Queen's English II

Everyone knows you need a passport and special documents and airport tax fees when you visit merry “oulde” England, but how about an English dictionary? Most of the differences in our two versions of English (basic American and the Queen’s) are minor, but some of them are so dramatic, hilarious and even hostile, I had to document them, for humour’s sake. That’s the British spelling, by the way. Besides the dreamy accent in Hollywood, most differences wouldn’t even be noticed until you actually set foot on the white cliffs of Dover, or the nearest Tesco. All of the examples I set out here have actually happened to me, or have happened to a fellow ex-pat in my presence, so I will not hear of any cries of “Foul! That’s only an urban legend!” I give you: An Introduction to the Queen’s English, part II, Food.

We learned a lot in our first 24 hours in England. Exhausted from jet-lag and the general stress of not only moving, but moving over a giant body of water away from everything we knew had taken its toll on me and all I wanted was a bed. Once loaded into the hotel, we were informed that our breakfast and dinners would be provided in the dining room daily. Breakfast was served from 7:00 until 9:00 am and dinner was served 12 hours later. Oh, and tea was available at 4:00. Excuse me? Dinner at 7 pm? That’s when we are putting on pajamas and tucking our 16 month-old daughter into bed. We usually eat at five, on the nose. Needless to say, we accidentally fell asleep too early that night and missed dinner altogether. Bear woke at 11:00 pm (right at dinner time in America) and started fussing for some food. I walked down to the bar, which had not closed yet, and asked Les if he could make a sandwich. He was astounded that I asked for ham and cheese…on the same sandwich. I was astounded when he brought out a sandwich the size of Liechtenstein, complete with 6 layers of ham and…..shredded cheese. It was a tasty, if difficult sandwich to eat. There was cheese all over the floor of the room, and we both fell back to sleep before we finished it.

Some of the common things we found in stores and restaurants threw us for a loop. Baked beans (cold, right out of the can) on toast and broiled whole tomatoes for breakfast. “Bubble and squeak” is actually a breakfast dish with leftover boiled cabbage fried with mashed potatoes. We never did find a restaurant that could scramble eggs, including the ones that stated “eggs, any way you like them” on the menu. We taught the chef at the hotel we stayed in for two months how to make American- style pancakes by buying a box of Aunt Jemima at the commissary and bringing it back. They were still extremely thin and tasted suspiciously like French crépes.

Pizza can come with toppings such as tuna and sweet corn or prawns. There is a frozen variety called Heinz Baked Bean pizza; that’s right – baked beans and cheese. “Mr. Brain’s Pork Faggots” and “Monkey Nuts” are some kind of potato chip-like snack. “Tidgy Puds” are like tater tots. We learned of a new kind of sandwich. The British can’t understand “the American love affair” with peanut butter, so you very rarely see a PBJ in the classroom, but we fell in love with their cream cheese and jam sandwich. (It tastes better with jam or preserves, not jelly.) Wagons go from village-to-village on designated nights (ours were Wed & Thurs) selling hot, fresh fish & chips and German food like schnitzel and brats. That was cool, but the fish were fried whole, eyes and all, and served wrapped in newspapers. “Steamed spotted dick” is a sponge cake with golden raisins and thick cream (like sweetened condensed milk), served hot. As a matter of fact, most desserts were available with hot cream available on the top if you wanted it. I tried it, then passed on the cream for the next three years. There was also a strange dessert, of which I can’t remember the name, but it was a meringue “nest” with fruit and cream on top. The nest had the consistency of Lucky Charms ™ marshmallows without sugar.

It was difficult to get used to shopping for some things. I carried a list of metric conversions and I had a Fahrenheit-Celsius chart on my oven. Canned corn and soups, breakfast cereals and breads can all be transferred to different brands and sizes, although there are a lot of brand names like Campbells and Kelloggs. That isn’t an issue. But then along comes the baking aisle. You’ll never find baking soda. It took me forever to realize that “Bicarbonate of Soda” was the same thing, since I’ve never sat down and read the ingredients list of common household baking goods. Birthday cake frosting is almost exclusively marzipan; a sweetened sheet of colored shortening that you unroll, cut and lay across the top of a cake. I stuck to making my own from butter and confectioner’s sugar (which is our powdered sugar). But just try to find chocolate chips.

