"Tomato, To-mah-to" - The Adventures of an American Girl in England

An old curiosity: Discovering Dickens

2012-02-03T09:30:00.000Z

Charles Dickens
(7 February 1812-9 June 1870)

“I cannot tell what the dickens his name is!” Merry Wives of Windsor, III.ii.

The strongest recollection I have of studying Charles Dickens at school is the fact, shared by our battle-weary English teacher, that this revered, serialised, Victorian writer was paid by the word. This, she added, was the reason his novels were so lengthy and exhausting. From that moment, my admiration was tempered with more than a little resentment.

My resentment has cooled over the years, and due to some recent discoveries, my view of Dickens, whose bicentenary is being celebrated this month, has shifted considerably. I have found that there is much to admire about Dickens, beyond his being the hand that penned A Christmas Carol and Great Expectations.

Dickens was a great lover of Shakespeare. And, like so many tourists and literary lovers today, Dickens first came to Warwickshire (in 1838) in search of Shakespeare. For Dickens, Shakespeare was “the great master who knew everything,” whose plays were “an unspeakable source of delight.” Dickens’s novels are full of quotations, references and allusions to Shakespeare.

Dickens’s appreciation of Shakespeare went well beyond the page, however. In 1848, Dickens busied himself with the London Shakespeare Committee – a group instrumental in the purchase of Shakespeare’s birthplace in Stratford-upon-Avon. Almost unimaginably, the Shakespeare family homestead was put up for sale in 1847 for the sum of £3000 - a princely amount that would have the spending worth of over £300,000.00 today. This priceless property caught the eye of American entrepreneur and showman, P.T. Barnum, who had serious intentions of buying the property – and having it shipped to the United States. Dickens and his chums rallied the great and good of Victorian society to keep Shakespeare’s birthplace as a national treasure in Warwickshire.

Dickens' letter from the Shakespeare Archive.
Reproduced with permission from the Shakespeare
Birthplace Trust

The Library and Archive that Dickens helped to establish holds a number of items revealing his lifelong dedication to Shakespeare. One is a poster for an amateur production of Ben Jonson’s comedy, Every Man in His Humour, presented at the Theatre Royal Haymarket in London, in May 1848. The play was produced in aid of endowing a perpetual curatorship for the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust collection. Dickens directed and stage-managed the production.

The other is a letter, dated April 1864, bound in a collection of The Letters of the Shakespeare Tercentenary Committee, 1863-1864.

This bound volume is a virtual Who’s Who of Victorian leading lights united in the Shakespeare cause. Dickens’s note, written in a florid and spirally hand, is in reply to an invitation to attend a banquet in Stratford-upon-Avon. The committee, having accomplished their great mission, was celebrating its remarkable success. Dickens was unable to attend, but his dedication to the committee and its efforts was undeniable.

As a Shakespeare scholar who has virtually worn a path down Henley Street to the Library and Archive at the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, I cannot imagine life without that wonderful place, and all that it holds and means. I shudder to think it very nearly became a roadside attraction in Idaho! Clearly, I owe Mr. Dickens a debt of thanks.

Roses in December

2012-01-02T11:47:00.002Z

I lost the first day of the brand new year nursing a hangover from Hades. (Created a new cocktail on New Year's Eve: Cosmospolitan martinis + Champagne = A Very Bad Idea) I am ashamed to say that I not only failed to make it -- across the road -- to church (and there were two services on the day), but made no attempt to no serious attempt to reflect upon the 12 months that have past.
(Oh, well, better late than never!)
It has struck me that this indicative of a larger pattern for me -- not the Cosmo-Champy hangover part -- but the seeming and literal lack of time to reflect and observe. This year, especially this past Autumn (Fall) has been a whirlwind of activity. I feel as if I have spent the past 12 months in perpetual motion. It is not surprising, of course, given my relentless quest to "make something happen" for myself here in the UK.
I wouldn't trade my little Warwickshire life, with my beloved DEB for anything! And, I really don't miss New York, or America at all. It is hard to describe what I do miss...
(Warning: Shallow Alert)
I miss the professional clout I had as a Professor at NYU. The respect and credos that went with the job. That utterly smarty-pants, bad-ass attitude that is bestowed upon NYU faculty as they walk through the Washington Square gate.
The hours were long, the work demanding, the pay pathetic. I was alone and lonely. The students were great, but it wasn't enough. I would end each academic year feeling drained and morose. "There has to be more to life than this?" I found myself thinking again and again. So, I walked away. For a new life. Looking back, I could have done a better service to myself by making more of an effort to cultivate job prospects while I was on the other side of the Atlantic. But, you live and learn.
I hope and believe that 2012 will be my "phoenix year". That I will rise brilliantly from the ashes!
It has been that bad to tell the truth, I have landed on my feet, slowly but surely. It's just the "slowly" part I had not banked on. I suppose I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security but the aforementioned 'smarty-pants, bad-ass attitude'. The world would be clambering at my door! Not so.
It has been a real struggle. I have had to learn and master the art of shameless self-promotion. (Not a natural state for me.) And, to accept routine rejection. I have had to be more creative about my career, and accept that my life is now a "portfolio" of gigs, and not a permanent post. I am the servant of many masters, now. That means juggling lots and lots of balls all the time. And that leaves very little time for reflection.
The past year, like most, has been one of highs and lows.

New beginnings...

My lovely friend, Liz, with her dashing new husband, Noel

My friend, Liz, was married in October, and sweet, little church in Warwickshire. It was a blustery, but beautiful day. And the first English wedding I have attended as a married woman. (And, yes, it does make a difference!) I found a gorgeous hat from Next, that was quite the thing! It was such a delight to see Liz, who I have known off and on for years, but only recently have we gotten to know each other as friends. She is such a sweetheart, and her beloved is yet another darling English boy.

And, endings...

Sheila Allen

(22 October 1932 – 13 October 2011)

Sheila Allen was an incredibly gifted actress, and I am honoured to count her as a mentor and friend. Sheila was an early and ongoing champion of my work. She pushed me, and kept me focussed. At my book launch at the RSC in 2006, Sheila, Cicely Berry and my mother were the mighty triumvirate whose support had been indefatigable.
Sheila's funeral precisely the send off she deserved. Lord Melvyn Bragg gave a tearful and heartfelt reading from Shakespeare's Sonnets, and there was not a dry eye in the room. I wept like a baby throughout the service. And, have been so heartbroken at her passing that I have not been able to write about it, until now.
Sheila was an amazing teacher, and she taught at BADA for over 20 years. She was delighted when I joined their ranks this past Autumn. In fact, less than a week before she died, Sheila and I had made a plan to meet for dinner. Due to other obligations, I requested we postpone. I'd give anything to re-live that choice now. (Maybe there's a lesson in that.)
I remember talking to Sheila in New York about leaving NYU, and coming to Britain. Life, she said, like acting, is about being brave and taking risks. After I made the leap, she wrote to congratulate me:

Dearest A., I’m glad you're back from the 'savage lands' of the USA! It's been a long sojourn and I'm sure filled with important, excellent things. Good for your Darling English Boy for winning you back for us! It may take time to adjust, but you belong with us!

Her words continue to inspire and strengthen me.
And so, the year ahead. There's something in the air, and signs all round like my vibrant pink rose bush is still blooming that give me the feeling that this is going to be a year of remarkable possibilities. And, a year of Love, and surprises, like the DEB arriving home on Christmas Eve with a dozen, long-stem red roses.
For all my groggy grumbling, I am truly a lucky girl.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Happy New Year!

2012-01-02T10:33:00.001Z

"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness.
I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art – write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can.

May your coming year be a wonderful thing in which you dream both dangerously and outrageously.

I hope you’ll make something that didn’t exist before you made it, that you will be loved and you will be liked and you will have people to love and to like in return.

And most importantly, because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now – I hope that you will, when you need to be, be wise and that you will always be kind.

And I hope that somewhere in the next year you surprise yourself."

- Neil Gaiman

Advent

2011-12-04T22:55:00.000Z

I'll admit it. I'm a softie, and I love this advert!

Eat. Sleep. Sing.

2011-11-25T12:47:00.003Z

The month of November has dissolved in a haze of train journeys, cough syrup and rehearsals. For the second year running, the DEB and I are participating our village Music Hall, which is great fun, but also a massive undertaking. At this stage in the proceedings, I start to lose the will to live, and begin to question why I have forced myself through this grueling routine.

The major difference in this year’s experience is the fact that I am now more actively employed (yeah!) than I have been in the past, so my energies are occupied across a variety of fronts; and I have far less “recovery” time.

Music Hall is a great joy, I have rediscovered my love of musicals and singing. And, it’s all for a good cause, but my god, the time and commitment it takes! And, I think, the harder we work, the easier it appears to be, which is such a contradiction. On the surface it seems a doddle: two rehearsals a week starting in late September, with a few more sprinkled in as time goes on. But, it truly is an all-consuming endeavour. And, then, the cold kicks in. The Music Hall equivalent of ‘kennel cough’ starts at the end of October, and works its way around the dressing room for the next month.

Both the DEB and I have had thrice recycled version of the “Music Hall Cold” since the beginning of November, and we are still hacking and sneezing as we progress to the last two performances this weekend.

I amazed myself during opening weekend, last weekend. Blurry-eyed and feverish, I rose from my bed for the 8:00 PM call. Somehow, sufficiently doped with cold medicine, I made it through the opening song. Coming off stage, I looked and felt like death. But I pushed through. By the interval, I was spent. “You should go home.” Our director Wendy, advised. “No way!” I said. I’d worked too hard, to just walk away from it now - especially not my solo number, “Adelaide’s Lament” – which is the second act in the second part of the show. “Okay,” she said. “After Adelaide, go home.”

I struggled into my nurse’s uniform and blonde wig, went on stage and gave Adelaide all I had. And, of course, it felt fantastic. I’m sure I sounded like I had a cold, but thankfully, that fits the lyrics of the song. The minute I came off stage, I had a massive coughing fit that nearly caused to retch. All the girls gathered round to pat my back, hold my hand and my hair.

“You need to go home!” my chum Chris, ordered. “I’ll do your line in Les Miz, for you.” When she said those words, something in my performer’s brain snapped to attention. It’s a kind of killer instinct that I used to train my acting students to develop. “No, thank you, I’m going to do it.” I said.

And I did. Immediately after, however, I surreptitiously lost myself in our onstage Victorian crowd, slipped off stage, and ran to the loo to be sick. I came back, and in eased myself back into place to re-join my section of the chorus, without anyone even noticing. My students would be so proud!

It’s a great way to flex ones artistic muscles, but I must say, it does seem that we utterly miss the Autumn altogether. It’s September, and then suddenly, it’s Christmas, with a blur of eating, sleeping and singing in between.

I had actually forgotten that Thanksgiving was this week! My BADA students reminded me in class on Wednesday. That’s how lost/tired/ill I’ve been! But, it has not been a time with some real high points, too.

Last Wednesday, I attended the service to celebrate 400 years of the King James Bible at Westminster Abbey. When I read the dress code details on the invitation, urging all ladies to wear hats, I had very high hopes indeed, and I was not at all disappointed! Her Majesty the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh and the Prince of Wales were all in attendance!

The service was absolutely wonderful. A real Anglican/Episcopalian love fest! Both Archbishops present, with the Archbishop of York reading the Gospel, and the Address being delivered by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams. * SIGH *

We held a smaller, but equally extraordinary celebration the following Sunday here at St. Peter’s with a Choral Evensong using text from the 1611 Book of Common Prayer. Heavenly.

Two more nights of Music Hall, and then, I get my life back. Now that really is something to be thankful for.

Something in the Eyre (More on Darling English Boys)

2011-09-28T10:55:00.001+01:00

In a very early blog posting I posited the idea that the "meeting of minds" is one of the chief pleasures of being involved with a Darling English Boy. Nearly four years on, I still believe this to be true, and recently, I experienced another delightful example.
Last weekend, my DEB and I went to Warwick Arts Centre to see the new film version of Jane Eyre.

Beside the fact that he actually waited to see the film, is the fact that he actually enjoyed the film! And, more importantly, after the film, he had an opinion about it!
We not only had an in-depth discussion about the film, but also about how Jane Eyre, as a novel/story, compares with the works of the other two Brontës: Wuthering Heights and Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
(A friend of mine said on email: "He actually knew that there's more than one Brontë?")
I nearly fell into the road!
To be sure, my DEB is no slouch, he has a university degree; but, it's in science, not literature!
He'd read and learned about the Brontës in school (the same school that Shakespeare attended, in fact!), and it has stayed with him.
There is a great deal of hullabaloo about Education and standards in this country at the moment, with some real crises in basic English and maths. However, it seems to me they were getting it very right not so long ago, if the DEB's generation is anything to go by!

