I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

I had lunch with my friend H today and her two sweet daughters. We had such a nice time chatting and catching up on our lives, our mutual friends and our love of all things English...the afternoon literally flew by.

H and I met in the UK where we spent every Monday morning of the past two years together in a women's Bible Study. She lived in Italy for a while too and if you read here I think you know how I feel about that! We also served together on the Young Life Parent Committee in our area. Oh, and girl scouts...we both were a part of our school's Overseas Committee. And the Women's Club...lots of fun there! Did I mention that my friend H lives in England?

Still? It makes my heart happy to see friends from across the pond when they trek to the states for home leaves, family gatherings, work commitments, or shopping. And yes, people do come to the US just to shop. To taste and feel and touch home. And thankfully, to see old friends.

Speaking of friends... Carol at Joy in the Journey is celebrating her one year blogging anniversary with a giveaway this week. If you've never been to Carol's blog then you need to go visit today. Carol and I 'met' thru blogging...we were both Americans living in the UK and although she was at one end of England and I was at the other we shared the common bond of ex pat life. When I moved back to the states I felt like I was leaving a good friend behind. Of course we all know in the blog world you never really leave friends behind. Her blog is lovely and so is she so hop over today and say Cheers!

"No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth."

Robert Southey, English poet and writer

The Cheeky One

I love the word cheeky. You hear that word alot in England and it sometimes has a negative connotation but very often when a child is referred to as a 'cheeky monkey' it means they are naughty but in an endearing sort of way. Hello Daughter 2!

Our daughter2 will celebrate her 19th birthday this week. Away from home. At college. Surrounded by friends because this child is always surrounded by friends. I wrote a post about my hubs on his birthday recently and let me just say the apple didn't fall far from the tree here. This sweet girl has always been so full of life beginning with the moment she entered this world screaming like nobody's business.

She was a beautiful baby. And I know I'm her mother and all mothers say their baby is beautiful but this one y'all...she was truly a beautiful baby. A perfect head, strong and healthy and curious...and the eyes...oh my the eyes. They could get you past any naughty thing she ever did. Big and blue and twinkly. And it was a good thing too because have I mentioned this one was just a little bit cheeky? Let's just say she loved to have the last word from an early age and she spent more than a few minutes of her young life 'sitting on the step'.

As a toddler she made my hair gray. Literally. I honestly wasn't sure I was gonna survive her 'let me leap and then look' approach to life. (Again, see post on husband). This little girl entered this world with more confidence than most people develop in a lifetime. All her life I've been asked about it starting with her very first preschool teacher who informed me that, 'A more confident child I have never known in my 23 years of working with preschoolers.' Now I think we can all agree that confidence is a good thing. Determination, drive, passion, spirit...these are wonderful qualities that most adults wish they possessed. In a toddler though...they can make day to day life a bit challenging. A battle of the wills. When she was a little girl I prayed every day that God would somehow use these qualities in her. And I'm pretty sure by 'use' I meant that He would squash them.

But you know what? Those qualities in a little one that make the day to day parenting never dull but completely exhausting? Those same qualities in a teenager are a beautiful thing. In a young adult living away from home they are essential. This is a child who rises to a challenge. Who is completely focused. Who knows her mind. Who loves God wholeheartedly. Who doesn't do things halfway. Who challenges herself. Who believes she can do anything she puts her mind to.

Just like she did when she was three years old.

We moved to England just before daughter2's 13th birthday. While the rest of us were coming to grips with the fact that we'd just had a major life change and were slowly adjusting to life across the pond, Daughter2 was living and loving it all. Every moment. She didn't want to miss a single minute. She hit the ground running and never looked back. She could have wallowed just a bit and it would have been completely understandable. But this one...she loves life and is willing to go where it takes her and to embrace every new experience.

This past spring she phoned home with 'something to tell us'. If you don't have college kids you maybe can't relate to the bazillion thoughts that pass through your brain when you get a call like that but those thoughts? They are doozies. So we braced ourselves for who knows what and she says, 'I wanted to tell you that I tried out for cheerleading and I made the team.' Huh? What? Cheerleading? Now this doesn't sound like much I know but my daughter2 has never ever in her entire life been involved in cheerleading. And most cheerleaders have been cheerleading and involved in gymnastics for many years before getting to college. Not this sweet thing. My husband and I laugh and say she just woke up one day and said, 'hmm today I think I'll be a cheerleader.' And she would never for a moment doubt that she could do it. And so she does. And this is her approach to life always. And I love that. I love to see how God took her sweet 'cheeky' spirit and has shaped and molded her into a remarkable young adult. And in the process I've been changed as well. This child has been handed some challenges in this life and she has met them head on with courage and determination and humor. This one has taught me a few things y'all.

Oh, and one more thing about miss sweetness...she has always loved her mama fiercely. Some of my happiest memories of living abroad were trips each December when daughter2 and I would travel with a few other moms and daughters to the Christmas markets in Germany. We've shopped and eaten and laughed and talked (especially talked!) our way through Stuttgart and Nuremberg and Dresden. She will hate that I've put this picture on here because we both look so... cold? Is that the word I'm looking for? It was absolutely arctic-cold in Dresden that December! But I like it. I think of happiness and chatter and mother-daughterness.

A daughter's love.

Could there be anything sweeter in the whole wide world?

I think not.

Happy Birthday to my 'cheeky little monkey'....she knows I say it with a smile.

Mama said there'd be days like this

Well, my mama didn't actually say it but plenty of my friends did.

We watched about 5 minutes of America's Got Talent the other night. I turned it off after I heard Piers Morgan tell Sharon Osbourne she was 'barking', as in barking mad. As in crazy. The expression was just too much and made me tear up. My husband and I made eye contact and I had to change the channel. Ridiculous I know.

For the most part we've been so busy we haven't had alot of time to think about missing life in England. But every now and then something sneaks into daily life and I'm caught off guard by a wave of emotion. Like yesterday. My mom is here visiting for a few days and we went to see Julie and Julia which we both liked a lot. It made me want to rush home and whip up some boeuf bourguignon. And it made me a little bit homesick too. For another kind of life. For my old life in another place. For a country that is not my own yet is my own.

And I know these feelings come in waves and some days I am happier than I can say to be back in this place-in this little town, in this house that is now home. Happy to drive on great big wide roads and park in great big wide parking spaces where I can swing my car door all the way open. Where I can shop any time- day or night and eat twizzlers and ranch dressing (not together of course), and have family within driving distance and my children on the same land mass... I love all of this.

But there are moments y'all...moments when I miss the teeny tiny scary roads, the shops that close at 5 pm, a plate of sausage and mash, the landscape, the language, the humor. Especially the humor.

I'm just sayin'...there are moments.

They're my words and I'm stickin' with 'em

I've had a few comments and emails about the fact that I used the word rubbish bin in my last post. I know it's called a trash can here but really, don't you think rubbish bin sounds so much nicer?

