Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Yaay! In Oxford Again! Kelmscott Manor & Fairford Church

Wednesday, July 31, 2013
The Cotswolds and Oxford



          Today, I made a 30 year old dream come true—again, a small one, but a dream nonetheless. I finally visited Kelmscott Manor, home of the Arts and Crafts Movement and Pre-Raphaelite artist, William Morris. But let me get back to the beginning.
            I arrived in Oxford on the X-90 coach—the first time I was using this service, but it was the most economical. I had left Battersea at 7.00 am, then taken the 7. 15 bus, arrived in Victoria at 7. 35 and got on the 8.00 am coach. Wifi on the coach allowed me to catch up with some work for an hour and a half. It was drizzling and mist made visibility poor on the M40 to Oxford. But before I knew it, we were on Magdalen Bridge and, as always, I recalled my first arrival in this glorious city almost 30 years ago—and how excitedly that tight knot of happiness had sat in my tummy—for then too, I had been experiencing a dream come true—that of studying at Oxford!
             My friends Sue and Tony live in South Oxford (in Grandpont) and in about 10 minutes, Tony arrived in a spiffy red car to pick me up. He took me over to his place where I had a nide reunion with Sue. We had a glass of elderflower water (which I really like) and then we were off—there was no time to lose as we were headed for Kelmscott Manor which is a good half hour’s drive away.

On the Road to Kelmscott Manor:
            When I was a student at Exeter College in Oxford, almost 30 years ago, an excursion had been organized to Kelmscott Manor, home of William Morris and then on to the Cotswold Village of Burford. Ignorant Me had never heard of him then and I had opted not to take the excursion. It is a decision I regretted through all that time because, as the years rolled by, I grew familiar with Morris and his great contribution to Art History as a founder/practitioner of the Arts and Crafts Movement and of the Pre-Raphaelite Movement with his Exeter College, Oxford, buddies Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Edward Burne-Jones (of whose work I am a dedicated fan).
            Well, like most such historic homes in the UK, Kelmscott Manor sits in the middle of nowhere—literally in the heart of the country in Lechlade in Gloucestershire, which is on the edge of the gorgeous Cotswolds. So every time I have attempted to get to it (on repeated visits to Oxford, over the years), I have never been able to as there is no public transport to get there and they keep the house open only for a few days a week. Well, long story short, this time, with Sue and Tony having a car, we could get there easily. So I was very excited, once again, and I could not wait to see the inside of the house.     

