Sunday, August 7, 2011

It's My Life



Anyone who knows me really well knows I’m a proponent of theme songs. I don’t mean, The A-Team or The Facts of Life. I mean personal theme songs. When I came back from Mexico after Daddy died, I chose Bon Jovi’s Who Says You Can’t Go Home. It was a perfect fit – I had returned to my childhood home, and I was teaching at my old high school and my old rink. I came home with a vengeance. In addition to being my theme song, it became my ringtone. But, after Mommy died, home wasn’t home anymore, and the song didn’t fit. I was in search of a new song, but couldn’t really come up with one – probably because I was in search of a great deal more.

So, I chose a temporary theme song, or rather I had one suggested to me, London Calling by The Clash. It was a good fit for the past year of living in London, but it could never be a permanent theme song. After all, I’m writing this on the plane as I move back to New York from London, so is it really calling anymore? I don’t know, London will probably always call to me, but that particular phase of my life is over, so it’s time for a new theme song.

I gave it a lot of thought during my soul-searching walks along the Thames. Truth be told, I gave a lot of things a lot of thought during those walks. As the months progressed and I began to gain confidence in my identity without Mom and Dad in my life, I knew I had to make some difficult and risky decisions. But. I knew life would not continue to move forward if I didn’t take those risks. After much deliberation, I decided not to return to my job at Ursuline for the coming school year. There are practical concerns that make it unfeasible to return to Ursuline. Now that I will be living in Manhattan, the commute by train would be just too difficult. And, it would be a ridiculous expense to try to keep a car just to commute to school. But, there is more to it than that. This year in London has given me the opportunity to move forward in my life, and returning to Ursuline would be a major step backward.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Like I said – risks. I’m going back to adjuncting because I want to focus more on my writing. And, that’s not just a hollow statement. If I’m going to make a go of it as a writer, I need to do it now. My focus has been dragged away by teaching and other concerns. My future is not in teaching, I know that. I’ve always known that. I like teaching, but I don’t identify myself as a teacher. I am a writer who teaches. And I’ll always teach in some form or another, I know that too. Like I said, I like it. But it’s not enough for me; I want more.

So, back to the choice of theme song – as I started making these decisions as I walked along the Thames, I realized that I was treading dangerous ground – giving up a secure job for the nebulous world of adjuncting (or academic temping, as I like to call it). But, I knew I had to make a quality of life decision – and spending 12-13 hours a day commuting and teaching, and then coming home and having to do more work for school in the evenings was not going to give me much quality of life. And it was not going to give me any writing time. I found myself reverting to my old identity – the one I had when Mom and Dad were alive. The one that always needed their approval because I was afraid of letting them down. Not that I made decisions for them, per se. When I left the Foreign Service to come home for Mom, it was my decision and not something she asked me to do. But, with every decision I’ve ever made, the first question I’ve always asked myself has been, “Will Mom and Dad approve?” To be honest, I do still wonder that, but not quite so actively. My decisions are for me – and if I make a mistake, I’m the one who will have to fix it. It’s my life.

And so, a theme song was born. I have to admit, Bon Jovi is a surprisingly rich source for theme songs. I didn’t intentionally search their discography for a new theme song. I was open to anything – any artist, any genre (well, almost). But, once again, it’s the perfect choice: “It’s my life, it’s now or never/I ain’t gonna live forever/I just want to live while I’m alive.” I have to live my life. I have to do what feels right to me, even if other people think it’s crazy or stupid. Life is fragile and we never know how much time we’re going to have. I’ve always believed in living life with no regrets. I can honestly say, I have no regrets about anything I’ve ever done. The only regrets I have are over things I haven’t done.

So, the plane lands in about 4 hours. In 4 hours, my new life starts. New apartment, new job(s), new lifestyle, new focus. It’s my life, and I’m going to live it.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Who You Callin' Canadian?

