In England's Green & Pleasant Land

It is not often that I wake from my night’s sleep and remember even a portion of what I dreamt. This happened earlier this week.

This past Wednesday I woke up remembered dreaming that my wife and I were back living and working at The King’s Lodge; the Youth With A Mission base that we served at in the late 90’s. It was not The King’s Lodge as I remember it for the structure was somewhat different and definitely larger. Yet, it was The King’s Lodge nonetheless and we were settled into a small flat in the back of the building. This was how it was when we lived there.

I did not want to wake from that dream. But I did. I shared my remembrance with Gerrie and started preparing to go to work. My mind was filled with thoughts of England and how much I truly miss being there. In these moments of shaving, dressing, having breakfast, I was drawn to William Blake’s poem “Jerusalem.”

And did those feet in ancient time,

Walk upon England’s mountains green:

And was the holy Lamb of God,

On England’s pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,

Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

And was Jerusalem builded here,

Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;

Bring me my Arrows of desire:

Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!

Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,

Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:

Till we have built Jerusalem,

In England’s green & pleasant land.

Passersby - Part II

As followers of Christ we are called to pray. 

It’s easy for my wife and I to pray for our family and friends. We pray for their happiness, their health, their protection and their provision. Each day, in our home, we thank God for His many blessings and how He has provided for us. We praise Him for the fellowship of our church and for the blessing we enjoy of living in a place where we can worship freely. We do this daily and it is an easy thing to do. We're praying into our lives, our families lives and our friends lives. Easy. 

This is good, but it is not enough. I believe that our prayers must be bigger than ourselves. The Lord calls us to look outside; to pray bigger. As someone who has been on the mission field, and who harbors hope of one day serving again, I have asked the Lord to place a country or a people on my heart to pray for. This past week I experienced a revelation of sorts in this. I believe I now have a people and place that I can pray for.

But, what of that stranger in front of me or that person selling papers on the corner? What about the couple sitting two tables away in a restaurant or the young person who walked in late to church? I know I can’t change the circumstances of a people an ocean away or of those I see each day. But I do know who can. 

When I see someone I can remember that video. I can try to understand that this person  is going through his or her life with their triumphs and sorrows. Though I may never speak to them I can be sensitive in the knowledge that they are carrying something that is defining them at that moment. It may be good or it may be bad. Either way, they are living their life. And in that moment of seeing them they have become a part of mine. 

It is up to me to decide what to do. Do I continue to pass them by? Can I continue to pass them by? I think not. 

Though I physically move on, spiritually I have stopped. For that moment I can lift that person up in prayer with all they are carrying. I won’t know what to pray. I don’t need to know. In my prayer I just need to place that person before Christ and simply say, “Lord, please take care of whatever this person is going through. Make Your presence known to them and give them peace.”

It may not seem like much, but when my Savior gets involved, it is a lot!

Passersby - Part I

Henry David Thoreau wrote in Walden, “Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?”

"A Couple in Green Park, London"

photo ©2013 Gerrie Grimsley

My wife introduced me to something quite profound this week. It was a video that concluded by asking:  

“If you could stand in someone else’s shoes

Hear what they hear

See what they see

Feel what they feel

Would you treat them differently?”

It was profound and it was disturbing. 

Suddenly I was aware of how little attention I pay to what is happening around me. I make my way through my days concerned with beginning and ending well. And somewhere in between perhaps I have done something worthy of the life that God gave me for that day. Sadly, this is not always the case. Not even close. 

I am wrapped up in my life and in the lives of my family and close friends. I live in my world and have my hopes and dreams. The stranger in front of me or the person on the corner trying to sell a paper; they live different lives. They are not part of mine. So I pass them by without a thought. 

This isn’t right.

What is going on in their lives? What are their joys? What are their sorrows? What hopes do they have? What dreams? Where do they want to be or what do they want to be doing five, ten, or fifteen years from now? Why are they smiling? What caused their eyes to be downcast? Do they love? Are they loved? Is there someone out there searching for them? Are they remembered or have they been forgotten? Is there life comfortable or do they struggle? What will they do today? Will they even be here tomorrow? 

So many questions and in each one lives a story of mankind.

