On a beautiful Saturday afternoon drive (last week), MRN and I happened across these two towns. YES! TOWNS! And did I get a hearty giggle out of those names-- "Fantastic!" I remarked. "It's like we're in a Harry Potter book." They were sweet little villages-- and I must say, this is one of the things that I'm enjoying most about England-- wayfaring around the countryside and happening upon places lost in time like Wigglesworth and Giggleswick. Heehee.
It was a week of firsts... and a big dose of being a grown up. I suppose it's about time! I'll start with the most exciting, which is buying a house! Or, at least, having my offer on a house accepted. As I've been homeless since February this is my most favorite of the news... not only because I can finally get my things out of storage and shipped across the ocean, but I get to have a home again. Yippeee! It's just a little house, but hopefully soon all mine! Now into all the legal fun of mortgages and closing... my goal was to be in by my birthday... likely not possible, but one can dream! Maybe Thanksgiving (given they don't celebrate here, not much of a milestone, but I'm determined to make it a tradition-- bringing a little quintessential Americana to the Brits. Hey, why not?). The house is in the town of Winsford in the county of Cheshire. It's about an hour south of Manchester and two hours north of London; so it will make my sometimes commute much better (than the current 3.5 hours, all in). So, cross your fingers that it all goes well!
I got to watch the Emmy's (yay!)-- repeated on E! this afternoon. Not quite my sofa-surfing, pj kinda day, but better than nothing! It was run of the mill... I'd say the sharing of the hosting duties among the reality tv nominated hosts was a poor decision. No surprises, and even a bit dull at times (although, I will admit, that this might be because I have not watched television most of the year because of my wayfaring... or, homelessness, depending on how you want to look at it...). So, instead of focusing on who wore what, who won what and who did what, I thought I'd draw your attention to the Joan Rivers syndrome.mold (Brit. mould). noun. a furry growth of minute fungal hyphae ocurring typically in moist warm conditions, esp. on food or other organic matter.So, in addition to the endless rain that seems omnipresent in this neck of the woods (I miss you, Al Roker), I've been introduced to a new friend: mo(u)ld. Yes; in the UK it is spelled with a u (see previous post). Unfortunately, it's not mould as in on the garden wall or back steps... but mould as in on my clothes that are happily hung in the closet. ummmm... yeah. And apparently, while use of a space heater is a good thing when it comes to warming up the damp cold house, it's a very, very bad thing when it comes to a breeding ground for mould all over my work suits, cashmere sweaters and courdoroy... and basically everything else made of natural fibers (including leather shoes). Good news-- all my fake, leather, $10 H&M bags are safe. Next (and urgent) purchase: Dehumidifier.
I'm a legal alien. I'm a New Yorker in England. Okay, well, New Yorker twice removed. But Sting's song wouldn't work otherwise... and you know how I love me some Sting. In any case-- I've arrived!! Let the wayfaring begin! Now that I've finally made it across the pond, I promise to be more consistent with updates... and hopefully they will include photos of the beautiful places I plan to attend. Next up: Manchester City Centre, Preston and London. Okay, so not too thrilling... but, wayfaring just the same (and considering I continue to avoid driving... well, certainly on the wrong side of the roads here, it will be an adventure nonetheless). Tales of public transportation outside of London (the horror!) and becoming a resident (national insurance numbers? tax codes?) abound. Hope you're looking forward to the headaches-- err, ride, as much as I am. Good news is that this time I only got held for 10 minutes in immigration this time. Yahoo!
California here I come indeed. Ironically, although I'm moving to England, I'm officially a resident of the Golden State... again. I took a driving test today at the same location I took my very first driver's test 16 years ago. I did better that first time around, but still passed this time (boy, that would have been embarrassing, given the company I was in today). I remember that momentous day way back when... I drove my father's little blue Honda CR2 sports car, much to my chagrin. It was a manual drive, and without power steering. The test lasted all of 5 minutes. And they handed over a license to operate a motor vehicle to a very young-youngin. I remember getting home and my dad letting me take his car on my first solo drive (yes, he was overly indulgent and trusting of his daughters), and I went straight to my high school sweetie's house to surprise him (ever the control-freak, I hadn't told anyone-- not even my boyfriend, David, that I was taking the test). Freedom! Less than a week later, I got in my first (and thankfully, only) car accident. A rear-end collision that was completely and utterly my fault. Hmmm... there may be a deeper reason to why I've never owned a car...