I haven’t written in a while – not so much because of my well-documented unreliability as a blogger/journal keeper, but, rather, because there isn’t much else to say at this point. I used this blog to explore life after losing Mom and Dad , and that process is mostly complete. That is, I’ve more or less figured out my identity without them. Not that there isn’t always more to learn, but the main process of discovery has reached it’s natural conclusion. The year in London was the best way for me to figure things out, because it took me away from everything that was familiar. The fact that I’m going back to the new apartment keeps me from taking any steps backward when I get back to New York.

But I digress – those topics are for the next entry (the last one from London, and the penultimate overall). This particular entry is about something very different, as you can no doubt tell by the title. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against our neighbors to the North. I’ve been to Canada. It’s a beautiful country, and I hope to see more of it (particularly the Canadian Rockies). They love hockey, the people are friendly (I met some lovely Canadian couples on my trip to Greece and Turkey this year), they produce some decent TV programs, what’s not to like? Except this one tiny thing – it’s a little something I’ve discovered through my various experiences living abroad: Canadians get offended if you call them American.

Come on, guys, where’s the love? Is it so bad to mistaken for Americans? Are we really “The Great Satan?” You’d think so if you heard the number of times people have asked me if I am Canadian or, my personal favorite, North American: “Is that a North American accent I detect?” “What part of Canada are you from?” Um, the part that’s in the United States?

It’s not that I’m offended by being called Canadian – like I said, lovely country, lovely people. No, I am offended that Canadians abroad are so offended to be called American that they have everyone running scared. When did Canadian become the “safe” guess when it comes to nationality? And, I kind of hate to burst their bubble, but just about every Fulbright teacher who was in the UK this year can attest to the fact that a lot of people here think Canada is the 51st state (in some cases the 52nd). Frankly, if I were Canadian, I’d be more offended by the fact that people don’t seem to know they’re a real country. In fact, you’d think the British would know Canada’s a commonwealth country. Just sayin’.

Hmm, so maybe being asked what part of Canada I’m from simply means, “What part of the state of Canada, in the US are you from?” Food for thought. Kind of sad when you think about it, actually. Oh, and while we’re on the topic, people might need to broaden their definition of a North American accent. The geographically challenged over here don’t seem to realize that Mexico is part of North America. Of course, before I get too cocky, I’m sure there are more than a few Americans/Canadians who forget that little fact too.

We are an increasingly global society. The understanding of that is one of the reasons I wanted to do this exchange. The lack of understanding of that is one of the reasons I struggled this year – for the first time in my life I was called a “foreigner,” in that negative way we’ve all heard used about others. I’ve had to defend the American perspective, and explain why some Americans don’t have the most open worldview (when you can travel 1000 miles in any direction and still be in your own country, sometimes it’s hard to see beyond your borders). I wouldn’t mind so much if the people challenging American Xenophobia weren’t the same ones lamenting the number of foreigners in London in their next breath. A little pot and kettle there, don’t you think?

A lot of people from home asked me how the students in the UK were different from students back home. In fact, they’re not. Not really. Teenage girls are teenage girls, no matter where you are. People are people. That’s what we seem to forget. We get caught up in labels; we focus on the differences, and we miss the big picture. American . . . Canadian . . . Mexican . . . we’re all North American, as are all the people who have moved to North America from around the world. English . . . Scottish . . . Welsh . . . Northern Irish . . . you’re all British, as are all those who have moved to the UK to start a new life. Diversity brings flavor and vibrancy to the world. Embrace it. So, you got that, Canada? – Lighten up! There are worse things in life than being called American! No offense. xo

Sunday, June 12, 2011

One-piece, Two-piece, Red-piece, Blue-piece or, The Art of Buying a Toilet Online

I would just like to know whose bright idea it was to conduct a kitchen and bath renovation from 3000 miles away?!?! Oh, right, mine. What was I thinking? My only comfort is that the stress of doing all this from afar is less than the stress of living with the demolition and construction. At least, that's what I tell myself. I could be lying to myself. I'm not sure. I'm a very good liar, so it's kind of hard to tell.

