Fox Sighting

Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Bangor

The neighborhood fox made an appearance the other night when we were watching, after putting out some leftover turkey bones in the yard. We turned on the outdoor light, and turned off all the indoor ones, and sat inside the patio doors to wait. He or she appeared after just a few minutes at the edge of the garden in the back, then scurried out of sight into the shadows off to the side. It circled in towards the bones, hesitated and turned back a little, then circled again and gathered courage before making a beeline for the bones, grabbing them and heading straight back into the shadows at the back of the garden, where there is a place where it can slip under the gate and into the woods. I didn't realize it would be so skinny looking - very insubstantial, long and thin and low to the ground. And definitely more nervous than sly.

After walking so much here in Bangor I can now identify the smell that will always mean Ireland for me: coal fire and wood smoke combined with salty sea air. I can add that to my personal catalog of world odors: Indian food mixed with car exhaust for London, salty sea air with evergreen for Puget Sound, freshly mown hay for the Midwest, rosemary for Provence, sea air and wood smoke for Southeast Alaska. The only smell I associate with Paris so far is roasted chestnuts, from our Christmastime visit several years ago – but when we visit in the spring I’m sure I’ll learn some new ones.

Chocolate chip cookies in the oven make for a cozy day, even though it isn’t raining today and the wind isn’t blowing much either. Chocolate chips here are not really common – we don’t have the same choices as at home – and they are really expensive besides. So instead of buying chips I bought a big bar of Green and Black’s organic baking chocolate (72%!) and chopped it up into pieces with a knife. More work, but probably akin to the original chocolate chip cookie recipe and much better tasting. I keep steering myself away from the counter where they are cooling on an old copy of The Times so as not to eat dozens of them in just one afternoon.

I’m working on a writing project that pays and has a deadline so am staying home today to get work done. Also, during the week we’ve started making a list each morning for Reed with all his scheduled things through the day. He loves to cross things off, so we put everything on there: breakfast, wash face, brush teeth, get dressed, recess, music, recess, books, math, science, recess, handwriting, lunch, more recess, more books, supper, bath, bed. One day a week we take some kind of field trip; this week it might be to the aquarium down by Strangford Lough in Portaferry, or perhaps to Carrickfergus castle. One afternoon a week we go to the swimming pool, and of course late on Monday afternoons I take Reed to Kerry McClure’s house for his violin lesson. If the weather is exceptionally fine we ditch the schedule and take Reed down to the beach, where he is supremely happy, poking about in the tidepools. Violin practice has been going much more smoothly lately than it did at first, as I’ve cut the time back from 15 or more minutes to only 5 or 10. It’s pretty exciting to see him learning to read the notes, following the music with his eyes and moving his bow to the right string. I think he is feeling a sense of accomplishment about it too. Getting to go to Kerry’s is pretty motivating too: she always has lots of scented candles lit – which Reed adores – not to mention a huge coal fire burning in the fireplace, right in front of where the kids stand to play. Getting there by train and bus is a fun adventure too – so I’m feeling much more optimistic and relaxed about the whole violin thing.

We experienced our first traditional Church of Ireland service on Sunday, with lots of readings from the Book of Common Prayer followed by communion. Reed went off to Sunday school with the other kids – he was very excited to do that – and they all came back in time for communion. You go clear up front, past the huge pipes of the organ, and kneel, and the reverend or one of the assistants (I’m not sure what you call them here, at home it’s deacons) gives you a small piece of bread and then a sip of wine from a gold chalice. Reed was given a grape. Not realizing that Walt had never done this before, I forgot to tell him to only take a sip. So… when handed the chalice full of wine, he downed the whole thing, taking two long swallows! I didn’t see this happen, as we were busy kneeling further down the line. Later on the way home when he ‘fessed up to this I couldn’t stop laughing for a very long time – imagining what the deacon who served him must’ve been thinking. It might explain why my own chalice, handed to me a minute or two later, only contained a sip – she probably thought I would swig down a whole cup too.