“So if you’re walking down the street sometime

And spot some hollow ancient eyes,

Please don’t just pass ‘em by and stare

As if you didn’t care, say, ‘Hello in there, hello.’”

~ John Prine

   Hello in There

Margins IX

The Chicago Sun-Times recently fired its entire photography department stating that it had to "restructure the way we manage multimedia." It is a sad, but honest commentary in this age where print journalism in the form of newspapers struggle to maintain subscribers. In making this move, the Sun-Times closed a chapter in the book of John H. White.

White is a Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist, having received his prize in 1982 for his "consistently excellent work on a variety of subjects." When asked about moving forward, he replied, "I will not curse the darkness. I will light candles. I will live by my three "F" words: faith, focus and flight. I'll be faithful to life, my purpose in life, my assignment from life. Stay focused on what's really important, what counts."

"I will light candles." Inspiring.

Using Time Wisely

Use Time Wisely. These were three words that I became familiar with early on in life. Every six weeks or so, I’d see those words and looking out to the right of them, I usually found a check mark. The dreaded report card! The check mark, of course, meant that I needed to improve in that area. 

If only that little mark meant that I had mastered using my time wisely for that six week. It never made sense to me. And, in the interest of complete transparency, I was also familiar with the words, Pays attention in class. I imagine my teachers would say that I was daydreaming. I excelled in those areas.

I would like to think that I have gotten better at these things over the years. There are still those occasions though when it would appear that I have lapsed back into adolescent habits. I am still prone to dream; always have been and always will be.

But of late my quest for the simplistic life has been fraught with pitfalls. I seem to stay either too busy or too tired to do much in the area of creativity. The desire is there. The ideas are there. What is missing is the time and the wherewithal to get down to the business of drawing, creating something in the garage (though I like to think of it as a multi-purpose studio), taking and working on photographs, and yes, writing. I think about it. I think about it a lot. I just haven’t taken many of the “next steps” needed to turn my thinking into action.

Then I began to think about it. What if I outlined a schedule for my evenings? I have a good idea on what things I want to do. I have sift through the many things I could do and narrowed them down to the things I wish to do; those things being draw, create art with my photography and write. Oh, and still find time to read every night. So armed with this desire and knowing my goals I have outlined the next nine weeks of Monday through Fridays. Sprinkle a few hours in class on Mondays and in choir rehearsals on Wednesdays, and I think I may have something that works.

The challenge now is to make it work. Keep the focus narrow. Work through these nine weeks. Then, we’ll look at the next nine weeks.

Nine weeks? That is the number of weeks I’ll be in class. Just in case you wondered.

Use time wisely. I remember, though I can’t count, the times that I had to apologize for that being checked on my report cards. And I suppose that these for paragraphs are my apology for not being more faithful in writing here. Honestly, sometimes I just don’t know what to write. I don’t feel inspired or creative. But other times I simply don’t make the time to set down and work at it.

Maybe I would do well to remember something my dad told me years ago. I can’t recall his exact words, but they could be summed in this. He said, “Writing is a discipline and you have to be disciplined. Make time to write and when that time comes, you set down to write. You may not have anything to write, but you set down in front of your typewriter anyway and stare at the blank sheet of paper.”

So on we go. Bring on the blank sheets of paper; or in keeping with the times, a blank Pages document.

Life Goes On

It has been one month since I last wrote. It is time to begin writing again.

____________________

We’re back from England and after two weeks of struggling with a combination of jet lag and head cold, things are beginning to get back to normal. It has been a few busy weeks at work but I was able to look forward to this weekend and the promise of settling into a routine once more. At my age routines are good.

Gerrie was traveling this weekend. She was up to Michigan for a class reunion. This means I had time on my hands to take care of things that I generally push aside while we’re home together; which is most of the time. Coming home from England and feeling somewhat inspired, I had hoped to work in the yard. But a good amount of rain changed those plans. The same way it changed plans to go to a baseball game with friends. Oh well, I suppose the rain is good thing.

Changing my plans, I came upstairs and started going through things in the office. I went through old files and reorganized some things, and, discarded more than a few things. It is all a part of my ongoing desire to simplify; to downsize. Yet when it comes to discarding items, it is easier to part with some things and harder with others.

Finding some things that were difficult to part with is what prompted me to stop and write.

