Baby, It's Cold Outside

    Our trip was winding down as indicated by the weather, the sun retreating after its brief defiance of weather predictions and the rains of fall were returning in force.  Tides switched places and now were fully in by the morning and our turbo-prop flight out of there began to look a bit sketchy if the winds continued; but that wasn't for a few days so what was the worry since we had already learned our lesson coming in (about trying to make a connection in two hours) and had already changed our departure date and time (yes, our change fees had now equalled the original cost of the ticket so that lesson was even more deeply imprinted).  Back home fall was also arriving with temps at night approaching freezing, the days struggling to reach 60F (15C) and dropping to 35F (1.6C) early each evening (such temperature swings are quite normal where we live); it would seem that our days and weeks of desert-like temperatures were now "one for the books."  Those who live in countries with noticeable seasons will know the welcoming change that spring and fall bring, a somewhat reassuring sign that all is still working with our planet.  But the recent issue of Rolling Stone pointed out that this isn't true for all parts of the world as record high temperatures have hit everywhere from Paris to Anchorage, never mind those melting glaciers (Switzerland just issued its own warning about the Alps).  And with those record temps came some power outages which might be providing a glimpse of the danger that some air-tight office buildings and homes might face when air conditioning and air filtering goes out (yes, our quest for energy efficiency may have a downside).  But who hasn't gone on vacation and encountered that tropical paradise filled with strikingly green plants only to be forced to pay the price with a humidity that leaves you uncomfortably drenched.  So how does it all work when it's hot and humid, this sweating and such?  Here's how the article explained it: One way to think about the human body is as a giant multicellular heat engine that strives to maintain a constant internal state of 98.6°F.  The very process of living --of eating, breathing, moving, thinking, having sex-- generates heat.  The outside air is usually lower than 98.6°F, so our bodies release heat, mostly by circulating blood to capillaries close to the surface of our skin, where the heat can be dissipated (that’s why your body is warm to the touch).  Without a cooling mechanism, just our basic metabolism would result in about a 2°F hourly rise in body temperature.  We wouldn’t even make it through the day.  If the equilibrium between body temperature and the outside world gets too far out of whack, the body quickly deploys its only emergency heat-release system: It sweats.  For sweating to be effective, however, the water has to evaporate.  High humidity is uncomfortable (and potentially deadly) because the air, already filled with water, has little capacity to add more, so the sweat simply sits on the surface...The loss of water through sweat is itself a health hazard.  The average person contains roughly 40 liters of fluid.  On a hot day, when the body is struggling to keep from overheating, a person can easily lose a liter of sweat per hour.  When the body is down one liter, basic functions are impaired.  When it’s down five, fatigue and dizziness set in.  Ten liters disturbs hearing and vision and you will likely collapse --  a condition known as heat stress.  But if it’s hot and humid enough, even drinking plenty of water won’t help.  As the body’s temperature rises, it tries to cool itself by pumping more and more blood to capillaries under the skin.  The heart pumps faster, the chest pounds, the pulse races.  As the body loses water, our blood becomes thicker and harder to propel.  When the body temperature hits 103°F or so, the metabolism will be running flat out in an emergency effort to dump heat.  Eventually, the most vital organs can’t keep up, and the body’s neurological system begins to collapse.  At 105°F, the body is in serious trouble.  The brain swells, often causing hallucinations and convulsions.  Pupils become dilated and fixed.  Sweating stops, and the skin feels hot and dry to the touch.  At that point, if the body temperature isn’t lowered immediately by emergency cooling measures such as being packed in ice or a plunge into cold water, the person could die of heatstroke.   But wait, we were still in England.  What was I thinking?

This citrus-finish version is from NIgeria...delicious

 Jumping back to the last post on misunderstood words, we were finding that another word entering the picture might be that of misinterpretation because whenever any of us travel we tend to meet, greet, and form an interpretation of how things are.  Be treated poorly at a hotel or restaurant and you find yourself deciding that that is that and that you're likely not going back (some might just call is stubbornness).  But then it could have simply been a bad night or a shift change or a different person covering for another which resulted in a bit of anger that slipped out from something totally unrelated to you.  Or it could work the other way, a good or even great experience.  And so it was as we talked with our cabbie, both of us summing up our political government workings in a short ride and leaving with him saying. "It's too bad the ride is so short as I would have liked to continue on the conversation."  But overall we had to admit that we were pretty much ready to head back to "the states."  Not that we didn't have fun during our stay because we had met so many great people (admittedly my wife was a little less ready than I was at leaving her birth country).  But I was feeling that I had reach my limit on drinking pints of beer (still almost no stouts or porters available, not counting the rare Foreign Extra Guiness that came from Nigeria and yet even that was available in just one shop near London's airport); my body seemed to be starting to rebel against so much fried food (as one pub told me about its veggie burger, "Quite good, we deep fry the patty.").  Chips (fries) of every sort were part of every menu, right along with mushy peas and "pies" and "puddings," which are far different from anything related to desserts since most of them contain meat and ooze out gravy once cut, all to the delight of the eaters as if it were indeed some sort of chocolate filling.  And everything was so small here from the sinks to the counters, the faucets so low that if your hands were somehow

Steak and kidney suet "pudding" from the oldest pub in Newquay.

those of a hefty contractor you might be left wondering if you should just skip the entire process (picture the sinks on an airplane as being the standard in most bathrooms).  Low ceilings and steps were everywhere but often of a size just small enough to easily miss and thus trip you up (one spilt pint or one gashed head quickly taught you to just pay attention and "mind the gap").  Electrical sockets everywhere still stuck to the old practice of being shut off after each use (walk into any room and most everything will either be unplugged entirely or shutoff at the outlet, a holdover from the olden days of the 50s when plugs would "arc" electricity when removed from the socket; it still happens today but only because English tradition being what it is, most places haven't made the switch to the newer 2-prong sockets that are grounded which is what that giant third plastic prong is about in the old plugs).