All I Want for Christmas...

Reed has lost 3 of his top front teeth in the last 10 days. This photo was taken after the first one fell out.

Giving Thanks for the Ulster Folk Museum

Photos:

Reed and labourer's cottages in Ballycultra Village



Rectory and church, Ballycultra









Soda farls in rectory kitchen









Modest farm at folk museum










Prosperous farm at folk museum






Friday, November 23, 2007
Bangor

Thanksgiving Round-up: I was unable to get pumpkin in any form, but did locate some organic butternut squash at the store. It turned out to be indistinguishable from pumpkin once it was baked into a pie using the traditional Libby’s recipe that I found online. Just halve the butternut the long way, bake it flesh down on a cookie sheet about an hour at 350, scoop out the insides, discard the seeds, and puree the flesh in a food processor, then follow your pie recipe. Presto! The turkey roasted up beautifully on a broiler pan with a big foil tent over it tightly sealed around the edges; the dressing that I made with two different kinds of bread along with onions, celery, wild mushrooms, sausage, bacon, and sage was yummy, the mashed potatoes made with local spuds were quite tasty; the glazed carrots – also local – were sweet and delicious as a substitute for sweet potatoes (which I really hate). Unable to find fresh frozen cranberries, I had to purchase a jar of Ocean Spray cranberry sauce. But I’ll admit, although it wasn’t my own, it was pretty good. It at least had whole fruit in it, unlike the jellied sauce that you plop out of the can. We ate dinner at 5 pm on Thursday, washing it all down with a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau, and had the leftovers for dinner a little bit ago in front of one of my new favorite t.v. shows, Great Garden Detectives, a show that combines horticultural enthusiasm with architecture, history, and culture. Hard to resist. Cute host too. Anway, Walt wonders which he likes better: Thanksgiving day dinner, or Thanksgiving leftovers the day after. I’m definitely in favor of the leftovers the day after, since I haven’t spent all day cooking and setting the table it feels like a completely free feast.

Now we’re tucked in front of a coal fire in the stove after spending our second sunny but cool day at the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum in Cultra. If we had known how wonderful the whole thing is we would’ve paid for an annual membership when we first visited – but now we’ve been twice and will go back at least another two times. It is an entire day’s worth of almost living history that interests all 3 of us; it only takes 10 minutes to get to on the train; and during the off season we have the entire place almost all to ourselves. It is a tribute to the museum’s quality that both days we have visited, Reed has been constantly attentive and interested and happy. To have spent an entire day out as a family without a moment of fussing from any of us is a special day indeed. Plus, the ticket collector ignored us both coming and going - so our train ride was free today!

There are two main parts of the museum, the transport side and the folk side, physically separated by the A2 highway that runs between Belfast and Bangor, but over which is a great little bridge with a sidewalk for pedestrians. When you get off the train a sign points you in the direction of the museum and after going up the stairs off the train platform you walk down a secret-seeming pathway and emerge just in front of the transport museum. Our first day we entered there and paid to go to both parts. We then spent the entire morning looking at the collection of old trains and reading the exhibits about railway history. Then we went over to the folk side to find the tea room in the museum’s village to have lunch.

Ballycultra village consists mostly of original historic buildings that have been carefully deconstructed, moved, and reconstructed on site. There is also a rural area with several different farms, mills, and a school. A few of the buildings are replicas of historic buildings that couldn’t be moved – sometimes because they’re still in use. In many cases the building’s original furniture is still inside. There are labourer’s cottages, a corner shop, a bank and bank manager’s house, 3 churches, a school, a rectory, a photography studio, a picture house (cinema), a post office, pub, doctor’s office and dispensary, hardware store, dressmaker’s, printshop, courthouse and police station, and various other businesses and shops that would have existed in a market village about 100 years ago. As you visit each building you get the feeling – mostly because in most of them there is a coal or peat fire burning in the fireplace or grate and all the appropriate furnishings and equipment and merchandise - that the people have just stepped out for a moment – that if you wait just a bit they’ll return, ready to fit you for a pair of shoes, repair your bike, sell you a lantern or a spade, or help you choose the fabric for your new winter coat. The highlight of our town visit today was the Charlie Chaplin film playing in the picture house - a romp on roller skates that left Reed laughing so hard he fell off the bench.

