Riding the Rails through Hocking Valley

Family legend has it that my grandfather and his brother hopped a freight train to travel from Illinois to Indiana in search of work. More than eight decades later, my brother and I more casually and safely boarded the Hocking Valley Scenic Railway in eastern Ohio in search of history. Our ride was shorter and much more pleasant.

Over the years I've enjoyed another historic train ride (in Winnipeg) and hope to take one more this year (in Santa Fe). I've traveled with Amtrak from Toledo to New York and, heading the opposite direction, to Seattle (although on that ride I was stuck outside Minot, ND, during a freak May snowstorm). I've lounged in sleeper cars and dined in the club car or a more formal dining car. I used to spend as many afternoons as my job and budget would allow riding VIA from Windsor to Toronto, where I'd indulge in theatre or hockey. Trains in my past got me where I wanted to go. Trains in my future are far more likely to be a sentimental journey.

So, on a summer Sunday, the Hocking Valley Scenic Railway became a great excuse for a family-friendly great escape along rivers and fields. We stood in the open car to feel the breeze and get closer to nature (my niece pointed out a deer darting into a cornfield). We smugly waved to cars waiting for the train to pass. We watched much of Ohio's history, from farm to brickyard, rush by us. During a stop at the local college's recreated pioneer settlement, we visited homesteads and--my favorite--the school, complete with oil lamps and slates. Then it was a short journey back to the Nelsonville station.

Although a live historic commentary lets passengers know what we're seeing (such as the lone chimney and kiln from a once-thriving brick industry), even more informative is a conversation with the conductor, a train enthusiast who knows just about every other train route worth taking in the eastern US.

Train travel, like most transportation today, isn't as glamorous or accessible as it was in its heyday. I miss the ambiance of the great old train stations, including my favorites Chicago (home to a climactic scene in The Untouchables) and Toronto (where Due South's Benton Fraser fatefully encountered the dangerous Victoria). They've lost much of their historic flavor to modernization. Still, special journeys like those offered by the Hocking Valley Scenic Railway keep the trains running for enthusiasts who want to get away, if only for an afternoon.

Life is Looking Up...and Around

On a recent visit to Florida's Treasure Coast, I refused to bring any work with me and let my gaze wander away from Facebook, email, and drafts of good ideas awaiting editing. Perhaps I've reduced the natural beauty of Florida to clichés of birds, clouds, and surf, but I photographed what caught my eye on walks around Vero Beach or Sebastian Inlet. The silences surprised me most--long stretches of time broken only by the stutter-crash of that mythic big seventh wave or a hawk launching itself from dry palm fronds and crying a greeting as it ascended. And then there was a chance meeting with my first land crab, who was casually crossing a gravel road until I insisted on a photo op. The crab immediately straightened to its full height to glare at me in fighting stance, a pose for which I thanked it. Two days removed from everyday stress and I'm philosophizing that not every cloud may have a silver lining, but occasionally there's that one golden epiphany that makes everything seem all right.

The Tale of a Book: Sherlock Holmes for the 21st Century

Ideas for potential books constantly tease me, and I seldom wake up each morning without an outline for an article or a chapter nagging me. Much of the time that first coffee of the morning will convince me that either I don't have the time or experience to leap into another writing project that day, but some ideas hit hard and refuse to go away.

So it was with my latest book "baby," Sherlock Holmes for the 21st Century: Essays on New Adaptations, which has just been published by McFarland. (Inserting shameless plugs for the book's McFarland, Amazon, and Amazon UK pages here.) I first heard of the BBC's Sherlock during a trip to Cardiff, when friends asked if I'd seen the series yet and then explained just how much I was missing. When PBS broadcast the episodes a few months later, I was hooked, and since then I admit I've become something of a Sherlockoholic.

During the Popular Culture Association's conference in San Antonio a year ago April, I stalked presenters talking about any adaptation of Holmes and, in the process, learned a great deal about ACD canon. I still pity the McFarland representatives who listened to me discuss a potential book more than once during that conference and who encouraged me to submit a proposal.

In the week after the conference, I received enough abstracts from the enthusiastic presenters I'd accosted during the conference and, by then, had developed ideas for four chapters and written an introduction for the proposal. McFarland reviewed the proposal and, after a bit of discussion and modification, approved it.

