Bucket List (London, Part 2)
A Life Lived Fully: From Wish Lists to Real Adventures
Have you ever turned a lifelong dream into reality? Whether big or small, share the moment you stopped wishing and started making it happen!
I’ll go first…
ICYMI: in part one, I did my best to remain positive when a highly anticipated vacation with my mother got off to a rocky start. I also shared that the primary reason for this trip was to help her realize a long-time dream of visiting the British Museum.
Reader, we made it happen.
As a farewell gift, a few of my former colleagues in the US gave me a credit to use at Tinggly (terrible name, great offerings all over the world) which I applied towards a private guided tour of the museum. Seriously, it was me, Mom, our delightful guide Betsy, and that’s it—thank you Brenda, Molly, and Rell! The tour company, keen on the Heathrow disaster, was kind enough to allow me to change dates without going through any hassle.
Wait a second, if the tour wasn’t set in stone, why the waterworks when my mom’s plane didn’t arrive on time? Well…selfishly…because hers wasn’t the only dream being realized on the trip—but I didn’t plan it that way, honest!
You all reading this are rather used to me writing, but for a long time I told myself I couldn’t. I had ideas, I had dreams, but I kept thinking that was a thing other people did and not one I could do. At the start of the pandemic, I began walking to stave off middle-age thickening and began listening to my playlists. Sadly music wasn’t enough to distract me from the huffing and puffing, so I began tinkering with ideas for a story. Still, I wouldn’t let myself try jotting them down, my mind happily settling for not risking anything lest it not lead my becoming an instant success.
Though we were surrounded by family back when living in Minnesota, these guncles really only get up early for cats, never Santa Claus which leads to a string of quiet days home by ourselves. Instead of watching Die Hard in our basement, William and I decided to watch Hans Gruber fall off of Nakatomi Plaza from a flat in London in 2022.
Despite thinking we might have the city to ourselves while everyone else ate Christmas pudding in paper crowns, we were not the only people who thought of spending the holidays abroad! William had never been to England, so we did some tourist stuff including a ride on the Thames Clipper to visit the Tower of London.
As we approached the entrance, the man checking tickets looked me dead in the eyes. and said, “It’s high time you wrote that book you’ve been thinking about.” To this day, William doesn’t remember it happening at all, but that stranger’s words stuck with me and, a few weeks later, I gave myself permission to try my hand at writing what would become CALLED and…well, you know the rest.
After I dedicated my first book to that stranger, I wondered if I could find him. I posted the story on TikTok but only got “hope you find him” comments; same on Instagram, and on Substack. In the end it was my mother-in-law's efforts that revealed who’d been working that day! The man in question also remembered that single exchange—I told you, William—and, a couple of weeks before, I made arrangements to present him with a copy of the book.
But before my big moment, Mom and I had a date with the British Museum.
I had been inside once before but I won’t say I visited the museum because I walked in, saw the Parthenon marbles (they never belonged to the 7th Earl Elgin), and hurried to catch the train to Sidcup for the conference that brought me to England in the first place. By contrast with the charming Betsy leading the way, Mom and I spent the better part of the day exploring the sprawling halls—a true delight made even more memorable by sharing it with her.
Home to a world-renowned repository of artifacts from throughout human history, the British Museum has stood for more than two hundred years. In that time, views on the means by which the objects inside “found their way” to England have naturally…uh…shifted. In addition to marveling at the museum’s collection, I was struck by the feelings of standing among stolen and looted parts of other cultures, many of the peoples represented brutally subjugated, their countries indelibly altered by the scourge of colonialism.
The museum’s founder, Hans Sloane, was heralded for bequeathing his collection to the public; however, modern historiography now adds the context that the fortune he used was the spoils of slavery…and actually belonged to his wife. In the exhibition room done up to resemble the early museum (hoarder shelves), the plaque beside the now-replaced bust reads, “Physician, Collector, Enslaver.”
His wife, Elisabeth, on the other hand, is represented by a silhouette with a question mark. The more things change…
In the hallway lined with Chinese jade, I noticed tourists from Asia and it struck me what it might be like to see my culture represented in a museum abroad—what would it feel like to traverse the globe in order to see parts of my country’s history? I once saw an exhibition of Georgia O’Keefe’s work in Rome…okay, maybe we don’t hold up the Romans as an example of not taking things that don’t belong to you…still, there’s shockingly little that came from Great Britain in the British Museum.
The Tower of London on the other hand…
The day after relishing our time together in the museum, Mom and I bundled up against the winds off the Thames and headed to meet the kind gentleman who doles out positivity upon arrival at a historical prison, in stark contrast to the reception offered to who would have arrived at the Traitor’s Gate.