The first time we had sausage rolls (hot sausage inside puff pastry - mmm!) and cold sandwiches and tea for lunch in the tea shop in the village; today we took a picnic lunch of peanut butter and jam sandwiches that we ate in the sunshine, sitting on a stone wall next to one of the farms. We hiked around the huge rural area - like a big farm park of woods and pastures - warmed ourselves in front of the fires in all of the houses, and then went to the tea shop in the rural manor house about 2 pm for hot chocolate, scones, and coffee. It’s a bit of an extravagance on our food budget to do that (I could take a thermos of hot tea, after all) but for these field trip days out I think it’s an essential part of the experience to go sit down and rest in the warmth, with a cup of something good to drink.

Ireland is lovely in the winter; frosty and misty in the morning when the sun is coming out, and then the low sun shines through the barely leaved trees onto the greenest pastures imaginable. In the rural area there are sheep and goats grazing in the walled and hedged pastures, chickens out foraging in the grass and under the trees, and at one farm, a large friendly sow who came loudly oinking over to greet us. After we gave her some friendly conversation and a few scritches behind the ears, she continued to follow us to each corner of the pasture to say hello yet again as we made our way around her large enclosure on our way to the next farm. She was almost as big as the pig at Les Fromentaux, but not quite, and without the huge tusks. Spoke the same language though.

I’ve been trying to figure out why being there, even on my feet all day, makes me feel rested and happy, and I think perhaps it has to do with the absence of modern annoyances that are otherwise so in my face: speeding cars, people talking on cell phones, muzak, an unnecessary overabundance of material goods for sale, large amounts of plastic, flashing electric lights and neon. (Don’t get me wrong – I’m enjoying being home this evening, with the dishwasher washing the dishes and 900 channels on the wide screen t.v. and hot running water in the bathtub – but just to go back in time temporarily is very meditative and calming.)

Next time we go back we’ll go to the transport side again, because we haven’t even seen the Titanic collection yet. It was built in Belfast so there should be quite an archive of material about it. After seeing a special on t.v. about it, Reed is ready to learn more. There is also a special Santa event in December that we might go back for; rumor has it they’ll have mulled wine available at the pub, and I definitely don’t want to miss that. We were also informed that Santa would be wearing his original costume, which was at one time green and at another time brown. Apparently Santa didn’t wear red until the Coca-Cola company put him in red – which puts an entirely new slant on tradition, doesn’t it?

Thanksgiving in a rainy climate

Photo: Bangor West train station, mid-morning



Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Bangor

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving in the United States but here in Northern Ireland it’s not a holiday at all. No one’s rushing around to the grocery store getting whipping cream, wine, turkey, and fixings. Turkeys here are for Christmas – so I’ll be making do with a farm-raised free range local turkey that’s been frozen since Easter. But I am lucky to get even that so I’m not complaining. I’ll pick it up about 5 pm from the butcher’s, and while I’m downtown I’ll check into canned pumpkin, too, and maybe some celery for the stuffing. It would be nice to have some friends or family to share the holiday with - a lovely Thanksgiving at the Litman residence in rainy Sitka, Alaska that we enjoyed a decade ago comes to mind - but since we don’t, we can at least have fun doing just the Thanksgiving foods we adore, with no obligation to put sweet potatoes on the table. So, it will be turkey with stuffing (with celery, sage, mushrooms, onions, and sausage), mashed potatoes, a green salad, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie with whipped cream. The 2007 Beaujolais Nouveau has arrived, too, so that might be a good wine to go with it, if it’s not too expensive.

