London's Macintosh Typefaces

It’s been over two months since I left London and came back home to Kansas City.   I’ve asked myself over and over again, “What was the point of my time in London?”  I haven’t figured it out yet.  I am reminded of the Steve Jobs anecdote about how he dropped out of Reed College, and then for the pure fun of it, audited several calligraphy classes there.  Years later, these calligraphy classes became the foundation of Mac computers’ typefaces.  So perhaps I will discover the purpose in the years to come.

  

When I was in London, I had all these grand plans for side trips throughout Europe: Barcelona, Vienna, Copenhagen. But I fell in love with London.  I fell in love with the rows of tiny chimneys atop the townhouses, with the Capability Brown designed parks, and with the winding streets that revealed a bit more of the city with each turn.  I fell in love with my long walks along the Thames, with the electrifying theater of the West End and with the inspiring programming at the V&A.

  

And I fell in love with the English countryside too.  The rolling hills of Yorkshire, Derbyshire and Lincolnshire; dabbled with white sheep and their little black faces; each view more beautiful than the next.  But most of all, I fell in love with the quiet politeness of England.  A country so thoroughly courteous and thoughtful, that I hope it stays with me forever.

  

Lacing In and Out of Trees

A couple of weeks ago I visited Chatsworth House in Derbyshire, and I enjoyed my tour of the house.  But I wanted to hike around and explore the countryside.  I asked a house employee if that were permitted.  He said, yes, but then apologized for the overcast weather.  I didn't mind, though, because the gray skies punctuated the gorgeous green hills, as there was no bright blue sky with which to compete.  

The day had a Brigadoon quality about it; cold and drizzling, with fog lacing around the hills and in and out of trees.  For an hour or so, I kept walking farther and farther away from the house, surrendering myself more and more to my surroundings and finally finding some quiet in my head.  After awhile I turned around to survey my progress.  I saw what appeared to be an almost endless expanse of trees and meadows that rolled across the hills to the top of the horizon.  William Faulkner often wrote about "the power of the land," and at that moment, the power was apparent.