I have, for many years, harbored a deep desire to relocate to Central Florida. For those who me well, they know that I love Walt Disney World and I would go there as often as possible. More recently the frequency of my trips has declined so we can travel and see other things. Still, I always wish to be there more than I am. So a few years ago I began to investigate a move. I thought, “You’re still young enough to find good employment and with a few changes and modifications in lifestyle, you can make a go of it.” Though Gerrie doesn’t share the same passion for Disney that I do, she was supportive of the idea. The planning and savings commenced.

I called and emailed a number of Chambers of Commerce in the Central Florida area and began collecting all manner of information about relocating. I started reading, looking at different areas to live, investigated job possibility and costs of living, and started making a plan. I had us on a twenty-four month plan; twenty-four months to save, organize, downsize, and so forth. Those twenty-four months concluded this past January 1st. 

We’re still here.

This morning I found the files with all the notes, the brochures and magazines that I had gathered. As I opened the file and placed the contents on my desk I had a moment of pause. My first thought was to gather everything together and put them back where I found them. That is when the thought stuck me, “Life goes on Greg.” With that, I gathered the pile and placed it in my recycle bin.

It wasn’t easy. To do that was like admitting that this particular dream was over. And perhaps it is. But, perhaps it is, only for awhile. Perhaps some day I will realize this dream and live out my twilight years spending time in my “happy place.” But it isn’t for these years. 

Putting these things out for recycle may mean that this is over. But, it doesn’t mean that the dreaming itself comes to an end. Oh no! I am a dreamer! I make no apologies for that. As long as there is life in this old body I will continue to dream. I will continue to dream about the places I wish to visit and the things I wish to see. I will continue to dream, and to pray, that God may one day call me back out into the mission field and that I will be brave enough and bold enough say, “God, here I am, I am Yours.” I will dream about all the wonderful times that still await Gerrie and I, the love we will share and the memories we will make. And yes, I will continue to dream of a day when I can walk down Main Street U.S.A. any day that I’d like. 

So, life goes on, but I will continue to dream.

This Blog Has Been Temporarily Delayed

Dear Readers:

I have really tried to be faithful in my commitment to myself when it comes to posting to my blog every Sunday. So far, it has worked. And I made a sincere effort to have something there this past Sunday. I had a nice post I was working on titled Traveling Light. 

Sadly, time has gotten away from me. I have changed employment and have been spending a good deal of time and energy making that transition. It is going great! Thank you for asking. At the same time, I had two free-lance projects that I committed to; one is done and one is nearly done. Add to that, that we are traveling to England in a few days and there is the whole packing adventure.

I say all this because the few of you who read these weekly missives are important to me and I apologize for the lack of content during the past few weeks and the next few weeks ahead. But you have my promise! When I return and settle down, I'll have things back on a regular track. Friends, this excites me! 

I told my wife the other day that when we come home from England, I'll come home knowing how to say 'no'. I'll also come home knowing how to say yes to all the very exciting things that lay ahead. Spring is here (though it hasn't felt that way here lately) and that means rebirth. I am ready for it!

See you soon. Take care. And may God Bless You!

Greg

I Dreamed of England

Gerrie and I used to live in England. This is not news. I have written here and there about our life there and a desire to live there once again. Yet, as in all things, life offers it’s twists and turns and the likelihood of again taking up residence in the United Kingdom appears distant. Still, it is a desire.

But while we wait for that day that may or may not come, we can still hold fast to our memories of life there. We can share our dreams of one day returning and we can make a visit home every now and then. That is what we are doing now.

We have spent this weekend pulling out and dusting off the luggage. We have sorted and re-sorted what cloths to take, and yes, we’ve come up with a few new things to take along. After all, when in England...

As we have gone through this exercise I have let my mind wander to the things that I miss most about England. There are a lot. We have made our lists of things we wish to do while we’re there but being careful not to put too much on the lists. Of the many things we would love to do, it has become more important to us spend time with old friends. In fact, of the twelve days that we’ll be, only four of them will be spent in London. Otherwise, we’ll be in the Midlands visiting in Leicester, Nuneaton and Hinckley; places an average visitor to England would most likely not visit, but home to our dearest of friends there. Who knows, we may manage a visit to Nottingham and up to the Peak District.

