Month: September 2022

Watching the responses to the death of Queen Elizabeth, I realized that the Sex Pistols had it right. More than anyone else that I can think of, it is hard to envision Elizabeth as a real person. Unlike us, she ain’t no human being. *

I assume that Liz was a real person to those who actually knew her – her family and friends, if she had any. To the rest of us, she was nothing more than a symbol, and a shifting one at that. It’s not her fault that this is true. In fact, in many ways it’s to her credit. She was born to a role and played it to its hilt. That role was to be a figurehead perched precariously on the front of a floundering ship – The H.M.S. Monarchy. By the time she came along, that ship had no real part to play, except as a museum piece. If she wanted to keep it afloat, she was going to have to let others use her to reflect their own reality. And that’s what she did.

Elizabeth kept herself above the antics of the other Royals. Prince Phillip would utter ignorant, misogynist and racist bon mots, but not Elizabeth (My favorite Phillip gem was his congratulations to a British hiker in Papua New Guinea for not having been eaten). Princess Anne had steamy love letters stolen. Prince Andrew will forever be linked to Jeffery Epstein. Elizabeth’s reaction to these shenanigans (which is much too mild a word for Andrew’s perverse behavior) always stayed behind closed doors.

Maybe the Brits have a better idea as to Elizabeth’s quirks and foibles. I know that much has leaked out about her, but it’s all been rumor and suppositions, or portrayals in movies like the Queen, or the TV show Elizabeth. My guess is that to the majority of those on the British Isles Paul McCartney summed it up nicely when he sang that she was a pretty nice girl, but she doesn’t have a lot to say.     

Her ability to keep her personality hidden from public view enabled her to be different things to different people. To an aging World War II generation, she could be a symbol of the nation that stood tall against the Nazis, second only to Churchill, but without his baggage. She wasn’t Queen during the war, but her stoicism was sufficient to suggest the sacrifice and strength that saw the nation through. She could not be flustered, and neither could they.

It’s harder to get a sense of what younger Brits feel about Elizabeth. My sense is that to many she has been an institution they have known all their lives and are therefore comfortable with. Maybe there’s some real affection there of the type you might have for a long-standing neighbor that you said hello to once a week, or a childhood stuffed animal (where have you gone Monkerscope???). I do not get a sense of anything much deeper than that.

To many of those that lived in former British colonies she was a symbol of the exploitation and degradation they felt. When Carnegie Mellon professor Uju Anya of Nigeria wished Elizabeth “excruciating pain” in death, she was not reflecting on any one thing Elizabeth had done, but on her position as a symbol of the seizure of lands and minerals from that country, and all that went with it.

My guess is that more than anything Elizabeth represented a stability that we all yearn for. There is so much change to deal with in life that it’s comforting to have something that exudes permanence, even if that something is remote and inaccessible. It’s a big part of the allure of old buildings, and antiquated ceremonies. The Queen was a walking, sometimes talking, monument.

I also think that’s why there were so many outpourings of sympathy from those of us across the pond. Few of us want a monarchy, but we still long for a greater continuity than democracy gives us. Many want a strong leader, and while Elizabeth was not that, her longevity, as well as the trappings of her position, gave her an aura of power. For some, that apparently created a bond.

For many years people, both in the UK and here, debated whether the monarchy should be abolished, but, for better or worse, that was not going to happen while Elizabeth sat on the throne. She was not going to give any openings that spurred a movement in that direction. She sat with the fixedness of a rock. There was no crowbar big enough to oust her.

It will be very interesting to see if her death sparks a movement to finally exile British royalty to the dump heap of history with the other European monarchs. King Charles is not his mother. Even calling him “King” Charles sounds off, as if a child adopted a nickname that doesn’t suit him (“From now on call me Buzz”).

Plus, it is too late for Charles to eschew a personality the way Elizabeth did. He will always be the guy who cheated on his beautiful wife in the most public way possible. That is what everyone will think of when his name is mentioned. Especially because that beautiful wife died a horrible death that immediately granted her public sainthood.

My guess is that the monarchy will survive Charles, but it’s relevance, nominal as it currently is, will dwindle. Neither Charles nor his children will ever be a symbol of anything to anyone, unlike Elizabeth. He will just be that guy in the ermine robes with the funny hat on his head. The Queen is dead, ho hum to the King.     

