I'm thankful to be an american- because we are free. And i'm not talking about the 1st amendment- I'm talking about the fact we have the freedom to be both ironic and earnest whenever the mood fits. We can proudly be patriotic and speak passionately about our intrests and successes but also exhibit great modesty and cynicism. We are allowed to tell people exactly what we think and we do it very efficently while announcing how much our house costs at that same time or we can be discreet and quiet and hypocrytical. We have the freedom to BE whatever emotion we feel.
The english cannot.
And its hard to celebrate a holiday filled with earnest patriotism towards our culture and families in a country where they disregard any moment of heart-felt emotion with a, "oh, come off it." And then add some glorious english wit on top of it.
And it was very difficult for our "host-country nationals" to not wear party hats or bring "pressies" to the dinner. The common quote was, "it must be like a little pre-christmas party." or,"I thought it would be like on friends" No, its not. But when it was explained we were only met with rolled eyes and ,"oh, americans...."
Its pointless to explain- in reality you're making things worse for yourself to explain it all. Because with every, "its all about family and traditions..." you're only proving how "earnest" you are about the whole affair--- and making them very uncomfortable out it all. They don't know what to do with someone who expresses their emotions. Its not that they don't have them- its that they are only allowed to use their humour to express them (and this includes understatement)
ex. huge, lavish feast = a bit of a snack
If you were english, regardless of whetheryou loved it or hated it- you would describe Thanksgiving as:
"its all a bit of a bother, really. I mean, honestly- you cook and cook and cook- only to fall asleep minutes after eating the food you spent all day cooking. Its entirely backwards with vegetables for your "pudding" and marshmallows in your potatoes. The only redeeming factor of the whole experience is being able to get pissed "
But if you want to sum it all up- I would use this one word:
LEFTOVERS
We love 'em. The english, "just don't do that sort of thing."
Enough said.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Monday, November 21, 2005
Fat Ladies, Subway, and too many bus tickets
Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day in london. Unfortunately, when the sun went down I found myself in an anglo-version of "Hotel California"
Let me explain:
Met my friend to view some naked ladies with "more to love" at the Rubens exhibit at the National Gallery. It was, as the english would say, "not bad". Perhaps I was, "a bit moved" by the larger than life paintings of heroic scenes of tragedy and passion. Rubens was decidedly NOT english.
Afterwards we went out to get some chinese food in SoHo but ended up in a cuban-themed cafe eating the best all-american cheeseburgers i've had since hopping the pond. yum. things were good.
Then the sun set.
Being the brownie-point seeking girlfriend I am, I thought of THE best idea- how about I take my boyfriend, who is on-call at a hospital across town in a bad neighborhood, some yummy dinner? Ooo Ohh- this is good! I thought. I took out my trusty London tube map for a quick study, "yes- just take the northern line south to embankment and transfer onto the district/circle line to Whitchapel!" easy-peasy, i thought. (for the sake of the construction of the story- you should know that up to this point i have spent £9.40 on a return train ticket into london)
So, I said goodbye to my friend at leicster square and bought a single tube ticket to zone 2 for whitchapel (£2.40). Took it to embankment where I promptly was told, upon exiting the train, that the District and Circle lines were closed and I'd have to find another way. I then pulled out my tube map and found another route taking me back the way I came, with a transfer at Tottenham court road, then another transfer at liverpool street and then two stops later- whitechapel. No big deal. Although it did cross my mind to turn back (As if i was on the Pirates of the Carribean ride at disneyworld)
Ok, got back on the tube and re-traced my steps. first transfer- OK. Second transfer- O... no, not OK! I was on the wrong line! How did that happen? I was on the right platform... Next stop I hopped off the tube. Algate station. Algate, Algate... I remember algate- I passed it that one day... I think i can walk from here...I know where I am...
Well, the second time I passed algate station after walking for 10 minutes, i realized that, in fact, I did NOT know where i was. And when alone, on a dark street in a strange city neighborhood, I have a very hard time convincing myself to look at a map. So I didn't. And I passed algate station for a thrid time. What the $#@* ? Eventually I looked at a map as a few people started to snicker, "I'd put that away if I were you.." when i passed them holding it out in front of me.
Needless to say, I got to the hospital a while later after doing the best impression of olympic speedwalkers ever done in actual seriousness. And, as usual, my lovely boyfriend (for whom I lamely picked up a subway sandwich since I didn't have the guts to go into the fish and chips shop across the street which was heaving with what are refered to as "hoodies" and get him the dinner he would have prefered) ducked out of surgery in his sexy blues and met me at the front entrance with a stethoscope around his neck- and it occured to me that I would have braved far worse just for the priviledge of seeing him like this.
The meeting was over too soon and he kissed me goodbye with the words, "just take the number 25 bus and you'll be fine" and I was swallowed back up by the bitter night.