I had a “discussion” in a fairly large Tesco one day. I was baking cookies and I needed 2 cups of chocolate chips. I finally found them, with the help of two employees. They were on the top shelf in a tiny little box. They had three 47-gram packages of mini milk chocolate chips, which was a little less than one cup. I inquired if they might have more in the back and the manager answered, “What? Three packages of chocolate chips isn’t enough? You grow everything big back there in Texas. What exactly are you making, anyway?” At this point, I’d taken a few snide comments about “you lot across the pond” and was really trying to be polite when I just snapped. “Well, I am planning on making more than one cookie. Back in Texas,” I held up a loaf of bread, “I can buy a package of chocolate chips this size, so yeah, I was looking for more than a cupful.” I put the chips back up on the highest shelf, went home and prepared a grocery list for the two-hour drive to the commissary the next day.

A few things that I truly miss about England are the produce, the fresh breads, and the cheeses. They import most of their produce (well, except the Queen’s Pink Lady apples at Sandringham…those are some gooooood apples!) and it is of the best quality I have ever tasted in my life. The breads, even in the supermarkets, were of higher quality than any of the stores here in the states. And they have a bigger variety of cheese than ANY store I have seen here, ever. DH used to love to take hot bread and a hunk of cheese and an apple for lunch. DD remembers that for lunch too, and I have to go to a specialty store to find their fave cheeses, although Babybels are getting easier to find and they’ll both take that as a substitute. I also miss the Thompson’s chocolatier. Those people be lovin’ some chocolates!

i love my kid.

well, i love all of them, but my oldest gets to stay up "late" and we hang out together. tonight's fun: we taped our mouths shut with scotch tape because we were bored.

i really should get a picture of this.

it started out the she put a piece over her upper lip and it looked really wierd, watching her talk and the tape wrinkled up when she said a "p" or "b" word. wicked. then i taped my whole mouth shut and the giggles ensued. have you ever tried to laugh with your mouth taped shut????

then, a naughty 4 year old gets out of bed and we can't stop laughing.....with our mouths taped shut!!

i swear, neither me nor my ten year old have been drinking....

did i miss it?

Wait a minute....wasn't this supposed to be getting easier??

I've been popping out babies for a while now, and I swear everyone was telling me it was "going to get easier" as the kids got older. So why the hell do I find myself needing to go to bed by 10:00 again? And why am I desperately resisting a nap in those calm quiet hours when I have no kids in the house? I am chasing my tail to try to keep up with all their homework. I have so many papers I need to sign for different teachers for different reasons every single night; after all the papers shuffled back and forth, my kids end up losing recess time anyway because I put the papers in the wrong folders and they weren't turned in on time.

From my perspective, things aren't getting easier. I no longer have to change diapers, but I have to wipe down public toilet seats and send everyone through a bio-chamber in restaurants. I don't have to nurse anyone, but I have to find meals that at least 2 people like to eat that can be made in bulk in less than an hour and easily frozen afterwards for quick dinners and Fergus' lunches. I don't have to physically dress my kids anymore, but they can't seem to get the clothes that extra 6-12 inches INTO the clothes basket. Nor can they turn them right-side out. At least when I was dressing them, their clothes were washed the right way out! No one is teething (except me - yay for wisdom teeth), but just try to pin Hercules down and brush his teeth at night. Go on. I double dog dare you right off the bat. And why, exactly, is it so hard to hang up the jacket that is thrown on the floor UNDERNEATH the jacket hooks? No, it did not fall. I watched you throw it there!

I find myself longing for the days of footie pajamas (boy were those easy to wash) and rocking chairs. At least I got to sit down on a regular basis back then! Well, now that I think about it, by the time Princess was born I was nursing her while alternately fixing dinner, changing diapers and vaccuuming. So I wasn't sitting down then, either.