The Truro Cathedral

    But I am perhaps misrepresenting everything, grumbling as if already gloating over returning to the United States with the television back on and hearing our president tell the world how we are so much better than any other country.  Truth be told, I ate almost all my chips each time they arrived, enjoying pretty much every last one of them (potatoes and "swedes" [rutabagas/ turnips] come with almost every meal); and I thoroughly enjoyed talking to the bus drivers and the cabbies and even the skeptical sometimes worn pub faces that soon slid a bit closer to us and asked if we wanted another pint (we often did the same); and I actually got used to the tiny showers that did a good job of cleaning my hair and body with likely 2/3 less water, as well as the sinks and countertops that told me that I really didn't need most of the stuff that cluttered up my American bathroom with its fancy granite top (never saw a one in all the places we went in Cornwall).  So despite the lack of signage that I could see, I was being taught to slowly see a lot.  Just look differently, listen differently, be open.  A few laughs, a few evening meals, and our countries (perhaps even our country leaders) were suddenly not so different after all.  That's when we entered the cathedral in Truro...

The Nine Lessons & Carols of Truro*

    Victorian in nature, the Gothic structure appeared to stand out from the ordinary, its three towers appearing even taller once inside.  This was just one of 42 Anglican or Church of England cathedrals, the most famous of which is likely Westminster Abbey which is actually sovereign-run and thus deemed a royal peculiar (many cathedrals of other faiths appear throughout the U.K., exemplified by one of the Anglican cathedrals located on the hotly debated colony of Gibraltar).  The signs throughout the church tell the story of the then-poor parish somehow raising the funds and skills to build the structure in the late 1800s, the first such structure to be erected in over 600 years.  But why here?  And why the hidden clues in the stained glass of both Cornish and Methodist leanings (so asked the signage).  Had times begun to change, even back then?  Apparently so since my wife's cousin brought in her lap dog, comfortably seated in her motorized wheelchair, to view the church's interior..  As I hunched over to scan one of the signs, I realized that I was partially blocking the view of a tall fellow behind me and apologized, which is when I heard his Texan drawl.  Straight out of a John Wayne movie, he made a friendly comment about how dogs seemed allowed most everywhere here in England to which I replied that perhaps only one bar or restaurant in a million would allow that such a thing in the states; he paused then smiled and said back in referring back to the U.S., "But you can bring in a gun everywhere...that ain't right."  In one fell swoop he had noted the big difference between being here in England and being in the U.S.  We had our traditions for sure, but historically nothing like this.  And both countries were giving way and embracing new options but were they the right ones?  And was this all just a slanted view on my part since we were somewhat in the rural side of England and not immersed in London or Liverpool or Manchester?

    Before long we would be cruising back to the U.S. in a pressurized tube where the outside air temperature would be a chilly -65F (-54C), far away from all the crashing waves of tradition and heading back to the hustle and bustle of home.  And still, I would be taking back with me (unknowingly) the tradition of the Oxford comma.**  From that point high in the sky the cities and cars and people and cathedrals would be too small to see visually and I would be able to gain a new perspective, not one of dividing cultures and seeing differences but rather one of what things unite us and what makes us the same, similar to what many astronauts feel on viewing our planet from afar.  So it was on reading the cover story in National Geographic about space travel that this appeared on a Russian tradition before each space launch (Russia has sent far more satellites into space than any other country): A Russian Orthodox priest, as is customary these days, blesses the crew and the ship with holy water in two brief but solemn ceremonies...  It would seem that even as various countries move forward into modern times, we haven't forgotten the past after all, or its reminders.

*Give the people of Truro credit for starting a tradition that eventually became standard practice throughout the Church of England and soon spread to other faiths.  Termed the Nine Lessons & Carols, the story told to me was that the reigning Bishop at the time did not even want the nine angels placed on the frieze but once they appeared, ordered them painted so as to "hide" them and not have them take away from the rest of the intricate stone carvings; of course the result was just the opposite with many people now asking what those nine painted figures represent...now you know.

**Ah the Oxford comma; who knew it even had a name?  But yes, it originated in Oxford (think the classic grammar book of Strunk and White) and has come back due to a controversial song.  But in a nutshell, it's the addition of that third, separating and perhaps defining comma which some (now many) say is unnecessary.  The example mentioned in Quartz (and slightly altered by me) would be this: We invited the strippers, Putin and Trump.  So without the comma, would you think that the strippers are named Putin and Trump?  Or, with the addition of the Oxford comma, would you view it as three separate invitations (strippers, Putin, and Trump)?   Why not just rearrange the sentence for clarity is one argument, making it read: We invited Putin, Trump and the strippers.  That sounds a bit more believable, say some.  Welcome to the debate over the Oxford comma.  As that Texan might say, Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.