Victory House

Just like in the Harry Potter novels, Sebastian's school is divided into houses: Victory, Revenge, Vindictive and Rodney. Yeah, not sure I get Rodney either but I have it on good authority that the houses are named after battleships. Never heard of Rodney but that's just the way it is.

Sebastian is a member of Victory. Not entirely sure how they decide on which house which pupil gets in but I am fairly certain it is not a magic hat.

Last week the school had an interschool football (soccer) match. This meant that the various years played each other and won games for their house. Since Sebastian is on the C team this may be one of the few times/year he actually gets to play a real match.

The good news is Victory was victorious and took 2nd place. Those darn Revenge pupils took first but that is merely a temporary setback.

Another Harvest Festival

You never know what you got til it's gone.

Lat year I hadn't fully appreciated that children didn't participate in a Harvest Festival after Year 2 so I didn't fully appreciate that it was Sebastian's final performance at the same time as it was Abigail's first. Maybe I should have videod that one. Oh well, that poignant moment is well gone.

This year we got to watch Abigail in all her glory and she performed very well. She sang all about the magic penny (give it away and you have more) and recited a poem about the role of the farmers (very important person if you want to eat). She stood perfectly and didn't even wave. She even cast me a disapproving glare when I blew her a kiss making it very apparent that such public displays of affection would not be reciprocated when she was on stage and in character.

At the end the chaplain led a very moving prayer about how lucky we are to have food on the table and live in a country where there are no wars being fought in our streets or in our fields. How lucky we are to have access to clean water and state of the art medical care. And how lucky we are to attend some of the best educational institutions in the world.

I'm not sure Abigail understands everything she has to be grateful for. I think she was grateful that she had a mother and father who didn't embarrass her. I was grateful she still has a few more years to perform in a Harvest Festival.

Circus of Sorts

I have amazing memories of going to the old coliseum in Denver, Colorado to see the Ringling Brothers & Barnum Bailey circus as a child. Back then the circus would arrive by train and then parade through the streets of downtown Denver to arrive at the coliseum. I'm sure they don't do that anymore, mostly because they tore down the old coliseum and built a new coliseum for the National Stock Show and Rodeo. And I don't think the circus travels by train anymore. Heck, I'm not sure there are circuses any more. Good Lord, I sound like those people who talk about the times before television and telephones and you still rode your horse into town.

When Sebastian was about 2 we took him to the circus in London. I must have been pregnant with Abigail although to be honest I can't really remember. Now how's that for a memory? I can remember the circus arriving by train 35 some odd years ago but not 5 years ago when I took my first born to his first circus. I must be getting old!

The circus in Denver had 3 rings and a flying trapeze and loads of animals including dancing bears and elephants with gorgeous women with loads of makeup and little clothing riding them. There were tigers jumping through fire ringed hoops and men with long curly bleach blonde hair riding motorcycles on spinning wheels as it all rotated above the ground. And there were clowns. Lots and lots of clowns. I loved the clowns.

I was so looking forward to taking Sebastian to the circus and I was well aware that he was a bit young but that wasn't going to stop me from having a great time. I knew we were in trouble and I was up for a sore disappointment when we walked across the park and I saw the wee little tiny tent. It was one of those "we don't live in the USA anymore Toto" moments.

There were no animals. Apparently there seems to be some sensitivity to animal cruelty over here and putting animals in a circuses is considered cruel and unusual punishment for a crime they didn't commit.

There was only one ring. Which is a little bit good. I was always afraid that three rings meant there was more going on than I could keep track of and I knew I missed things. This way I would catch all the action. The trouble is they could have done with a few more rings just to up the action factor. There was rarely enough action taking place in one ring.

And there were very few clowns. No way near my clown threshold was met. And Sebastian has absolutely no memory of the event. At all. Ask him!

I swore I'd never go to the circus here in England again!

Ah but what do you do when one of Marc's clients generously gives us some complimentary tickets? Well, not being one to kick a gift horse in the mouth we go to the circus. The start time is just an hour after school lets out so we shove food in their faces and change them out of their school uniforms in the car. We drive like maniacs to the circus, get parked and race to the open seating hoping we get a seat closest to the front that we can see round the really tall people that seem to always sit right in front of me and my children.

I think we are early when we enter the tiny tiny tiny tent and there are fewer than 30 people seated and we have no problems getting a front row seat. I have just enough time to run and get popcorn and return to my seat and the circus begins with fewer than 70 people in attendance.

The Cirque Surreal has no animals. And only one clown. No flying trapeze. And I'm not entirely convinced that anyone in the troupe spoke a word of English. It would appear that they are mostly from Eastern Europe with a couple from Asia and one from Africa. Not that it matters but it was indeed a strange evening's entertainment.

There was a very muscular young man juggling. With his head, feet, hands, arms, back up to 8 balls. This was Abigail's favourite bit.

There were two Oriental dancers and the girl was particularly limber. I gasped as she wrapped herself into a perfectly formed circle and was held above her partner's head and then she dropped to hold on to his waist with nothing more than her little toes maintaining her perfect circle.

There was a woman, actually a couple women who swung from ropes above the crowd.

I particularly enjoyed the two men on a large steel apparatus suspended above the ground with spinning wheels as they walked around and, in my opinion, nearly fell to the ground far too often for my sensibilities.

Sebastian danced in the aisles to the music and despite only having one clown, he was a good clown and was Sebastian's favourite bit.

No horses, no dancing bears, no elephants, no lions, and far too few clowns but not bad for free.

The Glassblower of Murano by Marina Fiorato

I needed a break from thinking and this book was given to me by my friend Jane when she took my to the hospital for my back surgery. And after the intellectual challenge of Midnight's Children I needed a brain vacation. This novel was just what the doctor ordered.

Set in Venice and alternating between now and the middle ages, a woman runs away from a broken marriage to find her ancestor's stories in the winding alleys and canals of Venice. Venice has never been my favourite city for far too many reasons to list here including a rather messy break up of a long term relationship. I've always thought this a wee bit unfair to Venice and have fancied giving it another chance at redemption.

Not sure this book convinced me it was worth a repeat journey. Whilst the story is easy to read it just doesn't hang together and there is a definite false mysterious urgency.

Clearly the author has done loads of research about the art of glassblowing and she evoked lovely images of the intricate process passed down through generations of Murano artisans. But the story is false and the main character, whose name already eludes my memory, makes absolutely no lasting impression of being someone I would want to read about.

Skip it unless you seriously need something to carry down to the beach or to get you through a rather frightening hospital appointment. In those cases, this is a jolly read.

Pages = 365 of very large print and even wider margins.

Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie

I wish I could say exactly what this book was about. I wish I could say that I hated this book because I can't say what it was about. I wish I could have avoided finishing this book when I couldn't figure out what it was about. But being the ever vigilant book group member that I am I pressed onwards and forced myself to read it.


The book was our October book group selection. I've always wanted to read a Rushdie book and I was well aware that his books are not for literary lightweights. So I settled in for a long hard slog. This is a large tome weighing in at well over 600 pages and if I was going to finish this before the next book group I knew I needed to get started.

The problem was that the first 50 pages took me almost a week of nightly reading to get through. I have no idea what those first 50 pages were on about. In fact, I'm not sure what the whole first book (the book is divided into 3 books) was about.


Book 2 captured my attention though and whilst I am sure the subtleties of the book were completely lost on me I was kinda getting to grips with the whole plot (such as it was).