I guess I'll keep running. At least it gives me an excuse to not join a gym. I'd rather run circles around my family, than run on a machine in a room full of other sweaty people. *yawn* It's almost my bedtime, so I guess I'll go get ready for tomorrow. But first, I think I'll go have a night-cap. Can't do that while preggo and/or nursing!

it's all about the self-esteem

Life is about growing, changing, trying new things. Learning doesn't stop at the classroom door. Right, right. So I'm taking a class. It's not an ordinary class; it's a dance class. I do a little homework ahead of time. Find out what to wear, a little of what to expect. Read bios about the instructors. I leave my wedding ring at home, for safety reasons. I'm thinking ahead. I'm prepared. I can do this, right?

I am not prepared. I actually arrive a bit late; honestly it really was the traffic. So the instructor has already begun when I have to sneak through the back of the class to find my own space. That in itself is a bit difficult because it seems almost everyone is stationed along the back wall. Right where I want to be. Where no one can see how badly I dance. But the purpose of taking a class is to become better at something, to acheive or master a skill in the process of learning. Boy, do I need help in here.

The lights are dimmed. Lenny Kravitz's cover of "American Woman" pulses through the room. I feel so out of place. I also feel like the oldest woman in the room. Someone who shouldn't be there, even though the dance company touts that this class is for all women of all ages and all shapes. I see my friend across the room and giggle nervously at her as she follows the instructions from the teacher.

"That's right ladies, play a little now and stand up nice and slow. The only way to stand up in this class is with your feet apart and your tushie in the air. Show 'em what you've got. Trace yourself out here and play with your hair a little. Show 'em your moneymaker. Sexy strut around your pole. Now let's have a smack and I want to hear it, ladies. Nice. We're going to do some stretches now to warm up and then well start learning some spins. Everyone stand on the right side, get a good grip on your pole and lean out. Let gravity do the work; you should feel the pull all along your ribcage..."

That's right, I said pole. I went to pole dancing class. It was a unique experience and a killer workout. I have a new and profound respect for the women who do this kind of work 8-12 hours a day. They certainly do earn their money. For 24 hours afterwards, I am in excruciating pain from the muscle strain of learning the proper way to jump, as well as the Catch Spin, Fireman Spin, Pike Spin, and a "Showcase." I have several bruises and contact burns on my ankles and shins from spinning improperly. But I've got that Fireman Spin down pat! I was doing all this barefoot. Some of my more experienced classmates were taking their instruction wearing six-inch platform heels or those huge black patent leather boots. Talk about coordination!

The thing I would like to change about this experience is that I would like to actually be able to dance afterwards. You know, hold a rhythm and feel confident about my *ahem* moves. I have to say, I will most likely go back. Next time I'll wear something a little more form fitting so I don't look as frumpy. My abs are feeling better and the pain in my arms is getting less noticable. I haven't taken Tylenol all day today! I just hope I can find a class going on while the kids are in school.

bouncy

Copied directly from the Editorial page of Sunday's Baltimore Sun, 8*27*06:

"On a jag

A new study shows that if you're thirsty, tea is just as good for you as water - in fact, it's better, because it has chemicals in it that promote long-term health. Same goes for coffee. Diuretics they may be, but you'd have to drink an impossibly strong cup of either to lose more fluid than you take in.
Researchers have been busy on the hot stimulant front. One group found that eight cups of coffee a day significantly reduces the risk of cirrhosis of the liver. Another, which looked into the effects of coffee on elderly men in Finland, Italy and the Netherlands, found that those who drank three cups a day experienced less than half the cognitive decline seen in men who didn't drink coffee at all. And in research just reported in the European Journal of Clinical Nutrition, there was "clear evidence" that drinking three or more cups of tea a day reduces the risk of coronary heart disease. Not-quite-as-clear evidence suggests that tea drinkers are also at a lower risk of colon cancer.
Our favorite finding is that tea naturally contains fluoride - so even while it stains your teeth, it makes them stronger. It gives you good, brown teeth.
The question is, can you manage all this tea and coffee? Does the world need more stimulation? Does it need to be bouncing up and down? Do-we-have-to-be-in-a-permanent-headlong-state-to-be-healthy-
and-are-we-going-to-be-able-to-concentrate-on-anything-at-all-
what-with-all-this-caffeine-and-fluid-running-through-us?
Sure. Just go easy on the cream and sugar."