There are so many words and expressions the Brits use that I love. I've written about quite a few of those words and expressions in my posts here and here and here, and wow, here too....I guess I really do like them. Which is why I'm going to continue to use some of them. To be honest some of these words just slip out without me realizing it. Like rubbish bin. And mobile. And petrol. And surname. I can't tell you how many times in the past three weeks I've been asked over the phone for my name and I've replied, 'My surname is...' It's habit. You are never asked for your 'last name' in England, it's always your surname. Just like you never say 'to go' or 'carry out'. It's always 'take away'. My husband still makes fun of me because one of my earliest experiences in England was ordering food 'to go' over the phone from an Indian restaurant and it turned into a kind of bad Abbott and Costello routine. I think I may have cried. And I definitely hung up without ordering. I made my husband call back to place the order...he loves a challenge.


I used the word queue the other day. I love that word. It slipped right out at the DMV and the woman behind the counter gave me a funny look. She also managed to give me a new license with minimal aggravation. They pretty much do everything but take blood when you apply for a license in this state so my husband and I were pretty pleased with ourselves in obtaining ours on Saturday. Small victories.

My husband says 'Cheers' to the guy at the hotel counter pretty much every day. I'm quite certain he thinks we're hitting the sauce in our hotel room. After all, we've been living here for almost a month so he probably wouldn't blame us, but we're not. It's just a friendly way of saying thanks, bye.

Oh, and I have to laugh when I'm asked why I don't speak with a British accent. If you've been reading my blog imagining me with an accent I hope you aren't too disappointed. I'd love to have an accent but alas, growing up in the Philadelphia area doesn't give one a British accent. For the record I don't say yous guys either. That's just wrong. I did go to uni in Tennessee and picked up a Southern accent in a matter of seconds. And I've lived a lot of my married life in the south and people sometimes hear that in my speech. Uni! That's another one. That would be college to the Americans but it's referred to as university in the UK. And it's often shortened to uni. In the UK college usually means something between school and university. Or you might be talking about a school within a university...for instance Oxford University is home to 38 colleges.
Anyway, you'll continue to see some British words and phrases pop up in my blog because I like them. And because sometimes I forget where I am living. But mostly I just like them. In fact....I think they're brilliant. Told you I was going to use that word here.

Tea quenches thirst and tears

I don't know who said that but it is fitting for today. The packers arrived Tuesday and will load our furniture tomorrow. So today I’m going to write about tea parties because that is a much nicer thought. And specifically I’m going to write a little bit about one of my favourite things in the world…the Chilterns American Women’s Club. We had a tea party a couple of weeks ago so that’s not as random as it sounds.


Five days after I arrived in England Debbie arrived at my front door. She had invited me to attend the September General Meeting of the CAWC and the best part was she was going to drive me there herself. At this point in time I was still a little anxious about driving to unfamiliar places and adjusting to driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road. Some people (and by some people I mean my children) would say I’m not there yet.


The club meets in a nearby hall and from the moment I stepped into the meeting room I felt at home. I will add here that although the club is known as an American women’s club its membership is truly international. Anyone who has a child at the International School can join so it’s an amazing mix of about 200 women representing close to 50 nationalities and cultures. My first meeting happened to be their first meeting of the calendar year and it was a meet and greet type of event with some ice breakers thrown in for fun. I even won a prize for being the ‘most recently arrived’.

The club holds one meeting per month in addition to organizing about 20 activities each month that you can pick and choose from…everything from tennis to scrapbooking, hiking, outings, date nights, moms and tots, golf, antiquing….basically anything you’d like to do while in England plus the added bonus of friends to do it with. In addition they host several newcomers’ coffees each year that are filled with helpful tips on life in this country. As if that weren’t enough, they also raise money for the National Society for Epilepsy and another local charity each year. And the women in this club…some of the nicest people I’ve ever known. Perhaps it is because we’re all living away from home. Well, most of us anyway…we do have some British members, many who have lived in the US for a period of time and want to maintain their connection with American women. Some of them are where I am now…they’ve lived in a foreign country that feels like home and after repatriating back to their home country they feel like they belong in two places.

The first year of ex pat life definitely presents some challenges and it is a wonderful thing to have women to share it with....women who can answer questions, women who will tell you where to find things you need to make your house feel like home, women who understand that children need play dates and moms do too, women who understand the emotional roller coaster you stepped on the day your husband announced you were actually moving to England, women who invite you to coffee when you need a friend, women who go to Italy with you for your birthday just for fun, and most especially women who understand that leaving a country you have lived in and loved is not an easy thing. In fact it’s a very hard thing.

Every May our club hosts a tea party for its members. The hall where we meet is the opposite of fancy so its great fun to see it dressed up every May. Women volunteer to decorate a table and they provide the tablescape which of course includes a teapot. The club provides the treats… tea sandwiches, cakes, and my favourite, scones with clotted cream and jam. When we arrived here my children were quite put off by the word ‘clotted cream’. Me, not so much. I am actually never put off by anything containing the word cream so I was on board from day one. It’s really just an extra extra thick cream, almost butter but not quite.

Many of the tables are put together by our various activity groups. Our Book Bunch always has a fantastic table and a lot of that is due to the fact that one of our members makes the most delicious cakes I’ve ever in my life tasted.

This year their table had a Shakespeare theme and she made a cake that looks just like the Globe Theatre. If you’ve never been just look at the cake…it’s identical right down to the thatched roof except of course this roof is chocolate icing which is so much better don’t you think.

This one is hosted by our BEES group which is an acronym for something but basically is an activity group for moms with kids in British schools or ladies who think they will be here long term. They did a bee theme of course.

Bet you can’t guess what country the moms who created this table are from?

This was one of my favorites this year. It’s an Alice in Wonderland theme and it was just so pink.

Did I mention we dress up a little for this meeting and you can wear a hat if you dare. This picture was taken at last year’s tea party.

There is one other piece of information they tell you when you first arrive …they tell you that one day it is going to be hard to leave. And you say, yeah right. Because when they tell you this you are a brand new ex pat and you still have that deer in the headlights look about you. And you don’t believe them. In that moment of being new…when you’ve been here just over five days and you have already dinged the car mirror (maybe even twice or maybe every time you drive) and you can’t operate your washing machine which incidentally holds exactly one pair of jeans and a sock and takes 55 minutes to run a ‘quick wash’ and you are frustrated that your mini frig looks full when all that is inside is a pint of milk and two cartons of yogurt and you are missing your mother and you don’t remember how many kilos equals a pound or if you ever even knew that, and your teenager is sad and you can’t make it better, and you try to order carryout and they don’t know what you mean because you say carryout instead of takeaway and you are just so bone weary exhausted and everything about your new home feels not quite right and what you really want is to just lie down and have a good long cry….

