My First Dream in Gold Journal Entry!

My First Dream in Gold Journal Entry!

I have been wanting to start a regular journal-to-friends for some time now, and now is the time. I’m hosting it on my website, so it is officially called the “I Dream in Gold Journal.” But right here, right now, I want to call it “The Journey of the Soul’s High Adventure.” Photo: This is me in Southwark. It’s low tide on the Thames and the setting sun is lighting up the cityscape.

MIND THE GAP! London Calling

At the ripe old age of 72, I feel like I am on (still) on fire. I was in London last October because I had art accepted at The London Contemporary Art Fair. I decided to be in London for the duration of the event. 

  • I didn’t need to accept. 
  • And once accepted, I didn’t need to go to London. 
  • It was outrageously expensive, so in many ways, it didn’t make sense to go.

In George MacDonald's story "The Golden Key," the heroine is on a quest to find the Old Man of Fire. She has just met someone who knows where he is:

Then the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave, raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great hole that went plumb-down. "That is the way," he said. "But there are no stairs." "You must throw yourself in. There is no other way." She turned and looked him full in the face--then threw herself headlong down the rabbit hole.

That’s you and me—down the rabbit hole like Alice. You and me, called forth into the world on the soul’s high adventure.

I had so mini-adventures in London that  I don’t want to forget, and that I want to share with you. Because of a few weeks of Long Covid—all better now— the memories are coming out of order. I feel like I’m reaching my hand into a whirling kaleidoscope of color and action and trying to steal just one remembered moment.


When I got off the plane, I was feeling pretty beat up and craved a sauna and a massage. With a little online exploration, I discovered the Moroccan tradition of the hammam. The hammam is an integral part of Middle Eastern and North African culture, often taking place in beautiful old bath-houses.The one I found, Casa Spa is in the Turkish part of town out on Edgeware Road.

When I got there, I was taken into a magical underworld where every floor and wall surface was covered with mosaics. I was covered with unguents? Oils? Clays? Something magical and good! I was then parked in a steam sauna with a bucket of cold water with a big old fashioned metal dipper in it. I swore I wouldn’t use it. Wrong! The temperatures sky-rocketed, the substances started to pull toxic sweat out of my body and before long, I was pouring cold water over my head with the best of them. 

The two young Turkish women showered me off and slathered on more goodies. Before I could ask, my hair was being covered with something called a “honey mask.” I asked what it was for and was told, “to make your hair soft.” Ooooh! Noooo! In my old age, my hair has turned into a nest of fine, fly-away feathers. The last thing I need is softer hair! 

Next, I was stretched out on a tile bench in another sauna. I was attacked vigorously with scrubby mitts that took my skin down to its pre-natal substrate. Bring it on!

Then a body massage. Heavenly! I was wrapped in a long Moroccan fringed towel. I was guided to a large “relaxation room” that looked like something straight out of my idea of a harem. It was missing a hookah bong on the pierced brass table. Instead, hot mint tea waited in lovely, shiny, curvy Moroccan tea pots to be poured into tiny glass cups in pierced brass holders.

I’m not sure how I managed the mile or so walk back to the Tube! I remember I stopped at a Turkish “fish bar” where I was served an entire white fish flash fried in a tempura batter. That was it. The plate. The fish. No salad, no veg, no bread, just the unadorned perfection of the main event. I asked to take the owner’s picture. He was thrilled to be appreciated, which reminds us to tell people what we love about what they are doing. 

The Church of What’s Happening Now

  • I finally learned how to send out this newsletter! So now I will do it more regularly. I don’t know how often—I’ll figure that out as you guys talk back to me and tell me what is or isn’t working. 
  • I want to tell more London stories with my pictures. 
  • I want to tell you about my upcoming shows and exhibitions. 
  • I want to show you new work as I make it. 
  • If I manage to be as clever as I think I am, my website will become more dynamic—more pieces for sale. I think I’ll run a giveaway. Right now I have a 20% off deal going on, thanks to the website people.

And Just in Time for Valentine's Day

Next time, I'll tell the story of the Poetry Man selling poems on the Thames Walk and how we brought twenty people to happy tears...

Feedback? Yes, please! I just got here myself!

The Clown and Me in Piccadilly Square

I went down the rabbit hole and met the Mad Hatter! Actually, I was headed for the underworld stairs when this clown jumped up and grabbed my phone and said, "Selfie!" I laughed, click, I grabbed my phone back, and I was whirled away by surging crowd. Later, I realized I was supposed to tip him. I went back the next day, but the street and the clown had rushed on.