Bits and Pieces

2011-09-28T10:06:00.001+01:00

Dated: 7 Sept 2011

I am sat, on a fast train hurtling headlong from Coventry to London Euston. I’m thrilled, and ever so slightly nervous. This afternoon, I start my new post (also part-time) in the Shakespeare programme at the British American Drama Academy (BADA).

It’s been three very long years, but it seems that finally, my career is on the rise, and I am returning to the classroom, albeit on a less than full-time basis. The three-year hiatus has been good for me in so many ways. A time to write, and more importantly to reflect on what it is I actually want from/for my career.

When I walked away from my full-time, tenure-track faculty position at NYU, three years ago, my friends, family and loved ones, save precious few, called my sanity into question. I had made it, they advised, to the top of my game, I’d grasped the brass ring, joined the ranks of the privileged few – how on earth could I walk away from all that?

Truthfully? Quite easily. My life in NYC was a buffeting stream of extreme highs and gut-wrenching lows. The City that Never Sleeps leaves you drained and exhausted. The collective drive is relentless, and the sleepless nights all the more unbearable when you spend them alone. There is something about “being alone” in the mega-metropolis that is New York, that is a type of ‘aloneness’ like no other. Perhaps, because amid the constant din one can always hear the party you’ve not been invited to happening non-stop somewhere just around the corner.

So, there I was, “at the top of my game”, curled up on the settee in my bijou, shoe-box apartment, with Lucy (God bless her!), Lily, a large bottle of Shiraz, take-away pepperoni pizza and re-runs of “Coupling” on BBC America…

Of course, once I left the halls of academe, I reveled in my new-found wonderful English countryside life, but lost an essential sense of my own identity, as who I “am” has always been so intrinsically tied with what I “do”. As happy, joyous, free, loved and liberated as I have felt in my new life in England, I have simultaneously felt lost and rudderless, without real purpose and direction.

And what a refreshing adventure! For the first time in my life I was “defined” by my relationships as opposed to my achievements or ambitions. I have been forced to create and cobble together a new sort of ‘career’, more or less a “portfolio” of gigs, projects, and one-off assignments, etc. I have had to engage fearlessly in the not-so-fine art of shameless self-promotion and PR, and channeling my inner-American, and “putting myself out there”.

I have re-tooled my cv more times than I can count. I have applied for jobs that would have proved ludicrously poor matches for me – or them. But, we do that, don’t we? You feel desperate, and any job that is vaguely within the realm of possibility looks appealing: “Well, I could do that.” The subtext: if there’s nothing else going. And that is no way to live a life.

And then, there’s the Rejection. And, tons of it. I have been turned down by a myriad of secondary schools, libraries, community colleges and universities. I survived on “bits and pieces” that came my way (Thank heaven for the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, and the RSC!). And, now, I’ve finally got hold of a bigger “bit and piece”. And the “Bits and Pieces” lifestyle suits me fine. As slapdash and haphazard as it has felt, I would not trade a moment of it now.

The only trouble now, what to wear?! A ritual purging two years ago saw me mindlessly throwing much of my professorial “work wear” into the charity bin!

Crafty little sew-and-sew

2011-09-04T15:36:00.000+01:00

"Catching all passions in her craft..." - Shakespeare, "A Lover's Complaint"

Inspiration often comes from the most usual sources. For our joint birthdays this year, the DEB and I decided to take our adorable little camper van for a week-long getaway in Snowdonia (North Wales). In preparation for this trip, we visited a local caravan shop near Coughton Court, as we needed a bit of cabling to connect our awning to the railing on top of the camper van. The actual cabling unit he needed was unavailable, but the shop had the materials needed to create one, the two strips just needed to be stitched together.

Possessing the heart of a would-be-crafter, I stepped forward to save the day by offering to stitch the strips together -- by hand. Upon returning home, I was struck by the heft of the task that lie before me. I weighed the situation, and thought the better of it, it would take me ages to do by hand. The DEB suggested I contact one my WI chums, and make use of their sewing prowess - and a sewing machine.

A great suggestion, but one that left me troubled. I could be a Sewing Goddess too, if I had the right kit! Then, it occurred to me, why don't I have the right kit? Why have I never ever bothered to acquire a sewing machine? I blame the US feminist movement of the late 1980s! There. I've said it.

In those heady university days, at least where I found myself, one kept ones crafty "tendencies" -- we certainly wouldn't have dared to called them "ambitions" -- quietly to oneself. Even before that, I remember how, when I was I high school -- I attended a prestigious girl's prep school academy -- my friends who attended other schools used to joke that St. Mary's was just a "finishing school for future society spouses", and laughed at the way we "Belles" were "forced" to take regular classes on Home Economics and Home Management. However, our school took 'real life' issues as seriously as Latin or Physics. I wasn't thankful at the time, but I am very thankful today.

And now, whaddya know, the whole world is hooked on bake, make and re-make! Everyone's clambering to be crafty! Me, included.

My quest to solve a problem and release my inner sewing diva had begun! After a bit of online research, I went along to the Leamington Spa Sewing Machines Shop, Royal Leamington Spa's own sewing centre. There, inside the lovely bubbly-gum pink storefront, I met Sue Smith, who graciously gave me an afternoon of her time introducing me to wonders of the modern sewing machine. I was petrified, as I panic at very the thought of measurements, measuring, numbers and the like, but Sue was very reassuring, reminding me that I can read. And, if you can read, you can sew!

Sue was staggered by my revelation that my most 'recent' quilting project took me all of five years to complete by hand. (!) "You will be amazed," she said, "at how liberated you will be with a machine." Technology. I felt like a cave dweller, knuckles firmly dragging the ground, being encouraged to come forth into the light...

And the light, at the end of the tunnel, was a JANOME 2200 XT. A very sexy piece of kit, 100% luscious girl gadget (with 22 stitch functions!), perfect for the nervous, sewing machine novice. I rushed home to play with my new toy and instantly fell in love!

By the time the DEB arrived home from work, the awning cable was done and ready to be tested! "Wow!" said the DEB. "Wow!" said the very happy me.

Of course, the awning cable was ridiculously easy to do -- even though it was fiddly and awkward material to work with -- and only took me the best part of 15-20 minutes. By hand, it would have taken me hours. I felt like Hermione Granger with her infinity bag of goodies, what could I not achieve with this machine? I ran up the stairs and tipped out the contents of my sewing basket -- my hoarded stash of beautiful fabrics -- mostly William Morris designs -- that I have collected over the years, with the intention of creating something 'one day'. Maybe now, I'd actually do something! And, of course, the non-existent "wedding quilt" still waiting, after two years, to see the light of day. Maybe now, that too would actually get done.

It's funny, I do know some real quilting purists would never ever use a machine, and see quilting by hand as the only true form of that art. Sorry, sisters, I gotta move on!

Nerd that I am, I felt I needed to arm myself with some knowledge. So, while I was in Oxford recently -- had to go to an Open Day at Magdalen College to meet up with my new chums from BADA (British American Drama Academy, more on them soon!) -- I treated myself to a visit to my favourite Waterstone's bookshop in Oxford's High Street.

The Craft section of this Waterstone's is amazing. I was spoilt for choice, but one title literally jumped off the shelf at me: The Busy Girl's Guide to Sewing: Unlock your inner sewing goddess - projects, advice and inspiration for a creative lifestyle by Carrie Maclennan. Perfect. (I also treated myself to a tiny paperback of The Designs of William Morris *SIGH*)

Carrie Maclennan's book is a godsend! So inspiring. I read it from cover to cover while we were on holiday in Wales, and just couldn't put it down! Surprisingly, Carrie's a novice seamtress, though she's been in the craft industry for years. So her book is written from the refreshing perspective of a novice, who is learning as she goes along, as opposed to that of a smarty-pants know-it-all.

As a result, the whole time we were in Wales I was chomping at the bit to get crafting! Thankfully, North Wales is treasure trove for crafters. While we were in Harlech, I discovered a fantastic little fabric shop called Cae Du Designs. I caught the owner, Dee, just as she was about to close for the day on sunny (yes, sunny!) afternoon after a long-day at the beach. We started chatting, and before we knew it were wading through all her gorgeous fabrics!

I was keen to find material for the languishing wedding quilt. And Dee did not disappoint! After a few hopefuls, Dee struck pure gold. She unearthed the most beautiful silk/cotton fabric called "Bay Trees", which was absolutely perfect in colours of cream, taupe, lavender and sage. *SIGH*

Before the the arrival of the sewing machine, I was dreading the prospect of facing (yet another) hand-sewing project. For me and hand-sewing, simplicity rules: keep it simple with just two different fabrics in a (boring) square block formation.

Well, now that I am all "tooled up", I can be much more adventurous! I went mad and bought as much of the fabric Dee suggested as I could carry! (£18.00 per metre - naughty!) More than I will ever need, but, it was oh, so gorgeous, I will hoard it forever!

While is Wales I also starting building my basic sewing tool box, as recommended by Carrie Maclennan in her book. That's been fun, too. Ebay is an incredible and inexpensive source for wonderfully crafty things like embroidery scissors, tape measures, pins, fabric markers, etc & etc. Now, I just need to time and space to craft...

Isn't strange? Now that my professional life here in the UK is (finally, finally) starting to 'heat up'; I am discovering a completely engaging and all-consuming past time?

Still a winner - Shakespeare and me

2011-09-02T10:03:00.000+01:00

Okay, so I ended up with a dismal showing in the Village Show Fruit, Flower & Veg competition. :(
I did not even place, in a single category. Not one out of four! Oh, well, heigh-ho, there's always next year.

And, it appears that poor ol' Will Shakespeare is being given a bit of a bashing these days too, with the release of yet another (YAWN!) conspiracy theory that "Shakespeare wasn't Shakespeare". I mean, really, why don't these people take up knitting or something! Find a hobby, get a life!

Thankfully, all else seems rosy in Shakespeareland, and my stock as a scholar of said Bard seems to finally (FINALLY, FINALLY!) be on the rise. As I type, I am dashing off to catch a train to London for one of three (!!) upcoming Shakespeare-centred job interviews.

More later, wish me luck!

Just in case, there's always "The Rose Bowl"

2011-08-28T12:32:00.000+01:00

If I don't win a place in today's Flower Competition, I'll take comfort in my recent win in the W.I. Corsage Competition at the coveted silver Rose Bowl, which will remain in my possession for the coming year!

Here's a picture from that competition...

The Rose Bowl and the winning Corsage!

p.s. Wished we lived in time wherein we had more excuses/reasons to wear corsages...*SIGH*

A Day of Reckoning

2011-08-28T12:20:00.001+01:00

Yesterday, The DEB and I rushed home from a fantastic holiday in Snowdonia/North Wales, so that I could meet the submission deadline for the Village Show Flower, Fruit and Veg Competition.
When we arrived home, I held my breath as I opened the patio doors hoping that my roses had flourished.
Sadly, my favourite, cherished cream coloured, David Austin antique rose had a really rough season, and failed to blossom in time. I was crestfallen as I had placed all my hopes that this rose would be as prolific and beautiful this year, as it had been last year.
However, to my great surprise, my pink, David Austin antique rose -- the shrub that has been my greatest gardening challenge, the one that seemed always, always to struggle to survive, and quite frankly, very nearly got the chop last season (!) beamed proudly with a staggering array of beautiful blooms in shades of apricoty, soft pink. Amazing.
(There's a lesson in there, somewhere!)
I was quite literally spoilt for choice with enough blooms to enter into three separate Flower Competition categories:
a.) Single specimen in water b.) garden flower display in vase, and, c.) Three scented flowers, of any variety in water.
I'm most proud of my "garden flower display" which was a lovely (if I may say so myself) arrangement of lilac gladioli, surrounded by hot pink shrub roses (Rosa Complicata) -- another plant in the garden I'd nearly given up on! -- pink wildflowers, pink and red fuschisas, pink antique rose, lavender and sprigs of baby-blue forget-me-nots.
I'm a little worried now that I may have done myself a disservice by placing this arrangement in the "garden flowers in a vase" category and not the "Floral arrangement" category. Well, the competition will be stiff in either so, it probably doesn't matter which one I entered!
At the very least, I think I deserve a ribbon for my dedication. The DEB (bless him!) and I trudged across the village, through the allotments, in the rain, gingerly carrying the arrangements to the Scout Hut, where the competition is being held.
I think we've made a strong showing as a family with my three floral displays, and a display of herbs the DEB has been faithfully growing this summer. I entered a display of his sage, oregano, parsley, mint, rosemary and thyme on his behalf. (What a good little Wifey I am!)
So -- today is the day. The Show just opened at 11:00 AM, and the results are out.
You'd've thought I'd be there, beating down the door. But, alas, no. I'm feeling rather shy...
I'd prefer to sneak in when no one's around to see. Quite unlikely, I think.
Of course, I'd love to place, but really, I'm just proud that I found the courage to actually have a go this year. The phenomenon of the "Village Show" has to be experienced to be fully appreciated.
I'm a real "Jilly Come Lately" to all of this, and there are some very keen gardeners who dedicate themselves to this competition every year.
There's a scene in ITV's wonderful, wonderful drama Downton Abbey -- which thankfully will be returning to our television screens this Autumn!!! And, not a moment too soon!! -- where Maggie Smith's formidable Duchess without question expects to win the annual village rose competition, as she has done every year for as long as anyone could recall! Thankfully, our Village Show is not as fierce as that!