The number 25 bus came, and I purchased a ticket, (£1.20) and boarded. The bus went two stops and the driver yelled, "last stop for me- gotta get off the bus" So we all piled off the bus to wait for the next bus 25.
It came, but when i tried to get on- the driver told me I had to buy another ticket to ride- then politely closed the doors in my face and drove off.
Bought another ticket (£1.20) and tried to board another bus, but was told it was only going two more stops. And suddenly- a famliar feeling came over me.... britishrailitis! it had mutated into londontransportitis!
The next bus eventually took me to Tottenham court road where I was to catch the tube to waterloo (£2.00) but on the way a man that boarded the bus asked the driver if he had to purchase another ticked since his last bus just terminated unexpectedly. The answer- "no." Ahhhhh.....
When I got to waterloo, I had visions of a quiet ride with my ipod, perhaps doodling a bit, for a peaceful hour on the train until I could fall into my feather-down bed...Then the loudspeakers kicked in-
"We're sorry to announce but the 20:50 train to Ascot has been cancelled. We are sorry if this has caused a delay to your journey." Yeah, i bet you do feel sorry, you... bleeping bleep bleep!!
Another hour and a half in waterloo- with no gaurantee that the next train will go either!
I sat down, dejected with tears in my eyes, i just wanted to go home. home home home.
"Ring. Ring. Ring." My phone. "Hello?"
"Hi baby." it was my boyfriend. "Where are you?"
I sniffled, "I'm at waterloo." Trying desperatley to hold back the floods, "My train's been cancelled."
"Great!" he said.
"What?!" I cried.
"Now you can come home with me. I got off work early. Come home with me and we'll cuddle on the couch..."
That last £1.20 i spent to get to him was the easiest pound-twenty of the day.
In all- public transportation for 24 hours in london cost me- £25.70. Nearly 50$!!!! I think next weekend I'll be staying in Ascot.
Let me explain:
Met my friend to view some naked ladies with "more to love" at the Rubens exhibit at the National Gallery. It was, as the english would say, "not bad". Perhaps I was, "a bit moved" by the larger than life paintings of heroic scenes of tragedy and passion. Rubens was decidedly NOT english.
Afterwards we went out to get some chinese food in SoHo but ended up in a cuban-themed cafe eating the best all-american cheeseburgers i've had since hopping the pond. yum. things were good.
Then the sun set.
Being the brownie-point seeking girlfriend I am, I thought of THE best idea- how about I take my boyfriend, who is on-call at a hospital across town in a bad neighborhood, some yummy dinner? Ooo Ohh- this is good! I thought. I took out my trusty London tube map for a quick study, "yes- just take the northern line south to embankment and transfer onto the district/circle line to Whitchapel!" easy-peasy, i thought. (for the sake of the construction of the story- you should know that up to this point i have spent £9.40 on a return train ticket into london)
So, I said goodbye to my friend at leicster square and bought a single tube ticket to zone 2 for whitchapel (£2.40). Took it to embankment where I promptly was told, upon exiting the train, that the District and Circle lines were closed and I'd have to find another way. I then pulled out my tube map and found another route taking me back the way I came, with a transfer at Tottenham court road, then another transfer at liverpool street and then two stops later- whitechapel. No big deal. Although it did cross my mind to turn back (As if i was on the Pirates of the Carribean ride at disneyworld)
Ok, got back on the tube and re-traced my steps. first transfer- OK. Second transfer- O... no, not OK! I was on the wrong line! How did that happen? I was on the right platform... Next stop I hopped off the tube. Algate station. Algate, Algate... I remember algate- I passed it that one day... I think i can walk from here...I know where I am...
Well, the second time I passed algate station after walking for 10 minutes, i realized that, in fact, I did NOT know where i was. And when alone, on a dark street in a strange city neighborhood, I have a very hard time convincing myself to look at a map. So I didn't. And I passed algate station for a thrid time. What the $#@* ? Eventually I looked at a map as a few people started to snicker, "I'd put that away if I were you.." when i passed them holding it out in front of me.
Needless to say, I got to the hospital a while later after doing the best impression of olympic speedwalkers ever done in actual seriousness. And, as usual, my lovely boyfriend (for whom I lamely picked up a subway sandwich since I didn't have the guts to go into the fish and chips shop across the street which was heaving with what are refered to as "hoodies" and get him the dinner he would have prefered) ducked out of surgery in his sexy blues and met me at the front entrance with a stethoscope around his neck- and it occured to me that I would have braved far worse just for the priviledge of seeing him like this.
The meeting was over too soon and he kissed me goodbye with the words, "just take the number 25 bus and you'll be fine" and I was swallowed back up by the bitter night.
The number 25 bus came, and I purchased a ticket, (£1.20) and boarded. The bus went two stops and the driver yelled, "last stop for me- gotta get off the bus" So we all piled off the bus to wait for the next bus 25.
It came, but when i tried to get on- the driver told me I had to buy another ticket to ride- then politely closed the doors in my face and drove off.