*All photos used in this post are in the public domain (Take that Shutterstock!!!!)

As I am sure few of you have noticed, I have not posted anything in the last three or four months. Like the Blues Brothers, I have been on a mission from God, though it has not involved crashing any cars, or producing second rate versions of old R&B tunes. Instead, I have been engaged in moving. Anyone who has undertaken this process knows what a traumatic bear it can be (if there is such a thing as a traumatic bear).*

We lived in our house in Abington for 26 years. That is longer, by far, then any other place I have lived. Initially, I thought that this couldn’t be true, since the house I grew up in is so etched in my memory, but it is, and it’s not even close. We moved into my childhood home when I was three, and my parents moved out 20 years later. Do the math (I did, though I admit it took me awhile).

We bought this house when our second child was on the way. We owned a row home in the Art Museum area of Philadelphia, but it was not suited to four of us, especially with two kids under three years old. (The child’s bedroom without a lock at the top of the stairs was a dead giveaway.)

We sold our row home while the blizzard of 1996, the single biggest snowstorm on record in Philadelphia with a total of30.7 inches of snow, raged. We thought maybe we would stay in the city, but we could not find anything we liked, so we started the suburban search. Even though I had lived in Philly for over 10 years by that point, I didn’t know the suburbs well, so it was something of a crap shoot.

We looked at a house in Ambler that seemed perfect. The previous owners had added on a master (now “primary” in the PC of house hunting) bedroom, so it had plenty of room. It also had a pool, which was enticing. We were looking at it with my in-laws when my father-in-law took me aside and said, “Come with me”. Bill was a very nice, soft-spoken man, and an engineer to boot. He walked me down to the end of the driveway, where we turned around to look at the house. He didn’t have to say anything. Even to me the sag in the roof between the old portion of the house and the add-on was clear. We gathered up Julie and her mom and left.   

The owners of the house we bought had already vacated when we did our walk through. That made it difficult for the imagination impaired, like me. How would furniture fit into this place? Was the basement a total loss, or could it be converted to a room for the kids? Did the kitchen have enough countertop space, and was the pass through a good, or bad, idea? Luckily, I had a wife with better vision, who saw the potential where I saw only questions.

In 26 years, you learn the plusses and minuses of a home. Having a 95-year-old house is pretty cool, but it means plaster walls, porous windows, asbestos on cellar pipes, and weird, unusable nooks and crannies. It also means huge old tees that look great but are rotting on the inside and can come crashing down on your home (or a neighbors) if you’re not careful.

The bottom line, however, is that it is your home. You know the spots that get the morning sun and are therefore the best for reading. You have redone the kitchen so it’s a place where people want to hang. Yes, certain things are awkward (what’s that pipe doing jutting out from the wall), but you have developed your work arounds. Entering the house truly feels like entering your home.     

More importantly, there are so many memories, both good and bad, tied up within those four walls. You watched your kids grow in that space, filling it up and making it their own. You felt yourself age, taking the stairs you bounded up when you first moved in much slower as the years went by. The ghosts of game nights, Halloween parties and Thanksgiving dinners lingered. The past co-existed with the present in a very visceral way.

But none of those are reasons to linger past the expiration date. There were way too many rooms. The stairs were creaky, and so are our knees. If we were going to stay, money needed to be invested, and it was unlikely we would ever see that back. The market was hot, and all signs suggested this was a propitious time to go. So, we dove in.

Frankly, if I knew the angst that decision would cause, I am not sure that I wouldn’t have stayed perched on the end of the diving board (just like in junior high – a memory I wish I could forget). It would have been the wrong decision, but I would have been saved the never-ending list of things that had to be done, the 2:00 a.m. reruns of Perry Mason (which was a much better show before I knew anything about the law), the endless worries about financing, and the time deadlines that seemed both far off, and immanent at the same time.   

Hopefully, you will indulge me while I revisit those months in the next few entries. I just need to get it out of my system. Luckily, I think it all comes to a happy ending.

*Since my last posting I realized that many of the images I was uploading may be copywrited. As such, I have now gone to artists renderings, for better or worse.