Everything's coming up Roses

2011-08-28T11:26:00.000+01:00

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” – Romeo & Juliet

If procrastination were an art form, my level of genius would rival Mozart. These days, my preferred method of whiling away an hour or two is that most serious, most wonderful, and most British form of procrastination of them all: Gardening.

Of course, pride of place in any English garden belongs irrefutably to the Rose. And, at the moment it seems I do very little else beyond fretting about my roses. With good reason – I am aiming to win a ribbon in this year’s Village Show Flower competition. I was too timid to enter last year, fearing that a novice such as myself would stand no chance in the fray. More fool me, as the blooms in last season’s yield were profuse and of such lovely quality they earned even the praise of my chum and rose expert, Paul Smith, at Charlecote Park.

That lesson being learned, I ‘screwed my courage to the sticking place’, and was determined not to allow the floral opportunity to elude me twice. I tested the waters by entering an arrangement in this year’s W.I. Corsage Competition. The Corsage competition, though smaller in scale than the Village Show, is just as friendly and just as fierce. Perhaps, even a little more so as the coveted Barford W.I. Rose Bowl is at stake. The Rose Bowl remains in the possession of the winner for 12 months - a sterling reminder of the victor’s horticultural achievement. I yelped with glee when I was declared this year’s winner, feeling truly a champion amongst champions.

After such a remarkable success, I felt ready for an even bigger challenge: the Barford Village Show Flower, Fruit, and Vegetable Competition. I was ready, but what about the roses? To my utter dismay, the darling buds of May, June and July had all disappeared without a trace by early August. The prolific flourishes of last year, had given way to a meagre struggle for any colour at all.

I was beside myself, but not alone. Outside the Village Shop, I chanced upon my friend Kate, a stalwart of the annual Flower, Fruit and Veg competition. She and husband, Ian, were off to Scotland, she said. “But, you’ll miss the Village Show!” I gasped in disbelief. She looked forlorn, and replied sadly: “Nothing’s growing like it should.” I knew exactly how she felt. My own holiday plans (or lack of them) have been shaped and altered by many things, but I can honestly say, that roses have never been one of them. Until now.

Since ancient times, roses have enthralled poets and writers (there are at least seventy references to roses in Shakespeare’s works), as well as artists, monarchs, apothecaries, lovers, and, of course, gardeners. The queen of flowers and national emblem of England, roses are as temperamental as they are beautiful. When they are ‘happy’, all is right in the world, and they offer an abundance of flower and fragrance; when they are ‘discontented’ there seems no remedy, and their bare, yellowy, spiky and skeletal appearance seems a harbinger of impending doom. Without a doubt there are few joys more sublime than that of being the possessor and cultivator of a healthy, ‘happy’ rose.

Noting of the hazards of the invasive Wickwar rose (Rosa ‘Wickwar’), Sir Roy Strong once admonished gardeners to “Beware the Rose that will Engulf your Garden”, I think he may have gone one better, and offered would-be green-thumbers more apt advice: “Beware the Rose that will Engulf your Life”!

Post-Script to 'Now Panic and Freak Out'

2011-08-06T10:14:00.000+01:00

As requested, here's a bit more info about HF Holidays.

The official stuff: Voted Best Large Tour Operator - The Guardian Travel Awards 2010.
My two cents/pence: "If I didn't work for them, would I choose to travel with them?" - Yes! In fact, I'm hoping to save up my pennies for a surprise trip for the DEB next year!
I haven't started working with them yet, but so far, HF Holidays seem like a really super company, and I will say they strive to give guests truly remarkable experiences. That is undeniably of utmost importance.
At our training and assessment sessions it was all about 'service, service, service', and making sure everyone on the holiday is happy, comfortable and enjoying their time.
They are also very much about creating a positive environment for 'solo travelers', so that traveling alone doesn't mean 'being alone'. I think that's really, really important. And, very inspired in this day and age.
The holidays are centred on activities, tons of activities, anything you can think of really! Walking, singing, painting, cooking, yoga, tai chi, arts and crafts of every form, music - performing and appreciation, and of course, literary festivals and theatre visits!
Really, you name it, HF Holidays offer it, and if they don't offer it already, they are open to suggestions, if there's enough interest.
What HF Holidays isn't is an 18-30 binge fest in Marjorca! Nothing wrong with that, by the way, for those who are after that sort of thing, of course! Just wanted to be clear about it.

HF Holidays - better altogether

But, saying that, for a certain type of girl, it could be just the ticket, ... and yes, as one reader shared, I have heard the joke/rumour that the 'HF' in HF Holidays stands for "Husband Finding"...

p.p.s. If you do decide to book a holiday with them, please be sure and mention my reference #3076!

Website: HF Holiday - better altogether

No Panic and Freak Out

2011-08-05T11:58:00.000+01:00

My British Red Cross First Aid Certificate has just arrived in the post! I am so very proud! I just hope I never, ever have to make use of the skills and techniques I learned...

I was required to take a day-long course "Emergency First Aid at Work" before I begin my appointment as a Leader with the holiday/tour company HF Holidays.

HF Holidays is a leading holiday company specializing in activities holidays in the UK and abroad. I will be leading on their Shakespeare and other literary tours. It’s a very, very part-time post (read=not a great deal of money), but it’s a super opportunity, with a great organisation, and keeps those teaching muscles toned!

I dreaded the First Aid requirement, as I am utterly squeamish! It’s the thought of puke, more than blood, that makes me anxious. But, our wonderful instructor, Rhiannon, reassured us that if, and when, the time came, our training and sense of duty would kick in!

And, thankfully, of the critical earlier steps in the First Aid process is: “Shout for Help” -- I’ve got that covered!

A few interesting facts I learned while on the course…

6 million days of work are lost in Britain each year due to injury

229 workers were killed at work in the UK in 2007-2008

8 people per day die on British roads

4% of the UK population suffers from Diabetes

Every 6 minutes someone dies of a heart attack in the UK

150,000 people suffer from a stroke in the UK each year

200,000 lives are claimed each year in the UK by heart and circulatory disease

4 people per day die of asthma in the UK

5 million people suffer from asthma in the UK

I must add that a few of my responses during the training were distinctly “American”. When Rhiannon asked if there were any questions, I posed the following: “What happens if you offer someone First Aid, and then months later they try to sue you for hurting them, or for something you didn’t get quite right?”

My question was met with a healthy dose of disbelief and amazement from my fellow trainees (“Who would do that?”); and Rhiannon reassured me by stating that there are rules in place in the UK that protect First Aiders and their attempts to help, since ultimately, we are there trying save someone’s life.

Patchwork passions

2011-08-03T11:50:00.008+01:00

“Anything that’s mended is but patch’d.” – Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

Recently, I finished a patchwork quilt I have been hand-sewing for years. It has been so long, I honestly cannot recall when I first started the project. 2005? 2003? Goodness knows! One thing’s certain - I did not quilt while living in NYC. There are, of course, quilters and knitters in Manhattan; I lived around the corner from a noted “knitting café”. However, NYC failed to inspire the right ‘mood’. I need peace and quiet to spur me on.
Jane Austen is the literary patron saint of quilters. In 1811, she wrote to her sister: "My dear Cassandra, have you remembered to collect pieces for the Patchwork? -- We are now at a standstill." Fortunately, the quilt mentioned was completed, and is now on display at Chawton House, Hampshire. As a fellow needlewoman, I am just as impressed by this creation, as I am by Austen’s literary ones. Jane’s quilt is a complex, diamond-shaped maze of 64 different fabrics. Completed all by hand, without electricity!
By comparison, my efforts seem modest indeed: a simple, two fabric, block patchwork.
Nonetheless, like Austen, I found myself at a standstill. With my D.E.B.’s rellies coming to be our first houseguests, I was desperate for my quilt to be finished in time for their visit. Thankfully, Warwickshire is a craft-lover’s haven, and help was close at hand. Local artisan, Joanna Smith-Ryland came to my rescue, saved my quilt from disaster, and shared with me the story of her passion for patchwork:

How did you come to your art?

JSR: As a child, I was fortunate enough to have a nanny who was a brilliantly creative seamstress. I was always amazed at how she would take bits of fabric and turn them into something that people loved. At boarding school, I found a wonderful tradition of creative sewing in the Art Department. I loved the embroidery techniques we were taught. At 12, I was introduced to Patchwork - herein lay my academic down fall! I became obsessed with creating Patchwork designs on graph paper, carefully cutting each little shape out, tacking the fabric onto the shape and sewing the pieces together. Slowly, this wonderful rainbow of colours and textures would evolve into a new piece of fabric, cushions and quilts appeared at an alarming rate as my schoolwork regressed at an equally alarming rate!
What inspires you?
JSR: My inspiration has always been the beauty of the world around me, so my first three collections reflect nature. “The Garden Collection” is designed in soft pastel colours embroidered with flowers and butterflies, while “The Jewel Collection” has strong, rich colours and semi-precious stones. “The Big Cat Collection” uses silk and soft fur - Tigers and leopards abound!!
What is the greatest challenge in your art?
JSR: My challenge is to let people share my passion by making Patchwork that will become a family treasure and passed on to future generations. Whether it's a cushion, quilt, or tablecloth each piece is bespoke and made in my own workshop - a treasure for you to keep and enjoy.

Passionate about Patchwork, Joanna Smith-Ryland
www.joannasmith-ryland.com

Seaside adventure

2011-07-27T13:40:00.001+01:00

I was commissioned to write a feature on the Whitstable Oyster Festival for Caravan magazine. I was delighted to get the assignment! I grabbed the DEB, my beach hat and my wellies, we jumped into our little Mercedes camper van, and away we went...!!

“The world is mine oyster!” – Shakespeare

There are few pleasures in life better than a lazy, Sunday lunch of fresh seafood and chilled wine at a table by the sea. A pleasure made all the more divine as a capstone to a pleasantly epicurean weekend at the Whitstable Oyster Festival.

The Whitstable Oyster Festival has a remarkable history dating back to Norman times, when hard-working fishermen held an annual ceremony of thanksgiving for their survival and harvest. Today, the people of Whitstable symbolically recreate the ‘Landing of the Oysters’ - the Whitstable Sea Scouts bring oysters ashore for a formal blessing before being presented to the Lord Mayor. The oysters are then distributed to inns and restaurants throughout the town as part of the vibrant Oyster Parade.

The Festival’s positively effervescent atmosphere permeated every corner of this tiny, historic town. And, there was something to appeal to every taste and age. There were tons of activities for families and children; oysters galore (of course!); plus an amazing quayside ‘epicentre’ offering a wide variety of delicacies (with and without seafood), from piping hot paella, and Portuguese sausages, to local hog roasts and Kentish cheese. There was also an array of entertaining and informative cookery demonstrations in the main marquee. Truly, a food-lover’s paradise!

However, oenophiles and ale enthusiasts needn’t have felt left out as there were booths and tastings dedicated to a range of local and international beverages: local ciders, regional wines, as well as master-class tastings of Taittingers champagne – the perfect oyster accompaniment. To the sheer delight of my husband, The Whitstable Brewery ran its own Beer Festival in tandem with the Oyster Festival. Two delights on one beachfront! With a selection of over 30 real ales and beers – and featuring several homegrown brews – The Whitstable Beer Festival was a real hit. These beers were best enjoyed in the sea-salted breeze, with fresh rock oysters, served alfresco on the beach outside the Brewery Bar.

Leaving the driving to public transport, we camped at Bragg’s Lane Farm Caravan and Camping Site outside Herne, about 4 miles from Whitstable. Derek and Doreen Newman’s small, secluded site is a well-kept secret, and perfect for a quiet get-away. Each night, we staggered back to the campsite under a canopy of stars, and could hear the sound of sea birds calling in the distance, reminding us how close we were to the sea. Finding tranquility such as this, on the first weekend of the schools’ holidays, is nothing short of a miracle!

All credit to Derek and Doreen for their superb management of the site. Toilets and showers were always very clean. There’s only one shower cubical per toilet unit, but as this isn’t a huge site there weren’t massive queues, though sometimes there was a bit of a wait in the mornings. There’s plenty of hot water for showers and the washing up station. Local transport is plentiful and reliable, so venturing off to the seaside is a doddle.

We ended our Whitstable adventure at the Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company restaurant, purveyors of the Whitstable Native oysters. Appropriately, we dined on fresh rock oysters and grilled local dabs to start, followed by local sea bass, stuffed and grilled with garlic and rosemary, served with new potatoes, and two fresh salads (green leaves with fine beans; tomato, basil and red onion). Looking out over the sun-drenched sea, sipping chilled rosé and Whitstable Pale Ale on one of summer’s hottest days, we felt replete and slightly decadent - nothing could be finer!