It seems that I was reading a potted history of India since their independence from Colonial Britain. The story is told by Saleem Sinai who was born at midnight on the very day of independence. And this is where it all goes wonderfully weird.


It seems that there are 1001 (precisely) children in India who were also born at that time (or thereabouts) and they all seem to have some magical mystical power.

I wish I could elaborate but I can't. The story wonders and weaves through characters lives and times. The language wonders and weaves through stream of consciousness and absolute nonsense. Book 3 was so confusing I found I had read 20 pages and had no clue about what had happened.

Oddly though, this doesn't diminish my enjoyment of the book. I just let the words wash over me. I do believe that if I knew more about the history of India I could have perhaps understood the associations of the story much better. If I have interpreted this all correctly the entire story is a rich metaphor of the formation and development of the nation of India, such as it is.

Rushdie must be either completely barking mad or nothing short of genius. OK, possibly a bit of both (or a lot). The language and phrasing of the book will lead you straight to the dictionary and his occasional outburst of stream of consciousness left me cold. C'mon - give me some punctuation!

Book Group Verdict: I am the only book group member to finish the book, again. Some gave up after just 50 pages which is seriously lame. Some gave it a real good go and simply ran out of time. The overall verdict was pretty much in line with my review above.

pgs 647!!!!

Monkey See Monkey Do

Birthday Gift

What a Great Idea!

Not sure this will fly with Abigail but just might send a message to Sebastian! What do you think?

Eton in the Press

Absolutely undoubtably the very best article about Eton ever written! Christopher Hitchens is a genius!

Dreams

I rarely dream. Or I rarely remember my dreams which is seriously disappointing. I would love to know what my unconscious mind is doing when I'm not paying attention.

Every 6 months or so I'll have a night of vivid dreaming. I'll wake up and think what the heck what that all about. Which is exactly what happened the other night.

In my first dream I was in Colorado driving a car. I was jet lagged or something because I couldn't pay attention to what I was doing. I nearly ran the red light at Alameda and Sheridan. and then found myself at an unrecognised junction somewhere in south Lakewood and nearly ran a stop sign. Just as I slammed on my brakes I nearly broad sided a little car. I pulled over and proceeded to go looking for the car I almost hit and couldn't find it. But when I returned to my car there was yellow crepe paper (?) between my car and the car I almost hit and the police were there hauling the men out of the car. They were arresting them. I then got a stamp on my driving license that said "my actions caused someone to be arrested". I got fired from my job and then I woke up.

The time was 1:45 am. I scratched my head for a while and tried to go back to sleep. I couldn't so I read until I got sleepy again and turned the bedside lamp off around 2:45.

If I have a second dream on nights like this it is usually a slightly different version of the same dream but this time I was in for a whole new experience.

In my second dream Marc had found me a flat (apartment) closer to a city where I needed to work. It was across a river from a big futuristic metropolis that was a mix between NYC, Denver, and San Francisco. The flat was on a hill overlooking the city, had no windows but did have a terrace. The part of the terrace for my apartment was blocked by a big tree. I could only see the city if I strayed into the neighbours terrace and you weren't allowed to do that. All the other residents were ancient (over 80) and the place smelled. I wasn't allowed to see my children except on the weekends when Marc might come pick me up and take me to our other home somewhere in the country. The children were not allowed to visit me as no children were allowed. I would sit in my flat after I got home from work and cry missing my children so much it hurt.

I woke up at 4:50. I couldn't get back to sleep and finally dragged myself out of bed at 5:30 am and started my day. But these dreams persist in my conscious mind. Do they mean anything? If so, what? Kind of wish my unconscious mind would keep its thoughts to itself.

Kid's in Charge

OK, it would be fair to say that I think, uh, you need a little bit more experience than this 35 year old has when they are getting ready to put you in charge of trillions of taxpayer's (that would be you and me) money.

So, just how many ways can the Bush Administration mess us up? It ain't over til it's over and January 2009 is looking far far away!

And if you think this ain't hurting you, think again! Look around you. Look at your pension fund. Look at you share options. Look.

School Bags and Helicopters

During the school week on any given day, Sebastian and Abigail have anywhere from 2 bags and 6 school bags to remember to take to school and bring home. These school bags contain the various pieces of kit they need to do their activities at school. These activities include, piano lessons, ballet, pe, judo, violin lessons, swimming, games and just their normal homework bag. They also need to remember to wear every day without exception their blazers and caps/hats. Now you might say these rules are harsh. But these are the rules and part of our contract with the school we have chosen is that we follow their rules.

Obviously, Abigail at 4 (nearly 5) requires a bit of help. I have put a laminated sheet on the refrigerator with little pictures of the activities and she does pretty well in the morning checking it and will invariably go running for her hat if she has forgotten it before running out the door. but of course she has 1/4 of the kit to remember.

Sebastian is another story altogether and he's been doing this for much much longer.

Monday as I was standing at the school gates I was approached by a mother/nanny who handed me one of a pair of Sebastian's football shin pads. Luckily, this one had his name written in big bold permanent marker all over it, a hard learnt lesson after 2 previous pairs of shin pads went missing during last school year. I spotted Sebastian sauntering back from the playing fields urged on by two of his football coaches. Seb was wearing his brand new (literally 4 weeks old) school shoes. He had obviously been wearing said shoes to play football in. It was a wet rainy muddy day on the football pitch and the shoes were soaked through.

I was incredulous and asked Sebastian where his football boots were. He didn't know. I asked him where his trainers (tennis shoes) were. He didn't know. I pointed out that his new school shoes were ruined. He shrugged his shoulders and said we could get him a new pair.

I had a meltdown. Two very important lessons we as parents MUST teach our children is the value of money and respect for property. But how? Well, I'll tell you: I emptied his room of all of his property and informed him I was selling it on eBay to try to buy him some new shoes (3 pairs at this point). Of course I don't think I couldn't buy myself a beer with the proceeds were I to do such a thing but I think he might be getting the idea.

So what does all this have to do with helicopters? I've read several articles recently about the new epidemic of helicopter parenting and I am shocked. The stories I read detail how parents go on job interviews with their 20 something grown children or negotiate their salaries and benefits packages. Parents are even calling in sick to work for their adult-children. But the worst story I've heard is where a father called up his daughter's future manager to explain that his precious little girl "was particularly sensitive and would require an harmonious environment to work in". Are they having a laugh?

Children must learn to take care of themselves, be able to learn from setbacks and address their own disappointments in life. In short children must learn to cope with the consequences of their actions. This will ensure that they are capable decision makers and responsible contributing members of society when they are adults (and their parents are no longer around to make their decisions for them).

So, just how much should I interfere to ensure that Abigail and Sebastian are well prepared for their school day? I firmly believe that parents should include independence and self sufficiency in their critical success factors for child rearing. Should I let Sebastian incur minus points (which could eventually lead to detention/expulsion) for losing his football boots and trainers or failing to wear his cap? Should I take away his savings (and any future earnings for the next 2 years) to replace the lost items? Should I pull him out of those elective activities which could possibly hamper his future prospects?

Of course my natural impulse is to make sure he's got everything with him when he leaves in the morning and when he comes home in the evening. But then I'm just a helicopter.

Saturday Visitors

I've noticed some rather strange behaviour from my reader community. It seems Thursday is the day that everyone and their brother, sister, mother-in-law, second cousin twice removed reads my blog. Why? Are my blog posts better on Thursdays? I don't think so. I went through the Thursday posts and they are pretty much of the same dull variety as the rest of the week.