Bought another ticket (£1.20) and tried to board another bus, but was told it was only going two more stops. And suddenly- a famliar feeling came over me.... britishrailitis! it had mutated into londontransportitis!
The next bus eventually took me to Tottenham court road where I was to catch the tube to waterloo (£2.00) but on the way a man that boarded the bus asked the driver if he had to purchase another ticked since his last bus just terminated unexpectedly. The answer- "no." Ahhhhh.....
When I got to waterloo, I had visions of a quiet ride with my ipod, perhaps doodling a bit, for a peaceful hour on the train until I could fall into my feather-down bed...Then the loudspeakers kicked in-
"We're sorry to announce but the 20:50 train to Ascot has been cancelled. We are sorry if this has caused a delay to your journey." Yeah, i bet you do feel sorry, you... bleeping bleep bleep!!
Another hour and a half in waterloo- with no gaurantee that the next train will go either!
I sat down, dejected with tears in my eyes, i just wanted to go home. home home home.
"Ring. Ring. Ring." My phone. "Hello?"
"Hi baby." it was my boyfriend. "Where are you?"
I sniffled, "I'm at waterloo." Trying desperatley to hold back the floods, "My train's been cancelled."
"Great!" he said.
"What?!" I cried.
"Now you can come home with me. I got off work early. Come home with me and we'll cuddle on the couch..."
That last £1.20 i spent to get to him was the easiest pound-twenty of the day.
In all- public transportation for 24 hours in london cost me- £25.70. Nearly 50$!!!! I think next weekend I'll be staying in Ascot.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Bonfire Night (aka Guy Fawkes Night)
Unlike my failure to explain where the term "flat" came from- I AM able to explain the reason why I was forced to spend last saturday night trapped aboard a Thames River Cruise with coke-snorting 20-somethings and a name-dropping "tosser" who refered to a 50 million pound business deal as just his hobby. I never really knew the meaning of a "tosser" until I met this man. (see also twat, cad, arsehole, and pretentious son of a ....) But I was able to let that slide to due the incredible fireworks that I witnessed! (see above photo... although not actually a photo of what I saw- it is a representation of the experience.)
So, I was there because my boyfriend wanted to share his most favorite holiday with me-although I don't think his childhood memories included drunken, grinding bodies on a clastophobic floating meat market. I think it was more along the lines of wool, hot chocolate and dangerous firearms.
I am refering to Guy Fawkes Night (or in the political correct UK- Bonfire Night) The short of the story is this: 400 years ago a Catholic man, dressed like a pilgrim, (see picture below) decided that he was going to help in a plot to kill the Protestant king of England during the Opening of Parliment.
Unfortunately, they let the plan slip- because they were very bright and sent around a written note explaining, in detail, the plan to all the Catholic members of Parliment. "But I sealed it with wax?!" the troubled MP thought.
So on the night of the plan, Guy Fawkes was caught sitting in the basement of Parliment surrounded by barrels and barrels of gunpowder with some matches and a timer. Oops.
Needless to say, he was convicted, hung, drawn and quartered, then for good measure- burned. Hence the burning of effigies. Clearly it is a hugely popular holiday with pyromaniacs and not such a popular holiday with the Catholics.
This holiday is also reponsible for my boyfriend, and practically all other Britons, to be able to recite the following:
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot.
We see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!
Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent
To blow up king and parliament.
Three score barrels were laid below
To prove old England's overthrow.
By god's mercy he was catch'd
With a darkened lantern and burning match.
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.
And what shall we do with him?
Burn him!
Ah, that's a nice children's rhyme, is it not?
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Tonight I had Curry for Dinner
Yes, that's about the most intersting thing I have to tell you besides my utmost hatred for people who dislike halloween or those who mutter words like, "Halloween is just another example of the way America and its materialism is encroaching on England..."
They're just insanely jealous since they don't have a holiday that saves them from the mass merchandising of Christmas (no, not materialstic at all) I mean, folks- its November 1 and they've had christmas cards and reindeer out since mid-october! And i thought jinglebells in september was odd in Tonga... now i know where they got it from!
So, in response to the disease all britons suffer from on November 1 called, "alreadyatetoomanymincedpiesanditsonlynovemberone-tosis" they decide to haul off the following weekend and burn effigies of people and blow things up. No, they're not repressed. Nooo...
This happens this weekend. Although it seems to have started early or my quiet village of sunninghill is turning south-central.
Well, I would like to give a holla to by friends in seattle. All of them-eventhough I haven't heard from them in a long-long time. Doesn't it mean anything anymore when people eat Sipi together!? Congrats Jess and Talai-Peau is beautiful.
Good luck in the real-world mark and erin and thanks for introducing me to casey- my source of a social life outside of teachers or doctors. Sunni and Carissa- hope things are going well for you two.
Jim-Rock on. Are you really gone from Tonga in 2 months?