In that moment you cannot imagine that one day you will have a blog and you will say they were right.

Like baseball without the bases or the hotdogs or the friendly slapping on the backside

Yes I am moving house in just over one weeks time which is why I spent most of yesterday at a cricket match. I may be blocking just a little. Actually some friends invited us to a local match and I am determined to make time for friends in this next week. Plus it was a beautiful day and far too nice to be indoors taking inventory of our forks and knickers.

Cricket is a tad complicated and that may just be a giant understatement. For starters, everyone is dressed in white…in most sports players on opposing teams are at least wearing different colours or letters or something. And I guess it is the mother in me who couldn’t help but think about the laundry that follows a game…all that very crisp white worn for a game played on grass. Oh my.

If you’ve never played cricket or you didn’t grow up in a country whose national game is cricket then it is essential to attend a match with someone who did. We attended with our friends, G and A. G is Australian and has played the game so he helpfully explained as we watched. His wife, A, is actually from Florida and went to Auburn but we don’t hold that against her…have I mentioned our love of Tennessee football?

Cricket is actually a very civilized sport...not a lot of cheering and shouting, more like dignified clapping from the fans. I think that’s because the games are sooooo long it’s hard to get the crowd worked up into any kind of screaming frenzy. The match we attended began at 11:30 am and at 2:30 pm the first team was still at bat with 206 points. That’s right…three hours into the game and the first team up is still at bat. And it’s not because they didn’t have any outs but you need 10 and there are ten ways to get ‘out’. I think. Like I said you need a tutor to make sense of this game.

Cricket is played on a pitch (field) which is not a diamond, more of an oval. There is a batter (batsman) and a batter’s box (the crease) and a pitcher (bowler) and umpires who do not wear black and white stripes but instead wear white coats and hats and look a bit like the butcher at our local supermarket who wears a remarkably similar uniform.

The players in the field do not use mitts…they catch the very hard ball with their bare hands. It’s gotta sting. A lot. The ball is red and the landscape is green so big white screens are put up behind the bowler so the batsman can discern the red ball and not get smacked up side the head (which, incidentally is not a British expression). There are two wickets on either side of the pitch. The wickets are three wooden posts called stumps, with spikes at one end which are hammered into the ground just close enough together that a cricket ball cannot pass between them. There is a crosspiece sitting on top and this is called a bail. Incidentally the umpires remove the bail when the teams are not on the field. This keeps overly enthusiastic fans from taking home what would be a great souvenir. A bowler attempts to knock the bail off the wicket with his pitch. I think. (see paragraph above regarding a tutor) The players do wear shoes with small spikes but they don’t pat each other on the bum (a British expression) like baseball players.

Speaking of expressions… I missed my Wednesday word post this week because I was busy moving furniture at my daughters, and hauling 20hundred boxes up and down stairs did something to my brain to the point that I couldn’t remember my own name let alone comment in another language. And yes, technically we speak the same language but if you read my Wednesday word posts you will know that is not entirely accurate. Anyway, there are a few expressions heard here that originated with cricket. You may not have heard the expression, ‘a sticky wicket’ unless you live in England but I’ve heard it and I like it. Essentially it means a tight spot. How about the expression ‘bowling a maiden over’…this is more or less a no hitter but there could actually be a hit, just no score. (Again, see paragraph above about needing a tutor). My favourite expression though has got to be, ‘I say, that simply isn’t cricket.’ And I’m pretty sure this must be said with a posh accent. Do we use the word posh in the states? I honestly can’t remember. The expression ‘simply not cricket’ means ungentlemanly behaviour. I already mentioned that cricket is a civilized sport. I mean we don’t break for lunch and/or tea in the middle of a baseball game do we? I love a sport that breaks for lunch and tea. And Pimms. They sell Pimms at the match.

Pimms is a summery drink garnished with lots of fresh fruit served at summertime parties, Wimbledon, the Henley regatta and cricket matches on warm, sunny English days. And it is refreshing and it is delicious. And civilized. Like cricket. And life in England.

Tote that barge Lift that bale

We have missed our pack mule these past few days...pack mule is another affectionate term I have for my husband because he's the designated carrier of all things heavy and let me tell you there has been some seriously heavy stuff moved this week by me and my two daughters. Daughters, I might add, whose combined weight is about 70 kilos. I can speak in kilos because I live in a country that weighs you in kilos and doesn't that sound nicer? They also sometimes weigh you in stones but just the word makes you sound heavy so I prefer kilos.


I am flying back home today and for now home is still England. And my superman strong-arrive with a dolly-just tell me where to put this 2ton piece of furniture- professional packers will arrive on Tuesday and after the week I've just had I say bless them! I think I'll sip a mint julep and shout instructions. I wish. I have 8 hours of flying in front of me today/tonite and I am going to need every minute to rest up for the next week of activity at my house. Which is still in England. Did I say that already?

Counting my knickers….seriously

I have to actually count my knickers. And the inventory sheet says underwear but I’m going to continue to refer to these garments as knickers because I like the word.

I’m supposed to be working today on completing inventory form number one for the moving company and I’m feeling a little bit frustrated. First of all the form is printed in what must be a size 2 font. And the space to actually fill in the number of knickers I will be relocating to the US is not big enough to actually write in a number. And not only do I have to put in a number but I also have to put in a replacement cost amount. Thinking about the replacement cost of my knickers is actually draining my brain. Because I also have to list everysinglesolitaryitem in my entire house including how many forks I have and how many ties my husband has and I have to determine the replacement cost of said items. And I have to decide which items will travel by air (the quicker route but limited in weight) and which items will travel by sea (the long scenic route).


And in between trying to fill in the inventory there are people knocking on my door who would like to buy items I’m selling because I need to sell ALL my electronics and a few assorted pieces of furniture and two cars and give away all my houseplants, spices, liquids, as well as the Bath and Body Works franchise my girls have left in their bathrooms.


And, in between counting knickers and ties and forks and selling all of my stuff that needs to be sold I am on the phone calling the veterinarian who tells me to call the airline who tells me to call the cargo terminal who tells me to call DEFRA (Department of Food, something that starts with an R, and animals) who tells me to call the customs division who tells me to call my veterinarian…hmmm….maybe I can slip the dog under my coat and she can share my seat for the ride back to America. We all know airline seats are so roomy and my dog would absolutely love it too…I can totally picture her asking for a white coffee…she loves a good cup of coffee.

I popped into the little market at lunchtime today and bumped into our favourite waiter from our favourite local curry house and I tried not to cry. I was mostly successful.

Oh, and then there’s my friends…I need to see my friends. Yesterday I hosted an end of the year brunch for the women’s bible study group that has met in my home every single Monday for the past five years. They wrote me the sweetest note and they gave me an Emma Bridgewater plate with the British flag on it. And again I tried not to cry but I maybe wasn’t quite as successful in this case.