We experienced church in a foreign country for the first time on Sunday. I looked online and found a couple of Presbyterian churches that were supposed to have services at 10:30 am so we headed downtown at the proper time, only to discover that actually one was at 9:45 and one was at 11;30. Meanwhile, as we arrived downtown the bells in St Comgall’s Church of Ireland were pealing beautifully, calling all to the service at 10:30. So that’s where we went. The service wasn’t the usual formal Anglican type service on this particular Sunday, as it was a “family” service, where the kids stayed instead of going off to Sunday School, and there was lots of singing and a very short talk. They called everyone who had birthdays in November up front for a treat and to be serenaded with the birthday song – so we convinced Reed to go up too. He chose his candy and started to head back down the aisle before we’d sung, so he got embarrassed when everyone was indicating that he should go back up. A while later the kids got called up again; Reed didn’t want to go at first, but then it turned out the “new member” of the church they were meeting wasn’t a person but a black and white hamster that had been abandoned in the church foyer the previous Sunday – left inside the door in his little plastic ball. So Reed couldn’t resist going back up for that.

The church occupies a large triangular patch of ground very near the main street, and is quite large with tall stained glass windows and lots of gothic arches – quite lovely. Several people were quite friendly to us afterwards, and the minister, Nigel, talked to us for several minutes. We had some tea and cookies afterwards and felt pretty at home; Walt was tentatively recruited into the choir, as well, but I managed to avoid that – knowing that Reed will need to be in bed by the time choir practice starts on a Wednesday evening. I’m not sure if I was living here permanently that I’d go to the Church of Ireland but for just a few months I think it will be a good place for us. At home our church is the Community Congregational United Church of Christ, so when I spotted a Congregational church here I thought “all right.” But then I saw commanding and forbidding scriptures posted right on the front gate and knew immediately that it was not the same kind of place as at home. Strangely enough I’ve seen more scripture posted in public view here than anywhere I’ve seen – it feels a bit in your face (we’re uncomfortable with that in the UCC) and I wonder how much of it has to do with decades of religious conflict here in the North.

A contribution to the WWOOF newsletter

WWOOFing with a 7 year old in France

My husband and I and our just-turned 7 year old son WWOOFed for two months in France this fall, thanks to 3 wonderful, family-friendly hosts. While all was not perfect at all times, we are looking forward to continuing WWOOFing next spring and summer.

The task of locating family-friendly hosts was made much simpler by the option to sort for this attribute in the WWOOF host list. We then emailed prospective hosts, telling them about our family. Several were very interested, and several others very politely let us know that 3 people at once was too much. We searched the listings carefully, knowing that accommodation in a tent wouldn’t do, and that we preferred to be not too far from town, since we wouldn’t have a car. We know that most WWOOFers are younger than we are, but hopefully our maturity was a bonus for our hosts, in that we turned up when we were supposed to, were too tired at night to get up to no good, and already had some experience with carpentry, home renovation projects, and garden maintenance.

WWOOFing as a family comes with built-in challenges, of course. A child can’t be unattended on a farm, or in a stranger’s home. An unpredictable, spoiled, or disobedient child of any age is a very bad candidate for WWOOFing with his or her parents, and I would expect parents to be honest when they assess themselves for WWOOFing suitability, and to discuss the options with their prospective hosts. I have heard of arrangements where one parent worked while the other parented a very young child, in exchange for only half-board from the hosts, and this seemed to work just fine for both.

Ask yourself: will my child eat uncomplainingly what is put in front of him? Will my child sleep in an unfamiliar bed? Will my child understand that he is supposed to entertain himself in one corner of the garden with some sticks and rocks (and not wander off) while I weed for 4 hours between breakfast and lunch? Does my child know how to pet kitties gently and let an unfamiliar dog smell him first? Does my child listen when I say you’re not allowed to chase the geese, and to stay clear of the billy goat when we’re bringing the herd in and out of the barn each day?