And to my lovely friend Karen. She's off in Africa living her incredible life hoping to get a job in the Florida Keys. And I'm here.
Fakaofa au
They're just insanely jealous since they don't have a holiday that saves them from the mass merchandising of Christmas (no, not materialstic at all) I mean, folks- its November 1 and they've had christmas cards and reindeer out since mid-october! And i thought jinglebells in september was odd in Tonga... now i know where they got it from!
So, in response to the disease all britons suffer from on November 1 called, "alreadyatetoomanymincedpiesanditsonlynovemberone-tosis" they decide to haul off the following weekend and burn effigies of people and blow things up. No, they're not repressed. Nooo...
This happens this weekend. Although it seems to have started early or my quiet village of sunninghill is turning south-central.
Well, I would like to give a holla to by friends in seattle. All of them-eventhough I haven't heard from them in a long-long time. Doesn't it mean anything anymore when people eat Sipi together!? Congrats Jess and Talai-Peau is beautiful.
Good luck in the real-world mark and erin and thanks for introducing me to casey- my source of a social life outside of teachers or doctors. Sunni and Carissa- hope things are going well for you two.
Jim-Rock on. Are you really gone from Tonga in 2 months?
And to my lovely friend Karen. She's off in Africa living her incredible life hoping to get a job in the Florida Keys. And I'm here.
Fakaofa au
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
1/4 Marathon
In life, there are only two things you can be absolutley sure of: taxes and death- in America. But here in the Uk, they add another one onto that- no matter what, without fail, if you really, desperately need to get somewhere- the train you need will be cancelled.
There's a special kind of emotion dedicated only to British Rail. In fact, I had gone my entire 26 years without feeling this special emotion that God designated just to incidents with the British Rail. And when I first experienced it- I thought I was ill. My chest tightened, my throat closed up, my eyes burned, and all my muscles went limp in paralysis. But I recovered with dignity as I called my boyfriend and spent the surplus time, waiting for the next train to show, describing how no other emotion I had ever felt quite compared to this.. this... Britishrailisis.
And that was before I had started this job and still thought England was quaint, the countryside beautiful, and the rain refreshing.
Fast forward to last saturday. I spend the entire day teaching myself what I have to teach the kids on Monday, grading papers, and generally feeling wholly overwhelmed and stressed because I know I won't have sunday to work because I am supposed to run a 1/2 marathon I hadn't even trained for! Then my sweetie of a boyfriend calls me and tells me I should come into london for the night eventhough he has to go to work on sunday and I need to be in windsor by noon for this race! I tell him that I will only come out there if he is on the platform, waiting for me, at 6o'clock because I see no reason to bust my butt to get there only to see him for an hour before we fall asleep, exhauted, on the couch with the TV on. So I vowed i would be there at 6. And that left me with 10 minutes to get to the station- sans shower and on a bike.
To illustrate my state previous to going to the station- I was actually crying WHILE putting on mascara. This activity is that of an insane person because it is paradoxical and at one point I was laughing at the absurdity of the black streak running down my cheek while applying yet another coat. "I need more time, I just need more time!" I muttered as I stared at my bag, unable to comprehend what i would need to take with me. "need more time, yeah, need more time" the little rain-man inside of me repeated.
I managed to get a toothbrush and a book of puzzles (soduku, if you're wondering) to do on the train into the bag. I rushed across the street to get cash at the pound-seventy-five-each-time-you-withdrawl-cash-because -my -town -is-too -small -to -have -an -actual -bank -in -it -devil -of -an- ATM -machine. At which I was unable to work out which way the card was inserted until a little, old, humped-back englishwoman with a cane explained to my idiot-ass it went the other way around.
Got money, got on bike, realized had flat tire and rode on the rim of my back wheel all the way to the station with two minutes to spare.
But something was wrong. You can feel it before you get to the station. Something's not right in the land of Ascot. No, no..very children-of-the-corn-like. People milling about outside of the station instead of inside. Too many taxis...
"What is happeneing with the trains to London?" I ask the midget-lady behind the glass.
"Not running" She says
"OK... so how to I get to london then?"
"You take the bus." She says
"To..."
"To the next station and get a train from there."
"And where is this bus you speak of?"
"Out there." And she waves to the general direction of outside
"Um, Ok.. and when is it arriving?"
"It should be there." I look. No bus.
"Its not there. Where exactly should i be looking?"
"Out in front of the station." And I think i'm crazy becuase I cannot see it.
"Um.. can I take my bike on this supposed bus?"
"I dont know you'll have to ask the bus driver."
"And when will I get this opportunity seeing as there is no bus..."
Then suddenly I see the bus! As if it was sitting at platform 9 and 3/4 and me, the american muggle, couldn't see it!
And it is driving very rapidly away from me!
"add explitives here" I go back to the brainless midget lady and I feel like breaking the glass.