I also have to stop and look out my window every few minutes because when I do I see this-

And of all the things I love about this house it is the garden that I will miss the most.

And after I look at my garden I think about my ice trays because they test my patience on a daily basis and I think that if I think about something I find annoying here I will feel better. Except I’m secretly a teensy bit worried that I will soon be standing in my lovely new kitchen in my lovely new house with it’s lovely American sized refrigerator with ice that magically appears when you hold a glass up to its door and I am going to think about my ice trays here in England, frozen together, covered in frost because the freezer is not frost free and I suspect I might miss even this.

The Doctor is In...British Words from A to Zed, Week 5

I have another post to write about notre voyage vers la France but will save that for tomorrow since today is Wednesday and Wednesdays are all about British words.

I woke up this morning thinking about how my allergies have kicked into gear and I may actually need to phone my GP and make an appt. with his surgery. And my doctor’s surgery is not to be confused with my MP’s surgery and neither have anything to do with an operation.

When an MP (Member of Parliament) has a surgery it means they are opening up their office to their constituents to come in and talk about their troubles and make complaints, etc. This would be the equivalent of your local senator or representative opening their office for you to come in and make complaints and tell them what’s irritating you about the local government. They don’t do that do they?

Back to my GP…he’s my family doctor by the way and a doctor’s surgery is a doctor’s office. When we arrived in the UK we had to register with our local doctor’s surgery and this is all based on where you live. If you live in my village and move only about 5 miles away you will need to switch your GP. We are eligible to receive medical care under the NHS (National Health Service) but we also have private insurance through my husband’s company and for anything urgent or serious we always go private. Having private insurance means you will be seen by a specialist (called a consultant) in this century as opposed to the next one. That may be a slight exaggeration but the waiting time to get in to see a specialist under the NHS can be frighteningly long. And by frightening I mean…’hmm, yes your daughter has scoliosis and has outgrown her back brace and will need major surgery if we don’t get her in and if you go with your NHS coverage we can get you in to see Mr X (he’s the orthopaedist and I’ll explain the Mr. in a minute) in 14 months.’ In using our private insurance we were able to see Mr. X in only two months. Still a long time when you are a growing 13 year old girl but definitely better than 14 months.

Now about that Mr. title. Let me just say that I adore Mr. X, my daughter’s orthopaedist. In fact I like him so much more than the doctor she was seeing in the states and when she was more or less released from his care after 5 years of seeing him every 4-6 weeks we hugged and daughter2 and I both felt a little sad to think we wouldn’t be seeing him again. He is world renowned and kind and has six children of his own and has always treated daughter2 with the utmost respect and courtesy. I remember the very first time we sat in his office and he was talking and talking about important ‘stuff’ and all I could think about is ‘why did they send me to someone named MR. X when what I may need is a world class surgeon?????’ After Mr. X had been talking for a few minutes he stopped and said, ‘Let me back up as I can see you are wondering why I am called Mr. and not Dr.’ YES I AM-ARE YOU A REAL DOCTOR??? Turns out that yes indeed he is a Dr. and because he is more than a Dr, a world class surgeon as it turns out, he is addressed by the title of Mr. which indicates training beyond that of an ordinary doctor. Whew, that’s a relief! It is still not clear to me how the title differentiates my surgeon Mr. X from say my neighbour Mr. Y who is just a Mr. Mr. and not a Mr. Dr. but I will just add that to the list of things I’m not entirely clear on here and that list is actually quite long.

Let’s go back to my GP…a visit to him for some allergy relief will probably result in a trip to the chemist and when I say chemist I mean pharmacist. I have found the chemists in the UK to be really knowledgeable and in fact was in London with my mom one day when she had a problem with her eye and we stopped into a chemist and they had her come behind the counter and looked at her eye very carefully and asked her a million questions before determining if there were some drops she could buy over the counter. By the way, you won’t often find the familiar brand name meds from home that you are used to using in the shops here. I often have to describe symptoms to the chemist and have them direct me to what I need. And I always buy extra strength Tylenol in the US when I’m home. The equivalent product here is called paracetemol but for some reason I don’t think it works as effectively. And I buy Dramamine when I’m in the US too. Here the product is called ‘travel calm’ which sounds wonderful and optimistic but Dramamine and I go way back and I never leave home without it. And my family thanks me.

Sometimes a trip to the GP results in a jab. One thing I’ll say about the British…they call 'em like they see 'em. A jab is exactly what it sounds like…it’s an injection in the arm or somewhere. Nothing like seeing the eyeballs pop out of my daughters faces the first time the nurse said, ‘Come on inside for your jab.’ Injection is a meaningless word to most kids but the word jab they definitely get.

We’ve seen the inside of a hospital here ...a few actually…have I told you about daughter2 and her penchant for mishap? Yeah, well that’s a post in itself which I’ll save for another day but as I was saying, while I do not care for hospitals I do particularly like the word theatre which is what they call the operating room. Sounds so much nicer doesn’t it? It is a bit confusing when they talk about the registrar though because the word registrar makes me think of signing up for summer camp or a soccer team but the registrar in the hospital is actually a resident doctor. And physio. I like the word physio. It’s physical therapy or PT in the states but always called physio here.

I could go on and on and since I pretty much have I think I’ll wrap it up for now with a final thought. The aim of my blog is not to stir up controversy but because Nationalized Health Care is such a hot topic in the states right now I will leave you with this piece of information taken word for word from the NHS website….just something to think about as changes are proposed to healthcare in the US. I absolutely think everyone needs access to healthcare in our country but I hope we think very carefully about how we make that happen. Free isn’t always better. In fact, free isn’t always even good. In fact, free isn't really free. And free is most definitely not fast and when we’re talking about healthcare oftentimes speed of delivery is what makes all the difference. Cheers!


‘Wednesday March 25 2009
The NHS has achieved the shortest waiting times since its records began, the Department of Health said today.

It also said it had met its “18 weeks” waiting time target, whereby patients referred from a GP for further treatment start that treatment within 18 weeks. The target became the operational standard for the NHS from January 1 2009. Today’s announcement confirms that the deadline was met.

Most NHS patients do not wait as long as 18 weeks . The average wait for treatment for patients admitted to hospital is now just 8.6 weeks. Outpatients waited an average of 4.6 weeks at January 2009, compared to 7.4 weeks at August 2007.

If you’d like to read more here’s a link to the NHS site….http://www.nhs.uk/news/2009/03March/Pages/NHSwaitingtimesQA.aspx

Sweetie Darling? British Words from A to Zed, Week 4

This is what I heard one of my friends say recently. No she’s not pretentious or snooty…she was just offering some candy (sweeties) to her child (darling). I’m sharing this little fun fact with you as an intro to today’s word post on all things sweet. Actually I’m going to focus on British puddings and I’m definitely talking about the sweet kind, not the savoury. Blood pudding? Can we all say ewww?!