Pictorial Essay -

Whitstable Oyster Festival, 2011

Fresh seafood galore!

Paella on the quayside

Young Festival revelers enjoying the sights and sounds

Landing of the Oysters

The Oystermen

Best seat in the house to view the proceedings on the beach

Oyster Parade in full flow

Oyster Procession through the town

Sea Scouts bearing the oysters

Colorful Whitstable shop

Colorful Whitstable characters

A picture postcard view

Darling Boy in the brisk sea breeze

Stunning view

FURTHER INFORMATION

WHERE TO STAY

Bragg's Lane Farm, Bragg's Lane, Herne Bay  Kent CT6 7NP PRICE: £14.50

Why Stay Here: An idyllically peaceful little site, down a secluded lane outside (about a mile) the village of Herne, with four pubs serving local ales. Lovely rural woodland walks, delightful seaside towns (Herne Bay Whitstable) and the cathedral city of Canterbury all close at hand.

Getting Around: Site in easy accessed from the A29. Excellent regular bus service runs past the site on the main road - the “Triangle” runs between Canterbury, Herne/Herne Bay and Whitstable at regular intervals throughout the day and late evening.

Suitable For: With just 20 touring pitches set on 1 acre, surrounded by fields, this site is perfect for couples and adults looking for a quiet get-away or a tranquil retreat. Great for walkers, ramblers and anyone who enjoys being near the seaside and historic sites.

Special assignment: Horses

2011-07-09T14:17:00.004+01:00

I adore my column in Warwickshire Life magazine! This monthly assignment affords me the opportunity to explore some quintessentially British experiences and write about them. And, recently, the penny finally dropped, and I realised my column is a great means to just having a bit fun!

Red House Proprietress,
Nikki Shakespear

So, I am allowing myself a few English indulgences. This month: Horses. With the goal of uncovering the great British love affair with horses, I had a very nice lunchtime meeting with the Head of the British Horse Society in the Midlands; have a visit scheduled to a Warwickshire-based horse sanctuary; and yesterday, I was treated to a lesson at the Red House Riding School.

And, what an amazing day it was! Tucked snugly between Leamington Spa and Lillington, Red House Riding School, was a bit tricky to find. I trundled through housing estates, disbelieving my iPhone's insistence that I "turn right", but when I did eventually "turn right", the wide open spaces of Red House Riding school opened before me, offering the most unbelievable and
breathtaking views of the Warwickshire countryside.

Between intermittent squalls and dazzling sunshine, I spent a glorious afternoon atop a gorgeous Welsh Section D - Cob called "George". Welsh Section Ds are known for their hardiness and gentle nature, and this sweet chap was like a version of my dearly missed and dearly beloved Lucy, in equine form!

Gorgeous Welsh Cob, George

Having grown up in the country, in the southern part of America, my association with horses -- and proper riding -- have been surprisingly limited. Of course, when I was little, there were obligatory pony rides at state fairs, and magnificent displays of cowboy prowess at rodeos; but the serious pursuit of riding and horsemanship was something different entirely.

My middle sister (9 years my senior) attended boarding school in the heart of very horsey, bluegrass country in Kentucky. There, she excelled and won numerous white ribbons for riding. As riding was "her sport", my interest in that activity remained closeted. I merely wondered at it from afar.

How nice now, to be free from silly constraints and have a go, finally! Interesting, according to Andrea Jackman of the British Horse Society, the fastest growing group amongst riding enthusiasts are the over 40s and beyond! No longer merely the domain of horse-mad adolescents, adult first-timers are making up for missed opportunities, and turning to riding as a delightful means of exercise and recreation.

And, I don't blame them one bit! Although, I woke this morning with a slightly achy lower back, and sore thighs, the experience has left a permanent smile on my face. There is something so soothing, almost mesmerising about being in the company of a horse. Their serene calm and majestic gentleness completely overwhelms your senses.

Rider Rachel & her beautiful chestnut, Prince

As I sat atop George, out in the fresh air, with Warwickshire stretching out beautifully before me in the foreground, all my stresses melted away: The column deadline I'm absolutely frantic to meet; the crazed week I have ahead, with back-to-back Shakespeare lectures Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday - on three different plays! The impossible train journeys I need to make this week to take a group to see Merchant of Venice in Stratford, after a full day lecturing in London! On and on...None of that mattered as I swayed from side-to-side on this magnificent Cob.

Ironically, my wonderful instructor was most aptly named Nikki Shakespear. Nikki is a gem, and takes a caring, friendly approach to teaching riding. I will confess I was very nervous when I arrived at Red House - more anxious about the people, than the horses.

Undoubtedly, there are more than a few preconceptions about riding circles; and (also undoubtedly) in some cases these preconceptions probably ring true. Like many a newcomer, I'd expect, when I arrived at Red House Riding School, I feared that I would be walking into a very exclusive, closed and uninviting club. However, my actual experience there could not have been farther from my expectations!

Having a go!

Everyone at Red House was welcoming, friendly and keen to help and encourage me. Nikki provided all the gear I needed -- and tea and jaffa cakes after! Nikki and her assistant, Mel, were patience and supportive during my lesson. I felt empowered, and not the least bit awkward, uneasy or out of my depth.

They even gave me a few small challenges to complete on my own within a very well-supported context (walk, trot, dismount). In addition, the social side of things is clearly at the heart of this riding school. Everyone was jovial, smiling and laughing as the mucked in, and out, together (quite literally).

Another myth dispelled by my experience yesterday - the cost of learning to ride, at least at Red House Riding School, is not as dear as I'd have thought it would be. Nikki favours Group Lessons over private ones, and offers them for a range of experience levels and age groups. Comraderie and kinship is key to this fellowship of the horse. And, I have to say that yesterday was a truly remarkable day. A highlight of my life here in Warwickshire that I will never forget!

Some days are harder than others...

2011-06-30T14:42:00.001+01:00

There are times -- thankfully few -- when I do get a little down. Today is one of those days. One of those days where it seems the simplest things are insurmountably difficult; inanimate objects and time seem to be conspiring against you; and you end up in the wrong place (or the right place) at wrong time (or day).
I'm having that kind of day.
The kind of day the DEB likes to refer to as instances of "No Help Britain". Basically, something that should be simple isn't, and there seems to be a system in place whereby the red tape is more than six inches thick! And, you waste hours of your life, getting nowhere. I'm having that kind of day.
I've been offered a very nice lecturing gig in London next month, and to do it, I need to register myself as "Self Employed". Not a problem, I thought. I'll just pop on line and do that. Which I did. Only after going online and completing the application do I find that it will take up to 6 weeks (possibly longer, if strike action continues...) for my application for Self-Employed status to be processed.
The school that I'm doing the lecture for want verification of my self-employed status before they authorise payment for my services rendered. So, I phoned HM Revenue & Customs to see what could be done, and got a very friendly assistant called Tina. She promptly explained if I have applied over the phone -- instead of online -- my self-employed status could have been verified straightaway.
I wanted to say to her: "Why, thank you, Tina. That's information I really could have used before I applied online." But, I resisted. It wasn't her fault. However, that doesn't make it any less annoying! On the HM Revenue & Customs website all the information urges you to apply online, even when you phone them, they urge you to pursue your requests online. ARRGH!
Just seems that I keep running into brick walls like this, these days.

How could I forget Glastonbury?!

2011-06-29T17:35:00.001+01:00

Another key fixture of a British summer!
And, this year -- what a year! Beyonce - first woman to headline in the Festival's history!
(Does make you wonder though, Madonna? Siouxie Sioux? Janet Jackson? Tons of other women who could have and should have...no disrespect to Beyonce.)
What really blew me away was the mighty U2 showing their strength and absolute staying power. "In the Name of Love" has to be one of the greatest songs ever.
I was so impressed by U2's remarkable performance, that I have I have been forced to re-evaluate my stance on music from the 80s.

....Is it possible that U2 are in fact the definitive band of that era???

Sunshine on a rainy day

2011-06-29T16:58:00.003+01:00

Between grey skies, sunshine and showers it’s glorious summer in England. Wimbledon. Sun tea. Strawberries. Champers. And, gardening. Doesn’t get much better than this.

Currently prepping for a lecture in London in July, on Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, Richard III and Macbeth. Devils, witches, hunchbacks and murder. Fantastic. stuff. Nice to see the work trickling in - slowly, but surely. At last.

Had a go at making one of the DEB’s all-time favourite summer time puddings (desserts): Eton mess. I was intimidated at first, but by golly! It’s a doddle to make! As my chums at the National Trust would say, it’s definitely a “quick win”!

And, an absolute joy to use fresh mint straight from the garden!

Eton mess

Ingredients

300ml whipping cream

8 x 15g meringue nests

   350g strawberries

   200g raspberries and/or blackberries and/or blueberries

4 tablespoons strawberry jam

Sprigs of Mint

Method

In a mixing bowl, whisk the cream until just peaking. Lightly crumble the meringue nests into the cream and set aside. Wash the strawberries. Reserving four for decoration, hull and roughly chop the remaining ones. Gently fold the crushed meringues, chopped strawberries and jam into the cream. Pile on to serving plates, decorate with reserved strawberries and mint. Serve immediately.

Cook's Tip: This mixture does not keep for long. Do not refrigerate, the meringue will dissolve.

Much Ado About Everything!

2011-06-17T10:02:00.000+01:00

Dear Reader,

This is a cry for help. My life has been hijacked.

My darling mother has come to visit for three weeks and my life is no longer my own.
I love her with all my heart, and I shall weep as I say good bye to her at the airport tomorrow morning, but I shall be thankful to have my life back.

I must keep this short and sweet as I have to dash "Mummy" off to morning coffee at a neighbour(s) -- she makes friends quickly -- and then we're donning hats and headed to the races...

It's been a splendid time, but so much of my daily grind has come to an abrupt halt!

Feeling like Janis

2011-05-13T22:13:00.001+01:00

Janis Joplin was noted for having uttered the infamous quote: “You can never go home.”

(Poor Janis. I always felt so sorry for her. All she ever wanted was to be accepted and loved by the folks in her hometown.)

As the fates would have it, I shall soon discover if Janis’ harrowing words are true. Can one ever, actually “go home”?

Tomorrow, the DEB and I are flying to America. My mother’s 85^th birthday is next weekend, and we are heading to the American South to celebrate with her. Thankfully, we are making the trip in stages, which will help me ease into the complex—and somewhat fraught--environment.

We are landing in Memphis, we’re going to Graceland (!!) and spending a few days soaking of the culture of the Mississippi Delta. The DEB is beside himself with glee, he absolutely cannot wait.

For me, it is more if a love-hate dynamic. (Unlike my feelings for New York which is pure love-love!) There is something remarkable about the South, it is undoubtedly a place full of charm and character; but it is not without its blemishes and limitations. I suppose the same could be said of any place on the planet.

It is not a matter of being ashamed of where I come from – I am not. But, like Janis J., I have often felt odds with me surroundings, out of step with the status quo. So, I understand what she means.

I face tomorrow with an openness, that could lead to hurt; a skepticism that I think most healthy and wise; and ‘devil-may-care’ abandon that has taken me years to cultivate.

Britain is my home. And, I miss it already.

p.s. Whenever we go on holiday, I try and read a book (that I’ve never read before) set in or about the location we are going to be in. For this trip I have selected: True Grit by Charles Portis. And, yes, I did see and loved very much the recent film. We saw it at the Spa Centre in Leamington Spa. The evocative music made me weep, and the story made me proud to be an Arkansas girl. The film touched the South that is in my heart.

One step closer!!!

2011-05-13T22:11:00.000+01:00

I did it!!

I passed the “Life in the UK” Test today!

I am now one step closer to becoming a British citizen .... and have a head filled with a plethora of useless, though very important information!

How British are you?

2011-05-13T22:08:00.001+01:00

Have a go at the “Life in the UK” Test and find out!

Life in the UK Practice Test -

http://www.ukcitizenshiptest.co.uk/

Trivial Pursuits

2011-05-13T22:04:00.001+01:00

The letter, from my friend, actress Sheila Allen, was short and sweet:

Dearest A., I’m glad you're back from the 'savage lands' of the USA! It's been a long sojourn and I'm sure filled with important, excellent things. Good for your Darling English Boy for winning you back for us! It may take time to adjust, but you belong with us!

I hope Sheila’s right. To be sure, my sense of belonging will be put to the test soon enough. In a few months’ time, I shall sit the “Life in the UK Test” to become a full-fledged British citizen.

It is a good thing that I enjoy quizzes!

The “Life in the UK Test” is a compendium of facts and figures meant to edify would-be Brits in the mores, customs, laws and cultures of the UK. In short, it is the ultimate Pub Quiz. To succeed, one must pass the test with a score of 75%.