Saturday readership on the other hand plummets to an almost non existent low. Why? I thought initially because people don't read on the weekends. But that didn't hold true when further analysis revealed that Sundays are my second highest readership (after Thursdays). Is it because everyone is way too busy on Saturdays and Sundays are a bit more relaxed leaving them some leisure time? To read my blog? Don't you have anything better to do with a Sunday?

My blog visits have never recovered from my February vacation went I just ran out of things to say. Partly because I don't think I've recovered fully. I've increased the frequency of my posts recently but due to increased demands on my time from just about everyone and everything in my life over the last 9 months or so I find blogging unfortunately falls to the bottom of the heap.

When do you read my blog? And why?

The VP Debate

One viewpoint.......

The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett

I read this quickly during a recent attack of insomnia and rather than put me to sleep (like some of my other recent literary pursuits) I was captivated and couldn't put the thing down.

The premise is that the Queen (Elizabeth, the one that lives in that big castle I can see from my bedroom window) wonders into a mobile library parked outside Buckingham Palace whilst chasing down her beloved dogs who seem to have done a runner. She is driven (out of duty one would suppose) to borrow a book, as one does when one goes to a library. It appears that the author believes that the Queen has never read a book in her life.

She is quickly transfixed and transformed by the extraordinary journey that reading takes one on.

I cannot even begin to give the ending away. It is well and truly a shocker. I found myself giggling through the entire book and thought it was incredibly clever. I've never read The History Boys also by Alan Bennett particularly after watching the wreck of a film. I might just have to give it a go after the magic of this wee little story.

NOTE: It is truly wee, only 121 pages of large print. Shouldn't take more than an hour or 2.

In My Name

Let me get back to you......

Bert & Ernie

I don't remember B&E ever being this cool when I was a kid.

To Fish or Not To Fish

Similar to my organic produce dilemma, I am confused about how much and which fish I should or shouldn't be eating and/or feeding my children. This question has become particularly astute as I decided during my weight loss journey as I have tried to fundamentally change what I eat and what I feed my children.

Marc does not eat fish. Well, he sort eats fish. He'll eat sushi. And he'll have me taste fish to see if it is fishy and if I say it isn't he will try it. I'm not sure how I decide if fish is fishy but it seems to work.

I made a decision a few months ago to feed my family fish at least once a week and harking back to my Catholic upbringing this has somehow morphed into Friday's as being fish night. It isn't the best choice because the children both have fish and chips at school on Friday lunchtime but that's my approach for now and I'm sticking with it. They don't seem to mind that they get fish twice a day.

But then I started worrying about the how much fish is too much mercury. And what fish shouldn't be on our table at all due to environmental factors. And then I found this website with an exhaustive list of the fish that are ok, so so ok and not ok under any circumstances.

There is some trouble with this list.

1. It appears to be North America focused. Imported fish seems bad. Does that include imported to the USA or just imported to anywhere? What if it is imported from the UK? Does that mean it's not imported to me and therefore is ok?
2. The list is very specific about where and how the fish is caught. That's not always on the package labelling here in the UK, especially since I do most of my shopping online at 1 in the morning. I can't imagine trying to figure out if it is line caught or wild Alaskan.
3. The list is long. I'm not sure how workable this list is during my weekly shopping trips.

The good news for me is mackerel is a good fish. I love mackerel. My children love mackerel. My husband hates mackerel. Kippers are not listed. Does that mean this is ok? Or is there another name for kippers? Tuna seems to be ok and seriously not ok. Ug, I love tuna. Does it count if I put it into my world famous tuna noodle casserole?

I think I'm more confused than I was when I started this quest.

Good Result

A few weeks back our dishwasher broke. That's not entirely true. The leaking had been happening sporadically for quite some time. It's just that 2 weeks ago it started happening every time we ran the dishwasher. My husband loves a challenge and fancies himself as a bit of a DIY man and decided he could do the fixing without any professional repairman intervention.

I shuddered. My house is littered with half done or badly done DIY projects attempted by the amateur hubby repairman. The children's bathroom on the first floor has had painting equipment in it for almost a year now. It's still not complete.

But who am I to deprive this man of a challenge? He took the dishwasher out to the back garden and proceeded to take it apart. I knew there was trouble when he put it back together and we had a clear plastic part hanging about that he claimed he didn't quite know where it went. He ran it and it leaked.

He ordered a new door seal and I did the dishes by hand until the new part arrived. He dutifully fitted it and ran the dishwasher. It leaked.

He thought maybe he fitted it the wrong way round so he took it apart and refitted it. It still leaked.

So he pulled it out from the wall and watched sitting on the floor as the dishwasher ran its whole cycle. He discovered that there were 3 pipes at the back of the wall and the 2 that weren't being used were over flowing and the 1 being used seemed to be backed up.

He capped the two that weren't being used and got some drainer unblocker to pour down the 1 that was being used.

And then disaster struck.

My husband is a bit of a klutz. Not not a bit. A lot of a klutz. He drops more dishes than the children. He trips over his own feet on a regular basis. And he spills the drain unblocker all over my wooden varnished counter top, which proceeded to eat through the varnish at lightening speed and leave a very unsightly big brown stain all over the counter top. OK, so the counter top wasn't in the best of shape in the first place. It probably needed re-varnishing 4 years ago when we moved in. And there are some Easter egg dye stains which occurred a few years back. But it certainly didn't have an ugly brown stain in the middle of it.

I had nagged and nagged at him to sand and re-varnish the counter for years but it just never seemed to be at the top of his To Do list.

I was outraged. He was afraid. I stopped talking to him. He silently went and got a sander and proceeded to spend the entirety of Saturday sanding the counter top. Then we silently went to the hardware store and picked out the varnish.

Whilst Seb and I handed out plastic cups of water to the weary runners in the Windsor Half Marathon as part of Seb's Beaver Scouts duties, Marc varnished the kitchen counter top.

And I have to say it looks beautiful. And feels beautiful. Much better than it was before. A good result. Now, what do I need to do to get him to finish the bathroom?

RIP Paul Newman

Paul Newman has died.....as if you hadn't already heard that. I'm sure you don't come here for breaking news.

CBS News has a very good video tribute to him. I'd love to put the link directly on the blog but my html skills are causing me some challenges. Click here for the text and then watch the video on the left hand side.

Debate

If you are registered to vote in the USA, you have a responsibility to listen to this and every debate which follows.

If you are not registered to vote in the USA and are eligible to vote, get yourself registered.

If you are not eligible to vote, sit back and enjoy the madness of the next couple months as the population of the most powerful country in the world elects the most powerful person in the world. It may startle you. It may frighten you. It will certainly entertain you.

Bailout

An interesting perspective.

What exactly does a dirt farmer do?

To Be Organic or Not To Be Organic

I hate feeling like I'm getting ripped off. And the prices of organic products seems to me to be a bit of a rip off. And my family certainly can't afford to buy everything all the time organic. And I'm not sure we even need to be.

This website lists the various produce items and rates them according to their pesticide levels if they are non-organic.

I guess that means peaches and apples will be organic in my home. But I'll skip right past those organic onions next time!

Where is the Second String QB?

Regrets

I’ve had a few…..

1. I never visited New Orleans. Before Hurricane Katrina. Now I could go. But I know it is not nor will it ever be the same. Pity.

2. I never flew on the Concorde. I watched it fly over my home for years in Windsor. I ever got to tour the inside of one when I was working for British Airways. But I never got to jet set the ultimate experience. And now they don’t fly anymore. Bummer.