British puddings are fab-u-lous. And, just in case your pudd is not quite fab enough, well, the person serving it to you will usually ask if you would you like cream on that? Or custard? Or ice cream? And you would say yes. Because there’s only about 10,000 calories in the pudding so let’s go ahead and bring on the custard too. My goodness, the dairy products in this country are amazing. I could pretty much drink the double cream straight out of the carton. I don’t…but I could.

There are so many wonderful pudds I’d love to mention that I’m feeling almost giddy just thinking about it. Let me start with my favourite…sticky toffee pudding.

Sticky Toffee Pudding is a moist sponge cake made with very finely chopped dates and covered in a warm toffee sauce. The toffee sauce y’all…sigh.

Gosh, maybe I should have saved that one for the end because I’m having trouble focusing on what to say next. Oh yeah…I was going to tell you that the very first week I lived in England my next door neighbour arrived at my front door with a homemade Bakewell Tart to say welcome to the neighborhood. Except she said, 'Welcome to the estate' because that's what they call the neighborhoods here. She is originally from the town of Bakewell which is in Derbyshire so I considered her gift truly authentic. And delicious. A Bakewell Tart is basically a short crust pastry shell spread with jam (usually raspberry), and covered with a dense almond topping.

Crumbles are a very popular dessert here and are made with whatever fruit is in season. My favourite is apple and plum and with some cream or custard poured on top it is ‘gorgeous’. You will often hear the word gorgeous used when describing food here. Somehow it works.


If you saw the movie Calendar Girls you will recognize the pudd known as The Victoria Sponge. which incidentally was named for Queen Victoria. It was actually one of Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting who is said to have been the creator of tea time which I’ll write about another day. A Victoria Sponge is a light and fluffy sponge cake sandwiched together with strawberry or raspberry jam and buttercream. A cake sandwich is definitely my kind of sandwich. Do I need to add that it is scrumptious? I thought not.

I will mention here that if you plan to bake your own pudds in this country you really need to be prepared to face the sugar aisle of the supermarket. Recipes tend to be quite specific as to which type you should use …icing sugar (confectioners), caster sugar (very finely granulated sugar), Demerara sugar (raw sugar), brown sugar, muscovado sugar (a specialty very dark brown sugar with a strong molasses flavour) …Have I mentioned that I love England? I mean really, between the sugars and the creams what’s not to love?

I don’t suppose I can end a post on British pudds without mentioning this one and before you say anything I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking you had no idea you could get cake in a can.


Okay, maybe that isn’t what you’re thinking but stop what you are thinking for a minute and think about that. You can get cake in a can here. I’ve honestly never eaten one out of the can but hubs and I did have a little bit of fun (in addition to more than slightly embarrassing our teenage daughters) when we took cans of this one home to our brothers as stocking stuffers the first Christmas we were here.


Finished giggling now? I suppose it does need a bit of explanation but it’s really just another pudd that you will see on pretty much every pub menu and in many restaurants here. Steamed puddings are popular and years ago you would have had to steam them yourself but now you can buy some of the traditional steamed puddings in the market and just microwave on a plate. Not quite the same but almost. The chocolate with the melty middle is my personal favourite because when you put your fork into it all this lovely melted chocolate syrup gushes out. What was I saying…oh yes, the can pictured above is a traditional steamed sponge pudding made with golden syrup, suet and raisins and like most other pudds here is best served with warm custard poured over top. Of course it is.

The name possibly comes from a corruption of the word pudding (pudding became puddink which became puddick and you get the idea). Spotted refers to the effect created by the raisins.

And on that note I think I really will end this post. You’re welcome.

This Side That Side Which Side Both Sides

This past week has been a whirlwind of activity and emotion. We spent the week in the US house hunting, trying to picture life on that side of the pond once more… the towns, roads, malls, supermarkets, and oh yeah, my husband also has to think about his new job assignment every few seconds too.

Prior to making the trip stateside I was feeling rather blue and slightly anxious about the visit and especially about what buying a house in the states means for me. It means I’m moving. And, a huge part of me has just not been too excited about that fact. There was also the small part of me that could get excited about repatriating but we’ve been in a state of limbo for several months now wondering if and when this was actually going to happen so I’ve not really let myself feel any excitement. But here we are. It is actually happening. Soon. And it’s really hard to explain out loud to friends and family how I am feeling about it all because pretty much all of our friends and family say, ‘Wow, you must be so happy and excited to be coming back to America finally.’ Well, yes. And no. Please don't misunderstand...in this economic climate we are truly thankful to have a job to move back to. I will say though that I have moved many many times in my life and it is not something that gets easier the more you do it. If anything I think as you get older it definitely gets tougher. So as we boarded our flight to the states last Friday I was maybe feeling a little sorry for myself and I might have let a tear slip as we pulled away from Heathrow and I tried to imagine how it will feel to make that trip and know I’m not returning in a week or two.

It’s a very funny place I find myself in at the moment. This funny place I find myself in is actually what prompted me to start blogging. I hoped to write some about how I’m feeling during this time of transition in my life. When I moved to England I had two children living at home, one was only 13 years old. I am returning to the states to a new house in a new town with no children living at home. A repatriation counsellor has informed me I’m ripe for a mid-life crisis. Terrific. Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for when I attended the repatriation seminar. If someone had told me ten years ago that I would someday need to attend a repatriation seminar I wouldn’t have even known what in the world they were talking about. I had no idea there was an entire profession dedicated to helping people acclimate to a new country or re-acclimate back to their home country which will feel in many ways like a new country when you’ve been living away from it for years. I probably would have been thinking, ‘What’s there to get used to? It’s America…home…it will be a no-brainer.’ Funny how time and distance and life in another country can change your perspective.

But here’s the thing…we really loved spending time this past week in the little town in North Jersey where we’ll be living once we get moved. And y’all… you do kind of forget how friendly Americans are. And I’m not saying people aren’t friendly in England but it’s not the same sort of friendliness you encounter in America. Everyone talks to you. The waiter, the person filling up my car, the man in line behind me at the post office, the bank teller, everyone. And they all seem to be rooting for me. They want me to love moving back, to love living in America once more. And I will.

So we enjoyed our week, felt overwhelmed in the shops, only tried to get in the car on the wrong side once or twice or everyday, bought a beautiful house in a lovely town, ate real New York style pizza and some awesome Mexican food, ran into some old friends, soaked up the sunshine, smiled at the deer we saw in someone’s yard, admired the very pretty views of the mountain ridge and valleys (hey, they don’t call it the Garden State for nothing!), talked about the fun we’d have popping in to New York City, and the list goes on. We got on a plane back to England Friday night feeling pretty happy and also excited about our future plans.