In my first attempt at the practice test online, I failed, with a of score 43%. Miffed at my result, I enlisted a few bona fide Brits to take the practice test, as well. My DEB fared slightly better, failing the test with a score of 45%. Our young nephew, Harry, aged 16, scored 17%. A family friend, who is a civil servant, trumped us all with a failing score of 55%.

All of this has led me to wonder whether a test such as this is in fact the best means of measuring an outsider’s suitability for British citizenship. Surely, there is more to being designated “British” than the power of recall. For example, memorizing that 1857 was “the year when British women were first able to divorce their husbands”, has very little to do with my day-to-day village life. So, in response, I have created a Citizenship test of my own – for any would-be residents of Barford.

Good luck!

Life in Barford Citizenship Test (Passing score: 75%)

a.) Church Bell Ringers rehearse on which night of the week?

b.) Who is the principal contact person for the Heritage Group?

c.) Barford W.I. meet on what evening?

d.) What year did the new Village Shop open?

e.) How many art galleries are there in Barford?

f.) Who penned the pantomime, “Alassin”?

g.) What is John Murphy’s former profession?

h.) To learn Scottish Dancing, whom should you contact?

i.) Characters from which Shakespeare play are depicted on the Mobile Library van?

j.) At what time is the earliest church service at St. Peter’s Church?

k.) Who were the most recent occupants of “Dragonyard”?

l.) Which Barfordian is known for her fluorescent yellow clothing?

Best dressed wedding guest

2011-05-09T22:34:00.001+01:00

My vote goes to ...

... Joss Stone!

She looked positively lovely, and fresh as a daisy in her two-piece ensemble by Coast!

Her gorgeous straw hat was an inspired choice that set the outfit off perfectly, along with her matching shoes and clutch bag, of course!

Loved her as Anne of Cleves on The Tudors, impressed by her fashion sense, I just may have to download some of her music off iTunes!

Close to home

2011-05-05T16:46:00.000+01:00

My thoughts today are with Our Wonderful Vicar who is presiding over the funeral of James Cooper, one of the two young Britons murdered in Florida.

James Cooper and his family are from Hampton Lucy, a tiny village in our six parish community.

I have no doubt that Our Vicar will do a beautiful job; he has been quite diligent in seeking God’s wisdom and grace for what he should say.

Of course, addressing loss is always a challenging task, however, in extreme circumstances, such as this, it is all the more troubling.

And, of course the media do not make this any easier. Our Vicar has been hounded by local and national media for details. I hope the families have been shielded from this onslaught.

As walked together from Morning Prayer, Our Vicar shared with me a remarkable Prayer that was added to the Book of Common Prayer in 1979 (I think), to address the loss caused by violent death.

This prayer – as I’m sure Our Vicar’s sermon will – addresses quite remarkably not only loss and grief, but touches on the incomprehension, the anger, doubt and disillusionment we can/do/may feel in these circumstances.

Far from ‘airy-fairy’, this beautiful prayer validates the complex of emotions the grieving feel, but also provides a clear direction for moving forward.

After a violent death

God of love,

we thank you that N is in your gentle and loving hands,

far from the cruelty, violence and pain of our world.

When the trouble was near,

we could not understand how you seemed to remain far away.

And yet it is to you we turn;

for in life and death

it is you alone whom we can trust,

and yours alone is the love that holds us fast.

We find it hard to forgive the deed

that has brought us so much grief.

But we know that, if life is soured by bitterness,

an unforgiving spirit brings no peace.

Lord, save us and help us.

Strengthen in us the faith and hope that N

is freed from the past with all its hurt,

and rests for ever in the calm security of your love,

in Jesus Christ our Lord.

The Archbishops' Council of the Church of England

Wasn't it marvelous?

2011-04-30T19:55:00.000+01:00

.... And wasn't she gorgeous? Just lovely...

I loved everything about the Royal Wedding. This girl's got great taste! The dress, her hair, the trees in the Abbey, all just s0 serene, elegant and romantic.
More than anything, I adored her bouquet: Lillies-of-the-valley, Sweet William, Hyacinths and Myrtle.
A whole host of "Fashion" commentators are bemoaning the choice as too "dainty" and "small". I couldn't disagree more!
I think Kate's choice was utterly inspired, understated and elegant. Perfect.
Comparisons are being (rightly, I feel) made to Kate's bridal aesthetic and that of the legendary Grace Kelly.

The count down has begun!

2011-04-28T22:01:00.002+01:00

The Royal Wedding is less than 24 hours away! Where does the time go? And, where, oh where, has the great, warm, sunny weather gone?!
In the midst of last-minute street party planning -- at some point I completely lost my head and seem to have invited half the village to come along! Our small gathering has now blossomed into a massive get-together!
Shakespeare's Birthday Celebrations, postponed from last weekend due to Easter, have been re-scheduled for the day after the Royal Wedding...and just when I think I can't possibly do more...I get an invitation to write a syndicated piece on the Royal Wedding for BlogHer!!
I was staggered, and had less than 24 hours to write it! (Well, less than 5 hours really, factoring in all the hours spent freaking out and procrastinating...)
And, just add to my village life's rich tapestry, the Drama Group have decided they want to an abridged version of A Midsummer Night's Dream for the Village Show this summer. Of course, the first read-thru for casting was scheduled for tonight. So, I spent the evening in two zones, rehearsing in GMT, whilst sweating about meeting my deadline in L.A. I left at the coffee break, and ran home to post my feature.

Take a peek: "Royal Wedding Fever"

By the way, The DEB and I ending up being cast as Oberon and Titania...
Clearly, love is in the air!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Shakespeare!

2011-04-23T12:07:00.001+01:00

The title of my popular, New York University undergraduate seminar, “American Shakespeare”, always raised a few eyebrows. “It’s a survey of Shakespeare in America,” I once explained to a stuffy, Oxbridge colleague. “But,” he sniffed, “Shakespeare was never in America.” “Indeed,” I replied heartily, “but he is very much with us now.”

My seminar examined what Emerson termed the “Shakespearization” of America. I had no idea where this exploration might lead. And, certainly never imagined I would find myself re-discovering Shakespeare in a tiny, fishing village in southern Alaska.

That excursion began with a dare. One day, I sauntered into class with a topic I knew my students would be keen to devour. I’d found details of a production of Othello in Alaska. The play had been adapted into a 19th century, Alaskan context. Othello became a Native Alaskan, instead of a Moor. The goal of this touring show was to facilitate dialogue between Native and non-Native communities.

Can, or should, Shakespeare be used in this way? My students, as always, were hotly divided between the purists and the progressives. Reaching a fevered pitch, they demanded I settle the debate: “Dr. Smith-Howard, you must go there and find out.” They dared, and, off I went.

I wrote the theatre company and asked if I could observe their work. Next thing I knew, I was flying over the Rocky Mountains, to the vast, wild, least populated, and most breathtaking state in the American union.

The experience that followed was an incredibly powerful one, and one that underscores for me the discernable differences in what Shakespeare means today. One facet of Shakespeare’s inheritance is that he has become a trusted brand. His name, image and words are used to market and sell a staggering array of goods around the globe, from the Shakespeare Coffee Company (Bidford-on-Avon), “Hamlet” Cigars, and Austin motor-cars (“Travel…as you like it.”) in Britain, to mentholated cough syrup in Brazil (“To Coff, or not to coff, that is the question”).

In contrast is the esteem in which Shakespeare is held in America, where he is perceived as a touchstone, a symbol of artistry and wisdom. Americans seem to have accepted as gospel the 19^th century, British notion of Shakespeare’s secular godship. Joseph Papp, America’s foremost theatre director, put it best:

Why do so many people get hooked on Shakespeare and develop a habit that lasts a lifetime? What can he really say to us today, in a world filled with inventions and problems he could never have imagined? Because, Shakespeare is showing you human nature. Shakespeare has enriched my understanding of life immeasurably. I hope you’ll let him do the same for you.” (Shakespeare Alive!, 1988)

Like Papp, I, too, have experienced the transformative power of Shakespeare in people’s lives: from disadvantaged teens in NYC to Native American elders in rural Alaska. I have witnessed Shakespeare’s words empowering the voiceless; and being the common language differing cultures previously lacked. I have seen his texts creating a common ground, a campfire around which a divided community could gather. For me, this is his greatest and most enduring legacy.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Shakespeare, wherever you are!

A time of firsts

2011-04-13T12:35:00.000+01:00

This week has seen the commemoration of quite a few significant firsts: the first man in space (Yuri Gagarin, 12 April 1961), and the adoption of the Union Jack as the official British flag (1801).

On a far more personal level, it has been a period of significant firsts for me, too. This past weekend, Team DEB completed our massive 15K charity swim. It was amazing. We were utterly exhausted after a week of hard-core swimming, but the finish was positively exhilarating!

We had balloons in the pool, and we popped a cork and had champers after we crossed the finish line. And, it was a team finish, as we swam the last lap in tandem. Marvelous, and a truly incredible experience.

From this awesome experience, I have learned that I am much stronger and braver than I realize; and that people are far more generous than you might expect. Same time next year? Absolutely!

My other “big first” was assisting The Vicar in his School Ministry pre-Easter assembly programmes. Another amazing experience. Very early mornings, working with adorably well-behaved schoolchildren, leading them in acting out the stories of Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday and Good Friday.

The request came as a bit of a surprise, but then, not really. First of all, with my theatre background, I should hardly ever be surprised when anyone asks me to do anything!

And secondly – a rather big confession coming here – a few weeks ago, I met with The Vicar to have “the talk”. The “vocations” talk, the “I-think-I-might-be-being-called-to-do-something” talk.

For many, many years, in fact, I have toyed with the idea of pursuing holy orders and becoming a Deacon. At my old parish in NYC, there was something in the air it seemed. Every week someone else was signing up for Holy Orders and joining the Deaconate! It really was that sort of zealous, joyous place. I never did then. Only because I wanted to be sure that my “call” was mine, and not just a case of collective exuberance!

I now feel, more than ever, that my calling, is, well,…calling. I love my tiny, English parish, and I do wish to serve it in any ways I can. I’m currently a member of the Parish Council, a part of the Morning Prayers group, and recently became a church “key holder” (My father would be so proud. He was a long-life Church Warden.)

My dear friend, Paul, recently became ordained, and we met for coffee a few weeks ago in Stratford-upon-Avon to discuss “the journey”. Paul’s situation is really interesting. His chosen position is that of “Ordained in Secular Employment”, which basically means he is ordained, but maintains his regular job, and once a week he wears his clerical collar to work. Very interesting, to reveal and live out ones faith in such a way.

I like the choice that Paul has made, and I really appreciate that the Church of England has so many unique paths to follow for those wish to serve. Of course, it is still very, very early days for me. This is a path that will take years and years to come to fruition, if it does at all.

The period of “discernment” both for the potential candidate, and for the powers that be is quite lengthy and arduous. Then, if one is even successful to make it through those phases, there are years and years of training to follow. (More school?) So, at the moment I am just taking my time, seeking and thinking about it.

First things, first.

From the sublime, to the ridiculous: my last big first is…packing. The DEB and I are off for three days in Ghent. The DEB is attending a training session for work, while I get to play “The Corporate Wife” at long last!!

Of course, I had to buy a new travel case that looks appropriately “Corporate Wife” enough. I opted for stylish and small. The DEB stunned when he saw the case. He thought it was a new handbag. “You’ll never get all your clothes in that,” he laughed heartily. I am determined to prove him wrong! I can pack light.

And, that will truly be a first.

Ugh, deadlines...and, a give-away, AT LAST!

2011-04-11T17:19:00.002+01:00

I have hit the ground running today!
Seems I have nothing but deadlines everywhere I turn. Today's deadline is for my June column in Warwickshire Life magazine. Unfortunately, inspiration has been on low ebb this time due to Swimathon, etc.
But, I have pushed through, and spent the day writing about quilting, and a local artist whose work I truly admire.
Joanna Smith-Ryland turned her hand to a quilting project of mine, and truly saved the work from disaster!
She's a very talented lady, and her work evokes the simple pleasures of a gentler, more Austenian time...

Joanna Smith-Ryland cathedral window design "The Garden Collection"

JSR's original design "The Big Jewel Collection"

One of JSR's silk evening bags in cathedral window patchwork, with semi-precious stones

I'm a huge fan of Joanna's, and thoroughly satisified customer. Her artistry and attention to detail are impeccable. To say thank for my comments both here and in my print column, Joanna has very graciously offered me one of her silk evening bags to give away to one lucky reader!

Would you like a chance to win one of these lovely bags?

(Other colours/designs can be seen on her website.)

Send a postcard with your name, contact details and email, by 1 July 2011, to: 'Shakespeare Diva Readers Prize', Joanna Smith-Ryland, Corner Cottage, Fulbrook Lane, Sherbourne, Warwickshire CV35 8AS.

