ENGLAND . ..Castle Cary. . . Last night, in Mrs. Blackthorne's tiny B & B, I soak off road dirt in her huge claw-foot tub, flanked by an elaborate assortment of bubbles and salts, perfumed talcs, oils, even a wooden back scrubber, while pondering marriage and final rituals-midlife crisis, the end of youth, the realization we all eventually will die. I'm gratefulIy able to stay in touch with my children, but have difficulty expressing my love for them, and my worries and confidence in them. I get a train here, headed to a ferry to Ireland.