Finally Inside Kelmscott Manor:
            Entry to Kelmscott is 9 pounds for adults. You get a self-guided tour and the services of volunteer guides in each room as well as a printed guide leaflet that takes you through the rooms and points out its features.  I will try to keep the history of this house brief—so that I can remember it myself. It is a Tudor home, originally built in the mid-1500s, and belonged for generations to a Turner family (they made the turning rings for corn mills—hence their family name!). There are several members of the Turner family buried in the near-by church. The original home (so-called because it is in the village of Kelmscott) is small and dark with tiny rooms and low ceilings. In the mid-1600s, the Turner family came into some money and put an extension on to the house—this part is clearly different with higher ceilings, bigger rooms, larger fireplaces (one bears the family’s coat of arms that features mill-turners) and much more light.
           In the mid-1900s, when William Morris was looking for a country retreat away from his Red Lion Square home in London—a place where he could paint undisturbed—he got to know that the Turner family wished to rent their place near Oxford. Morris took a look at it—it was love at first sight. He co-rented the place with his best friend, the artist Dante Gabriel Rosetti, and moved into Kelmscott Manor with his family—wife Jane and their two daughters, Jenny (an epileptic) and May (who became an artist in her own right). It proved to be an extremely creative and productive phase in his life although it was marred by the romantic relationship that developed between Jane and Rosetti of which he was aware. The Morrises stayed married but every single painting you see featuring a beautiful young woman in it by either Rosetti or Burne-Jones or Morris himself is Jane.
            Kelmscott Manor retains the look of a simple domestic Tudor interior combined with decoration by an Arts and Crafts artist. There are wall-hangings that were designed by Morris and either embroidered by him (yes, indeed, he did embroidery!) or Jane, curtains made from fabrics whose patterns he designed, loads of wall-paper, lots of paintings—either by him or May. His style is distinctive in the close (some might say ‘busy’) patterns featuring flowers, fruit, vines, leaves, branches—all inspired by Nature and the profusion of plants in the neighborhood. There is a grand old bed in Morris’ bedroom that he loved so much that he wrote a poem on it. His wife Jane then embroidered the lines around the valance of the bed and his daughter May embroidered a counterpane for it. It is simply splendid. There is also a very unusual stairway—the only one of its kind I have ever seen—a sort of dual staircase. You put one foot on one side of it and the other on the other side. Unfortunately, no pictures could be taken in the house so I will have to try to commit it to memory. The décor is purely minimalist—remember those famous words of Morris: Do not have anything in your home that you do not consider both beautiful and useful. Words that we could all live by, aren’t they? Especially in these days when all you hear about is de-cluttering.
            At Kelmscott, Morris who adored books, founded the Kelmscott Press which brought out The Complete Works of Chaucer, among others. It had illustrations by the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. It kept Morris busy for years as well as financially successful.
            The gardens at Kelmscott are also famous and quite beautiful for Morris was a passionate gardener. They completely surround the house and although small are impressive in their order and their beauty. It is a lovely place and I was so glad I finally had the chance to visit.
            Morris loved the house and passed away in it. He is buried in the neighboring village churchyard besides a bay bush. His wife and children were subsequently buried in the same plot. You can visit the old Tudor church which is in itself fascinating in its antiquity and then wander out into the churchyard to see the gravestone that is withering rapidly with age. After Morris’ death, his widow and daughters continued to live in Kelmscott Manor until Jane passed away. May became guardian to her sister Jenny and moved to their London home in Hammersmith where she lived until Jenny died. May ultimately returned to Kelmscott Manor and, watching it fade away, willed it to the Rector of Exeter College who held on to it for sometime. When it was found that maintenance was too expensive, the college passed it on to a London company of Antiquarians who restored it and have run it as a museum. Indeed it is thanks to May that her father’s memory lives on so vividly. The Pre-Raphaelite Movement was a brief moment in time but it left us a wonderful modern vision for the future that was both practical and beautiful.

Seeing Morris’ Grave:
            We walked down the lane outside Kelmscott Manor to the village parish church to see the graves of the Morris family besides a bay bush. The church itself is old and plain but memorial plaques to the Turners are all over the wall. Most visitors come in now because of the association with Morris. It is a rather plain grave and the lettering is fast fading through wind erosion—but it is worth seeing especially if one has read the account of his burial by his friend Murray and seen the portrait of Morris on his death bed by the same artist.             

Heading on to Fairford:
             Sue and Tony were keen for me to see the Parish Church of Fairford which is about a 15 minute drive away because it contains the only completely intact set of medieval stained glass in the UK. Indeed, the drive through the Cotswolds on the edge of Gloucestershire and Wiltshire was simply delightful and brought back to my mind memories of the lovely drives Llew, Chriselle and I had taken through the Cotswolds, several years ago—one of our loveliest family holidays. There were the narrowest pathways through the fields which made it difficult for two vehicles to pass together—but thoughtful bypass areas made it possible for cars to pass back and forth. Fields lying fallow lay on either side of the road and with the sun shining golden upon the earth, it was a delightful drive past the village of Lechlade and into Fairford.

The Stained Glass of Fairford Church:
            The church at Fairford dates back to Tudor times—the times of Henry Tudor who is also known as Henry VII, father of the infamous Henry VIII.   As a patron of the church, the stained glass panels that were designed and fitted in his time feature his daughter Margaret (in disguise and in Tudor dress) in two panels. They are full of the most exquisite detail because all stained glass windows were used for ecclesiastical teaching—as catechism tools at a time when few people could read.
            We encircled the church with the useful book that the lady at the entrance handed us and we were able to interpret the depictions from the Bible on glass. Of course, a large number of the windows have been restored through the centuries but it was still pretty remarkable to be in that space. Other Tudor features of the church are also noteworthy—a Baptismal font that dates back centuries, a carved wooden choir screen, pews and choir stalls. Indeed it was atmospheric and I am so glad my friends suggested we see this church to which people from all over the world come to catch a glimpse.

Drive Back to Oxford:
            The drive back to Oxford was wonderful—again, the Cotswolds are special and I feel thrilled to return each time I do. But while Tony and Sue relaxed, I headed to my next appointment.