I had no idea that there are more than 1100 models of toilet on the Home Depot Website alone. I mean, really, given the function, how many choices do you really need? One-piece, two-piece, single-flush, double-flush, state-of-the art flushing system for the new millennium. Come on!  And don't get me started on faucets. Integral stops, my ass! Then there's the cabinets, counters, appliances, knobs, pulls, tiles, and the partridge in the pear tree! I even had to order special recessed cabinets for under the island so that there's a place to put the dogs' dishes! And are they grateful? Noooo!

I'm trying really hard to find the zen in all of this. Or at least the humor. This is another one of those things that I never thought I'd be doing on my own. Buying my own piece of Manhattan Real Estate. Remodeling it. What do I know about any of this? I'm really just bluffing my way through everything. Maybe I can fool everyone into thinking I actually know what I'm doing.

Funnily enough, sometimes I feel like that's my basic approach to life. "Fake it til you make it." As long as I act like I know what I'm doing, maybe no one will tip to the fact that I really have no clue! Sure, I sound really together - I've handled my parents' deaths, a few international moves, diverse jobs, now the murky, shark-infested waters of home improvement. And it's all been a piece of cake - or maybe not. It's more like I've created this illusion. It's glittery and distracting, and it keeps people from seeing that I'm really a fraud. But, it's fragile, and can shatter at any moment if I'm not careful. Then what? I'm selling pencils on the streets of New York (or The Big Issue in London), saying, "But I'm a writer! Really! And a teacher! And  . . . oh, forget it, do you want a pencil or not?"

OK, so maybe that's a bit of hyperbole (I am an English teacher after, all). And, not for nothing, but is it really an illusion if it works? I am successful as a teacher, and moderately successful as a writer. And I did survive my parents' deaths. I got the Fulbright, and moved to London. And I bought my own apartment, and orchestrated this whole renovation. Crap, I've circled back to that again, haven't I? Just seems unavoidable. Oh, well, I guess I should get back to looking at toilets. Only 987 to go!

PS - check out the new online novel, Funerals By Francie: www.funeralsbyfrancie.blogspot.com

Monday, May 30, 2011

It's Deja-Ash All Over Again


There were so many titles I could have chosen for this entry. “Don’t Ash, Don’t Tell,” “Kiss My Ash,” I could go on. Actually, there’s a few people I’d like to tell to Kiss My Ash, but, as they are mostly under the age of 15, I’m going to err on the side of being a mature adult, who does not want to cause an international incident. Anyway, Ash Cloud 2011 still looms over Europe. It’s nothing near as bad as last year’s ash cloud, but it does highlight a number of non-ash related parallels to this time last year.

Last year’s eruption from the Whosamawhatsit volcano (it had a name that looked like someone just stroked their hand across the keyboard) came at time that I was just beginning to look ahead to a major change in my life. It was after Mommy died, and I had just gotten my Fulbright Exchange confirmed, and my focus was on the upcoming year, the move abroad, and the changes my life had undergone and would undergo. A year later, and I find myself in almost the exact same situation. I have just over two months to go in England, and my focus has shifted to the move back home, what I’m going to do next year, and how my life has changed and will change.

I’ve got some hard choices to make in the coming weeks, as I’ve come to realize that I can’t go back to things the way they once were. This year away has helped me to figure myself out (to an extent), and to know what I want out of life. I have taken significant steps forward in my personal and professional life, and I know that I need to avoid taking steps backward when I return to New York. But, just as the volcanic ash cloud hampers the visibility of what lies ahead for pilots or ship’s captains, so does the metaphorical ash cloud that hangs over my day-to-day life. I don’t know what awaits, and there’s no way of knowing if the decisions I am making will turn out to be disastrous, or if they’ll prove to have been inspired.

It’s a bit scary, actually.  But, then, what hasn’t been scary? For someone as inherently insecure as me, I’ve taken a lot of risks in my life. Not jumping out of an airplane-type risks, but leaving a job that wasn’t working for me (more than once), moving to another country (more than once), sending out manuscripts and being rejected (so much more than once!). And, living my life without Mom and Dad.