3. I will never visit Yankee Stadium. OK, so I don’t like the Yankees. But just like the day when I went to watch my beloved Chicago Cubs in Wrigley Field, I was more interested in the history of the stadium than the baseball game. The NY Times does a brilliant job here taking about how much history I have missed. Wish I could have been there!

Economics

I didn't do well in economics. I took both micro and macro economics in university and barely managed a B. The only good thing about macro economics was this really fit boy who always sat a few rows in front of me. He had the most gorgeous hair in the world. After one disastrous date with him though I realised the only thing good about his head was his hair. Everything in between was empty space. There was nothing good about micro economics.

But I think he did better in economics than I did. The trouble was it was all theory and the theory always got proved wrong. Or so it all seemed to me. I thought saving was good and spending was bad. Economics seemed to be saying this was not necessarily so. Which may be what has gotten us into all this trouble.

The recent financial crisis rumbling throughout the world is bringing back seriously bad memories for me. it makes me wish I had done better or tried harder.

I've just recently happened upon the Economix blog from the NY Times which tries to make sense of all that theory and how it relates to what is currently happening in the financial markets and how that relates to you and me who are just trying to make ends meet. Give it a read. Let me know if it makes any sense to you.

A Bit Sore

I had two lumps removed from my back last night. I'm a bit sore and can't find a comfortable position to rest but am relieved to have them gone.

The two lumps appeared quite a few years ago and because I was overweight they weren't really causing me any problems. Now that I've dropped the weight the one on my left side was causing me considerable discomfort when I sat back in a chair or sofa.

The consultant diagnosis was that they were benign lipomas, which is just a fancy word for fat growths, apparently common in women between the ages of 40 and 60 and have nothing to do with being obese.

After some local anaesthesia (which hurt the most and brought tears to me eyes), the surgeon made 2 incisions above the lumps and popped them out like spots. One was about double the size of a pea and came right out. The one on the left side was larger and required a bit more oooomphs and digging but eventually came out as well. I was then stitched up and have some shower proof bandages on for the next week. Stitches are all on the inside. I should have some small scars which will stretch and the lumps will be sent for biopsy but they looked pretty benign to me (just like chicken fat). I'll check back with the consultant in about 3 weeks.

All in all I was at the hospital for 1.5 hours and other than some shaking caused by the shock of being sliced open, I was fine until the anaesthesia wore off about 2 am this morning.

I have to say thanks to all the offers of help I have gotten. My colleagues at work have been extremely supportive and the mums at school were little angels. A big thank you goes out to Jane Andrews who finally convinced me that driving myself to and from the hospital whilst Marc took care of the children was not a good solution. She turned up at my door just before 6 pm with a load of magazines and a chocolate bar. She went with me to the hospital and diverted my attention sufficiently before the procedure to keep me from freaking out. She was there waiting patiently when I came out and sat with me after my cup of tea whilst I stopped shaking and then dutifully delivered me safe and sound right back to the bosom of my home and family. Gratitude is really an insufficient expression for the calm she brought to me and my husband last night.

Sebastian had waited up and wanted to care for me. My husband has made me endless cups of tea and coffee and even brought me my breakfast in bed.

I am in bed resting and am hoping that I will be back on my feet by tomorrow. I may even feel like going for a run this weekend! A weight has been lifted from my shoulders and despite the short term ache, it feels good.

Like the Wind

OK, so I didn't run exactly like the wind but I ran. And I completed the race without needing to stop to catch my breath, collapse or flag for oxygen, first aid or rescue.

2 years ago I participated but walked about 1 mile of it and I was considerably heavier. I had done some regular training in the 12 weeks leading up to the race but had never managed to do even closest to the full distance in a training run. I finished but was VERY slow. Embarrassingly slow.

Last year the race was cancelled due to the foot and mouth infection for which I personally breathed a sign of relief. I had done NO training. And I was even heavier than I was the year before. I don't think I would have survived.

When I started the weight loss journey in March I set myself a goal of finishing the 8k this year and improving on my time in 2006. Shouldn't be all that hard, right? I'd be 50 pounds (or so) lighter and I would have months and months to train.

I lost the weight and diligently trained. Right up until the school summer holidays started. I woke up this morning with a knot in the pit of my stomach as I faced the reality of not having done any running since 18 July. However, I had done several runs that were nearly the same distance I was about to do.

As you can see I started off the run with a broad grin full of optimism and hope. I finished the run looking decidedly worse for the wear. It took every ounce of determination I have ever had in my body to get me round the course.

But I did it. I didn't walk any of it (although my pace was slower than some walkers at times but we won't talk about that). I don't have the official race results yet so am not dead positive about my time but I was carrying my own stop watch and I am sure I improved on my time from 2006. In fact I reckon I improved on it by over 20 minutes. I missed my goal of finishing within 60 minutes but not by much.

Sebastian and Abigail were waiting for me just before the finish line. They both breached the barriers and ran towards the finish line with me. As we neared the end Seb told me to run, run as fast as you can, run like the wind. And so I broke into a sprint. And nearly collapsed once I had crossed the line.

I can do better next time and there will be a next time; when my very large blisters are healed, when I can get up off the sofa and resume normal walking speed, when I don't moan when I sneeze, cough, go wee; when September rolls around again.

Today's Run

Today is my 8k run. If you haven't sponsored me already (and you can) please do!

Last Harvest

We've brought in the last of our summer harvest. The biggest success this year without a doubt are our tomatoes which last year were a complete washout. The potatoes are still in the ground and I am hopeful.

Sigheh

How bizarre is this?

Spending Money

This is an informative interactive graphic (courtesy of The New York Times) about how people spend their discretionary income around the world. Check out the different headings (electronics and household goods are a bit of a shocker) and roll the mouse of the boxes to see the precise amounts and names of countries.

Losers

In the run up to the US presidential race I thought it might be interesting to look at what awaits the loser, if only because there is always a loser.

There are 9 people still alive who have fought hard and lost the longest job interview of all time (unless you count my sister who is currenlty undergoing the most excrutiatingly long job interview of all time!).

George McGovern was the Democratic candidate in the 1972 election. America was divided over the never ending saga in Vietnam. He fought hard and won millions of young voters with his notion of peace and hope and change. His campaign was wildly successful until it was revealed that his Vice Presidential running mate, Thomas Eagleton, had been treated for depression in the 1960s. At first McGovern stood behind Eagleton but then accepted his resignation and took on Sargent Shriver as his running mate. It was a PR disaster. McGovern looked flaky and disloyal not to mention indecisive. Not good for a future president. He never recovered.

A few of the candidates lost as incumbents: Jimmy Carter and George H.W. Bush (Sr) and are still hanging around.

Jimmy Carter was generally regarded as one of the worst presidents of all time when inflation and interest rates caused a short recession during his presidency despite unprecedented employment levels and a massive decrease in the national deficit. To make matters worse the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and the Iranian hostage crisis happened on his watch. Reelection would have been a tough sell. Jimmy Carter is still active in politics (more so than some think he should be) but his biggest post presidential contribution, in my humble opinion, would have to be his involvement in Habitat for Humanity which helps families build their own homes. He won the Nobel Peace in 2002. He's the second oldest living president.

And we all know what George Senior is up to......


One candidate, Ralph Nadar is a candidate in this year's race (again) although why remains a mystery to me. His participation in the 2000 race probably lost the election for Al Gore. I sure wish he wouldn't do that!