Drinks with my Former Oxford Landlords:
            Five years ago, when I had a Fellowship of sorts at St. Antony’s College, Oxford, I had stayed with retired dons, Elizabeth and David Longrigg in their grand old North Oxford English Gothic mansion at 23 Norham Road right off Norham Gardens about which the English novelist Penelope Lively wrote a novel called The House at Norham Gardens. I had occupied the sun room just above the car port and I have the happiest memories of my time there.
            When I informed Mrs. Longrigg (which whom I have stayed in email contact) that I would be visiting Oxford, she invited me over for drinks. The long walk from South Oxford to North Oxford took me 45 minutes but I passed through some of my most beloved parts of the city—St. Aldates, Carfax, Cornmarket, The Martyrs Memorial, the two pubs that the Inklings popularized: The Lamb and Flag and The Eagle and Child, the War Memorial at St. Giles—and then I was at Parks Road and admiring the architecture of the North Oxford homes. How lucky I have been to have lived in such places and what warm and happy memories that have left in my heart!      
            The Longriggs were just lovely and I had the nicest time with them. They had drinks all set out—wine, elderflower water (which I had), and nibbles: taramasalata on crackers, chips with guacamole, pickled olives. It was so very nice of them. We stayed and chatted—there was so much to catch up on. I find them intensely interesting and their stories of family successes and their travels kept me enthralled. I discovered that their grandson Arthur Bowen, their daughter’s son, played Harry Potter’s son Albus Potter in the last Harry Potter movie and was interviewed in various magazines that they proudly display on their piano! How marvelous! Indeed, it was a fabulous evening and after spending over an hour with them, I left for the 45 minute walk back to Sue and Tony’s where I arrived just in time for dinner.

Dinner at Home with Sue and Tony:
            Sue had cooked salmon quite expertly indeed with chilli and fresh ginger—delicious! There were a variety of vegetables grown in their ‘allotment’—a patch of land not too far away where they grow their own veg. There were beetroots, broad beans (what Americans call Lima beans), boiled potatoes with mint. It was a very colorful plate indeed and everything was delicious. For dessert, there were fresh raspberries with Greek yoghurt—so healthy, so fresh. We chatted a whole lot and tried to plan our days together.
            And soon it was time to say goodbye and go to bed after what had been a tremendously productive day and one I will long remember.    
              Until tomorrow, cheerio!

V&A Museum Treasures, British Library & Battersea Dinner Party




Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Battersea, London

V&A Museum, British Library and a Dinner Party in Battersea
            I am slowly getting accustomed to the trains passing outside my window—although a particularly long goods train in the middle of the night woke me up with a start. Still, brekkie done (muesli and Greek honey yogurt), I was ready to start my day. Rain all night and a drizzle in the morning fell in quite well with my plans to spend most of the day indoors.
            I also quickly mastered the bus routes at Battersea and found that not having a Tube station nearby was not a disadvantage at all as I could be in Victoria or at South Kensington in about 15 minutes on the frequent buses and the many routes that ply Battersea High Street.
            So off I went on the 345 bus to South Kensington directly to the Victoria and Albert Museum to start my self-guided tour of its highlights by using its very useful leaflet entitled “Twenty Treasures of the V&A”. I have to admit that it was a daunting task finding them all as the Cast Court was closed and access to the rest of the galleries that led from it kept me going around in circles. I have also forgotten a lot of what I saw as I am writing this installment of my blog a full week after seeing them. But here is what I remember:

1. Samson Killing the Phillistine by Giambologna—Sculpture in the new Renaissance Court
2. The Luck of Edenhall Medieval Glass Beaker—British.
3. Gloucestershire Candlestick
4. The Heneage Jewel—gold bauble with image of Elizabeth I engraved on it
5. The Bed of Melville
6. Marble Sculpture of Handel
7. Ardabil Carpet
8. Painting of a Paris Theatrical Scene by Degas
9. Tipu’s Tiger
10. The Raphael Cartoons

Well, I can’t recall the rest but they were all quite fascinating. In my attempt to find them, I traversed some of my favorite parts of the museum—especially the Jewelry Galleries that I never miss and where I could spend an hour simply gazing upon the 18th century silver chatelaine.
            I was also delighted to come upon the three huge silver lions that are copies of the ones in the Throne Room of the Rosenborg Palace in Copenhagen where Llew and I had seen the original not even three weeks ago.
            I grabbed a bite to eat in the incredibly beautiful Morris Room—a scone with cream and jam and a pot of tea and then I was off.