Although I don't want to minimize the many hours that went into the making of this book--from research to writing to revising to editing to proofing to indexing--I still have to say that "Sherlock" has been my easiest book "child" so far; "he" is my lucky 13th. During my research, I took a wonderful tour of Holmes' London, thanks to Brit Movie Tours, and I talked to fan/scholars at Holmes-themed restaurants, museum exhibits, and, especially, at 221B Baker itself (the Sherlock Holmes Museum). For about a year, Sherlock Holmes has been a big part of my daily life. However, as is true of any child, I can't take full credit; I certainly couldn't have done it on my own. I can only hope this book brings enjoyment and, ideally, some insights to those who read it.

Carlen Lavigne, Anissa Graham, Jennifer Garlen, Kayley Thomas, April Toadvine, Francesca Marinaro, Ana La Paz, Rhonda Harris Taylor, Svetlana Bochman, and I cover a wide range of topics and adaptations. The book's back cover describes the chapters as evidence why "Holmes and Watson are more popular than ever" and "destined to be with us for years to come." The adaptations we analyze include the Guy Ritchie films, BBC's Sherlock, the novel The House of Silk, and Neil Gaiman's stories, but we also discuss the nature of television and fandom, cinematic tourism, science and technology in canon and adaptations, and recent pastiches.

So today I announce the book's release, but that doesn't release us--as writers or Holmes fans--from the spell of Sherlock. We look forward to seeing the next chapters in the Great Detective's development, and we suspect that more adaptations will give us even more to "talk about" in print.

Tribute to Andy Griffith

This morning I was saddened to learn of the passing of Andy Griffith. I never had the pleasure of meeting the man, but he represented the Americana of my childhood. With him goes one of the last remnants of the first U.S. I can remember, a world in which my family watched Andy, and later Gomer, on the living room TV or spent summer nights at the drive-in, where we watched Andy in family fare like Angel in My Pocket. Like Andy, my dad sometimes sang gospel and was a member of the church choir. My little brother especially liked Barney, aka Don Knotts, in The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. (One summer we went to a matinee of Knotts’ The Incredible Mr. Limpet while on vacation in Daytona Beach, where, years later, I live and recall that movie each time I pass the place on Beach Street where the theater once stood.)

No matter how hard I tried—or how many times I was ridiculed for making a weird nasal noise instead—I never got the hang of whistling The Andy Griffith Show theme song. I did get the hang of fishing, and, just like Opie, I learned to fish with a cane pole and lots of patience (but my dad baited the hook for me). Even though my brother and I grew up in a good-sized city, our mother was raised in a more rural environment, and stories of her childhood resonated with the stories we watched of Mayberry. Years later, when I drove my mom from Florida to Ohio and Indiana to visit relatives, we’d stop at Mount Airy. Andy was never far from our conversations. The Andy Griffith tribute at the North Carolina welcome center became a rest stop we looked forward to, no matter how many times we’d seen the little exhibit. As recent as Memorial Day, my brother and I looked forward to hearing Jim Nabors sing “Back Home Again in Indiana” at the start of the Indy 500. Somehow The Andy Griffith Show has worked its way into many corners of our lives.

When I think of Andy Griffith—Andy of Mayberry, actually, not Andy-as-Matlock—I think of gentle humor that recognized the foibles of human nature without being mean, ice cream socials or picnics with family and friends, and evenings on front porches. In my case the “porch” was more often a green glider or a swing in a grandparent’s backyard, but the idea is the same: sitting in the evening with plenty of time to ponder the world and watch the fireflies come out.

But Andy was also the first to show me that not all families are made up of a mother, father, and two children. Andy was first a widower and single father; Aunt Bee, a spinster with really no place to go. They and Opie became a family that superficially might seem constrained by traditional gender roles, but I noticed primarily a blended family—one that grew over the years to include friends, spouses, and children or grandchildren. Andy was one of the first to show me that a nontraditional family was OK, as long as everyone loves each other. That, a reflection of my upbringing, was a good foundation when my worldview expanded in the turbulent ‘60s.

Of course, I romanticize my childhood, but it’s still good to fall in love again, now and again, with my past. And Andy Griffith is part of that. When I mourn his passing, I also mourn the loss of just that little bit more of my childhood. Maybe I can’t go home again, but I can remember what it was like when I lived there.

In an English (Definitely Not Country) Garden

Green spaces provide a respite from every other aspect of city life--and don't require a lot of green to enjoy (although I tend to like a glass of wine or an ice cream at a garden cafe after I hike and take lots of photos). In June I visited one of my favorite parks, Regent's Park (the fowl photos were taken there), as well as lots of Bloomsbury squares. The statues grace Tavistock Square, but I also spent a lot of time in Russell, Bedford, and Bloomsbury Squares and Coram Fields. Who would've thought I could relax with a book on a bench? (Well, it was easier because I was enjoying Caitlin Moran's How to Be a Woman, which made me laugh out loud sometimes. Maybe that's why I always had a bench to myself.)