We arrived at Heathrow Airport early Saturday morning. You have to love a country where you can be in an airplane and have clouds so thick that you have no idea you’re touching down until the wheels actually make contact with the runway. And we picked up our pup at the kennel and chatted with the owner there for a few minutes about how darling our dog is and how her underbite gives her character. And we walked thru our front door into the charming English house we have lived in for 6 years. And I opened the curtains in my kitchen and saw my garden and all that had popped open in it while I was away. And it is truly beautiful and a sight I never get tired of seeing. And I ran into Fishers which is our local market, and the checker asked if I’d been away. And then today we went out to see the ‘car guy’ who has been working on my husband’s little MG while we were out of town and when my husband told him we were moving back to the states the car guy who we’ve dealt with for years actually got a little teary. And he gave me a big hug. And between the emotion, the exhaustion and the jet lag I contemplated for a minute collapsing into a puddle on his driveway.


Soon this side of the pond will be that side of the pond. Do I change my blog title? No, I don’t think so. The verses at the top of my blog are some of my favourite and have come to mean a lot to me especially these past few years as we’ve settled on ‘the far side of the sea.’ When we moved to England it was easy to feel that was precisely what we had done. I guess I just never thought that in re-settling in America, my home country for a time will also feel like ‘the far side of the sea'.

True Story...British Words from A to Zed, Week 3

I know I've written more than once about all things related to driving in England but I also said I could write a novel on that topic. And, I’ve noticed a few things as we’ve been out and about on the motorways this week here in the good ole USA. For one thing the motorways are wide. And if we were talking hips that would be a bad thing but we’re talking interstate highways and wide is a very good thing. In England the high speed roads are called motorways and are numbered much like the interstates are here. So you might hear me say something like, ‘ We almost missed our flight to South Carolina last summer because we sat on the M25 for several hours while the policemen tried to talk down a man dressed as Batman who had climbed out on the signpost over what is one of the busiest motorways in the world.’ True story.

The car parks are wide in America too. And by car park I mean parking lot. The spaces are wide and that lane between each row of parking spaces is really really wide. And you can swing a car door open and not hit the car beside you. I shop in Windsor quite often and their car park has to be one of the absolute worst (Think Gene Hackman in The French Connection). I actually have to let any passengers out of the car before pulling into a space because the spaces are so narrow. And I have to inhale deeply and hope the trips to the gym are paying off in order to get out myself. True story.

The word circus is not used in connection with driving in America. When I think of a circus I think of lots and lots of activity, bells and whistles and flashing lights and people and animals and craziness. In the UK the term refers to an intersection in town with several streets converging…if you’ve been to London you’ve probably seen the signs for Oxford Circus. Hillingdon Circus was not too far from the school my girls attended so I found myself there quite often. Actually, now that I think about it the word circus makes perfect sense. And you might hear me say something like, ‘I want to avoid driving anywhere near that circus.’ And you can define the use of the word 'circus' there whichever way you prefer. True story.

And I know there are cameras placed in certain intersections here in America but the UK is home to the bright yellow box known as the speed camera. Not all of them are yellow but they are easy to spot. And in all fairness you get plenty of warning when you are approaching a speed camera zone. There will be a picture of a camera signposted before you actually get to the camera. Then there will be white lines painted across the road while you travel thru the speed zone. The camera itself is a big box. And, if you still miss it they kindly send you a photograph of your smiling self driving thru it. You'll actually only get to see your photo if you happened to drive thru the camera a little too fast and they need to attach said photograph to a citation. True story.

I’ve also noticed that in America drivers don’t seem to pay a lot of attention to driving in the proper lane. (As an aside, my entire family uses the word ‘proper’ a lot. It’s another one of my favorites. As in I need a proper nap. I need a proper meal. I’d love a proper holiday on one of the Italian lakes. True story.) In the UK if you want to drive slowly you do not drive in the fast lane. Which of course is the right lane in Britain, not the left like in the US because remember we’re on the right side of the vehicle and on the left hand side of the road so you’re fast/slow lanes are also reversed. Everyone clear? Thought so.

When you're driving on the motorways whether you're here or there you want to stay off the verge. And watch out for the articulated lorries too. If you have difficulties look for a layby. In other words...keep off the shoulder, watch out for the semis and if you have difficulties look for a paved area at the side of the highway designated for drivers to stop in or where vehicles may park in an emergency. In the UK some of the laybys actually have food vendors and you might be able to grab a sarnie and ribena for the road. That would be a sandwich and a ribena. Sorry ribena is ribena, a black currant juice drink super popular here as are all things black currant flavored. Not really much grape here. Even the purple Skittles and purple Starburst candies are black currant (btw-eww!) Oops I forgot... this post is about driving words not eating and drinking words.


Next Wednesday I'm writing about British pudds....I think I can say in all honesty that is one area in which I consider myself an expert. True story.

Running on Empty

So turns out house hunting is exhausting. We had our first full day of looking yesterday and I'd been awake since 1:30 am so I probably wasn't at my very best. I tried to sleep Friday night..I really did. My husband managed to sleep and since I didn't want to wake him up I finally took my book and decided to lay down in the bathtub at about 3:30. It was the only place to stretch out and turn on a light. We left the hotel at 8 am to meet our realtor and we arrived a little bit early so we drove around the little town we think we'll eventually be living in and we walked up to the lake and I remembered how much I love living near the water.

We viewed nine houses yesterday and things get a little blurry after that. We finally headed back to the hotel about 4 but my husband, who is just never tired and always has an endless supply of energy, felt the need to pull into every car dealership we passed 'just to look'. Actually buying a house is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to moving back. We will have to buy cars too. And televisions. And a refrigerator. And a washer and a dryer and about 20 thousand hundred other items. And did I mention we have two kids in college? And it might have been somewhere around the third car dealership that my husband says 'Mean Joyce' came out. And apparently Mean Joyce convinced hubby that we should go back to the hotel 'straight away' as they say in the UK. I sat down on the bed for a nap at 5 PM and woke up at 5 am this morning. Much better now.

We're meeting our realtor again this morning for round 2 of looking. I'm sure we won't be seeing 'Mean Joyce' at all today. Pretty sure anyway.

Jet lag makes your brain like jelly

I arrived on the other side of the pond a few hours ago and thought I'd make a few random observations about random thoughts that have randomly occured to me as we were traveling today. I'm between time zones at the moment so random will be the key word...

• Our luggage-remember the old Samsonite commercials where a car drove over a suitcase or an elephant stood on top of it and the suitcase still looked good as new? Well that's not ours.
  


• People really make themselves at home in a big way in the British Airways lounge.
  


• You can take a polo gap year...really....in Argentina. Who knew? I learned this reading an in flight magazine. Taking a gap year is a hugely popular thing to do especially among the European kids. They typically take a year off following the end of highschool or the end of university and travel the world and have awesome experiences. My husband says he'd like a gap year. And he'd like it now please.