Walter Mondale was Vice President for Jimmy Carter and failed in his bid for the presidency. His post presidential career included a stint as US Ambassador to Japan during the Clinton Administration. Other than that he maintains a low profile (read off the radar).

Do you ever ask yourself what ever happened to Mike Dukakis? I mean I love his cousin Olympia. She's a great actress but Mike slipped into obscurity much the way his Massachusetts miracle slipped from the fingers of the citizens of MA. He splits his time teaching political science at universities in California and Massachusetts. Not sure he's got much to say other than to serve as an example of what not to do.

Bob Dole is 85 and maintains a staff for his very own web page. You can read all about his latest activity on his web page. Forewarned is forearmed: it is pretty dull.

Al Gore has been very busy banging on about all this global climate change stuff after he lost his bid for the presidency (and we all know he didn't really lose, if only Florida would learn to count). He even won the Nobel Prize!

So far John Kerry hasn't done much but it is early days.

And what do you think McCain will be up to next year at this time?

Stereotypes

Before I lived abroad I would have fought passionately against nationalistic stereotypes. Having travelled and lived all over the world means I get to form some fact based opinions about what I have seen. OK, they are still my opinions but they are based on extensive observations.

1. The British drink far more than they should, especially when on holiday. Heck they drink far more than anyone else put together.

2. The Americans are the loudest and most uninformed and insensitive about the local culture. They wear white trainers (tennis shoes) everywhere they go.

3. The Germans really need to give up the sun beds. The fake tans are not attractive. And the whole notion of getting up insanely early in the morning to reserve a deck chair next to the pool for the entire day whether they use it or not really pisses me off. And no one looks good in mustard coloured suits.

4. The French are always over dressed. Or maybe I'm just always under dressed. I'm just jealous because their women always look so dang sexy and elegant. Unless they are under the age of 20 in which case they are woefully under dressed for doing anything other than taking out the rubbish. Where do those youngsters get all those scarves?

5. What do the Japanese do with all those photographs and why must they travel in large groups of at least 50? And why stop in the middle of the street to take photographs of STOP signs?

6. The Polish are no longer tourists in England.

7. Mexicans rarely travel to Europe although there were a busload of them on our plane when we flew to America. They were carrying loads of bags from Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Dolce and Gabana, Chanel and assorted status designers. Business south of the border must be good.

8. The Italians are rude and arrogant with an undeserved air of superiority. The men generally frighten men as I am convinced they have xray vision and can see through my clothing. The women wear the biggest sunglasses you have ever seen in your life. They look like bugs, with very long dark silky hair. No kidding.

9. The Spanish never come to England. Why would they? They have sun. We don't. I'm not sure when they eat when travelling as most civilised restaurants close by 10 pm which is when the Spanish typically eat dinner. They must be the only culture to lose weight on holiday.

10. Canadians always end their statements like a question. I can only conclude they are incredibly insecure. They hate people thinking they are Americans and can become rather belligerent when innocently mistaken as one.

I'm sure more will occur to me but as we are nearing the end of tourist season in Windsor and the end of the holiday season I hope to have a break from them for a while.

911

Marc & I had spent early September visiting my family in Colorado and Missouri. Sebastian was 3 months old. Tyson had just gotten married and we had flown to Colorado for his wedding. then we drove with Nanny across the plains for 14 hours (stopping to breastfeed every 3 hours) to my fathers home in Ford City, Missouri.

This was the first time my father and the father of my child had really gotten to know each other. This was the first time Marc had really seen the heartland of the USA. We had glorious weather for the entire trip and we had such a fabulous time. I felt like a real grown up: a mother with her very own family.

We were flying out of Kansas City airport to Chicago to get a connecting flight to London on 9 September. Dad & Elaine dropped us and our not inconsiderable load of luggage off at the airport in plenty of time. We weren't the seasoned traveler's (with children) that we are now. Much to our dismay, the flight was significantly delayed (over 4 hours) due to bad weather in Chicago. No planes were where they needed to be.

Our plane eventually took off and we knew there was a distinct possibility that we would miss our plane in Chicago. This was not good for several reasons. 1) We would have to stay in Chicago overnight. 2) We did not have a enough nappies for Sebastian for that long and would have to find nappies in Chicago near the airport late in the evening. 3) Marc was meant to fly to Princeton, New Jersey on 12 September for business. We had one set of luggage and Marc has one suit (which was in the set of luggage) and when you miss connecting flights your luggage tends to go missing, at least for a couple of days. This would make that turnaround VERY difficult. Little did we know how insignificant these inconveniences would become.

We disembarked at Chicago O'Hare and ran like crazed parents across down the concourse to the international departure terminal. Miraculously, the plane was just pulling away. Ridiculously, because they had just closed the door they could not let us board.

We stood there inches away from the plane with a small baby. Due to my possession of a platinum frequent flyer card (which I was waving around like a mad woman), United Airlines found us some nappies and put us up in a hotel at the airport. We inquired as to the location of our luggage and no one could tell us where it was but assured us that it would be on our flight with us the next day. We were booked on the first flight to London (United had 3 flights/day at that time) the next day!

We were tired and hungry and grumpy. We went to the hotel, checked in, gave Sebastian a feed and relaxed in the hotel restaurant having a couple drinks and some dinner.

The morning of 10 September was a beautiful day. Chicago is one of my favourite cities and Marc had never been there. We took the L train into the city and rode around on the upper deck of a double decker tour bus. We grabbed some quick lunch and headed off back to the airport. We checked in with time to spare and boarded our flight uneventfully checking and double checking with the airline agent that our luggage was definitely on this flight.

We landed at Heathrow airport in London at 6:05 am on the morning of 11 September. We went through immigration, entered the baggage hall and waited. And waited. And waited. After 50 minutes of waiting and a crotchety baby beginning to wail, I approached the desk to inquire after our luggage. They explained that our luggage was still on the ground at O'Hare and had in fact never been loaded on to our aircraft. Since the last flight to London had already left Chicago the earliest we would be reunited with our luggage would be the next day (12 September).

I was furious. I had checked and double checked with the airline staff that our luggage was in fact on the same plane we were. They had assured and reassured me that it was. Now I know they were lying to me, just saying what they needed to say to get me off their desk.

We went home and showered and tried to figure out how we were going to repack for Marc's trip the next day to NJ. We called a friend who had a spare suitcase. We found a couple pairs of underpants in the back of the drawer. We cobbled together some bits and pieces he could wear. And of course, he was going to have to find some time to go shopping (or do laundry whilst there).

Just before 2 pm (GMT) we loaded Sebastian and ourselves into the car and drove over to the doctor's office where Sebastian was scheduled to get the first of his immunizations. I was nervous like any other first time mum. As we were parking a news announcement was made that a plane had flown into the World Trade Centre. I made a comment to Marc that some air traffic controller would lose his job but that it wouldn't be serious because they had designed the WTC to withstand a plane flying into it.

Sebastian got his jabs and we got back into the car. The airwaves were awash with the fact that another plane had crashed into the other tower. I looked at Marc and said "Oh my god, someone is attacking America."

When we got to the house I ran in and turned on the TV. It was at this moment that we realised we no longer had CNN on our cable and I was so frustrated I could just scream. I tried frantically to ring my family who knew that our flight had been delayed but did not know that we had arrived safely. I didn't want to wake them with the time difference and all.

The phone lines were jammed and I couldn't get through.

And then I began to cry. And then the tower collapsed LIVE on television in front of my very eyes. My neighbour, Karen, came over and I collapsed. I had never felt so far away from home in my life.