One lucky winner will be drawn at random! International replies welcome! Good luck!

More about 'Passionate about Patchwork'- Joanna Smith-Ryland - www.joannasmith-ryland.com

Sleepless nights, Coffee mornings, and "the usual suspects"

2011-04-06T17:46:00.002+01:00

I have found a moment of quiet in the midst of a very busy day. Almost magically, it is 22 degrees Celsius, and I am sitting outside, in a sun hat, worried about sunburn…

Can this possibly be England in April? I wish I could capture this day and share it with you!

I have found an absolute haven of tranquility in the garden of The Glebe Hotel. Sipping coffee, undisturbed, I try and process all that has transpired in yet another hectic week. I often think to myself, and the DEB often asks me aloud, whether I really need another challenge to take on, and clearly, it seems I do. Routinely.

My charity Coffee Morning went off really well. We raised £150.00! This was largely due to support from “the usual suspects” – loyal friends and kind neighbours who dug deep, and gave of their time and treasure to support our cause.

The night before was a sleepless one for me, as I tossed and turned and panicked: “All this effort, and what if no one comes?” I finally gave up on sleep at half five, and wandered around the house trying think of what I may have forgotten. Then, at half six it dawned on me: coffee, tea, sugar, milk and support staff.

Just a few minor things!

A frantic text to my friend, Hannah: “Help!” The reply came: “When do you need me?” My plea: “As soon as you can be here!” Friends like that are gold dust! When Hannah arrived, I threw my arms around her, and thanked my lucky stars! She dutifully set off to the village shop for supplies, while I blew up balloons and schlepped cakes and raffle prizes to the church.

Pam, Alex and Hannah’s mum arrived to lend a hand, as did my Darling Neighbour, Mary Sue. (Yes, a rather unique name for a Briton.) MS brought along a gorgeous, chocolate cake, and singlehandedly commandeered the coffee urns. Hannah’s sweet mother, Ann, donned the giant Marie Curie daffodil hat and walked up and down the road wooing punters to our party. Remarkable.

Of course, to start off, we had more helpers than punters, and I feared that this way the entire event would go. I had baulked at tradition and scheduled my Coffee Morning at the ungodly hour of 9:30 AM, in an attempt to woo the “school-run mums” who seem to gaggle and loiter outside the church each and every day around 9 AM. Monday was not one of those days.

The road was positively empty, quiet and devoid of mums. My plan had backfired. In my effort to attract what I thought would be a captive audience, I had seemingly offended purists who believe a Coffee Morning should start later. Sometimes, you just can’t win!

In my more cynical, paranoid and self-obsessed moments, I am convinced that the school-run mums – viewing me as some sort of childless, social pariah – conspired against me, and all purposely stayed away, and gathered elsewhere on the day. But that would be very cynical, indeed. And, to be sure, three mums from the school actually did turn up to the Coffee Morning, and seemed to have had a nice time, and each won a prize, I think.

All in all, it was a great experience, and one that has taught me (yet again) that no matter how “small” an event is, it is still an event, and requires lots and lots of effort. Pictures from the day, forthcoming.

After the Coffee Morning, I went home and collapsed. Despite the virtual ton of caffeine and sugar I had consumed, I was spent. But, my respite was short-lived – on to the next task. More fundraising, and of course The Big Swim.

The DEB and our new Teammate, Hazel, began our 15K challenge on Monday, with the goal of doing 1K per day. Our first kilometre completed, the DEB and I dashed home from the pool to host the first “Royal Wedding Street Party Committee” meeting. With wet hair and aching arms, I thought to myself “What on earth am I doing?” But, everyone’s really excited about the street party, and offering to help, I just needed to get the ball rolling.

No rest for the wicked: yesterday was spent facing down a massive, lingering deadline I had for a restaurant/pub review for the magazine. This is my first piece for our new editor, and I did not want to disappoint.

I made the foolhardy mistake of “tweeting” (Note to self: need to reflect upon Twitter.) that I would have the piece in by 5 PM. Great. Now, the entire world could witness my tendency to procrastinate. I must say, the fact that I had broadcast my own potential downfall, did propel me to get it done. Maybe Twitter is just what I’ve always needed…

And so, today. Finally a breather, of sorts, and at least a few moments of reflection. That, along with the workmen who have been in and out of the house today. We are having a new kitchen floor installed, and a new window in the living room.

Did I need another challenge this week?

Ironically, as the first workman arrived at 7:45 AM, I went to the door and found that someone had slipped a note through sometime in the night. I opened the card to find a donation to our Marie Curie funds and a short, simple note: “Thank you.”

As I stood there, my eyes filled with tears. All the aches and effort are truly worth it. And, in that moment I remembered what this is all about, and what it’s all for. So that somebody, somewhere may have the peace, comfort and care that a Marie Curie Nurse can provide them in their final days here on earth, in the comfort of their own homes. That is truly an incredible gift, and my efforts are just a wee, small part of making this wonderful gift happen.

That gentle reminder helped me to put aside thoughts of who came to the Coffee Morning, and who didn’t; who’s supported us, and who hasn’t, etc. It’s about love and the greater good. And surely, this world is in desperate need of that right now.

With these thoughts in mind and heart, I glided through my 1k today. (Number 4 of 5!) Hazel arrived at the pool just as I’d hit my half way mark, and we chatted and swam the rest together. Hazel’s in my Aquafit class, and we had never really spoken much before, but once she heard about our swim she felt compelled to get involved. I think she may become a good friend.

As we’ve now all reached the 4K mark, we’ve decide to space out the rest of the swim for the remainder of the Swimathon. We’re talking about getting together and doing the last lengths together, and maybe taking a Team photo. I think we should break open a bottle of bubbly when we’re done as well!

Oh, dear, sounds like I’m on my way to planning yet another “little event”.

Peas, please!

2011-04-02T15:35:00.000+01:00

You have spoken!

Garden peas are the quintessential English veg!

Thanks for voting!

Now, I'm ready!

2011-04-02T15:22:00.003+01:00

I purchased this fetching piece of swim kit yesterday from a sweet, little shop in Oxford, called "Saratoga".

The staff there were helpful and knowledgeable, when I rang up. I shared my hair and swimming dilemmas with them, and they immediately suggested this lovely Hedgehog hat.

Isn't it adorable!?

If this doesn't inspire me to meet my 10k goal, I don't know what will!

Saratoga Fine Lingerie have made a friend for life in me! Stressing to them that I'd like to start my swim today (which I would), they guaranteed delivery and indeed, it arrived early this afternoon.

Marvelous!

And, so, with my light-blue swim costume/suit, I shall match the lovely Marie Curie Cancer Care logo:

Go, Team DEB!!!

A bit of inspiration

2011-04-01T09:47:00.002+01:00

First of all, I'm rubbish at math(s)! I have been saying that I have completed 2.8K in training for my 5K swim. I have, in fact, completed 3.7K!

Clearly, simple addition is not a strong suit of mine.

So, the start of the Swimathon looms, my neck strain has returned, and I fear my Coffee Morning's going to be one gigantic failure! And, to crown all, like a fool, I raised our target fundraising goal to £1000.

Needless to say, I'm stressed, panicked and anxious.

True to form, I have decided to procrastinate by focussing on randomly related things. My latest distractionary obssession is...Swimming Caps.

In an attempt to source something that will keep my hair from getting in the way and/or turning green, the following have caught my eye. A winsome homage to glamourous era of Elizabeth Taylor?

Eating gopher

2011-03-31T14:09:00.000+01:00

My friend, Grace, got in touch recently with news that her professional life is running in tandem with mine:

Isn’t it awful that two such well qualified, nay, dare I say, over-qualified women like us, are languishing to such an extreme in the Land of Rejection? Aren’t you tired of ‘eating gopher’?

Allow me to explain Grace’s strange turn of phrase.

There is a moment in the film “O, Brother Where Art Thou?” starring gorgeous George Clooney, where the three main protagonists are hiding out in the woods. They lack food and shelter.

The more resourceful member of the team goes foraging for food, and comes back with a few small gophers he has found and killed. He prepares a meager meal over the campfire, turns to George Clooney and offers him “a bit of gopher”.

Clooney’s response is absolutely hilarious! He says: “No, I thank you, but I’ll pass. Whilst I’m sure that gopher has been well-prepared, I do believe it will only serve to frustrate my appetite, rather than fully relieving it.”

From this, my delightful friend Grace has created a shorthand code: “eating gopher” - pursuing tasks that do not truly satisfy; or, getting by with whatever happens to be available.

As always, Grace’s missive has been perfectly timed to illustrate our ongoing synchronicity. We’d both received our latest round of rejection letters. Mine came yesterday from a local college turning me down for a part-time, temporary (2 months) post as a Drama Lecturer. Grace’s was even more of a blow, rejected for a post as a temporary, part-time, research fellow/administrator for a Senior Researcher in her field.

“How on earth could they turn me down?” Grace lamented. “I mean, the guy conducting the research has listed one of my books in his bibliography! Obviously, I have something to offer the project.”

And of course, she’s right. She has a great deal to offer. “Why am I not good enough to sharpen this guy’s pencils?” she continued. I could hear her tears through her email. This warranted a phone call.

“Gracie,” I soothed, “don’t give up! Things will get better.” I heard myself saying, not entirely believing my own words. Like me, Gracie has made a major life and career change in favour of following her heart. Also like me, she realizes that she has much in her life for which to be very, very thankful. It is tricky though, after spending decades defining oneself by one’s career to sudden lose that, and attempt to rebuild said career in a different country.

“These things take time,” I said, trying to sound wise. “The world has changed, and as such, we need to change, too. What I think is required is a change in approach and perspective. We have to stop playing by the old rules,” I said. Some call it, rather tiresomely, “thinking outside the box.”

One way that I have tried to think differently about work is to think about teaching in a more broad and expansive way. And, I was recently rewarded for my efforts. I have been offered a post as Leader with a top British holiday firm, HF Holidays.

After a rigourous (I kid you not!) assessment weekend, I was selected to lead on their Shakespeare, Theatre and Literary holidays! I’m absolutely thrilled. And today, like a gift from the gods, my official HF Holidays Leader’s fleece has just arrived!

So, I shall be doing what I love, just in a new and exciting way. A darn sight better than sharpening pencils, and certainly better than eating gopher!

How cute are these?

2011-03-30T13:42:00.001+01:00

Less than a month until the Royal Wedding, and good news!
After morning prayers today, someone offered me some Union Jack napkins and Union Jack bunting for my Royal Wedding Street Party! Hurrah, hurrah!
All I need now are these ...
Aren't they cute?!

Lovely bone china mugs from John Lewis. This one's my favourite!

This one's nice too!

Mere trifles, and a bit of faking

2011-03-30T08:25:00.002+01:00

The Marie Curie Cancer Care Swimathon is a mere 8 days and 11 hours away!!
My training is going well, and I have clocked up 2.8k in training so far as a lead up to our big 10k swim, which starts next week.
I've suffered from awful neck strain, my legs ache, my arms feel like lead, and my hair has turned green, but as much as it hurts, it feels really great to be "doing good".
In addition to swimming as much as I can, I am also doing an Aquafit class for aerobic training to build up my stamina.
My trainer, Trisha Quinn is quite amazing. As she watches us jumping and gurgling in the pool, she often chirps: "That's it ladies, keep it going! And, if you get weary, just dance!" Hmm, I think there's a rule for life in there somewhere...
We've had a really great response to our Swimathon efforts. Hazel, a lady from from my Aquafit class, has asked to join our team. So now, our overall team Swimming goal has jumped to 15K!
Our fundraising is going really well, too. Our initial fundraising goal was very modest: £300. I just didn't think I had it in me to fund-raise. But, the support has been really incredible. And, I've caught the fundraising bug! It is amazing how fearless you can become when you really believe in something.
We have solicited support, with a zeal that has surprised even me. (My mother will be so proud that I'm following firmly in her charitable footsteps.) As a result, I have upped our Team goal to £1000! (...Maybe I'm being too ambitious?...)
Feeling generous?
We'd love your support!
Here's a link to a the secure donation site: Marie Curie Cancer Care Swimathon
Look us up under "Simply Swim", type in "Alycia".
Not that I needed another challenge, but I decided to have a fundraising Coffee Morning at Barford Church, next Monday. I have NO IDEA how to organise a Coffee Morning, that oh, so British ladies' institution.
Thankfully, my very generous neighbours have offered help by baking cakes and goodies. Marie Curie head office are sending balloons and decorations, so it should look very nice.
Several local vendors have also been very generous in offering me an array of VERY NICE raffle prizes: including a gorgeous rug from The Polished Floor and Carpet Co. in Leamington Spa, and two extra special massage/pamper packages. So, hopefully, with the £5 donation, and the raffle we will inch closer to our £1000 goal.
All of this is taking much more time and effort than I had expected. (Live and learn!) I am really glad that I have done it, but, my goodness!
This week, I am working on submitting and application to the RSC for their "Open Stages" project, on behalf of the Barford Drama Group. And, of course, there's the Royal Wedding Street Party to organise and arrange!
With all of this swimming, fundraising, prepping and planning, I lost track of a major obligation I had for this past Saturday. Last Saturday night was the annual WI Quiz. The WI Quiz is one of the hottest tickets of the year in Barford.
Like a madwoman, I volunteered to make a pudding/dessert for the Quiz Supper. I was so proud of myself for raising my hand to volunteer during the meeting. "I'll make a lovely Chocolate Cake," I thought to myself.
Just as I was settling into my dreams of chocolate decadence, I was brought swiftly out of my revelry by the following words: "You should all make the same pudding, to keep things consistent. Ladies, please make a Trifle."
My heart sank.
I have never made a Trifle. I love them, of course, and find them simply divine, but they are far, far out of my culinary welkin!
And thus, I panicked. And did what any sensible American Girl would do -- I fake it. I bought all the ingredients and asked (begged) someone else to make it for me!
God bless our dear, dear blessed Sally. What a saint she is! On the promise that I will one day allow her to show me how "easy" it is to make a Trifle, Sally, graciously made my WI Trifle for me! Bless her!
I'm not really a coward, I have just been so, so overwhelmed, I just could not do or take on more.
I will certainly deserve a little break after all this is said and done!
One lovely, well-deserved treat recently: I luxuriated in the indulgence of a gourmet evening at Stratford College with my DEB last Friday. It was, as usual, a fabulous evening of gorgeous food and wine. The next day is always spent in the grips of a marvelous "food hangover".
And certainly felt it in training the next week! Alas, no long-term rest for the wicked!