Work at the British Library:
            I took the bus then to the British Library and spent the entire afternoon working at the British Library in the Asian Reading Room on the third floor. As always happens when I am at work, time simply gallops by and before I knew it, I had to leave and rush off to Battersea again. However, I managed to get a great deal of work in the several hours I spent there, so it was truly grateful for the opportunity to gain access to the India House Records that I needed to examine in connection with my book.

A Dinner Party with New Friends:
            My friend Roz decided to throw a dinner party at her place and to invite the new American friends I had made at the opening of her son Alex’s solo art exhibition.  They were Ginny (short for Virginia) and Richard. Roz also invited an old friend of her’s that I have met before and whom I really liked—Lizzie Rodgers. So we were a very merry group as we gathered for drinks in her lovely garden with its loads of colorful flowers and the regular whoosh of trains on the tracks behind us. We sipped our drinks and nibbled our nibbles and then we went inside to enjoy one of Roz’s great meals for she is an amazing chef. Roz’s Chicken Fingers with mixed roasted veggies were great as was her salad and her cherry and blueberry crumble that I helped her make. Conversation was fun and there was a great deal of laughter around the table.
            But because the best dinner parties must eventually end, her guests were off about 11.00pm. I had, fortunately, packed my backpack ready for my early morning departure on the coach to Oxford, so I excused myself and went straight up to bed.
         Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Ambling in Albertopolis



Monday, July 29, 2013
Battersea, London

            Waking up to the sound of trains is a novel experience but a nice romantic one. There is a railroad line that runs just outside my window here in Battersea and planes on the Heathrow Path, not to mention helicopters ascending and descending over the helipad poised over the Thames where river boats ply all day long—all these journeys, these to-ings and fro-ings are deeply romantic to me.
            I worked for three steady hours after a muesli brekkie. Waking early provides me with the opportunity to do focussed editing work and to redraft my proposal to the publishers. I also had a request letter for a transcript to draft and sundry other email correspondence items to complete. Before I knew it, it was 11.30 am—where does the time go? It was great to have Alexander, Roz’s son, for company as he pottered around on the lower level having come in after 2.00 am last night. He leaves for Oxford (where he lives) later today. As I worked on my laptop, I watched birds—a variety and a great multitude of them in Roz’s garden—Alexander informed me that the small yellow ones are probably blue tits—go figure! There were also large strange ones I’d never seen before—wood pigeons, he said. Llew would have loved it.
            At 11. 30 am, I was at the bus stop intending to get to Vauxhall to take the Tube to start my ambles around Albertopolis as the area around the Victoria and Albert (V&A) Museum is called. But I have become strangely proficient in the use of the red buses and when one came along proclaiming “South Kensington” as its destination, I was on it like a bonnet! It was a lovely ride—through Chelsea (I love the King’s Road and Fulham Road and could dally on them forever) and the Bluebird Cafe where I have been intending to eat for ages and into “South Ken” which is Little Paris, really, what with the plethora of French shops that have cluttered the area.
           