The WWOOF host, if they indicate that they’re willing to accept children, must also be aware that having a WWOOFing family may mean that sometimes a parent will have to interrupt his or her work to attend to a child’s needs for a snack or to help redirect the child’s play… or that a child won’t be able to stay up until 9 pm for dinner…

At our first host (a large house, not a farm), we helped in the garden and in the house. I did a lot of cooking for the household and assisted with applesauce making and laundry. My husband also did yardwork and some handyman-type tasks. This is not so different than what we do at home, and the huge garden and lawn, all walled, made a perfect place for my son to explore and play. The host even had some toys, since her grandchildren visit at times. Our host and the rest of the household were always kind to our son, and indulged him with their attention and encouraged his artwork. Some nights he managed to stay up until dinnertime, other times I fed him early and put him to bed before getting dinner for the rest of us. He learned a few French words, and a lot about French food and people.

Our second host was an extended family (with lots of friends) with a goat farm in the Auvergne. We helped feed and milk goats, make cheese, harvest vegetables, bake bread, do housework and miscellaneous tasks around the farm such as gathering kindling and weeding the herb garden, and during all of it our hosts were wonderfully welcoming to our son, even when he was suffering badly from homesickness, being more than usually shy and requiring our attention throughout the day fairly often, and needing to get to bed long before dinnertime. Having raised 3 children themselves made our hosts familiar with working around children’s needs, and we tried our best to repay their flexibility by working as hard as we could on whatever was on the schedule that day, and doing more things than we had technically been assigned. A few times I watched our hosts’ grandson, and a few times they watched our son while we ran errands or went on an outing – an unexpected treat. Our son learned to help herd the goats, got to try milking them and making the cheese, was allowed a small piece of bread dough to knead and shape himself, and then had the joy of seeing his small creation come out of the oven. While sometimes he was a royal pain, at other times he made himself useful by helping scrub the floors of the bakery. There were: eggs to gather, a creek to visit, huge pastures to roam, cats and dogs to befriend, wonderful meals to eat, and a big pile of sand in which to dig. We were all very sad to leave, after a month sharing the lives of people to whom we’d become very attached, and we were told we’d be welcome back.

Our third host had two young boys themselves, so another one in the mix hardly mattered. The hours on this market farm in Nice were more “scheduled” than at our previous host, due to having a vegetable boxes to prepare for their customers a couple times a week plus the Saturday market to prepare for. But again, our hosts were accustomed to children, and the farm was child-friendly, with lots of pathways and terraces to explore, and a big tree to climb, with a rope swing. All our son had to do was help keep an eye on the chickens – more than once he warned me when they’d strayed out of their pen – but he also decided he wanted to learn to weed. This made me nervous, since our hosts’ livelihood depended on us not damaging his onions and fennel and lettuces… but with close attention even a 7 year old can be of use in the field, at least until he’s had enough and is ready to go off and play. The days we harvested olives at a distant location from the house, we prepared a bag with activities and snacks, and brought along a pillow and blanket for him to spread out in the back of the truck when he needed a place to rest. Our son loves olive oil, so we helped him survive the long days of watching us harvest by telling him about the fresh oil we’d get to eat when it was done.

I could write a lot more about what WWOOFing has taught me, but I’ll stick to the family theme; when we told our friends and family that we were taking a year off to go to Europe for WWOOFing and housesitting, many of them asked about school for our son, not quite realizing how important it is for us as parents that our son learn about where our food comes from, how hard farmers work, the importance of organic methods of growing food, and how rich a life can be had by raising your own vegetables, dairy, and meat. In this, WWOOFing is far more educational than regular school. I feel fortunate that in just two months my child learned a few words of a foreign language, discovered a new landscape, learned about caring for animals and being safe on the farm, learned to appreciate many different foods he’d never eaten before, and is now showing an interest in other cultures. Perhaps even more importantly, he’s talking about how he wants to live someday: in a small cabin, in the country, with a few animals and a garden… I feel sure than when we continue WWOOFing next spring our great experiences will continue.