I spotted the chap right away, but our tickets weren’t for another twenty minutes. Having a Substack bit me in the butt since my mom was able to tease me about how Dutch I’ve become in only a couple of months—precise times matter. She also grabbed the British Museum map from me, recalling that I’ve admitted to the world I struggle to translate 2 into 3 dimensions. Hey, at least she’s reading my stuff…click those links and you’ll know what she does.
At our appointed time, I nervously pulled out the copy of CALLED (that I had to pay to print on demand, have mailed to my mom’s house, and which she brought in her luggage…another reason I needed her on the trip!) and asked Mom to snap a few shots. My new friend Adrian couldn’t have been kinder—he was “right chuffed” to receive a copy of the book and touched when he read the dedication. He is also an author and plans to share his manuscript with me later this spring. I tried to thank him for the help he gave me, he insisted that I’d done the hard bit. I struggle to describe the feeling of that moment exactly, but it surpassed my every expectation.
I’ve been lucky to visit London several times (still not fancy pants, mine are from Primark) and have made multiple trips to the Tower…though never in chains! In 2008 Masha and I climbed every parapet and read every placard, but most of what I remember was being squished among children on the people movers that prevent crowds around the Crown Jewels. When William and I went in 2022, the line was insanely long, snaking along the barracks and down to Lanthorn Tower (on the river side), so we skipped them altogether. This third time was, in fact, the charm: there was absolutely no line!
When I saw the jewels most recently, all I could think was that, while impressive in their size and splendor, most were pilfered and purloined from around the world and no longer represent majesty to me. I used to find the monarchy almost romantic, a balloon that began to droop after realizing how horrific blind allegiance to an institution has been for the world and that finally burst after Queen Elizabeth II’s death. Imperfect as she was, I always admired her sense of duty…
BTW, the Crown Jewels now includes Camilla’s crown 🤢
Taking tea after our tour of the British Museum, Mom and I discussed how the image of the museum’s collection has changed as we shed more and more light on the colossal wrongs and atrocities that are part of human history. As a child, I remember learning about how the “sun never set on the British Empire,” whereas now that I’m an adult, that’s considered a rather terrible thing about which to boast.
Setting both dubious provenance and the generations of white people taught they were better than others aside, during her visit Mom was taken by the fact that so many of the objects in the British Museum’s collection suggest one common theme: what is the meaning of life and how are we meant to live it?
While there isn’t one answer from the myriad of cultures represented by the artifacts on display, each culture’s treasures tell a story of facing death bravely after living life to its fullest. The fact that we were in the museum solely because it was something my mother had always wanted to do was not lost on me.
Too often we put things onto our “bucket lists,” but how many do we take off? If something holds enough interest “want to do before we die,” what on earth are we waiting for? I’d expound further but
’s post on the subject really does a better job.Since my father’s death, I’ve come to see how important it is to not only tell, but also to show people what they mean to you. Unlike some civilizations of the past, I’m not planning to amass a great pile of goods that will accompany me into the afterlife (the Egyptians didn’t have estate taxes apparently)…and I’m definitely not getting buried with any dishes since ours are from IKEA.
Instead of waiting until the end, I’m aiming to leave it all on the field, because this is the only go-round I’m sure to get. A great many faiths suggest that you’re meant to endure the suffering of this life and receive your reward in the next; however, not one of them can guarantee that’s the way it goes down. Everyone has their own idea of what happens after you die, but why put off until the theoretical next life what you can do with your real one today?
It doesn’t have to be something as grandiose as taking your mother to the British Museum, it can be something as small as encouraging a stranger in passing. Signs like devoting more time to writing and moving to a new country point to me thumbing my nose at “should” and “supposed to.” There is so much misery, pain, and sorrow that comes with being alive in this world, why skip out on doing things that will bring you (or others) some measure of joy?
That is why I asked my mom to spend some of the savings “earmarked for me in her will” on the trip to London. I didn’t want to end up visiting the British Museum without her after she’s gone, nor do I care about how much I get from the estate because no amount will bring her back. I don’t know a lot, but I do know that money in the bank doesn’t equal happiness.
Even though Mom and I lost a day in our planned vacation, we still managed a day trip to Oxford—a tale that deserves its own post. Part three coming soon!
Thank you for reading! Indie creatives like me rely on your likes, comments, and shares to reach new readers who love expat memoirs, serialized mysteries, and thought-provoking fiction. Your engagement makes all the difference!
Have you read A History of the World in 100 Objects by Neil MacGregor? I imagine you'd love it.
It is, and always will be, my strong stance that you will not be buried with, or laid or scattered in or around, any plates or housewares. Thank you for sharing this trip with us, here and from a distance at the time.