Exhausted following a climb in the Peaks

But now to some of the things that I miss.

I miss the taxi rides. I even miss the madness of the tube rides. 

Gerrie enjoying a brisk taxi ride

I miss taking a train to get to where I needed to go. 

I miss settling into a table in the side room of the Angel and Crown, pulling out my journal and spending a few hours writing. I used to do this over a pint or two of Caffrey’s Irish Cream Ale, but I understand that it is no longer on the menu.

I miss people watching at Leicester Square.

I miss the free museums. I would spend hours at the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. In one room you could view Van Gogh’s Sunflowers and then set into the next room for Seurat’s Bathers at Asnières. Room 38 holds a nice collection of Canaletto’s, one of my favorite painters. Then there is Paul Delaroche’s painting, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey in Room 41 which is perhaps my favorite of the National’s collection. The way Delaroche used oil to present an almost satin look to the Lady’s dress and the delicacy of her hands will will hold my eyes for quite some time. This visit will hopefully include a stroll through the National, the Tate Modern and a few hours in the British Museum.

A day spent at the British Museum

I miss rummaging through the booksellers scattered around the city. It may be the small shops with tables outside near the British Museum in the lanes between Leicester Square and Covent Garden (I suppose they are still there). Waterstone's at Trafalgar Square was a favorite as well.

I miss stepping into the cheap London souvenir shops where I wouldn't purchase anything, but would have a chuckle at what people would actually buy to commemorate their time in the City. I would never buy those types of things. Right?

I miss an late afternoon glass of red and a plate of English cheeses at the Crusting Pipe in Covent Garden. There was no room for writing here as the time was spent listening to classical trios and quartets or being serenaded by the Royal Opera or English National Opera hopefuls. The Flower Duet from Lakmé is a personal favorite (it was played at our wedding as Gerrie came down the aisle). 

An afternoon at the Crusting Pipe

I miss walking through Hyde Park or stopping by a corner market and collecting a few things for a picnic in St. James’s Park. This was usually a pre-packaged egg salad sandwich and bag of Walker’s Salt & Vinegar Crisps. 

There is so much that I miss, but these things are the things I hope to not miss in a few weeks. There will be a few other things that we’ll accomplish. Gerrie wishes to spend a few hours in the Portobello Road Market and I want to visit Kensington Park to capture a good photograph of the Peter Pan statue. Taken together, these things will complete my hopes for London.  

Years ago I dreamed of living in England. Then we did. These past few years have been spent dreaming of England from time to time. It is exciting to know that in a few weeks  time I’ll once more walk on “England’s green and pleasant land.” And though I’ll do a few things that the tourist do, I will not be a tourist. I’ll be a friend who is making a journey to visit old familiar haunts and to have a cup of tea with dear friends. 

After all, when all is said and done, it is our families and friends (both near and far) that give meaning to life. In that, I am most truly blessed!

Love These Kids

I woke up this morning to the smell of bacon. Always a good way to wake up. Gerrie and I had most of our grandchildren over to spend the weekend, which means regular sleeping arrangements are abandoned. On grandchildren weekends, the guys sleep upstairs and the gals sleep downstairs. So, the smell of bacon prompted me to journey downstairs.

Going down the steps I thought a bit about my need to write sometime today. Then I got a little discouraged. Perhaps it isn’t true for all bloggers, but I tend to become disenchanted with the whole blog thing when it seems it isn’t being read. Though I shouldn’t. I don’t write Sharing the Good Times to reach the masses. Certainly it would be wonderful if a lot of people tuned in each Sunday to see what I came up with, but that is not why I write it and the masses tuning in is not the case. 

I knew from the beginning that I was writing this for myself and for my children and grandchildren. If anyone else wanted to come along for the ride, that was fine. I write it to share my experiences and thoughts with my family, but occasionally I may pen something that would be interesting or thoughtful to others. I try to do that when I can. And too, these past few weeks have left little time to write; even for the family. Let's be honest here, transitioning from one place of employment to another can be a little stressful.

Anyway, I head downstairs, say good morning and kiss and hug my wife. I tell her I have to write something today but wonder why I bother. I have had only five visits to the page in the past three weeks. Granted, there hasn't been much to read. But still. Then, Gerrie does what she does so well. She gently reminded why I do this in the first place. “Remember, you write it for yourself and for your kids.”