"Ok, so i missed it while talking to you. When is the NEXT bus?"
She sighs, "10 minutes. But you'll miss the train at the next station anyway and will have to take the 6:20."
Meaning I have another hour to wait and i'll be in london at 7:30! IF i could even get to the next station! Ga!
And I couldn't take it. I didn't know what to do. And then my britishrailisis started acting up. I could feel my throat closing and my eyes watering... tears began to fall. Uncontrollable tears- "I don't understand you crazy, backward people!" I wanted to yell! "Why won't anyone help me!?"
"I just want to see my boyfriend... and not get fired at my horrible job which is sucking the life out of me. And I want to play in the sun and not die when I attempt to run this 1/2 marathon and while I'm thinking about it- I'd really just like to see my mom and dad!!!!! Wahhhhh!"
"Uh, miss?" I turn to the kind voice behind me.
"Yuh, yuh, yuh, yes,s,s,s."
"Give me your bike miss, we'll take care of this."
"Wh, wh, what?"
"Just take a seat here, miss." I sit on the bench. And I watch my bike being loaded into a taxi cab
"OK, miss. You're in no state to take a train. We're putting you in a taxi to go into london."
I'm dumbfounded as i get into the car and proceed to rack up a 200 pound cab fare to Waterloo- all paid for by British Rail.
And this is my theory. The brits don't know what to do when someone cries in public. They just panic when someone is not maintaining decorum at all times. My dad's quote was that in NYC, you could have cried and cried until your flesh wasted away off your bones before anyone would help you. But in the UK, where they are lacking what we might call hospitality, if they see someone crying- well, do anything you can to get rid of them!
But the best part about this story was arriving at waterloo and seeing mark waiting on the corner, watching for the taxis. He had been waiting there for an hour in the cold wind, sending me texts that he'd make it all better. And when I saw him turn towards me and open his arms to hug me- he did make it all better. And we ended up having a spectacular evening.
So much so that when I returned home the next day, I faithfully went to windsor to meet my friend to run this crazy 1/2 marathon...which i turned into a 1/4 of a marathon because...well, becuase I wanted to be happy and 7 miles was the perfect amount of running to make me happy.
It has been a good week. And I owe it all to Mark. He 's done a great job at getting me to smile when I can't think of much to smile about. And he even sent me roses at work yesterday! Which made the clockwork journey to london last night that much sweeter. And the commute back out to school this morning bearable.
Well, if you're still reading- congratulations! You've passed an endurance test! good job.
Now, off you go. Back to life. And I'll go back to mine.
Till then.
There's a special kind of emotion dedicated only to British Rail. In fact, I had gone my entire 26 years without feeling this special emotion that God designated just to incidents with the British Rail. And when I first experienced it- I thought I was ill. My chest tightened, my throat closed up, my eyes burned, and all my muscles went limp in paralysis. But I recovered with dignity as I called my boyfriend and spent the surplus time, waiting for the next train to show, describing how no other emotion I had ever felt quite compared to this.. this... Britishrailisis.
And that was before I had started this job and still thought England was quaint, the countryside beautiful, and the rain refreshing.
Fast forward to last saturday. I spend the entire day teaching myself what I have to teach the kids on Monday, grading papers, and generally feeling wholly overwhelmed and stressed because I know I won't have sunday to work because I am supposed to run a 1/2 marathon I hadn't even trained for! Then my sweetie of a boyfriend calls me and tells me I should come into london for the night eventhough he has to go to work on sunday and I need to be in windsor by noon for this race! I tell him that I will only come out there if he is on the platform, waiting for me, at 6o'clock because I see no reason to bust my butt to get there only to see him for an hour before we fall asleep, exhauted, on the couch with the TV on. So I vowed i would be there at 6. And that left me with 10 minutes to get to the station- sans shower and on a bike.
To illustrate my state previous to going to the station- I was actually crying WHILE putting on mascara. This activity is that of an insane person because it is paradoxical and at one point I was laughing at the absurdity of the black streak running down my cheek while applying yet another coat. "I need more time, I just need more time!" I muttered as I stared at my bag, unable to comprehend what i would need to take with me. "need more time, yeah, need more time" the little rain-man inside of me repeated.
I managed to get a toothbrush and a book of puzzles (soduku, if you're wondering) to do on the train into the bag. I rushed across the street to get cash at the pound-seventy-five-each-time-you-withdrawl-cash-because -my -town -is-too -small -to -have -an -actual -bank -in -it -devil -of -an- ATM -machine. At which I was unable to work out which way the card was inserted until a little, old, humped-back englishwoman with a cane explained to my idiot-ass it went the other way around.
Got money, got on bike, realized had flat tire and rode on the rim of my back wheel all the way to the station with two minutes to spare.
But something was wrong. You can feel it before you get to the station. Something's not right in the land of Ascot. No, no..very children-of-the-corn-like. People milling about outside of the station instead of inside. Too many taxis...