Grab yer wellies, and let the gardening begin!

2011-03-20T15:51:00.000Z

The DEB and I are getting a jump start on the first day of Spring, working in the garden today. He is re-designing our patio area, removing the buff grey slabs and terracotta edging to make way for some sexy wooden decking. The slabs and edging are in very good shape, just not our style, so the DEB has placed them for sale on Gumtree, but we've had no interest so far.
I spent the day weeding my little 'wild flower patch' where Lucy's ashes are buried. My snowdrops have finally arrived, HURRAH! And the purple anemones are so lovely, they brought tears to my eyes, it was like Lucy saying "Hello!" I miss her terribly, and have to say that in many ways I've amazed myself with how well I have recovered, there were days I thought I would never stop crying.
Last week, I took a walk with our Sally and her pooch, Poppy. Just like the mums on the school-run, the dog-parents gather on the playing field for a morning nutter. I surprised myself, in not feeling bereft among them. "Where's your dog?" Terry asked, forgetting that she's no longer with us. I smiled, and he remembered. They say that time heals all wounds, and I suppose that's true.
Weeding is an endless task, and I'm very thankful that our garden is tiny for that reason. We've been offered 1/3 of an allotment -- allotments in Barford are like gold dust! So it's a real privilege to be asked to have a share in one. I'd love to have a little patch for an apple tree, and some savoy cabbage maybe. But, an allotment is a real commitment. That's your weekends, holidays and evenings spoken for! Upkeep is a must. Here in Barford, if your allotment is left untended and becomes unkempt, someone will come round and have a quiet word.
The DEB's not so keen on the allotment idea, and today was a clear reminder to me why that view makes a great deal of sense. Especially now that we've rediscovered our love of swimming. There are some super holidays to be had in that regard. There's a super looking new book out called Wild Swimming, that outlines a host of outdoor swimming holes, lakes and rivers across the country.
Right, nearly time to start the tea; and I need to work on my "Street Party" flyers -- hoping to get them out to all the neighbours today. Good feedback so far! Everyone seems really keen to make it happen. Also, need to get my flyers out for my Coffee Morning for Marie Curie Cancer Care.
...Who am I kidding, to think I could manage an allotment, as well!!

Touch of the Irish

2011-03-17T13:06:00.001Z

Off to Sainsbury's to get a bit of lamb for tonight's "Irish Stew" ...

INGREDIENTS
1 tbsp sunflower oil
200g smoked streaky bacon , preferably in one piece, skinned and cut into chunks
900g stewing lamb , cut into large chunks
5 medium onions , sliced
5 carrots , sliced into chunks
3 bay leaves
small bunch thyme
100g pearl barley
850ml lamb stock
6 medium potatoes , cut into chunks
small knob of butter
3 spring onions , finely sliced

METHOD

Heat oven to 160C/fan 140C/gas 3. Heat the oil in a flameproof casserole. Sizzle the bacon for 4 mins until crisp. Turn up the heat, then cook the lamb for 6 mins until brown. Remove the meats with a slotted spoon. Add the onions, carrots and herbs to the pan, then cook for about 5 mins until softened. Return the meat to the pan, stir in the pearl barley, pour over the stock, then bring to a simmer.
Sit the chunks of potato on top of the stew, cover, then braise in the oven, undisturbed, for about 1½ hrs until the potatoes are soft and the meat is tender. The stew can now be chilled and kept in the fridge for 2 days, then reheated in a low oven or on top of the stove. Remove from the oven, dot the potatoes with butter, scatter with the spring onions and serve scooped straight from the dish.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Prayer of St. Patrick

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity;
By invocation of the same.
The Three in One, and One in Three,
Of Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

From little acorns ...

2011-03-17T10:34:00.000Z

As usual, I have bitten off more than I can chew...
The DEB and I are participating in the Swimathon for Marie Curie Cancer Care in April. We're completing a 10K swim in our tiny, 9m, leisure club pool.
Well, in an effort to meet our fundraising goal, I decided to have a Coffee Morning at St. Peter's Church on 4 April. Got the approval, permission, etc.

Problem #1: I know NOTHING about arranging/organising Coffee Mornings.

Then, it occurred to me that everyone loves a good Raffle. So, I put out some tentative feelers on raffle prizes, and have had an overwhelmingly positive response.
I've got a pair of incredible "pamper packages" from two different Beauty establishments; a family ticket to Charlecote Park; a year-long subscription to Warwickshire Life; and a rug from Polished Floor in Leamington Spa.

Problem #2: I know NOTHING about arranging/organising Raffles!

So, now, I am completely panicked, and left to wade through the Gambling Commission's mind-numbing pages and pages of "Rules for Running Raffles, Lotteries and Prize Draws" ...
Ugh!
What have got myself into?
Did I really need another challenge?

Revenge of the Nerds

2011-03-11T10:38:00.000Z

I limped home from the pool last night, exhausted and exhilarated. First week of training nearly done. The start of the Marie Curie Swimathon is precisely 27 days and 15 hours from today. And, hopefully I’ll be ready.

I’m really looking forward to my massive 10K swim alongside my beloved DEB (who doesn’t need to train). It’s so nice to be completing this challenge together as a couple. We’ve already started making plans for our next “big swim”. Marie Curie has another challenge in June. Swimming across the Padstow Estuary, down in Cornwall.

I am utterly petrified at the thought, but it’s one of those things, isn’t it? If I don’t do it, I will only kick myself later, wishing that I had. Life’s a bit like that, wouldn’t you agree? The DEB would love to swim the English Channel, one day – he’ll definitely have to do that one on his own.

I have really fallen in love with swimming. And these challenges, and doing something good for charity are such great incentives. Not bad for a girl once voted “Least Sporty” in school.

Ah, yes, back in those days there was no ‘equal glory, passed round in equal measure’. No, sir! No thought of ‘everyone gets a certificate on Sports Day’. We were not “all winners”. In those days, the ethos was, rightly or wrongly, if you were rubbish at something, you needed to know, accept it and move on to something else.

As no surprise, I was an “arty-farty” sort of girl in school. I excelled at languages and the arts (music, ballet, theatre, etc). I was First Chair Violin in the Orchestra, won book reading contests (a very odd concept, and one I must explore at length at some point) and blue ribbons for French recitation. I acted, and wrote for the school paper. And, I sucked at sports.

I was always, always the last girl to be picked for a side. No matter the game. Once, a girl on crutches, with a broken leg in a cast, was picked before me. For a relay race. And, I don’t even want to recall the agony that was the act of playing “Red Rover.”

While we are on the subject – not that I’m bitter – but, why, oh, why, if you’ve decided that someone’s the weakest link, why would you place them as the last leg of the team? Surely, it would make more sense to have the second, or even first strongest runner in that post? For goodness sake, put the crap person in the middle, where they could do the least amount of damage. I have never, ever understood the rationale of putting a Sad McSaddens at the end of the lineup.

One day, I put down my copy of Nancy Drew, and went along to see the P.E. teacher. “I want to be more sporty,” I declared. He suggested running. And, why did I listen? Like a fool, I joined the Cross-Country Team. On the day of the team practice, I turned up to the track, and you know the hurdles, those things they jump over? I stood next to one, and it was as high as my shoulder. Not a good sign.

That afternoon, in blinding sunlight, I huffed and puffed around the track, amidst a pack of long-legged gazelles. Quite clearly, this was doing wonders for my self-esteem. (Not!) At the end of the session, the Coach announced a cross-country meet happening that weekend. “Just come along and join us, give it a shot.” He said patting me on the back.

The fateful day came, and there I was, standing at the back of the pack. The whistle blew and off the runners went, like bats being released from hell. And then, there was me. Little me, who’d only “joined the team” that week. I had no idea what I was doing, or where I was going. I just followed, watching the pack stretching farther and farther ahead and away from me.

I didn’t give up, I didn’t turn round and head back. Although, I absolutely wanted to! I struggled on, best I could. By the time I made it back, everyone had gone home. Only my “coach” and my mother were there, sitting in their cars waiting for me. Awful. Absolutely awful. I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on the coach’s face. My mother was just happy I was alive.

“I think I’ll stick to reading books.” I said to my mother as I collapsed on the back seat of the car. My mother was keen sportswoman in her day. Quite surprisingly, given that she is not much taller than me, she played basketball when she was in school, and was apparently quite an ace “guard”, on a championship winning team in the 1940s. “Darling,” she drawled as she drove us home, “You just have to find what you’re good at, and stick with it.”

It was a walk for charity that got me back in my feet. I did a 20 mile walk for MS (Muscular Dystrophy), and felt incredible. I started walking seriously, but it wasn’t until much later in my adult life that I finally made peace with running.

I used to run around Washington Square Park everyday when I lived in New York. One summer, my best chum, Sarah, and I decided to set a simple goal, “Let’s build up to a 4mile run along the Hudson River, just to see if we can.” And, we did. That 4 miles then became 10K, and now Sarah’s running marathons regularly! And, I am so proud of her. For me, I fell in love with the feeling I got from running. I’ll never be keen on doing it competitively … for obvious reasons!

Feeling that I had conquered my running-phobia, I decided in 2005/2006 to conquer Swimming. I’ve always loved the water, and playing around in it, but never took the time or effort to learn how to swim properly. So, I enrolled in an adult swimming class at NYU Gym, and the rest, as they say, is history! There’s no stopping me now!

Not bad, for “The Least Sporty Girl” in school.

Ashes to Ashes

2011-03-10T00:58:00.001Z

Sometimes, I wish we could be a bit more Medieval.

Allow me to explain. Witch-hunts, the Crusades, and the plague aside, the Middle Ages were a key time in Christian spiritual development. The Church, held a pivotal place in people’s lives, not only as the central authority, but as the central hub of life.

Every significant moment in a person’s life from birth to the grave was punctuated by ritual -- an outward, public expression of the inward spiritual journey. In addition, the church was also the cultural hub in terms of art, music, literature, education and thought; as well as the epicentre of social and community life. It was where you went to meet people, to seek advice, support, &etc.

We have lost this very ordinary and direct connection to/with ‘the church’. And I believe there is no time that this is more evident and noticeable than Ash Wednesday, and the start of Lent.

Tonight’s service at St. Peter’s was beautiful and deeply moving. Heartbreaking it was, though, as there were more people in the Choir, then there were sitting in the congregation.

Let’s face, apart from the fact that the vestments for Lent are a luscious, regal purple, it’s a pretty dour time.

The readings, collects, prayers, and anthems for Ash Wednesday all centre on themes of repentance, redemption, sin, self-denial, and sacrifice. We are reminded how we have fallen short of the mark, and admonished that we’ve got 40 long days to think about it.

But, more than this, Ash Wednesday requires us to actively contemplate our own mortality: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

We’d rather skip that part, and cut straight to Easter. How easy to forget that there is no light, without darkness. No resurrection, without death. No glistening Spring, without the chill of Winter.

I was surprised by the “tweet” (yes, I vowed never, ever to join Twitter…) that popped up on my screen: “What are you giving up for Lent?”

I was surprised to find such a spiritual query in that secular space. I have decided this year to “give up” something very precious to me: my time.

I run in circles everyday looking for more time to complete tasks, meet deadlines, work out, train for the Swimathon, send email, tweet (ugh!) -- never enough hours in a day.