Marc and I had been to NYC a couple times before we had children. I was working for JP Morgan in Manhattan and Marc would have occasion to go to NJ for the company he worked for at the time. He would come into the city to come out and play with me. We always had so much fun together. On one of our sight seeing trips Marc had suggested we go up to the top of the WTC. I had done that on my first trip to NYC (with my friend, Kerry) and told Marc that I much preferred the view from the top of the Empire State Building and that we should do that instead. He didn't argue, for once.

My perspective of the horrible events of that day and how it has changed the world around me is very different from that of my friends and family. I was not subjected to the constant news coverage of the USA 24x7 news programmes. I was adequately informed on the nightly news and when I read papers or news online. I have watched the aftermath of the war on terror through the eyes of the foreign press and Europeans which are far more critical of the Bush administration and their actions, particularly in Iraq. My opinions are shaped by being an expatriate rather than a resident.

I know that American culture has changed dramatically since that day. I feel it when I visit. I am not a part of that cultural shift. It's almost as if a bit of America's optimism is gone or maybe just shadowed. I know what America used to be but I'm not sure what it is now. It breaks my heart.

First Day Back to School

Yesterday was the first day back to school. It was a big transition day for everyone involved.

Abigail started full days. She arrives at school at 8:10 am and doesn't come home until 3:30 pm. Some days she won't come home until 4 or 4:15 due to school activities. She eats lunch in the dining hall and is responsible for filling and carrying her own plate. She is responsible for undressing and dressing herself for school activities like swimming and gym. She was excited and I was anxiety ridden. I am sure she didn't give me a second thought whilst I managed to work yesterday with my stomach of knots.

Sebastian transitioned to Middle School which means he has to wear a tie and carry bags which weigh more and are bigger than him. He started his violin lessons and assumed an air of confidence.

Both arrived home last night full of stories about their day. They were so excited as they slip that little further away from us. I am so proud of what we have accomplished!

Failure

I read an excellent article in O Magazine the other day about the possibility and associated fear of failure. It talked about how failure is the best teacher and we should embrace it.

That ain't a lesson I get too easily.

I hate failure. I hate not being perfect. Although it doesn't happen often (LOL), less than spectacular always befuddles me.

Which means I spend a lot of time befuddled.

But here was this article telling me I needed to take more risks and embrace the failure that inevitably follows doing something you've never done before. The lessons I would learn would make me more resilient, more knowledgeable, stronger. In short it would make me a better person.

I disagree. I say I would learn that failure doesn't feel good. It would damage my confidence and my self esteem causing me to doubt myself even more. I don't stand up and brush myself off very well. I like to wallow for a bit. And no one wants to wallow.

Not right now, I say. I'll keep doing what I'm assured I can do until I feel I can handle the setback, thank you very much.

Mean Moms

Stolen from my sister's blog who stole it from another blog......do not know who wrote it originally.....wish I did!


Mean Moms


Someday when my children are old enough to
Understand the logic that motivates a parent,
I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:

I loved you enough to ask where you were going, with whom,
And what time you would be home.

I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new best friend was a creep.

I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.

I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my eyes.
Children must learn that their parents aren't perfect.

I loved you enough to let you assume
The responsibility for your actions even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.

But most of all, I loved you enough to say NO when I knew you would hate me for it.
Those were the most difficult battles of all.
I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too.
And someday when your children are old enough
To understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them.

Was your Mom mean?

I know mine was.

We had the meanest mother in the whole world!

While other kids ate candy for breakfast,we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.

When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch,we had to eat sandwiches.

And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had, too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times.
You'd think we were convicts in a prison.
She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing with them.
She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.
We were ashamed to admit it,but she had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work.
We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash and all sorts of cruel jobs.
I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.
She always insisted on us telling the truth,the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds and had eyes in the back of her head.

Then, life was really tough!

Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up.
They had to come up to the door so she could meet them.
While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.

Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced.
None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's property or ever arrested for any crime.
It was all her fault.

Now that we have left home,we are all educated, honest adults.
We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was.

I think that is what's wrong with the world today.
It just doesn't have enough mean moms!

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I've had this book for a while and it was in my read soon pile but every time I found it at the top the teeny tiny print on the pages scared the living daylights out of me and I moved it to the bottom. After reading yet another article about what an amazing book it was, I dove in and have never regretted for a moment taking that leap.

The book is set in Nigeria during the 1960s to early 1970 when the locals rose up and fought the Nigerian military in what is now referred to as the Biafran War. The book begins by painting as exquisite picture of the life of ordinary, middle class citizens living a peaceful and comfortable life. They are well educated, well travelled, and well off.

There is no one main character although the story does revolve around the lives of the people associated with 2 twin sisters, Olanna and Kaneine. Ugwu is a boy from village who is fortunate enough to find a job as a houseboy with a university lecturer, Odenigbo, who also happens to be Olanna's lover. Richard is an English expatriate captivated by Kaneine but hypnotised by Olanna.

As Biafra declares independence from Nigeria, their normal lives descend into chaos: starvation, bearing witness to murders, rape, torture, the selfishness and selflessness of war time.

They all love. They all hurt the ones they love. They are all just struggling to survive that minute with a shred of dignity.

I knew nothing, absolutely nothing about the Biafran Wars before I started this book and at first it was hard to remember the African names. But the style of Adichie's writing is straight forward and blunt. Her descriptions are not melodramatic or over the top. I had the most vicious visions of the events and characters.

The story is heartbreaking and I can't even now bear to write about the ending (besides I wouldn't give it away)! It's not what you think it might be. But then nothing in this book is as you think it might be. Not unlike The Kite Runner.

Highly recommended. (433 pages)

Ten Thousand Miles Without a Cloud by Sun Shuyun

This piece of non-fiction was the May/June book group selection. It details the trip Sun Shuyun takes in the footsteps of the ancient Buddhist monk, Xaunzang. It's taken me quite a while to write this review only because the book bored me and my review bored me so I put it off.....very unlike me!

Xuanzang is a legendary figure in Chinese culture. As a Buddhist monk he travelled from China all through India and back to find the true Buddhism sometime during 600 AD. It was an epic journey full of surprises and danger. I loved the book when it was talking about Xuanzang's adeventures.

Many of the places that Xuanzang visited along the Silk Road, however, could not be visited during Shuyun's return visit due to political unrest and there were entire chapters dedicated to her standing in museums looking at items that may or may not have been viewed by Xaunzang. Many of the places have been destroyed by treasure hunters and colonists including but certainly not limited to the British and the Germans. What annoyed me most is that she seemed to want to make herself out to be a modern day Xuanzang. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Sun Shuyun escaped from China during the cultural revolution and later attended Oxford University in London. She was deeply influenced by her grandmother with whom she shared not only a room but also a bed. Part of the trip is a quest to find the meaning behind her grandmother's forbidden Buddhist prayers. I found it contrived and not at all insightful.

To top it all off, absolutely no one in the book group read the book except me. Quite frankly I would have preferred to spend my previous reading time on another more worthy choice.

Electricity Usage

In my never ending quest to ensure that I limit the impact my family has on the planet (and reduce our household costs), we've recently installed an electricity meter. It gives us instant feedback on how much electricity we are using in 6 second intervals. We can see exactly how much it costs to turn on the lights, run the tumble dryer, boil the kettle for a cuppa or toast a few slices of bread. You can get the feedback in kilowatts, how much CO2 is being released or based on your electricity tariff, how much per hour it is costing.