"What is happeneing with the trains to London?" I ask the midget-lady behind the glass.
"Not running" She says
"OK... so how to I get to london then?"
"You take the bus." She says
"To..."
"To the next station and get a train from there."
"And where is this bus you speak of?"
"Out there." And she waves to the general direction of outside
"Um, Ok.. and when is it arriving?"
"It should be there." I look. No bus.
"Its not there. Where exactly should i be looking?"
"Out in front of the station." And I think i'm crazy becuase I cannot see it.
"Um.. can I take my bike on this supposed bus?"
"I dont know you'll have to ask the bus driver."
"And when will I get this opportunity seeing as there is no bus..."
Then suddenly I see the bus! As if it was sitting at platform 9 and 3/4 and me, the american muggle, couldn't see it!
And it is driving very rapidly away from me!
"add explitives here" I go back to the brainless midget lady and I feel like breaking the glass.
"Ok, so i missed it while talking to you. When is the NEXT bus?"
She sighs, "10 minutes. But you'll miss the train at the next station anyway and will have to take the 6:20."
Meaning I have another hour to wait and i'll be in london at 7:30! IF i could even get to the next station! Ga!
And I couldn't take it. I didn't know what to do. And then my britishrailisis started acting up. I could feel my throat closing and my eyes watering... tears began to fall. Uncontrollable tears- "I don't understand you crazy, backward people!" I wanted to yell! "Why won't anyone help me!?"
"I just want to see my boyfriend... and not get fired at my horrible job which is sucking the life out of me. And I want to play in the sun and not die when I attempt to run this 1/2 marathon and while I'm thinking about it- I'd really just like to see my mom and dad!!!!! Wahhhhh!"
"Uh, miss?" I turn to the kind voice behind me.
"Yuh, yuh, yuh, yes,s,s,s."
"Give me your bike miss, we'll take care of this."
"Wh, wh, what?"
"Just take a seat here, miss." I sit on the bench. And I watch my bike being loaded into a taxi cab
"OK, miss. You're in no state to take a train. We're putting you in a taxi to go into london."
I'm dumbfounded as i get into the car and proceed to rack up a 200 pound cab fare to Waterloo- all paid for by British Rail.
And this is my theory. The brits don't know what to do when someone cries in public. They just panic when someone is not maintaining decorum at all times. My dad's quote was that in NYC, you could have cried and cried until your flesh wasted away off your bones before anyone would help you. But in the UK, where they are lacking what we might call hospitality, if they see someone crying- well, do anything you can to get rid of them!
But the best part about this story was arriving at waterloo and seeing mark waiting on the corner, watching for the taxis. He had been waiting there for an hour in the cold wind, sending me texts that he'd make it all better. And when I saw him turn towards me and open his arms to hug me- he did make it all better. And we ended up having a spectacular evening.
So much so that when I returned home the next day, I faithfully went to windsor to meet my friend to run this crazy 1/2 marathon...which i turned into a 1/4 of a marathon because...well, becuase I wanted to be happy and 7 miles was the perfect amount of running to make me happy.
It has been a good week. And I owe it all to Mark. He 's done a great job at getting me to smile when I can't think of much to smile about. And he even sent me roses at work yesterday! Which made the clockwork journey to london last night that much sweeter. And the commute back out to school this morning bearable.
Well, if you're still reading- congratulations! You've passed an endurance test! good job.
Now, off you go. Back to life. And I'll go back to mine.
Till then.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
The definition the term "flat"
I've had someone ask me recently what the history behind the term, "flat" is. Here's my answer: I can only assume they the people of britian used to once live in curved apartments but discovered that if they flattened out the floor their tea wouldn't tip over and scald their crotches.
Anyways, life here in england is continuing to be a challange. I remember the euphoria I felt about life in tonga those last few months I was there. Ahhh... you do join the peace corps so you can have endless saturdays- unfortunately those don't come until the end. then everything is near perfect and you don't want to leave. But that's the thing about culture shock, isn't it? You have a year of hell, a 1/2 year of getting it together and then finally you're at home and you leave.
I think this applies to england as well. Its all very frustrating right now. I'm slowly learning where things are and I rarely pull out into oncoming traffic anymore. But I'm so homesick for colorado and the sunshine.
My job is crazy too. I was hired to be an IT teacher and start up an ipod program. But sometime between when i was hired and the beginning of school they decided to overhaul the whole network, put in new servers, create new policies, etc.. and now my job is forever complicated by bugs and images and netbooting and all other kinds of technical crap i have zero interest in.
But the kids are great and the new teachers i started with resemble the kinds of friends you make in the peace corps (friends created by the common experience of an intense situation) but they're loads of fun when you need a night out.
I'm retuning to pre-peace corps life when you did completely identify with Office Space.