I'm sure they don't mean for us to stock up on Maxwell House during the next heat wave, because water is best during the summer heat. But I sure am glad to have some scientific studies to back up my addiction. Turn here; I wanna go through the Starbucks drive-thru.

checking up

I had taken to studying outside on my front porch. It is wide, airy and relatively quiet. And I could keep an eye on the neighborhood, Nosy Nancy that I am. While reading the days of the week aloud in Arabic one beautiful afternoon, a woman came into my front yard to speak to me. She was concerned about a man who had approached her young daughter on this very street and wanted to know if I knew who it might be so she could check it out.

This had apparently happened during the 5 minutes it took me to make a cup of coffee and come back outside. An older gentleman had been standing in his front yard and asked this girl to come into his house to listen to his machine for him. She apologized and refused, then headed straight home. What a level-headed girl. That mother should be proud. After hearing this chain of events, I knew exactly who it was and I was immediately saddened, knowing that the old man meant no harm and most likely did need help. I reassured the mother that I would check it out for her and get back to her.

The 80+ year old man who lived two doors down is one of the sweetest old men alive. His wife was taken to the hospital two, maybe three days prior. I was curious if he was stopping passers-by for conversation because he was lonely or if he genuinely needed help. So I got neighborly and paid him a visit. He is very hard of hearing, so when he didn't answer the front door, I walked around to the back. He was sitting on his porch, watching the birds in the back yard, as I often saw him doing this time of day. I asked him if there was anything he needed and he jumped up (as well as an 80 year-old man can) and grinned at me, leading me into his sunroom.

"Why yes! How? How did you know that I was needing your help? Thank you so very much for coming down here. I can't hear my message machine." He tapped his gnarled old finger on a yellow tablet of paper and said, "Could you please write down that message? I missed the call and I can't hardly hear anymore and my wife is in the hospital and can't do my hearing for me."

It wasn't the call he was waiting for, but he was glad to get the message nonetheless. It was from someone else calling to check in on him.

They moved soon after. They sold their house to move to a care facility close to one of their sons' families. As many times as I've seen an ambulance parked out there, I am glad they are now under close watch.

In today's world, it stinks that an old man must sit alone and wait for someone to guess that he needs help because there aren't any real "neighbors" anymore. It stinks that when he does venture out to seek help, he is immediately suspicioned of harming children. It stinks that I hadn't thought to go check on him. In my neighborhood, where the young families are slowly moving in as the older couples move out to care facilities, we ought to take it upon ourselves to check on our elders. After all, it's only neighborly.

excuse my circus...

I hate shopping with four kids. The biggest basket I can find (with the big plastic bus on the front) will seat three of them. Inevitably, there's some lady with a five-year-old walking next to the basket holding one jug of milk, and she has the only one in the store. I no longer shoot daggers at those women. I just let my monkeys jump on her basket and say in my syrupy sweet voice, "Oh, sorry, I couldn't find a big basket like your big empty basket there, so my kids are going nuts. Excuse my circus - coming through."

So I head to the store, list in hand, with four kids in tow. The Bear is in charge of the list and - miracle of miracles - I got the big basket! No running down the aisles! No knocking boxes onto the floor! No hanging off the side of the cart! Usually I have to re-arrange seating because of hitting and squishing and touching, but all is remarkably quiet on that front. I breeze through the store halfway done in record time when I notice the dialogue. So I pretend to look at the oatmeal and really pay attention to their words.

My Princess, not yet four years old, is hanging out of the plastic bus (not really yelling because that would have gotten my attention much sooner), "Mayday-mayday! Cease fire! There are children aboard! I repeat, cease fire! Abort abort abort abort!!!!"

The elderly people who were looking at Corn Flakes are now looking at me like I'm insane. The boys are repeating their baby sister's litany, punctuated with whistling bombs and close-range shrapnel. I only have the frozen food left. We need to get out of this store. Now.

There are just some things you can't make up.