That’s been the biggest risk, for me, and it has proven successful. Some people probably wouldn’t understand that as a risk, but then they don’t understand the relationship I had with Mom and Dad. When we lost Daddy, it was hard, but Mommy was still there, so life still mostly made sense. But, when we lost Mommy, nothing made sense. I’ve said it before – I didn’t know who I was without them. Now I do. A year in England has taught me who I am, and what I want, and has made me determined not to take the safe path

And, yes, that means more risks ahead. And, yes, maybe some big mistakes. But, they’re my mistakes to make. It’s my life to live. Over the past year or so, the mist that has clouded my path has swirled and eddied, sometimes rising, sometimes settling in so I can’t see my hand in front of my face. But, the sun is peeking through, and the path is becoming clearer. And, I’m really looking forward to seeing where it leads. 

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Royal Wedding Madness

To be honest, I don't know what's been more mad - the Royal Wedding, or life in general. Case in point, I wrote this three weeks ago, and never got around to posting it. Not to mention that there have been a couple of posts I was going to write, but instead got bogged down in year 10 Mock Exams, Grade Reports, Lesson Prep. The funny thing is, people keep saying, "So, how does it feel to be almost done?" No, if I were home, I'd be almost done. Here, I have two more months!!!

Anyway, I did want to post this bit about the Royal Wedding. It was quite an experience. The following is from the email I sent to friends and family after the big day:


"So, it’s official. There’s a new princess in town. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably know there was a wedding here Friday. And, in a brilliant PR move, the nation was given a holiday to celebrate. Added to the May Day Bank Holiday today, and we actually have a four-day weekend (after a three-day week, so not too shabby). I thought of escaping the royal wedding madness and going away, but then I thought, my friends and family would never forgive me if I didn’t report back. So, for you, I stayed in town! Actually, that’s not completely true – I just got back from St. Ives, in Cornwall, where I spent the rest of the holiday weekend (C’mon, you know it, “As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives . . .” – yes, you will have it stuck in your head for the rest of the day.). But, Friday, I joined the multitudes in celebrating Wills and Kate’s big day.

I didn’t actually have any fixed plan for Royal Wedding Day. On the day the National Holiday was announced, one of my Fulbright colleagues texted me to stay with me. I agreed, then kind of regretted it, because it meant losing the rest f the weekend. In the end, she decided on a hotel because she was going to be with her parents. I immediately booked my trip to Cornwall, precluding any other surprise guests. As for the day itself, I figured I’d just wander the periphery, get a few back of head shots, and be able to say I was in London for the Royal Wedding. It’s funny how things can turn out very different than you anticipate.

Originally, I was going to walk around Thursday afternoon, since it was my early day from work. That was the only way I knew I’d get close to Westminster Abbey, Horse Guards and the Palace. Then, Wednesday, I heard from another Fulbright teacher, who was down from the North. She wanted to do dinner Thursday. We agreed to meet up, do the same walkabout that I was planning, and then do dinner. She was staying with another colleague who lives just south of London (quite near my school, actually). While we were walking around, we were talking about their plans for the next day, and she said they were getting up early to come into town. I offered my fold-out sofa, and they ended up staying with me Thursday night.

As we walked around Thursday and saw all the people camped out along the Pall Mall and near Buckingham Palace, we decided to go instead to Trafalgar Square and try to watch the big screen. Being near the palace meant only seeing them go by in the car, and then the carriage, for about 30 seconds. There were no screens, so you couldn’t watch the ceremony (turns out, they played the audio for those people). Also, if you had not already been camped out (and I don’t even camp out for Yankee tickets), there was no way you were going to see anything anyway, you’d be too far back. More on why those locations were a bad idea later.