Hot Drinks

No one's got hot drinks nailed down like the Irish. Irish coffee, anyone? Or the ubiquitous cuppa (tea)? Well, for those of us who can't take caffeine there are even more choices. The one I remember from my student days in Wales is Horlicks - malted milk - which is now available in a light version. Horlicks is meant to be drunk in the evening, to promote "restful sleep." I bought a box as soon as I spotted it in the grocery store but the light version just isn't the same (read "sweet") as the original. The other malted drink is Ovaltine, probably not unfamiliar to those in the U.S. Ovaltine is marketed as a high energy pick-me-up, since the malt contains so many vitamins and minerals! Note that in Ireland Guinness is also in this category, a kind of liquid meal. In the morning before heading out on my grocery run I often drink a caffeine free coffee substitute similar to Postum or Inka, made of chicory, rye, barley, and maybe malt, called Solace. This one has the added ingredients of figs and acorns.

People who love "real" coffee will be dismayed in the UK to discover that at home, if you're offered a coffee, it is most likely of the instant variety. They won't add insult to injury though by offering you powdered fake cream. Even Nescafe with real milk isn't bad. Real coffee is available at the grocery store, of course, and several places downtown offer espresso, which I haven't sampled. (Note to self - ask Walt about the espresso!) The tea, however, is way better here; stronger, smoother, altogether more satisfying, which it would have to be considering that most people must drink 3 or 4 cups of it a day at least. It doesn't take long to get into the tea habit - why not have a cup with your toast for breakfast, and another around 11 a.m. to help you survive until lunch? And mid-afternoon? And late afternoon as well? Lipton must get the cheaper tea leaves for its less discriminating American customers (keeping in mind there are plenty of high quality tea devotees, such as my sister in law Linda). I found a decaf organic fair trade variety of English Breakfast tea from a company called Clipper that goes perfectly with our favorite tea bikkies: Hob Nobs and McVities digestives. So far I've managed to stop myself from buying these with the chocolate already on them, because I remember from 20 years ago that chocolate Hob Nobs are my downfall.

Traybakes and Crotchets

Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Bangor

Reed’s chocolate birthday cake turned out fine, quite beautiful in fact, even if the cake itself was a little drier than I would have liked. The dryness was canceled out by the huge amounts of buttercream frosting in between the layers. I split it into 4 layers so in the inside the frosting was pink, made by mixing strawberry jam with the butter and powdered sugar and milk. Outside, it was chocolate, made by mixing melted dark chocolate with butter and powdered sugar. I assembled the cake Saturday evening after a day of mostly hanging out at home – although I did take an hour and a half long walk late in the afternoon along the coast, my favorite time of day to be walking – and let it sit in the cupboard on one of Anna’s beautiful platters overnight.

Reed’s excitement level grew as time dragged by on Sunday, until the appointed hour of 3 pm arrived and a couple girls appeared, thankfully. Reed would have been VERY upset if no one had come on time. When they discovered there was indeed cake and ice cream to be had, they went and rounded up the rest of the children, so within a few minutes I was trying to pour drinks for 9 kids crowded into the summerhouse. Then we brought out the cake, lit the 7 candles, and everyone sang Happy Birthday to Reed and waited patiently while I cut cake and ice cream and Reed served everyone. It was a chilly and windy day, and Walt kept making noises about me making the kids be out there, but I found a heater in the summerhouse earlier in the day and made good use of it. Afterwards I explained to Walt that I kept the children outside for my own sanity, knowing that having them in the house would’ve turned me into a quivering wreck, trying to make sure chocolate cake crumbs and grenadine sodas didn’t get spilled onto the white dining chair cushions, not to mention all those pairs of muddy shoes, and the problem of getting everyone back outside to play when it was over. The group quite naturally started a game of tag in the back yard when the refreshments were gone, and soon they headed back up front to the street to kick the ball around. Reed was exhausted by the end of the day as usual, but all in all seemed pretty pleased with the turnout.