We have now become obsessed with it. Sebastian has pointed out that it costs about 2p to make toast in the morning. It appears the toaster is the most expensive piece of kit we have in the house. It has also armed me with a pretty good argument back to Marc about why line drying clothes is a much better idea than using the tumble dryer regardless of how much he hates stiff clothing. I am now super careful about how much water I put in the kettle. It's quite handy for using it to tell us when a light has been left on somewhere in the house.


What is astonishing is how much it costs us to sleep. There are certain things in the house, like the refrigerator and the freezer which don't ever get turned off. They cost us about 4.5p/hour all night long.


And it costs us about .5p/hour to read in bed before I go to sleep. Maybe we should get us some candles. Or not take the meter to bed with us.

Eye Sight

The other evening I was trying to thread a needle. (See previous post about Name Tags.)


I realised I couldn't see to thread the needle.


I had a major attack of mortality.


I first noticed this back when I travelled to Toronto and I was trying to read a book in bed and felt like I couldn't see the words exactly. I blamed the book. I bought some of those silly reading glasses but never wore them hoping the problem would just go away.


I think it has gotten worse. I finally put off the inevitable and scheduled an eye test.


It's official. My eye sight is worse than it was a year ago. First time in 17 years. Not exactly worse; my short sightedness is better but my long sightedness is way way worse. The eye doctor kept saying really annoying things like "When you are over 40, these things start to happen....blah blah blah!" Hey, when did that happen? Oh, yeah, like 4 years ago......

I have no wordered myself a pair of bifocals. I hear the technology is much better than it used to be and no one will know I am wearing bifocals unless I tell them (which I just did I guess). I'm horrified.

I am getting older. Dang, I thought I might sneak through to immortality. Must add that to my To Do List.

Name Tags

It's that time of year again. I spend every spare moment in the evening sewing names tags on the various pieces of uniform for the children to start school. I have to sew names tags on everything including each sock and their underpants.

Sebastian has quite a bit of new kit as his uniform changes slightly and his games kit grew enormously so this is no small task. As always, I have to shorten his trousers. Abigail's uniform stays mostly the same so I've just got to do what I replaced due to wear or growth.

I've finished with everything; just have some underpants and socks to finish off.

My fingers hurt.

Tying Lessons

Neither of my children can tie their shoes. Mainly because neither of them own or have ever owned a pair of shoes which require tying. They all have velcro. I realise at some point this will require some lessons but for now I am skipping those.

However, last night my husband taught my son how to tie a tie. As Sebastian moves into the middle school this September his uniform includes a tie. And here in England there is no such thing as snap on ties. Believe me if that was an option I would have gone for it.

The first couple of goes were a complete catastrophe and I had visions of him strangling himself. But after a few frustrating attempts he started to get it. Then they even started looking right. then both ends were the same length and voila - my son can now tie a tie.

How strange it is that my son can tie a tie but not his shoes.

Playing for Pizza by John Grisham

This is pure brain candy. The last couple books I've read have been heavy, thought provoking and intellectual stimulating. My brain needed a rest.

So I picked up the latest John Grisham in the Chicago airport.

This was not the typical run of the mill courtroom thriller we've come to know and predict from most Grisham novels. This is about a third rate professional football (American style) player who after getting cut (again) by his latest team takes off for an "off-off Broadway" league in Italy.

What irks me about this book is that is too is predictable. It seems to me that Grisham is incapable of coming up with anything that surprises his readers. His characters are caricatures and boring.

I'm boared with Grisham. Again.

Margarine

I've been looking for this information and was relieved when one of my friends sent it to me via email. give up the margarine. Switch to butter!

Margarine was originally manufactured to fatten turkeys. When it killed the turkeys, the people who had put all the money into the research wanted a payback so they put their heads together to figure out what to do with this product to get their money back. It was a white substance with no food appeal so they added the yellow colouring and sold it to people to use in place of butter.

Do you know the difference between margarine and butter?

Both have the same amount of calories.

Butter is slightly higher in saturated fats at 8 grams compared to 5 grams.

Eating margarine can increase heart disease in women by 53% over eating the same amount of butter, according to a Harvard Medical Study.

Eating butter increases the absorption of many other nutrients in other foods.

Butter has many nutritional benefits where margarine has a few only because they are added!

Butter tastes much better than margarine and it can enhance the flavours of other foods.

Butter has been around for centuries where margarine has been around for less than 100 years.

And now, for Margarine..

Very high in Trans fatty acids.

Triple risk of coronary heart disease.
Increases total cholesterol and LDL (this is the bad cholesterol) and lowers HDL cholesterol, (the good cholesterol)

Increases the risk of cancers up to five fold.
Lowers quality of breast milk.
Decreases immune response.
Decreases insulin response.

And here's the most disturbing fact
Margarine is but ONE MOLECULE away from being PLASTIC..

Blakeney Point Seals

We have now returned from our final leg of our summer holidays. Our camping trip to Burnham Deepdale in Norfolk was a bit rainy but enjoyable nonetheless.

The highlight the week was our boat trip out to Blakeney Point to view the seals. They have both Grey and Common seals, hundreds of them. The Commons have just had their pups and the Greys are just arriving for the winter. We could not walk around the peninsula for fear of disturbing them but we got plenty close. What cute little faces!

Colorado Camping

We Are Family

On the last Sunday of July every year you can find the Carson's in Oakland, Nebraska for our family reunion. This year was no different except that we added a Hot Dog Extravaganza on the Saturday at Janell and Randy's place.

There were horses to ride, water to swim in, people to visit with and as always, food to eat. Lots of food to eat. The best food you've ever tasted.

We had one rodeo but no one was seriously injured. Trevor even got back up and on a horse (not the same horse but, hey, that's ok)!

Horsing Around

Once we got back from St Louis but before we set off for Nebraska we had a few days just horsing around (thank god for that!).

Major Milestone

Whilst we were away Sebastian achieved a major milestone: he lost his first tooth. Apparently the American tooth fairy is impervious to the subprime mortgage crisis, the rising cost of gas at the petrol station, and the spiralling cost of living because she left $5 (greenbacks).

Just for the record, he pulled the tooth out himself without any parental intervention. Somehow I believe he starts as he means to go on. I look at my little boy's awkward toothy grin and know he is quickly becoming not such a little boy. He will lose the rest of his teeth and with them his innocence. I am acutely aware that the time when he crawls up into my lap will end in the not so distant future and pass into a vague memory. I am aware that he will shortly no longer need me as much as he does today. My heart breaks and sings at the same time.

Diet Progress

I went on a diet holiday whilst I was on my USA holiday. I ate for England and enjoyed every minute of it. I said yes to every piece of pie that was offered and then some!

I was dreading putting myself back on the scales but knew that I had to. I've got a race to run in September! And I was still a ways off my goal weight. I am not giving up.

I was very pleased to find that I'd only put on 5 pounds and have already lost 2 of those. I'm only 3 pounds away from where I was before I left. Hurrah!

Soon I might be able to fit into all those clothes I bought when I was there!

Meet Me in St Louis

After spending Sunday enjoying the farm and the various farm implements (ATV, mowers, large bugs the size of small planets) we enjoyed lunch at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception with my Dad and Elaine (where they both work). That evening we had the fear of god instilled in us when the emergency weather warning radio went off. In this neck of the woods sever weather can kill. It looked ok to us outside but we knew it was only a matter of time. Sure enough the thunderstorms and lightning rolled in and we watched in awe.