Of all the many flowers in the gardens, yellow roses are special to me, and these offered a heavenly scent. My grandmother used to tend her roses so carefully, and the majority of her back yard was truly a garden. Although her roses lived in Indiana, they had cousins in London.

For my final blog of this trip, vicariously stop to smell the roses, but watch out for bees and lady bugs.

The statue of Gandhi (above) invites followers to leave flowers in tribute. A tiny votive's flickering flame surprisingly provided a great deal of illumination.

In a quiet corner, Virginia Woolf stares unflinchingly at passersby; she once made her home near the square.

A Tourist's-eye View of London Landmarks

More than a year ago someone asked me if I liked visiting London. "I'm not really a 'London' type of person," I explained. "It's too big and busy, and I like smaller, more rural places." Granted, some of my favorite cities include Toronto (which is big but doesn't seem so much so, perhaps because I know the theatre district so well), Glasgow (in large part because of Kelvingrove Park and the university area), Edinburgh (I'm a sucker for the view from the castle--and it's a bus ride away from Leith, which not only has sunshine but the best fish pie I've ever eaten), Cardiff (whose clubs let in "mature" ladies like me, plus I can enjoy lots of green spaces and waterfront), and Wellington (which is surprisingly walkable, especially when I'm motivated to make a gelato run to Oriental Parade). So what's the big deal with London? I hadn't made it personal yet.

A few trips later, after lots more theatre and three memorable weeks in a Westminster flat, and I'm a bit more familiar than a first-time tourist but still carefully venturing out into neighborhoods and doing such mundane tasks as shopping, whether from the Tesco Express across from a tube station or the local Sainsbury's or a fruit stand. I still do all the touristy things, as you can see from my photos taken from atop a double decker--but I also like to do library and theatre archival research, with breaks at out-of-the-way cafes, head to a festival or two, this time on Southbank and in university screening rooms (for the Open City Docs Fest). I will always be a visitor and an outsider, but for days or weeks at a time I can gradually chip away at the city's "bigness" and find moments and corners (or Bloomsbury squares or Thames-side benches or theatre alcoves) that become mine.

So here are the famous places and sites seen from my perspective, as I was looking up and around from that bright red bus, walking along Marylebone, or walking off a great curry while enjoying the sounds and enthusiasm of a Southbank (Coin Street) festival.

When I can, I like to start the morning with a brisk walk to Somerset House, after which I can feel virtuous and lounge with a croissant and coffee inside the deli (above) or out on the plaza. It's also the perfect place to feel creative and pretend to be a writer.

When I take photographs, my gaze often homes in on details of architecture, and throughout the city's many styles and eras, there's a lot to photograph. With views to cathedrals (St. Paul's, Southwark), one of my favorite guard dragons, and spires, wings, towers, and even a possible vampire (you'll see what I mean), my eyes were never bored.

Between the Olympics (with the Rings placed on Tower Bridge soon after my arrival--how thoughtful!) and the Diamond Jubilee, flags are everywhere.

I love gargoyles! The creatures adorning churches, such as Southwark Cathedral, and towers, including Big Ben, fascinate me. I indulged.

The National Theatre is one of my favorite places--well, not architecturally, but as a meeting place (along with the nearby BFI, the setting for some of my most memorable conversations about film and performance). Outside there are plenty of places to sit and chat--including this summer's Propstore, made from props and sets.

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, after seeing Antigone, I wandered along the south side of the river (along with a cast of hundreds) to hear music, watch the dancing (too uncoordinated and self-conscious to join in), and enjoy curry, later admiring the daring and dexterity of skateboarders.

So much is eye catching, even for a fleeting moment. (We're both sexist, sister, but I'm right there with you.)

Traffic is usually terrible, but everyone has learned to queue.

I'm always surprised, especially when I don't pay attention to the guidebook and cut through a side street, only to find something miraculous--like the remnants of the Great Hall of Winchester palace.

Even a walk down Euston Road offers a surprising warning. I only hope it symbolically references a jogging lane instead of a tiny crime scene.

I traveled further, mostly by foot (mindful of joggers) or bus, than these images reveal, but perhaps this snapshot of one tourist's London will help you think a bit differently about a "big" city of ever-changing small details.