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Wide World: Overload

Mary Liz Ingram — July 15, 2014 — Leave a comment

At this point in my journey, the name of John Wesley very nearly caused eye rolling. (Okay, maybe I let one slip)

John Wesley’s story, check, I got it, I could tell it in my sleep. Cynical? Obnoxious? Maybe…..

Enter the port city of Bristol.

Bristol? Why are we here again?

Humongous seagulls dropped poo bombs around us, the streets were busy and a bit rough, definitely in contrast to our peaceful walks down quiet English streets or the intelligent culture and neat stones of Oxford.

We found a small building in the middle of the city: John Wesley’s New Room. This was the place where he and his cohorts pretty much began the Methodist Church. Not exactly ready to hear more about John Wesley, our little posse moved upstairs to the balcony, looking down on the pew boxes below. Somewhere in the presentation, my impatience waned. I mean, you gotta respect this guy, who built a room without ground floor windows because people threw bricks at them.

June 23, 2014

“The New Room was very much the same as when the Wesley’s met there, lots of old wood and white wash, pew boxes and benches, a high pulpit above a lectern above the table on the floor, candles on the walls and columns, a big ticking clock in the quiet room. As much as I’m full of this story, he did something with his ideas. It wasn’t just a passing feeling of needing reform, he acted on it. He worked and caused change.”

With so much filling our heads, so many experiences stacked one upon the other, we retreated to our hotel by the River Avon. It was a good place to rest and regroup, to find some comfort amidst the thoughts piling up in my mind.

June 24, 2014

“After dinner last night a group of us walked up and down the river for awhile. The night gets dark more quickly down here, but it was still around 10:00. We had the nicest room and most comfortable bed yet – puffy and white with a deep red velvety comforter. I had a cup of cappuccino while I got ready to go down for another English breakfast.

Leaving Bristol behind, I keep a memory of lights on the water, modern buildings with the towers of stone cathedrals rising behind, a backdrop of slowing dimming dusk, seagulls still busy in the night air. Boats small and large, old and new – deep green canal boats, large wooden ships, tug boats with tires attached.”

Like a boat heavy laden, I floated down the road toward London. The scenery was coated in fog as our green bus took us from Bristol, the landscape sleepy and foggy like me.

Bristol, ink doodle

In Wide World Alabama, Art, artist, Avon, Birmingham, boat, Bristol, doodle, drawing, England, fog, Ingram, John Wesley, life, Liz, Mary, New Room, river, seagull, sketch, story, thoughts

Wide World: Age

Mary Liz Ingram — July 13, 2014 — Leave a comment

As twilight fell, the hour was late.

By a river we walked, a thin path columned by tall grass and soft Queen Anee’s Lace. My hands fell gently upon the white flowers, as they bent in the direction of my steps. Searching for a bridge we never found, our stomachs full on roast and yorkshire pudding, we wandered past mossy tombstones, a sleeping country church, steep cliffs and quiet trees. Across the stream, we could see the glowing facade of Willersley Castle, the manor house in which we slept for the night, windows open to the cool night air.

We’d been to York and Epworth earlier in the day. We stretched our heads back to take in the tall magnificence of Yorkminster Cathedral. We felt the echoing organ fill every corner of the beautifully cavernous sanctuary. We climbed high and walked the ring atop Clifford’s Tower, looking down upon York with it’s ancient streets and yellow bicycles, banners and window displays preparing for the upcoming Tour de France…a city full of color and life, people walking, laughing and eating ice cream.

: Clifford’s Tower, York, ink doodle

: Strawberries, marker, colored pencil & ink doodle

: View from Willersley Castle, marker & ink doodle

: John Wesley’s house, Epworth, ink doodle

In Epworth we walked through the peacefully frozen house of John Wesley, preserved and restored like a snap in time. I touched the leaves of the garden plants and smelled the lavender on my hand. The quiet street was only interrupted by the call of a raven and the bleating of sheep. Near a church, we found a green field and a short path between trees. Exploring it’s ending, we found a spreading field of barley.

Such history preserved.

Again I lost sense of space and time and felt sucked backwards to earlier days, an immersion in ages past. When people gardened and read and walked and lived without such haste and stress. When life took more effort, but probably saw more of reality.

Maybe. Maybe not.

But it encouraged me to slow my pace, to open my eyes and to work with my hands.

The next morning, with mist still rising, we walked down a quiet street to St. Mary’s Church in Lutterworth. Inside, young children rode on bright plastic push cars, drank juice from sippy cups, played and laughed and cried, filling up the old stone space with the sounds and activity of today, of new life. Outside next to a blooming hydrangea and 15th century tombstones, I met a mother from Vermont and her baby girl. Now living in England, she shared my appreciation for the rich history and beauty of the place. Like I was trapped in a bubble, our easy, American conversation was a reminder of the present. The present living in and among the ancient. It’s something we are not used to, living in our young country across the sea.