Revisiting the V&A:    
           It wasn’t long before I entered the V&A that looked very different from what I remembered. It didn’t take me long to realize that a whole new wing had been added to it on the right—a wing that was under renovation while I had lived in London—it turned out to be the new Medieval and Renaissance Wing that was opened soon in late 2009, soon after I left. Naturally, I had to take a tour of it and to my good luck, there was one beginning in just two minutes: a special tour of the Medieval and Renaissance Wing. It wound around the Museum’s treasures—from the court on the ground floor where the guide pointed out the Italian medieval stone wells, the stema (signature stone) of Pope Leo X and Giamdebologna’s Samson Wrestling the Philistine—which is one of the museum’s treasures. (Indeed, it did not take me long to discover a wonderful leaflet entitled ”Twenty Treasures of the V&A” that points visitors in the direction of its most notable items in a collections whose number is staggering. And naturally, I resolved that I would return tomorrow to do a self-guided tour of them as instructions and directions are very clearly marked on the leaflet. However, one does now have to pay one pound for the Floor Plan (as also in the National Gallery)—so it is now worth holding on to these after one’s visit instead of consigning them to the trash bins.  
            Upstairs, our tour took us to a stone Gothic Altar, to the Gloucester Candlestick (made of gilded base metal using the lost wax technique), to the stained glass window panels from La Chapelle in Paris (not clear how they got to the V&A), to completely different stained glass panels from the Church of the Stained Blood in Bruges in Belgium (also not clear how they got to the V&A), to the massive tapestry entitled The Boar Hunt—one of a series of four that details all kinds of medieval hunting (bear, boar, deer) among lords and ladies dressed to kill (pun intended), a most unusual marble bas relief of the Ascension of Christ by Donatello in a space devoted exclusively to his work (as the V&A has the most works by him outside of Italy) and finally a studiola with very interesting ceramic ceiling rondels by Lucca della Robbia that portrays the 12 months of the agricultural year.
            By then, it was nearly 12. 30 pm and I rushed downstairs to the Information Desk to join the Introductory Tour which is what the Museum’s Highlights Tour is called. This docent, named Deborah, was simply amazing—passionate and energetic and so knowledgeable. She started with the Ardabil Carpet which is dimly lit for just 10 minutes on the hour and the half hour—it is indeed the largest carpet of its quality in the world and arrived in the V&A via Persia and Los Angeles (having fallen temporarily in the possession of J. Paul Getty). Upstairs, we paused at the terracotta Bust of Henry Tudor that remained in the possession of his son Henry VIII and stopped at the Hereford Altar Panel—a confection of Victorian design in multi-media: metal, studded semi-precious stones, marble, gilded wood, terracotta (figures of Christ and the angels) meant for the church and designed by the great Sir George Gilbert Scott but never installed there. This vantage point gave us an opportunity to gaze upon one of my favorite works in the Museum—the softly colored Chandelier by Dale Chihuly that cascades over the Main Information Desk echoing the soft colors on the Victorian stained glass window panes from where Chihuly took his inspiration when commissioned the work.
            In the Renaissance and Medieval Galleries (constructed in imitation of the Millennium Dome installed in the British Museum), she pointed out the New Court (with its fountains and its sculpture), we skimmed past the Casts Court that was temporarily closed (the casts are taken from the world’s greatest sculpture so that the V&A has plaster casts of Rome’s Trajan Column and Florence’s David, both by Michaelangelo and by Donatello and loads of Gothic altars from French cathedrals including the famous entrance to Chartres Cathedral. We saw the side of a timber building from Bishop’s Gate in London that was left untouched by the Great Fire of 1666 and then went on to the Back courtyard where we saw a new bronze sculptural installation named The Three Graces by a contemporary sculptor Georg Baeslitz—a truly ugly installation that the guide said was “like Marmite—you either love it or hate it”. And I hated it!
            From there, we moved on to the Indian Wing where she led us to Tipu’s Tiger (of course!)—maybe the museum’s best-known object: a music box that when wound plays the sounds of a tiger’s roars and the screams of the Englishman who he is mauling to death--really gruesome but a good indication of the hatred with which the English were held in Mysore where Tipu Sultan fought hard to keep them at bay. The large wooden music box is entirely Indian made and very impressive indeed. She also pointed out Shah Jehan’s nephrite Jade drinking cup exquisitely carved with a lotus base and the detailed head of a ram on the handle. And finally our tour ended at the Raphael Cartoons on long-term loan from the Queen to whom they belong. Commissioned by the same Leo X who built the Sistine Chapel, they are colored drawings in tempura by Raphael for the tapestry weavers who ultimately wove the masterpieces that hang in the Vatican. The V&A has one of the tapestries and it is hung right opposite its Cartoon illustrating the manner in which the finished tapestry was a mirror image of its cartoon.
            I cannot leave the V&A without visiting its splendid cafeteria which is probably the best in the world. It is composed of what is known as the Morris, Poynter and Gamble Rooms, each of which has been designed and decorated by one of the great Arts and Crafts practitioners of the day. I particularly loved the ceramic walls and the stained glass windows and I settled down with a cheddar, celery and apple scone served with butter and a lovely pot of Darjeeling—which served as my lunch, to enable me to take in the grandeur of my surroundings. How much I love the V&A, I realized, and what a treat it is to return to this place, time after time.
           