So, instead of denying myself chocolate, wine or popcorn, I want to ‘hit where it really hurts’ and give time to my community, and find new ways of serving.

And, just maybe, perhaps, helping St Peter’s become a bit more, well, ... Medieval.

A step in the right direction

2011-03-07T23:18:00.003Z

Perhaps the Council is not so "pooey" after all!

With firm resolve, I have pursued the street party issue further. I contacted Streets Alive, and cried on their shoulder via email. And in their reply they encouraged me to dig a bit deeper.

With good result:

a.) It turns out that the information I found on the Council website regarding street party policy is most probably out of date. Councils across the country have made the decision to waive the street closure charges for parties and gatherings in honour of the Royal Wedding;

and,

b.) private events taking place in quiet residential roads or cul de sacs are exempt from the lengthy paperwork larger gatherings require.

I seem to be learning a valuable lesson. Life in Britain is like being sculptor, working in marble or stone. You must chip away at it, slowly, but steadily.
Tap, tap, tap...

2011-03-06T16:48:00.000Z

"No Help Britain"

2011-03-06T16:34:00.000Z

I have wasted an entire, gorgeous Sunday filling in the paper work from the Council for my intended Royal Wedding Street Party! I say wasted, because it was only AFTER I had waded through pages and pages of mindless nonsense ("Please specify your Grid Reference coordinates and maps","Please indicate if you intend to have any of the following at your event: Donkeys, Ponies, other animals, &etc.") that I was directed to a website which informed me that to close our little end of cul de sac road would cost £250.00!

£250.00 for a 3 hour a street party? In a road that is hardly ever used, even by residents? That is criminal! Clearly, the District Council on intent on making the process to obtain a street closure so abhorrent, that no one will want -- or be able to afford -- to do it!
And, this doesn't include the cost of event insurance. Not surprising, there are a several insurance companies standing at the ready to offer punters "Royal Wedding Street Party Insurance" (I'm not kidding!) to the tone of £51.00 for parties expecting fewer than 100 guests.

I'm absolutely furious! I dutifully wrote the Council last week for instructions and advice on street parties and road closures, and the woman who responded to my query said NOTHING about there being a fee to have the road closed.
Ugh!

In the process, I did discover an amazing organisation called "Streets Alive!" Their goal is to encourage communities to come together in that great British tradition: the street party.

According to streetparty.org.uk, street parties have a long history and are a British tradition. Street parties are popular residents' events in their own streets, and seem to have started in 1919. They were held in July as 'Peace Teas' as a genuine celebration of the signing earlier in June of the Versailles peace treaty after the First World War. They centred round a special treat for children in those times of hardship and were quite formal sit down affairs.

The earliest living memory of a street party in this tradition is that of a man in Cornwall who clearly remembers having a street party in 1935, held for the Silver Jubilee of King George V.

After then residents continued to organise them on all major national days of celebration such as Coronation of George VI in 1937, VE Day in 1945, Festival of Britain 1951, Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, Silver Jubilee of the Queen in 1977, The Royal Wedding of 1981, marking the Millennium in 2000, and the Golden Jubilee of the Queen in 2002.

Now street parties are becoming more common and held at any time for their own sake, for everyone in the street and with a more relaxed BBQ and food-to-share arrangement. "Streets Alive" believes that street parties can and should become more widespread and a regular event throughout the country to promote neighbourliness and a sense of community.

It is a real shame that the cost of organising such an event is so prohibitive.Thankfully, we have an alternative space in our communal garden. But, I can only feel incredibly sad for communities that don't have an alternative space into which they may retreat.

Poopey on the Council!

Still, I shall not be outdone! On to Plan B.

My spirits were lifted immeasurably by the chance discovery of the gorgeous offerings of Crabtree Lane, makers of fine handmade home accessories crafted from vintage and designer fabrics. The source of beautiful bunting!!

We shall have a gorgeous party in spite of the mean-spirited pencil-pushers!!

Luscious! Beautiful, fabric bunting from Crabtree Lane - www.crabtreelane.co.uk

A Royal visitor

2011-03-04T17:42:00.000Z

Her Majesty, The Queen's visit to the Royal Shakespeare Company,

4 March 2011

Schoolchildren awaiting Her Majesty's arrival

Admirers basking in the bright Spring sunshine

A wee royal watcher, on a day she'll always remember

Her Majesty, The Queen, and one very lucky little girl

Isn't she lovely?

Perfect weather, and The Queen was beautiful!!

I was lucky enough to be in a good position to not only get some very decent snaps, but also a personal smile and wave from Her Majesty and Prince Philip.

Fantastic day!

All about Kate

2011-03-01T12:00:00.000Z

Kate Middleton and "the dress" by designer, Daniella Issa Helayel

"...Good, sweet, bonny Kate!..."

- Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew

Okay. Love her! And, love her style. Her engagement dress has already be copied by every fashion line in the high street, even supermarket chain Tesco has issued its own version of the "Kate Dress".

There's something in the name "Kate", isn't there, that exudes style and sophistication: Kate Hepburn, Cate Blanchett, Kate Winslet...interesting. And, of course, one cannot forget that "Kate" is the name Shakespeare used for his sassiness female character in Taming of the Shrew.

The thing I like most about this Kate, and of course, I don't know her personally, but what seems to be her air of graciousness. The Sunday Times revealed this weekend that Kate Middleton sent out a number of wedding invitations to various people in her village to, as one does, express her sense of their importance in her life. These included her local postie (postman), the butcher, and the couple who run the local shop.

Cynics may sneer, but I see this simple, gentle gesture as a helpful and hopeful tonic in a world that is becoming increasing callous, cold and hard-nosed.

Royal fever

2011-03-01T11:27:00.000Z

As India Knight wrote in The Sunday Times recently, all attempts to resist "Royal wedding fever" are, in fact, futile. And really, why resist? Love is a beautiful thing, and marriage is an precious gift. I'm absolutely thrilled for William and Kate. What a lovely, gorgeous couple!

And, and why not celebrate? I have just put in my initial request with the Council for the forms and paperwork necessary for "street closures". All things being equal, I'm hoping to host a traditional, English street party in honour of the royal couple on their wedding day, 29 April!

I shall keep you posted, Dear Reader, as I have heard these requests can be quite thorny. And, obviously, I will need to the support and agreement of everyone else who lives along my street. But, honestly, who doesn't like a bit of bubbly?

Prince William and Catherine "Kate" Middleton

Happy and Glorious!

2011-03-01T11:07:00.000Z

Her Majesty, The Queen

The Queen is coming, the Queen is coming!

Her Majesty will be in Stratford-upon-Avon this Friday to officially open the new Royal Shakespeare Theatre. I'll be there alongside my wonderful editor to cover the story for Warwickshire Life!

Whoo-hoo! I'm so excited I can't stand it! I love the Queen.

Hooligans and Gentlemen

2011-02-26T12:04:00.001Z

Will "Captain Darling" Carling

"Football is a gentleman's game, played by hooligans; Rugby is a hooligan's game, played by gentlemen."

I began following the fortunes of English Rugby while I was a graduate student here in the 1990s. Lucky for me, that was a Golden Age of English Rubgy. England's national side at that time was a “dream team” in every sense of the word.

Jeremy Guscott

Under the leadership of dashing team captain, Will Carling, these boys were the stuff of legend and fantasy on and off the pitch.

Rob Andrew, Jeremy Guscott, Rory Underwood, Tony Underwood brought crowds to their feet, and could make old men weep at the sight of their staggering speed and agility. But, a bonus for female fans, they were as incredibly good-looking as they were amazingly talented.

These Darling English Boys in their dazzling white uniforms made me almost tearful, whenever I saw them singing the National anthem at the start of each match. Their voices and chests lifted with national pride. They seemed so wholesome, noble, and well…English. The sort of boys you’d want to take home to meet your mother.

Rory Underwood

And, speaking of mothers, who can forget the sight of Mrs. Underwood, Tony and Rory’s mum, at every Twickenham match cheering her sons on, with great pride. She would go absolutely mad when one of them was carrying the ball. And heaven help anyone sitting near her if one of them made through, and scored a try! Bless her! But, who can blame her? We were all right there, cheering with her.

And yet, in some matches, there was an air of the under-dog about the English side. Often, when they were playing against some rough, ill-mannered, brutish team like the New Zealand All Blacks, Australia, or South Africa, I would worry for days about the outcome. Of course, the English press and media would give England no hope of winning. There was an ever-present air that England would expect England to lose.

And, of course, sometimes they did lose. Badly. But, I always felt no matter how badly they played, they always played bravely. For an overly-romantic girl like me, watching England in those days became like seeing a strange dramatisation of a Jane Austen novel come to life on the pitch: The Mr. Darcys vs. The Mr. Wickhams!

Back then, the Six Nations championship was just Five Nations. The “big match” then, as now, was England versus France.

Rob Andrew

Although none of my “dream boys” will be on the pitch – I think Jeremy Guscott is a commentator these days – England will still have my heart. I shall be urging them on to victory this afternoon, as I did all those years ago.

You know, I think that is the thing about rugby, and what makes it so endearing: heart. Unlike in football, especially the American variety, one is truly able to see the real physical struggle between the combatants that is present in rugby.

Now, I’m not ‘slagging off’ “footy” because I do enjoy watching English football, too. It's just swings and roundabouts, hooligans and gentlemen.

Where are the snowdrops?

2011-02-25T17:04:00.000Z

Everywhere, but my garden!

"Snowdrop walks" - such a lovely, and oh so English idea.
I think I shall grab the DEB, and find a nice "snowdrop walk" for us to do this weekend.
Happy Friday!

Purpose, at last

2011-02-25T16:42:00.000Z

Over the past few weeks, I have felt myself slipping into an ever-increasing, self-pitying state. The “poor me” syndrome is a chronic and highly contagious illness. It strikes sufferers in varying degrees, from the legitimately lamentable to the absurd.

Missives from two friends this week helped me to shake my blues. Both were written from a place of despair. One, was from a friend who is an incredibly talented artist, an American, who, like me, feels set a drift in sea of uncertainty in this green and pleasant land.

Also like me, she can recall with great ease a tremendously fulfilling and urbane professional life, recently left behind; wherein she felt valued, respected and rewarded for her achievements. Now, living in Britain, her “education, experience, street cred and accomplishments” seem to count for very little. Her applications to local charities and libraries, for jobs she could do in her sleep, go unheeded and unanswered. A sorry state of affairs, and I know how she feels.

I was humbled by the words of her message: “I know you want more from your life here,” she said. “But right now I'd be happy with a bit of what you have.” I was struck to the core but my own general lack of gratitude. It’s so much easier to look at what we don’t have.

The other missive can from the opposite direction. A plea for advice - from a friend best described as, “a woman who has it all”. No, she really does. She doesn’t realize it, of course. I love her to bits, but there are times when we clearly see the world in very different ways.

She was seeking my advice because a man, a work colleague in her office, has been consistently “ignoring” her. He’s not rude or mean. Just, indifferent. No matter how nicely dressed she is, are how she smiles, jokes, flirts, etc. he “pays [her] no attention at all”.

And, it bothers her. The other men in the office find her very attractive and amusing. As she describes it, they seem to hover around her in a “Mad Men” kind of way. And, her husband adores her, too, but, it is this one minion, who refuses to become an acolyte, who drives her to tears and despair. “Why doesn’t he like me?” she sobbed virtually, on email.

I sat perplexed, staring at my computer screen, feeling that I had suddenly slipped by time warp back to High School. I sat, watching my cursor blink incessantly, words utterly escaping me.

“Where have we gone?” I thought to myself aloud. “How has everything become ‘a problem’, even when it isn’t one?” As I lost myself in existential thought, I was rescued by a ping in my inbox…

“Hit the pool and make a difference! Join the 2011 Swimathon and support the work of Marie Curie Cancer Care” - the headline announced.

The thought of doing something good for charity struck a very deep and immediate chord for me in that moment. And, it suddenly lifted me out of the silly, hapless wasteland in which I was now rambling.

“I’m going to do this!” I thought, and before I knew it, I was ready to register! First, a short message to my darling DEB: “Wanna join my team?” Short, sweet reply back: “Yes!” So, the DEB and I are taking on the swim of our lives as part of the world’s biggest fundraising swim! The money we raise will allow Marie Curie Nurses to provide free care at home to people with terminal cancer and other illnesses.

We have decided to do a 10K swim, and will be doing it in my beloved hobbit-sized pool at the gym. It will take us ages in that tiny pool, but we think the Marie Curie Nurses are worth it! We are swimming in memory of two of our beloved parents, lost to cancer.

Our Swimathon mission has really propelled me this week. It is so, so, so, wonderful to have a goal. A clear, precise objective that can be reached. An attainable, sizeable goal.

And, a goal that is bigger than “me” and my needs.

http://www.swimathon.org/index.php