But, on a happier note, (which this letter does not seem to express) I'm going in to london tonight for a little date. And I really do get excited when my train pulls into waterloo and I walk through the rush of londoners, get on my bike and navigate my way through double-decker buses and taxis. Its such a rush to be living in london. Walk over london bridge and see the tower of london and tower bridge reflected in the thames...(sigh)
Till later
Anyways, life here in england is continuing to be a challange. I remember the euphoria I felt about life in tonga those last few months I was there. Ahhh... you do join the peace corps so you can have endless saturdays- unfortunately those don't come until the end. then everything is near perfect and you don't want to leave. But that's the thing about culture shock, isn't it? You have a year of hell, a 1/2 year of getting it together and then finally you're at home and you leave.
I think this applies to england as well. Its all very frustrating right now. I'm slowly learning where things are and I rarely pull out into oncoming traffic anymore. But I'm so homesick for colorado and the sunshine.
My job is crazy too. I was hired to be an IT teacher and start up an ipod program. But sometime between when i was hired and the beginning of school they decided to overhaul the whole network, put in new servers, create new policies, etc.. and now my job is forever complicated by bugs and images and netbooting and all other kinds of technical crap i have zero interest in.
But the kids are great and the new teachers i started with resemble the kinds of friends you make in the peace corps (friends created by the common experience of an intense situation) but they're loads of fun when you need a night out.
I'm retuning to pre-peace corps life when you did completely identify with Office Space.
But, on a happier note, (which this letter does not seem to express) I'm going in to london tonight for a little date. And I really do get excited when my train pulls into waterloo and I walk through the rush of londoners, get on my bike and navigate my way through double-decker buses and taxis. Its such a rush to be living in london. Walk over london bridge and see the tower of london and tower bridge reflected in the thames...(sigh)
Till later
Thursday, September 22, 2005
ipods have taken over my life!!!!
I am writing this from inside my closet at my school. It is 8:30pm and I am surviving off tea and...more tea. Since returning from outward bound I have decided to get down to business and do the job I was hired to do. Unfortunately, after returning from a week away from school, my head of department grabs me and cries, "you are NEVER to go away for a week again!!!" and while i start thinking I could request stock options, she drags me into her office and proceeds to tell me that while i was away- they changed my job description!
I have now gone from a computer teacher with a crazy ipod program to being a computer teacher with a crazy ipod program, who also is in charge of taking care of all the laptops in the school! Even the ones the kids bring in! Tech support is NOT my forte'. I'm a freakin' graphic designer?! well, now i'm a graphic designer with all the top passwords and remote desktop...and the same salary. boo
Anyways, my procrastinating time is over. back to work.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Like Father like Daughter
While I was growing up, my family always knew how to spice up a quiet evening. We got out the slide projector! And all the slide were carefully organized by my father in a massive tackle-box like container. It was always handled with the care of evidence at a crime scene. Yet, no matter how careful we were- we never managed to get through our family slide festivals without twisting our necks into unnatural positions to look at reflecting images of the past. I always loved these nights tucked away in the basement, getting a glimpse into my parent's past. But the best part about the slide festivals were the stories. Stories which I can repeat to this day as if I was a member of a tribe whose history was dependent upon story-telling.
One of these stories was about my dad and his adventure in Outward Bound. Granted, I always used to laugh when he'd put up the picture he took of the 'rock climbing" portion of his 10 days. It appeared to be just a gentle slope with scattered rocks and on the bottom right of the screen you can see the group all harnessed up and surrounded with heavy ropes. I'd say it was more like rock stepping-over than rock climbing. But I always knew that there was much more to that trip than that one photo. I knew about the instructor who wore flip-flops and carried a camp seat with him. I knew that my dad kept the group going during a low point by singing the children's songs he sang to my brother and I (since we were just tiny babies then) I knew that he was the oldest member of the group, that he had to spend 24 hours alone in the wilderness and I knew that they were the reason my dad is obsessive about zip-lock bags. (to keep things organized and dry) But most of all I knew what an impact it had on him and what an accomplishment it was that he finished the course.
And ever since I saw those slides as a kid- I wanted to take an outward bound course too. What I didn't realize was that I had been in one since my father strapped a backpack to me at age 5 and made me hike miles and miles with only "Disney's Greatest Hits" playing on my walkman. This didn't occur to me until this past week while I was away on a fieldtrip with my 9th graders... at Outward Bound in Wales.
We backpacked for two days but in England it's called "walking" because "backpacking" doesn't lend itself to the understated language of the British. (and I tried to wear flip-flops but was told firmly to find "appropriate" footwear but I did take along a camp-chair!)*
*I must digress on this flip-flop issue. I have great hiking boots, I love them, in fact. They're durable and dependable and are well broken-in. But nothing can compare to exploring your environment in a pair of .99 cent flip-flops. And I know because for two years I trudged and trekked across the jungles of the south pacific with no more than half an inch of rubber between my feet and the earth. And never once did I find them to be "inappropriate".