Monday I headed out on a major grocery gathering trip, inspired by watching Two Fat Ladies on the Foot Network the night before. They had made a lot of yummy looking party treats including something called Devils on Horseback, consisting of a piece of chicken liver stuffed inside a prune with a piece of bacon wrapped around it, which was then baked. As I had chicken liver in the fridge, I bought some prunes and some bacon, and tried it out for lunch yesterday. Walt and Reed didn’t care too much for them but I thought they were delicious, with the salty-sweet combination of the fruit and bacon. Of course, I love bacon; you could probably wrap a Styrofoam peanut in bacon and I’d pronounce it great. I also tried to find canned clams to make clam chowder, but was unable to locate any. I did see canned mussels, and restrained myself from buying them, since we know that there are mussels for the taking down on the beach at low tide. Walt and I had both seen people harvesting them but Walt actually talked to some people one day to find out for sure. Walt got a tide chart today, and learned from the Coast Guard office that paralytic shellfish poisoning is nonexistent during the winter, so we can safely plan our harvesting trip. By the time I came home on Monday morning with my pack full of chickpeas and black eyed peas and rice and bacon and milk and pickles and other things it must’ve weighed 35 pounds – it felt at least as heavy as my big pack when it’s full of clothes, shoes, and books.

This morning I went to the market to stock up on vegetables from the local farmer who sells there. It was a misty/rainy morning so I took the umbrella for the first time, and filled my pack with potatoes, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, and from another vendor, oranges and apples. Prices were low since the weather was so bad – so we’ll eat good veggies this week for relatively cheap. Tonight I’m doing a stir fry with carrots, broccoli, chicken, red peppers, and onions.

Monday afternoon we walked into town for our appointment at Northern Bank to open our account. Anna had said that they’re very strict about opening up accounts so it took a lot of legwork before this just to get to this point – but thankfully Anna did most of it, having worked at Northern Bank for a long time. The amount of time it took to take care of the rest of the process was an entire hour, with a pile of papers rivaling the paperwork for closing on a house, with somewhat fewer signatures required. Heather Brown was very friendly and helpful, though, giving us tips about nice villages to visit and good restaurants in which to eat, in case we ever get to do so. Afterwards we had a snack at Heatherlea – a sausage roll and a Cornish pasty – and then Walt headed off to run errands and Reed and I killed some time at the library looking at the reference book of world flags until it was time to get the bus to his violin lesson. I won’t go into detail about how THAT went, but it was all I could do to keep my eyes focused on the Harry Potter book I was reading. Fortunately Kerry is extremely patient and understanding, and she didn’t get visibly annoyed when Reed was flopping down on the couch complaining about being tired. Amazingly enough Reed and I managed to have a fun time with practice on Tuesday morning, and this morning went okay as well, as I keep reminding myself it’s not about being perfect, it’s about having fun… repeat…

You think you’re in an English speaking country until you see something completely different. Reed learned that the frog on his violin bow is here called the heel. He also learned the names of whole, half, and quarter notes at his lesson on Monday: whole notes are called “semibreves,” half notes are “minims,” and quarter notes are “crotchets.” Eighth notes are “quares” or “quaren” I think, if I’m reading her writing correctly. And at the train station snack bar, they had a special on any scone or “traybake” and cup of tea or coffee. It’s obvious what traybake means, but it’s a brand new word for me, and I even knew already that the stove burner is called a hob and that cheap wine is plonk.

We are glad to be missing out on most of the presidential election campaign rhetoric. I do have to make note of a hilarious comment in one of The Times’ commentary pieces the other day: “The next President of the United States will undoubtedly be more articulate than the current one (only Marcel Marceau could fail to meet that standard but he is (a) French, (b) dead and (c) thus not running for the Oval Office).” I note, for those who might be unfamiliar with Marceau, that he is a famous mime. But indeed, dead.