So, Meredith, Jeff and I left Cali and Brooke watching the festivities on the BBC, and headed to Trafalgar Square, with about 50 thousand of our closest friends, at about 7 AM (a reasonable time that did not involve sleeping on pavement). We had to pass through a security check, and we ended up with a seat front and center, right near the big screen and in front of the MSNBC cameras (you may have seen me!). Looking around at our fellow revelers, we did realize that playing it by ear had it’s drawbacks – we forgot a blanket, and didn’t even think  to bring the bottle of sparkling wine I had in the fridge (actually, I blame the open container laws back home for that – I’m conditioned into thinking you need a brown paper bag if you want to drink in public). But, given the length of the “loo queues,” turned out, the less liquid consumed, the better! We could have bought champagne at Trafalgar, as they had bars and food kiosks set up for the “street party.” But, once you were in your spot, it was hard to move around (as I discovered on my way back from the loo, when I had to play a highly sophisticated game of twister to find my way back to our spot).

At about 10, they asked everyone who was sitting to stand and move forward, so more people could get into the square. The drawback was having to stand for the rest of the time. The advantage was we got even closer to the screen. There was an emcee, and music, along with the BBC “pre-game” coverage to keep us entertained, and it was a nice atmosphere. Once the festivities started, it was amazing to see the various crowd reactions. Every sighting was cause for a cheer. People oohed and aahed over the dress and the hair (and laughed heartily when the male BBC announcer said as Kate got into the car, “It’s a limited view to be sure, but what a delightful view it is” – just as the camera happened to be showing a fairly clear shot of the bride’s bosom). There were “aaws” as Will snuck a peek at Kate walking down the aisle, and every time they shared a smile. There was also some healthy criticism of some of the dresses and hats (did anyone see the Kafka-esque roach on Princess Beatrice’s head?). Throughout the service, though, the square was almost entirely silent, which was impressive.  People sang along with the hymns (they sold programs at the square which had the entire service printed in it, so you could follow along), and the crowd’s rendition of “God Save the Queen” proved emotional even for us Yanks. Speaking of emotion, the only one of the three of us who actually got choked up was Jeff, as he watched Kate’s dad walk her down the aisle!

After the service, they kept us entertained with a band, Mayor Boris, and a crazy hat contest (I can’t even begin to describe some of the outfits. Fortunately, you can see the photo below for a sample). Quote of the day (actually beating out the BBC announcer) came from a 5-year-old girl in the hat contest who, when asked by the emcee when she had turned five, looked at him oddly and said, “On my birthday.”

Then it was time for the balcony scene – the kiss everyone was waiting for. This is when we knew for sure that we had made the right decision in not going to the Mall or the Palace. When the BBC cameras showed the scene at the Palace, it was clear that the crowd had surged forward with such force, that they had simply knocked over the barriers. If you saw it on TV, you have a sense of how many people there were – they all pushed forward. Our other colleagues (some of whom had camped out), said people fell and nearly got trampled. And, even if you didn’t get trampled, people were pushed so close together you couldn’t move or breathe deeply. It took them an hour and half to extricate themselves from the crowd, and they couldn’t even see much.

Meanwhile, back in civilization, the crowd at Trafalgar Square did press in a little to get closer to the screen, but within reason. Everyone was pleasant, popping champagne corks as they kissed, laughing, “aawing” and generally enjoying themselves. We were very grateful not to be in the crush. Again I thought, why spend hours waiting for a 30-second glance (and that open carriage was moving really fast!), only to be pushed and shoved by a few hundred thousand people? Not worth it. We even got a great view of the fly-over from the square too.

Once the Queen decided that the festivities were done, we left the Square in search of lunch, and non-port-o-san toilets. The party was still going on in the square, but we were done. We had a leisurely lunch at a local Italian restaurant that we all knew, which was the perfect quiet, comfortable spot that we needed. Afterwards, we walked back toward the square, down Whitehall (literally – we could walk in the middle of the street, which never happens!), through Horse Guards (the same route as the Royal Procession), down the Mall, and past the Palace. There were still large crowds, but the madness had eased somewhat by then. Then we headed back to my flat, asked Cali and Brooke what they thought of it all (they liked the dress, and wondered where the Royal Corgis were), and went back out to the pub to meet the other teachers and compare notes. The end result of which was realizing we’d had the best spot (and, I think, the best time) of everyone!