• Airline headphones + 7 1/2 hours on a plane = bad hair
  


• Walking into the International terminal and seeing Welcome to The United States of America makes my heart sing.
  


• And seeing that sign and hearing the Immigration Agent say 'Welcome Home' makes me want to leap across the desk and give him a big hug. But I don't because they are actually kind of serious in immigration.
  


• Riding the tram between the terminals at the Newark Airport feels a little bit like Disneyworld. Except with lots of aggravation and not all the fun stuff you get at Disney.
  


• And my husband is so anglicized he doesn't even realize he told the co-worker he phoned from the airport that we had arrived and were on the way to 'hire a car'. In the UK it's always a car hire but I'm petty sure it's still called a rental on this side of the pond.
  


• And when we get in the 'hire car' my husband says, 'Don't let me drive on the wrong side of the road.' And I don't.
  


• It's bright here.
  


• I'm going to have a real pizza for dinner tonite. Pizza is different on our side of the pond so this is way more exciting than it might sound.


• I can love both sides of the pond. And I do.

Starter Main Pudd…Dinner Anyone? From A to Zed -Week 2

I threw some phrases out last week that some or one of you have asked about….let’s start by clearing up some of the mystery:

What is a bap? Essentially this is a hamburger bun. There are lots of sandwich shops here and in fact there is one in our little village called ‘Mrs. Crusty’s –does that sound appetizing to you? Me either. In fact my kids refused to set foot inside based solely on its name. There’s a ‘Mr. Crusty’s in another nearby town. Actually they make excellent sandwiches and when you order they usually ask if you want your sandwich on a bap, granary roll, baguette or bread. If you respond with bread they’ll ask white or brown? And then they usually ask, ‘Do you want salad on that?’ and if you’re American you’re thinking, ‘ewww, no, why would I want a salad on my sandwich???’ which helps explain why, when my daughter ordered a BLT, she ended up with a ham and tomato sandwich.



Let’s break it down shall we- there are three key ingredients to a BLT hence the name. First there is the b for bacon-well now unless it is unsmoked streaky bacon then its generally back bacon which is delicious but doesn’t have that Oscar Meyer taste if you know what I mean. Tastes much more like ham. Next comes the l for lettuce. Supposedly. When my daughter ordered her BLT the server asked, ‘Do you want salad on that’ and of course she said no thinking l is for lettuce right? But, because she said no salad there was actually no l at all on the bLt. Do you see the problem? She did get tomato and a tomato is a tomato here except you must say to-mah-to. It’s the law.


And all this talk about salad brings me to another word I mentioned last week and that word is rocket and it’s got nothing to do with outer space and everything to do with salad. Rocket is what Americans would call arugula and it is delicious and wildly popular here.


Perhaps you would like a white coffee with that sandwich? Or more commonly you will ask for a coffee and the server will ask, ‘white or black’? If you’re like me you’re thinking neither…I’ll have a coffee with a little cream…which is indeed a white coffee. Maybe you’d like a digestive biscuit with that white coffee? That may sound like something for an upset stomach but it’s not. Cookies are called biscuits here and a digestive biscuit is similar in taste to a graham cracker. I’ve crumbled them to use as a substitute for a graham cracker crust in my baking here since we don’t have graham crackers.


Completely coincidental to this post my husband and I actually ‘rocked up to a restaurant for a Ruby Murray’ this evening. Ruby Murray is rhyming slang for a curry and rock up means to arrive. If you’re going for a curry you just might use this expression. I’ve never actually said it myself until now but you might. I have however eaten curry. Lots and lots and lots of curry. My little family here, well, we all love Indian food and I know lots and lots and lots of you are turning up your noses at the mere thought of Indian food and thinking you don’t like it but there are many delicious dishes and all levels of spice. My husband always gets a small side plate of diced chillies because too hot is not in his vocabulary. Daughter2 orders exactly the same dish every time…butter chicken. This is chicken swimming in the most delicious sauce you’ve ever tasted, so creamy… just like butter. And I am completely addicted to the Peshwari Nan which is Nan bread (flat bread) with coconut filling. Kind of like eating coconut pie with your dinner.

We have our favourite local spot in town and we eat there at least every other week. And they treat us like celebrities. It’s such fun truly because when we moved here we dined in this restaurant and they treated us very coolly at first. Just a head nod when we came in. After some months went by we graduated to a small handshake. And now, six years later we get the owner kissing me on the cheek and every waiter in the place stops by our table to shake hands with my husband and greet us. And if my husband and I ever went in with only one of our daughters they would worry…. ‘Where is the miss?’ they would ask. And now that our girls are both away at uni they always ask, ‘You miss your daughters?’ And by the way, the answer to that would be a YES! They like to see our family all together. (Me too!) I think our experience over time in this little Indian restaurant has taught all of us really important lessons about people and culture and etiquette within different cultures and prejudice and friendship and of course, food.


I haven’t even begun to talk about my favourite thing…the pudd. Or pudding as it is called here. The term pudding can go about 10 different directions-I might be talking about Black Pudding but I probably never would (it’s also referred to as blood pudding). I might mean Christmas pudding which is similar to a fruit cake and is doused in brandy or rum and then lit afire and is really quite fun. I could mean Yorkshire pudding and I heart Yorkshire pudding which I’d say is kind of like a Pillsbury biscuit but not really. It rises high and fluffy around the edges and is usually served with roast beef and drenched in gravy. Did I tell you I heart Yorkshire pudding? Most likely though if I say Pudding I’m referring to the dessert section on a menu which is generally just headed Puddings but covers all sorts of cakes, tarts, and assorted other goodies including jellies. Now I could write a whole post on this and in fact I think I will. Except it won’t be next Wednesday because I’m travelling next week and we all know that puddings will require some photos and probably I’m going to need to do some tasting purely for the purpose of blog authenticity so puddings will be in two weeks time.

No worries though…there are plenty of topics to choose from for next Wednesday…healthcare, housing, education…sounds slightly political doesn’t it? Oh, that’s another one…government. Words are everywhere y’all! I'm thinking now these word posts may never end.

British and American English: Like chalk and cheese

Last week I wrote about the seemingly small but significant communication gap that exists between British English and American English. I’m planning to devote my Wednesday posts to this topic for the next few weeks. I’ve been thinking about how best to condense the information because whole dictionaries have been written attempting to do just that and once I really got to thinking about it all I felt just a tad bit overwhelmed.

I mean, do I want to write about words we both use that have completely different meanings depending which side of the pond you stand on? Take the word pants for example. The first time I stepped into my local dry cleaners there was a young man working behind the counter and the shopkeeper was also there but was busy tagging laundry. I was just another anonymous customer until I said, ‘I’d like to leave four pair of pants for dry cleaning please.’ That certainly got their attention. I knew instantly I’d said or done something wrong but what??? As I eventually learned pants are always called trousers here. If you use the word pants then you’re talking about underwear (pants is short for underpants). It took me a while but I can now walk into my cleaners with confidence and say ‘I have four pair of trousers and two jumpers to be cleaned.’ The words just roll right off my tongue. And, oh by the way, jumper is another one of those words. What I call a sweater in the states I would call a jumper here. At least I would if I wanted to be understood.

