my life anytime soon. As I remind myself often, it's been decades since I've been naked in front of another woman. Just the thought of it is awkward. I guess we could turn off all the lights but that doesn't seem to be working so well for me.
The housecleaning staff cleaned up the mess in the morning, leaving me a large selection of Band-Aids to cover the various cuts. I don't know if they were being humorous but it made me laugh out loud. I left a nice tip for their hard work and sense of humor.
My reading glasses cover the purple swollen right eye pretty well. I bought a running hat at the Nike store on Regent's Street near Soho that hides the three-inch scar on my forehead. It is not a lightning bolt, like Harry Potter's. Just a diagonal reminder of a late, rainy night in London.