The other plus was that Meredith and Jeff are easy to spend the day with (maybe because they’re New Yorkers – even if they’re from upstate!). A lot of the time, when I hang out with any semi-large group of Fulbrighters, I feel like I’m back in high school, instead of teaching it. There is so much drama. I don’t get it – we are all adults. Why do we need to revert to such childish games? But, there was no drama during our day out – everyone was easygoing, and went with the flow. All in all, a great day, and a highlight of the Fulbright year."

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Alone in a Foreign Land


It’s a pretty melodramatic title, I know. But I was being pretty melodramatic over the last few days. I’m in Greece right now, a trip I booked several weeks ago. I’ve been really looking forward to the trip. But, in the couple of days before leaving, I started obsessing over this being the first time I would be traveling in a foreign country by myself. Pause, think about that . . . yes, I eventually realized how stupid that was given the fact that I LIVE in a foreign country by myself. And, this isn’t even the first time I’ve done that! I am living and working in England, dealing with Ofsted and rude, presumptuous children. I lived and worked in Mexico, dealing with assassinations of police chiefs, sixteen-year-olds shooting up nightclubs, and narcos leaving severed heads on the front steps of City Hall in Acapulco (and rolling them onto the floor of a nightclub in Chihuahua). And I’m worried about Greece?

It’s funny because I would not have called myself an adventurous person. I tend to think of myself as fairly conservative, but if I were to objectively assess my life, I have taken a lot of risks and done a lot of adventurous things. I mean, I’m not talking skydiving types of risks (no way on God’s Green Earth), or Behind Enemy Lines types of risks, but I’ve lived abroad three times (I was a Foreign Service Officer for Pete’s sake!), and I’ve lived in Boston and Washington. I bought a piece of Manhattan real estate on my own (a strange and daring adventure all on its own). I’ve sent my work out to publishers and TV producers, and handled the subsequent rejection (and occasional minor success). I’ve chatted with Oscar-winning directors and actors because I figured I had nothing to lose (thanks Danny Boyle, et al!). And all this is from the girl who, at seventeen, was too scared to go from NY to Boston for college (made it there eventually for grad school!)

So, what turned the 17-year-old girl afraid to leave home into the nearly 37-year-old citizen of the world? So many things. Obviously as I grew older, I grew more confident (in some things, anyway!). And, I grew stronger. Mom and Dad were a huge part of that. They never pushed, but they always encouraged. When I couldn’t go to Boston, they made sure I didn’t need to. When I wanted to go to Oxford, and was, truly, terrified at the thought of being so far away, they supported me and left the ultimate decision to me. I remember people saying, “The girl who couldn’t go to Boston is going to England?” And I told them, “I can’t get Oxford in New York.” That was a turning point for me. I realized that, if I really wanted something, I had to take a risk and, if I didn’t take that risk, I would wonder “What if?” for the rest of my life. So I took the risk. It wasn’t easy. I was lonely, I never quite fit in with my peer group (especially when I was living with a bunch of pot-heads), and we spent a fortune on phone calls home. But it was an experience I still value today. And, it conquered that last fear of being away from home. Everything else was (relatively) easy after that.

So then, why was I scared to travel to Greece alone? Well, on one of my soul-searching walks along the Thames (very useful walks, actually, more on them another time), it finally hit me. It had nothing to do with fear of being in another country on my own – that was simple displacement. No, what this anxiety was about was something very, very different. This is the first time I have taken a trip like this without Mommy. This is something we would have done together. In fact, there were two separate occasions on which we were supposed to come to Greece, but plans fell through. A little over a year ago, if I were to have been planning this trip it would have, without question, been with her. And now, it’s on my own. The sense of loss is palpable. I should be doing this with her. Today, we should have been gazing from the hills of Delphi and marveling at what it must have been like in all it’s glory, envisioning being one of the faithful coming to the oracle for a prediction (btw, I didn’t realize the oracle was the place, not the person). We would have drunk in the atmosphere and reveled in the fact that we were treading the same ground as the Ancient Greeks thousands of years ago. Instead, I was doing that, but alone.