She is a wise lady, my wife!

Here are some of the reasons I write this. Let me introduce four of my five grandchildren and my nephew.

Devon

Shelby

Emmery

Jackson

Christian (my nephew)

And here are the five of them displaying just a bit of their attitude during yesterday's visit to the Nashville Zoo.

Unfortunately our grandson Luke wasn't along for the outing. He went to the zoo on Friday and decided he didn't want to go again the very next day. That was probably a good thing. I understand he has a massive science project due tomorrow.

Here you are, just a few of the reasons why I try to write. One day I'll bound up these weekly installments and give them each a copy. Sort of my way to say I was here and to tell them that I love them!

I do. I love these kids! 

Apologies again...

Two weeks in a row, but I promise this is not a trend. It has been a busy weekend, what with planning a long overdue trip to the United Kingdom, preparing to transition jobs, oh, and a wonderful evening at the Nashville Symphony.

I hope; I plan to be back on track next weekend.

Until then...

Apologies

When I began writing Sharing the Good Times, I committed myself to writing something for every Sunday. So far, I have been faithful to that commitment and I suppose this apology will count towards it as well.

However, this is extent of my post for today; an apology. An apology that I have nothing else prepared to post at this time. Time, and an upcoming change, were my enemy. 

Instead of writing yesterday, I chose instead to spend time with friends traveling to southern Kentucky for lunch at Patti's 1880's Settlement. It was the correct choice. I am also preparing to change employment. Beginning on March 5th, I'll begin working as the Executive Assistant to the CEO of The Hermitage, Home of President Andrew Jackson! The change required that spend a large part of my day preparing items for my departure from my present position. This left me little time to write.

So, my apologies for this short notice and I sincerely hope to resume writing in time for next Sunday.

Have a wonderful week everyone.

If I Were A Rich Man

     “If I were a rich man,

     Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.

     All day long I’d biddy bibby bum.

     If I were a wealthy man.”

I played Tevye last year. I loved playing with that song. Great fun.

____________________

We took a drive yesterday to the Radnor Lake State Natural Area. Gerrie’s sister Karen is in town and Karen’s son, Josh, recommended we all take a Saturday morning hike at the lake. It was a brisk morning, slightly overcast, but still a good morning for walking.

The lake is located in the southern part of the county and in an area that is considerably more affluent that where we live. This prompted my nephew to ask from the backseat, “Does this make you think of ‘If I Were A Rich Man?’” My first thought was to say not really. Being wealthy, in the monetary sense, is something that I will never be. So I don’t give much thought to it. Yet, something about the question made me stop and think for a moment. What would I do if I were a rich man?

I continued driving towards the lake, pass some incredible homes. Then I thought, this isn’t what I’d want. Sounds odd doesn’t it. But it is true. I don’t think I’d live a big house or drive whatever car one drives when one is wealthy. No, I think if I were a wealthy man I would do quite well in a small house.

I’d use some money to purchase a good amount of land; wooded and pasture. I’d want a nice spring fed stream running though it with maybe a small pond. In a nice stand of trees, not far from the stream or pond, would be an old frame house or maybe a cabin. It would have a few rooms; a parlor, a dining area, one bedroom for Gerrie and I with a second one for guests, and then a room that would be where Gerrie and I would do the things we love to do. There we’d write or draw, maybe a small easel where I’d paint, and there would be a place for me to work on my photography and store my camera gear.

Throughout, our small house would be photographs of our family and friends, of places we’ve traveled and framed prints of some my better photographic efforts. Books would abound and setting about here and there would be the things we’ve collected. This would include those little curiosities that we find during our walks. 

Our front yard would be carpeted with soft green grass and scattered about would be daffodils, blue bells, and a host of other flowers in season. Wildflowers would be to the left and right of some of the paths we’d walk. A wide variety of trees would fill our woods.

This is where I’d live if I were a rich man. But I'm not a rich man.

No wait, I am. But just not in the sense that the world defines it. I am rich because of the family that I am a part of and because of the friends that I share life with. I am rich in the experiences that I had and my dreams are rich with the experiences that I hope to have. And, I am rich because of my faith. My faith keeps me focused on a goal; on a finish line, that is not of this world! With all this, I am a very wealthy man indeed. 