We set off from my dad's place to head east 300 or so miles to St Louis, Missouri early the next morning. As we drove across Missouri I was struck by how many influential Americans hail from this hot humid hell (which is strange to consider and you'll know what I mean if you've ever been to Missouri).

Walt Disney modelled Main Street America at Disneyland on Main Street in Marcelline, Missouri. Mark Twain is from Hannibal, Missouri and his stories are set in many of the places we drove through. Harry S Truman was born in Lamar, Missouri.

The route we took wasn't exactly direct as my husband was driving and my father was navigating. Neither of them are particularly efficient at either task. I had to put my foot down and insist on lunch for the children at 2 pm.

We walked round Union Station in downtown St Louis. It was amazing to consider the history of this place. St Louis was the Gateway to the West. Lewis and Clark started their expedition of the west from here. All railway lines came together here to take off to their final destination. It was the last bastion of civilization. St Louis went down hill after the Great Depression and has only recently recovered. We witnessed one act of thievery in the mall when a boy stole a pair of sneakers from the local Foot Locker.

We then had to find a motel room (or two). Downtown St Louis was full. We headed across the Mississippi to Illinois. We drove through a rather scary neighbourhood of crack dealers and whores with me in the back seat screaming we were going to be car jacked and Marc cutting across lanes of oncoming traffic no realising he was on a one-way street and therefore nearly getting us all killed. But hey, that's what travels are about.

The next morning we had a quizzical encounter with a young lady who claimed to be Teen Miss Nebraska US United, whoever that is. She requested a photo session with our gorgeous little Abigail for a reason indeterminate. We obliged and then headed for the Arch taking care to avoid the drug district.

It was a beautiful day. The ride up the Arch was a wee bit scary. The view was stunning. The ride down was much quicker than the ride up. The history museum was fascinating. The shop was brilliant.

We then headed to Grant's Farm. This place is owned and operated by the Anheiser Busch family who makes Budweiser. We had a fabulous day with highlights including feeding the baby goats, drinking free beer samples, and getting up close to the famed Clydesdales.

The long drive home was made a wee bit shorter when we stopped at The Pear Tree in Bevier, Missouri. If you are ever in the area (which I sincerely doubt you will be) you must stop in. We had the best steaks ever and a great time (right up to the point I dropped the sour cream and it spread all over the table and very nearly all over my father). Be warned prices are a bit high for the area and whilst the onion rings are good they aren't $8 good.

Photos of all activities follow! Lots of photos!

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan

McEwan is one of my favourite authors. He wrote Atonement which is a divine read (and oh so much better than the film) and Saturday is such a surprising criticism of the culture in which we live but it comes out of left field and you are left questioning everything you are and value. these are both some of his recent novels. I've also read The Cement Garden which scared the living daylights out of me and I couldn't bring myself to finish it I was so freaked out. It's the same experience I've had with Philip Roth who has written one of my all time favourite books, Everyman (which if you haven't read you must), but whose novel, The Plot Against America, I have never been able to force myself to finish. It sits next to my bed, half read, haunting me with my failure.

McEwan's style is understated and sublime. His mastery and use of descriptive language is captivating and inspiring. The first 4 pages of this novel will absolutely take your breath away.


Florence and Edward are newlyweds on their honeymoon. They are trapped in the confines of social convention of the 1950s and having never honestly communicated with each other find it difficult to start on this night of high expectations. They are ill prepared for a lifetime together when they have not spent an intimate moment together prior to their marriage.

Little else happens. But that is precisely what takes your breath away. The language is exquisite and McEwan is able to perfectly paint a verbal picture with excruciating detail. Your heart breaks for Edward whilst sympathising for the impossible situation Florence finds herself in. I love the way the book ends.

Read this book.

Down on the Farm

The first few days we spent at my Dad's home in Missouri were packed with farm filled activities. Sebastian was gutted when he heard Popa had gotten rid of the goats but there was no shortage of fun. The funniest was when Sebastian got dumped off when he tried to ride Dilly. He had a nasty bruise for a few days. We had consecutive nights of severe thunderstorm warnings which brought amazing clouds but just a bit of rain. The weather was hot and humid. Best that can be expected in Missouri in July!

Travel Day

On Saturday we left the house at an ungodly hour and headed for the hell that is Heathrow Airport with an extremely patient taxi driver at the wheel. We had some last minute shopping to do so he drove us around until we found a 24 hour petrol station which stocked what we needed.

Check-in was a piece of cake, as long as you don't mind standing in a queue for 30 minutes for the airlines to dispatch adequate staff to check-in luggage. So was breakfast, if you don't count that my husband threw away my half drank Starbucks coffee which was my very first one since the start of my diet back in March. He almost didn't get to go on the trip with us and I warned him to not be quite so zealous about tidying up. That must have been a first.

Our seats weren't together so I had Sebastian and Marc had Abigail in the row behind us. Sebastian fell asleep not long after dinner. Abigail did give Marc a bit of a rest but she was so excited she was literally bouncing. Glad I wasn't in that row.

Connecting at Chicago wasn't without its usual stresses. First off we realised that our flight was delayed by 50 minutes although at the time we didn't know why. We needed to take a train between terminals and just as one arrived, Abigail announced she needed to wee. Seb and I got on one and Marc took Abigail to the toilet.

Then as I was passing through security, the alarm went off. I knew it was the underwire in my bra. It always is. I was told I needed to pass my passports and boarding cards to my husband who was trying to corrals our carry on luggage and our children and our shoes whilst I waited for that ever elusive female security guard to pat me down. I handed these to Abigail with clear instructions to her to hand them to Daddy. Naive of me, yes.

The female guard finally appeared and confirmed that my bra had some serious metal in it but nothing that could be used to commit an act of terror, thank goodness. I went and helped Marc to pick up our bits and bobs. and we made our way to the gate for the next leg of the journey. As we sat down I asked Marc where he put the boarding cards. He looked at me blankly. I looked at Abigail. I panicked.

I went running back to the security station. We turned that place upside down and couldn't find our passports or boarding cards. I went back to our gate and started unpacking our carry-on. Lo and behold in the front pocket of a backpack, there they were. We have no idea who put them there. Abigail says she gave it all to a man. Someone was watching over us and being extremely helpful which just never happens at Chicago O'Hare Airport.

I called my Dad once my blood pressure had returned to normal to let him know we were going to be a bit behind schedule. He then informed me our delay was probably because a place had skid off the runway at O'Hare earlier in the day so he thought we might be a bit delayed.

Back up went the blood pressure. I headed for Starbucks.

Once in Kansas city, the humidity (90%) and the heat (100 F) hit us like a brick wall. We boarded a bus to go to get our hire (rental) car. Once we had confirmed that the air conditioning was operating at deep freeze we set off for the final leg of our journey.

What the children hadn't realised was that our final destination was still a couple hours away and every 5 minutes the are we there yet chorus would crescendo. As we turned on to State Highway V, I informed the children that after a taxi-plane-train-plane-bus-car journey we were nearing Popa and Gramma E's home. We came up over the last hill and we could see the big red barn.

Now Abigail and Sebastian (and I) were bouncing. We had arrived! Finally.

Football Camp

My son does ballet and my daughter does football (aka soccer in some remote regions of the world). I should say my daughter thought doing football would be a great idea but when it came down to the practicality of it all I think there was just too much physical activity what with all that running around. She must have decided that since she couldn't carry her hand bag so she would just look great standing about which she did a lot of. She still got a medal and a certificate. Must be for attendance. Oh no, that can't be it either since she threw several tantrums and didn't go to one. Whatever!