We jumped off 30 ft. telephone poles while trying to grab onto a trapese (with a harness but this doesn't do anything to aleviate the fear.)
We went "Gorge Walking" - also known as "Canyoning" and let our bodies be swept down a raging river, through shoots and over rocks- and we even had three jumps over waterfalls! The last one being a sheer cliff over 25 ft. above the water!
I tried rock climbing for the first time in the pouring rain (also known as "pissing rain" here) so it was really cold, wet and slippery but I loved every minute of it!
And all this while overcoming my greatest challenge- getting 14 year old boys to go to bed by 10:30 and getting the girls to stay out of their rooms! (sigh) I am too young to have to act as a parent to teenagers for that long. 40 minute classes I can handle. 24 hours for 7 days in a row? another monster entirely.
But it was great fun to hang out with the instructors and watch my kids challange themselves and grow as individuals. And Wales really is beautiful... even if they do speak Elven and aren't included on the EU map.
So, I did complete an Outward Bound Course- if only as a chaperone to my kids ( I did find out that i'm actually too old to go on the one my dad did. The age limit is 25! One year!.. and I'm starting to feel old) But nevertheless, minus one activity, I did it all and loved every minute of it.
Well, that's all for now.
Till next time.
One of these stories was about my dad and his adventure in Outward Bound. Granted, I always used to laugh when he'd put up the picture he took of the 'rock climbing" portion of his 10 days. It appeared to be just a gentle slope with scattered rocks and on the bottom right of the screen you can see the group all harnessed up and surrounded with heavy ropes. I'd say it was more like rock stepping-over than rock climbing. But I always knew that there was much more to that trip than that one photo. I knew about the instructor who wore flip-flops and carried a camp seat with him. I knew that my dad kept the group going during a low point by singing the children's songs he sang to my brother and I (since we were just tiny babies then) I knew that he was the oldest member of the group, that he had to spend 24 hours alone in the wilderness and I knew that they were the reason my dad is obsessive about zip-lock bags. (to keep things organized and dry) But most of all I knew what an impact it had on him and what an accomplishment it was that he finished the course.
And ever since I saw those slides as a kid- I wanted to take an outward bound course too. What I didn't realize was that I had been in one since my father strapped a backpack to me at age 5 and made me hike miles and miles with only "Disney's Greatest Hits" playing on my walkman. This didn't occur to me until this past week while I was away on a fieldtrip with my 9th graders... at Outward Bound in Wales.
We backpacked for two days but in England it's called "walking" because "backpacking" doesn't lend itself to the understated language of the British. (and I tried to wear flip-flops but was told firmly to find "appropriate" footwear but I did take along a camp-chair!)*
*I must digress on this flip-flop issue. I have great hiking boots, I love them, in fact. They're durable and dependable and are well broken-in. But nothing can compare to exploring your environment in a pair of .99 cent flip-flops. And I know because for two years I trudged and trekked across the jungles of the south pacific with no more than half an inch of rubber between my feet and the earth. And never once did I find them to be "inappropriate".
We jumped off 30 ft. telephone poles while trying to grab onto a trapese (with a harness but this doesn't do anything to aleviate the fear.)
We went "Gorge Walking" - also known as "Canyoning" and let our bodies be swept down a raging river, through shoots and over rocks- and we even had three jumps over waterfalls! The last one being a sheer cliff over 25 ft. above the water!
I tried rock climbing for the first time in the pouring rain (also known as "pissing rain" here) so it was really cold, wet and slippery but I loved every minute of it!
And all this while overcoming my greatest challenge- getting 14 year old boys to go to bed by 10:30 and getting the girls to stay out of their rooms! (sigh) I am too young to have to act as a parent to teenagers for that long. 40 minute classes I can handle. 24 hours for 7 days in a row? another monster entirely.
But it was great fun to hang out with the instructors and watch my kids challange themselves and grow as individuals. And Wales really is beautiful... even if they do speak Elven and aren't included on the EU map.
So, I did complete an Outward Bound Course- if only as a chaperone to my kids ( I did find out that i'm actually too old to go on the one my dad did. The age limit is 25! One year!.. and I'm starting to feel old) But nevertheless, minus one activity, I did it all and loved every minute of it.
Well, that's all for now.
Till next time.
Monday, September 05, 2005
But its all worth it
I am in a hurry off to class on a monday morning- but I want to make sure everyone knows this one little point:
No matter how much grief I give to my life here in the UK, there IS a reason I'm here. And he is worth every pain, irritance, and lonely night. Because in him I find my laughter and solace- and when i'm with him, nothing seems to matter quite as much as wanting to make him smile. And i love him.
No matter how much grief I give to my life here in the UK, there IS a reason I'm here. And he is worth every pain, irritance, and lonely night. Because in him I find my laughter and solace- and when i'm with him, nothing seems to matter quite as much as wanting to make him smile. And i love him.
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