You might say British English and American English are as different as chalk and cheese. Or you might not if you’re an American reading this because that isn’t an expression used in the states. So, do I want to write about phrases used here that you never hear in America? That has real possibilities too. I love the phrase ‘spot on’. As in, ‘wow, your post on this topic is spot on!’ In other words, exactly right. I didn’t need to explain that one did I?

I’ve decided the easiest route will be to go topic by topic…words and phrases used in different parts of everyday life. So if you want to know how I would answer commonly asked questions relating to eating, food shopping, and cooking such as ‘Would you like a white coffee?’ or ‘Would you like salad on that sandwich? and ‘Did you want it on a bap?’ then your curiosity will be satisfied next Wednesday when I’ll blog about all things food related. If you’d like to know why rocking up to a restaurant for a Ruby Murray is one of our favourite things to do here then I’ll explain that too. And, if you think a digestive biscuit has something to with settling your stomach or you think jelly is jelly and pudding is pudding then you definitely need to stay tuned.


And about these Wednesday posts… I do realize this one is a bit dodgy, filled with bits and bobs. But please don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll have it sorted Wednesday week.


And one more thing…I often sign my posts with the word Cheers and I know some of you are thinking she drinks when she blogs. I know I have always associated the word Cheers with clinking glasses. But the word Cheers in the UK is also used as an informal way of saying thanks or goodbye. I hear it at least 5 or 6 times a day here and using the word has become automatic. Do I ever get a funny look when I say it? Only when I’m on that side of the pond!

Why yes, I am speaking English

I’ve lived in the UK for so many years now that, as strange as this sounds, I sometimes forget I have an American accent. Quite often someone will ask me where I’m from and when I reply with the name of our village here they give me a funny look that tells me something didn’t compute and then they say, ‘Yes, but where are you from originally?’ Oh yeah, I’m from America. Now, let me just state for the record… I love America with all my heart. When you are in a country far from home and you hear your National Anthem played the tears come and you feel such a combination of love and pride and homesickness you don’t know what to do. There is nothing like living in a foreign country to give you a new found appreciation for all that is wonderful about your own home country. Let me also say for the record…I love England too. Because there is nothing like living in a foreign country to give you an appreciation for all that is wonderful all around this whole great big wide world.

Along with my American accent comes an American vocabulary which you might be thinking isn’t all that different from a British vocabulary but you might also find you are seriously mistaken. Shortly after we moved here I stopped by our local train station to pick up a ‘schedule’ of trains running into London (and no, I did not say shedjul in that posh English accent that I love). There weren’t any available on the display rack so I asked the man behind the counter if he had any more schedules behind the desk. And his reply was this, ‘No, we don’t have any schedules.’ (and he might have said it shedjul) Now in my American brain I think that means they ran out but then he says, ‘Do you mean a timetable because we do have timetables.’ Big sigh here because sometimes communicating is exhausting and I know we speak the same language but y’all we quite often (as in every single day of my life) don’t speak the same language.

Entire books have been written on this very topic and we personally own three different versions of British-American Dictionaries. Did you even know such a thing existed because I certainly hadn’t thought much about it before moving here? When we were told we were moving to the UK I’m pretty sure that the language was one of the things that went into my ‘pro’ column…you know, at least we speak the same language. However, upon our arrival I was completely gobsmacked to find that wasn’t the case. Actually it’s a stretch using the word gobsmacked in that sentence but it is maybe my favourite word in the entire universe and I’ll probably use it again now that I’ve put it out there. It’s a combination of gob (mouth), and smacked. It means utterly astonished and it’s much stronger than just being surprised. It’s used when something leaves you speechless.

‘A dog’s breakfast’ would also be near the top of my favourite expressions here. This is a term used to describe a real mess, a hodge podge of things as we might say in America, although my girls tell me no one says hodge podge except me. Nor does anyone use the word ‘hip’ but I digress. My hubs might say that my kitchen junk drawer is ‘a real dog’s breakfast’. This is not to be confused with a dog’s dinner which has an altogether different meaning. And that meaning has nothing to do with dog food either.

Words are tres fun here. I think for the next little while I am going to devote my Wednesday posts to British-English and I think I’ll call it Words on Wednesday -British English Words from A to Zed. Because ‘z’ is always zed here And ‘zero’ is always nought here. And an eggplant is always an aubergine and undies are always knickers and a bandaid is always a plaster and boy does this post have a whole lotta potential!

I’m going to sign off now because my brain is swimming just thinking about all the possibilities. As my friends here would say...I’m shattered. (That would be absolutely and completely exhausted in case you’re wondering).

You want to do what???

I’ve been busy today finishing up some last minute shopping, having the car washed, putting the finishing touches on the guest room and also doing a little cooking and baking. I made a big batch of snickerdoodles at 7 am this morning and I just finished putting together my breakfast casserole for tomorrow morning that needs to be refrigerated overnite. I do love British Airways and they’ve taken me to some of my favourite places in the world, but let’s just say their breakfast leaves a little something to be desired. It will be nice for my daughters to have something yummy ready for them when they arrive in the morning. It will also be nice for the boyfriend who is coming with daughter1. My girls both have stomachs the size of a pea and although I haven’t met the boyfriend I’m fairly certain 20 year old boys are always hungry and never turn down a meal, right? Plus, I figure I might as well impress him with my culinary skills right off the bat : )

Anyway, I wasn’t planning to blog today but a funny little incident just happened and I need to write it down. My doorbell rang and when I answered it there was an elderly gentleman standing on my front step. He looked friendly and was wearing a carpenter’s apron over his coat. And this is what he said to me,

‘Hello, I’m here because sometimes I come around and show people my bits.’

I'm pretty sure I decided it would be wise to take a step back at this point and I guess the look on my face must have registered with him as confusion. Confusion as opposed to my actual thought which was- where is my mobile phone, where is my neighbour and where is my big barking dog when I need her??? So...in an attempt to clarify he said,

'I'm a wood turner.'

All-righty…does he know that’s not really making me feel better? Then he produced a wooden bowl filled with what I think were hand carved wooden doorknobs and...well...'bits' of carved stuff. Turns out he had accurately described his purpose after all. To be honest though I was now so thrown by the craziness that had just sprinted thru my overly tired brain that I said I didn’t think I’d be needing any bits today but thank you and have a lovely day. I think George Bernard Shaw said it best,

‘England and America…two countries separated by a common language’.

Oh my goodness I love it here. I really do. Have a great weekend! Joyce