Off to Pick up my Suitcase:
            Leaving the museum unwillingly behind me, I arrived at South Ken Tube station (using the useful underground passage way that links the V&A with the station) in order to get to Abbey Road to pick up my suitcase from Raquel’s place. I was there in 20 minutes and was disappointed not to find anyone at home. I cleared out my case and the fridge that had a few of my food items in it and was on my way walking towards the Tube station in order to get my case to my new digs in Battersea when along Grove End Road came Raquel with son Jonas and a huge shopping trolley in tow—she had just gone to the supermarket. We had a long and affectionate reunion on the street but because my case was heavy, I did not return to her place. Instead, I carried on to Battersea and was amazed to reach there in about half an hour.
            A rest and a nap was called for after hauling my 20 kg case across London (although I have to say, given the lifts and escalator everywhere, I did not have a hard time of it at all) and curled up on my bed on the top level of the house for my 20 minutes shut-eye.
           
A Walking Tour of  Alberotopolis:
At 5. 15pm, I left the house with camera, map and Oyster card in my pocket and on the bus I went back to South Ken to start my Walking Tour of Albertopolis—as the area is known. It was the brain child of Prince Albert (Victoria’s beloved husband), a German who brought with him all the culture and polish of the German court to an England that was in the midst of the Industrial Revolution. Marrying England’s manufacturing genius with Europe’s artistry seemed like a no-brainer for Albert who came up with the idea of the Great Exhibition (of 1851) to showcase the amazing wonders that man was capable of creating. He was also a dedicated lover of architecture and in founding the Royal Academies of Music and Art and Geography and Organists and Science, what he created was a miniature town—full of wondrous red brick buildings with elaborate black wrought-iron balconies (slightly imitating the French windows of neighbors across the Channel), fancy stucco embellishments and often exuberant carvings. And that is Albertopolis. I thought so much of Chriselle, because on her last trip to London when she had visited the area with me, she had simply fallen in love with it and with its architecture and couldn’t get enough of it.  
Everyone knows the story of how heart-broken Victoria was when she lost Albert to typhoid when he was merely 41 and how determined she was to create a memorial to him that would stun the viewer. Well, my walk wound me around the spherical Royal Albert Hall where there was a serpentine queue waiting for Standing Room to see the BBC Prom concerts that occur throughout the month of July and into August. I was sorely tempted to stand in it myself because for a mere five pounds, I could have listened to a world-class orchestra—but I had told my friend Roz I would be home with her for dinner.
So instead I took pictures of the wonderful sculpture of Albert at the back of the Hall and made my way to Kensington Gore—the road in front which is dominated by George Gilbert Scott’s brilliant Albert Memorial designed to look like a medieval market cross—but lavishly gilded. Albert who has recentlty been re-gilded sits there in larger-than-life mode with the catalogue of the great Exhibition on his knee (brilliant idea!) on a dais surrounded by at least 200 personages from the past that represent art and science and learning and flanked on four sides by marble sculpture that represents Asia (elephant), Africa (camel), Europe (bull) and America (bison). It is a truly an extraordinary piece of work and I felt the same kind of awe that I feel at the Taj Mahal as I circumnavigated its splendor. Many many pictures later, I was finally ready to leave and take the bus back to Battersea where I reached at almost 7.00 pm.
Roz helped me throw in a load of laundry and then I was ready to go on a long walk again, at her suggestion, along the Thames Path. What a great suggestion it was! We strolled, on a perfect summer’s evening with only the slightest hint of rain in the air, to the waterfront, past the helipad to arrive at the lovely Georgian church of St. Mary where William Blake had married and on to her ‘local’, The Woodman of Battersea, where I had “a swift half” pint of Guinness and she sipped a Sauvignon Blanc and we gabbed non-stop as we tried to catch up on all that has happened in our respective lives since the last time we chatted. It was a simply fabulous evening with a dear friend of whom I am really fond.
          Back home, where Oscar, Roz's beautiful Burmese cat is making himself very much at home on my lap, at nearly 10.00 pm, we had a very light but very delicious dinner: smoked salmon with buttered bread and salad with ice-cream for dessert. What a great day! At close to midnight, I reviewed and responded to email and fell asleep.