That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? That’s what this year+ has been about – figuring out who I am without my parents, and particularly without my best friend. They are still an incredible presence in my life, but it’s times like this when I really feel the fact that their presence is within me now, not beside me. I’m grateful for having that strong sense of them being with me, but sometimes, I really just want to talk to them like I used to. And to hug them. But, as cliché as it sounds, Life goes on. And, though I would not have thought it possible last year, life is good. School kinda sucks, but life is good! And, unbelievably, it keeps moving forward. And that’s all because the girl who couldn’t go to Boston went to England (and Greece!)

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Sheep and Cows and Kings, Oh My!

Well, the past couple of weeks have been a bit rough. With all of the difficulties, though, I'm reminded that I have a wonderful group of colleagues around me, and I'm very lucky. They've all been very welcoming, and supportive, and have been there for me while everything has been going on at home. And, they don't need to - they hardly know me. But, that's the type of people they are. I'm very grateful for my colleagues, because some of the recent experiences I've had would have been totally unbearable without that support. But, those issues can hold for another time. I thought I'd just jot a quick note about a nice little visit Cali, Brooke and I had to my colleague Alan's home in Kent. It was a bit of adventure, actually. First, Cali and Brooke had their first ever train ride. They did well at Victoria Station, and we got a section of a car to ourselves on the train. We lucked out in that the ticket collector on the train was a dog lover, so she played with them and didn't mind them moving around a bit. Cali's usual snarkiness took hold at some stations, as she chose to growl at people on the platform through the window. Basically, for the whole ride, no one sat in our section! I have some cute pictures of them looking out the windows of the train (one of these days, I'll figure out how to insert pictures). When we got to Alan's house, they settled in pretty well, and then we went for a long country walk - another first for those two city dogs. I mean, they love Friends Lake, but that's not the same as the rolling English countryside. It was beautiful and, aside from one minor tiff with another dog, they did really well. When they met some sheep for the first time, they were very curious. Brooke gave a couple of experimental barks, but then settled for sniffing through the fence. I was a little concerned they might think the lambs were chew toys (they have a stuffed lamb from Stratford), but they did fine.

We didn't get too close to the Blank Angus cows, but I did see Cali and Brooke eyeing them cautiously. We stopped for a respite at the top of a hill and they drank some water and looked around curiously, and then we had another break at Chartwell, Winston Churchill's house, where we sat at a table outside and I had a coke. The two of them were too busy checking everyone out to have any water at that point. Cali had a couple of grumpy moments. Then we walked back, through the woods and across the fields. I really thought they'd get tired, but they seemed like they could go on forever. Made me feel a little bad that they spend so much time cooped up in the flat. They seemed so free and happy. Of course, their freedom had its restrictions - I didn't let them off the extension leashes. Alan's daughter Julia did a very commendable job of managing Brooke, while I handled Cali, and we worked out a rhythm of weaving back and forth to untangle the two maniacs!

Back at the house, after a late lunch (expertly prepared by Julia and Rebecca), Alan introduced me to the game of Kings - a simple, medieval game of strategy, using nothing more than wooden sticks and blocks, that is surprisingly addictive. It was a lot of fun, but I got the impression that Cali and Brooke wanted to try their hand at it, since Brooke kept knocking the blocks down with her lead. Then the train ride back - I expected them to be exhausted, but I guess there were too many exciting things to see. They got a lot of attention while we waited on the platform, and then the car was crowded, so we had to share space. Cali was snarky a couple of times, but overall, they did quite well, and we made it home without incident. I imagine they were quite overwhelmed with all the new things they saw and did, but I was quite proud of them (considering all the horrors I had envisioned!). Who knows, I may just take them out again! :)