So, it's Summer Olympics time again... sporting rivalries, patriotism, joy and tears, all wrapped up into a neat little package of 24 hour media coverage. I have to say, I do love the Olympics. I think it started with the "Summer Olympics" game for our Commodore 64 computer. All the neighborhood kids came over to play it, and we were all so proud when we heard our anthem play after blowing another team out of the water (or off the track, balance beam, or whatever suited our fancy). We all wanted to be the big 'ole USofA, but if not, other countries had pretty good anthems too (Oh Canada! God Save the Queen! Kimigayo! Gimn Sovetskogo Soyuza!), to which we would enthusiastically hum, if not sing, along. Then in 1984 the Olympics came to Los Angeles and my dad played in the Olympic orchestra at the Opening Ceremonies. It pretty much sealed the deal for me. My Olympic love was here to stay.
My newest niece was born early this morning (2:30-ish Hawaiian time): Makena Anne Allen. She's beautiful and perfect, just like her big sister, Nanea (and cousin Charlotte). Makena is Hawaiian for "calm, of the sea." It also has an alternate meaning of "weep for joy." Both, I think, very appropriate for the newest addition to our brood of girls (three sisters; three nieces-- for the time being, that is!). So as not to steal ALL of the proud parent's thunder, I won't post stats... but couldn't resist sharing a photo (and, besides-- no one reads this thing anymore because I never post...). Welcome to our nutty but loving family, little one!
Kenneth Reich, the father of an old and dear friend of mine, David, passed away last week, after a long illness. Mr. Reich, as I knew him, was a kind and thoughtful man. Knowing (from his daughter's experience at Yale) that when I went away to school I would not only be homesick, but miss, among many things, having fresh fruit in the snowy Northeast winter, Mr. Reich never failed to have a box of fruit arrive to my door every winter I attended Vassar, along with an encouraging note and update of the happenings at home. And fifteen years later, those updates hadn't ceased. Above all, Mr. Reich he was also an extremely proud father. When I spoke with him this past Christmas, I could hear the pride in his voice when telling me of David and Kathy's latest accomplishments-- everyone should be so lucky to have a parent like Mr. Reich. My heart goes out to David and Kathy, and all of their family during this sad time. I hope the many words and remembrances of those who knew and loved Mr. Reich that have been left on his blog, "Take Back The Times" (his accounting of the Chicago Tribune takeover of The LA Times), in person and I'm certain, many other media, will lend some comfort and support.
You Belong in London |
 You belong in London, but you belong in many cities... Hong Kong, San Francisco, Sidney. You fit in almost anywhere. And London is diverse and international enough to satisfy many of your tastes. From curry to Shakespeare, London (almost) has it all! |
While I've been a total space cadet lately (move? homeless? pshaw!), it's absolutely no excuse for not spreading the news about the birth of Kieran Andrew Patel (son to my dear friends, Montu and Casey). He's beautiful like mom and, like dad, has a head of hair. Heehee. He decided to arrive 5 weeks early (weighing in at a whopping 4 lb 8 oz), and is spending some time in the NICU for a couple of weeks-- but his parents assure us that he is doing really, really well-- breathing on his own and digesting food. He just needs an extra bit of TLC (and truth be told, as his father's son, is likely eating up the attention from the nurses. After all, we know that those Patels are ever popular with the lay-dees). And Casey, the rock star that she is, delivered nary a drug in her system (she's a better woman than I will be). 
Well, it's moving time again... I guess it's only been 3 1/2 years, so "again" may be a little aggressive, but all the same, in just a short time I've managed to accumulate quite a lot... real, "adult" furniture, for one... mostly bought this year... and on the "shopping" block now, since it's too expensive to move it across the pond (come on-- my stuff isn't WORTH the $12K they're asking for to move it...). Oh, and, errrr, yes... I'm moving across the pond... as in, to another country... what did Winston Churchill say? "Two countries separated by a common language." I'll be sure to post of my exploits and misinterpretations when I get there.