____________________

And about that visit to Radnor Lake, here are a few photos.

43 of 66

Gerrie and I try not to watch television during the week. We’ve too much writing, drawing and reading to attend to. But I was home sick not long ago. When this happens there isn’t a lot you can do except try to take care of yourself and get better as soon as possible. Well, that and maybe have the television on as you fall in and out of sleep.  

So I’d move from the bedroom to the living and turn the television on in search of films. Usually I’ll search for old movies that I’d like to revisit; films that really don’t require my staying awake since there is a good chance I won’t. This time I queued up some of the old Star Trek titles, Star Trek: Generations, Star Trek: First Contact and Star Trek: Insurrection. After a while I began better and I set out in search of something else engaging.

That is when I came upon Agatha Christie’s Poirot. This is a British television drama that airs on ITV. We would receive it here on the PBS series, Mystery, and now on some  of the video streaming services. Poirot features Dame Agatha’s detective Hercule Poirot and stars David Suchet. I was immediately taken by the program, watching quite a few installments during those few days. Now, being back to a Monday through Thursday sans television routine, Poirot has become a staple for Friday evening viewing. 

The thing that draws me to Poirot is an old, deep-seated, love for Agatha Christie novels. I’ve read a good many of them and sought many years ago to collect her entire works. Over her career she wrote 66 detective novels and more than 15 short story collections. Though my fervor to collect subsided, I still came up with 43 of the novels and eight of the short story collections. 

Christie stories for me are pure escapism. I read them without trying to piece together the clues and figure out who-done-it. I read them for the pure enjoyment of escaping into another time and another place. Being an avowed Anglophile I am especially drawn to those stories set in England. Whether it is manor home in “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” or “The Mysterious Affair at Styles”, or an old familiar home in “Sleeping Murder”, I relish the settings. I read the story and have no difficulty placing myself there.  

I am not sure when my attraction to Christie stories began. I want to say it was in the early 1970s, though it could have been later. I remember there being a used bookseller in my hometown and I would visit there on trips home. I had a small notebook and I’d pencil in the titles that I already had, then scour the stacks for absent titles. What I do know is that this attraction was sealed during my first visit to England.

I first travelled to France and England in the Spring of 1975. Part of our group itinerary included three shows on London’s West End. Along with seeing Jesus Christ Superstar at the Palace Theatre and Macbeth at The Old Vic, we saw The Mousetrap* at the St. Martin’s Theatre. This certainly must have had an impact on me; my young mind seeing one her stories brought to life. A second event occurred during a coach trip to Oxford. We passed through the small village of Winterbrook. Though I have no way to document it, I have a memory of the driver pointing to his left and saying that was the home of Dame Agatha Christie. She was still alive then and most likely there. It is a  vague memory, and possibly inaccurate, but I claim it all the same. 

Being somewhat artistically inclined, I tend to look for connections to writers and artists that I admire or who have had some impact on my life. I am happy that I have visited Shakespeare’s birthplace and strolled through the streets of Stratford-upon-Avon. Our visit to Headington Quarry to see The Kilns was memorable as was taking lunch at The Eagle and Child (affectionally known as The Bird and Baby) and sitting the room that C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and the other Inklings would meet and talk. Passing the Christie home was one of these moments.

As I read certain books and view certain pictures, I am curious about and inspired by the lives of the individuals who penned the words or who created the portraits, landscapes or abstracts. What must their lives have been like? When I think about Dame Agatha, I think about a lady whose life knew adventure and who was experienced at travel. She lived the quiet pedestrian life of the countryside, yet knew the bustle of the city. These are all things that I inspire me.

This all came back to me when I found Agatha Christie’s Poirot. I re-discovered an old friend; not only the little Belgium detective and his associates, but Miss Marple too. But more importantly I became reacquainted with a favorite writer. 

Maybe it’s time I sought out those other 23 novels.

____________________

* The Mousetrap holds the record for the longest initial run of any play in history. Opening in 1952, it celebrated its 25,000th performance on 18 November 2012.

Note:  Most all of our viewing these days, when it is not a film, focuses on British produced television.