Untranslatable: Ants and Pants

Part of being an immigrant to this lovely green land is learning to live in a new idiom. That is to say that you must learn to live in a new figurative language. Should you manage an invite to a barbeque, I cannot recommend highly enough asking a wiggly English child if they have ants in their pants. You will become ever popular with the under-10 set, and the adults will be forced to engage you in conversation.

For those of you who are English and would like to play the game, ants in one's pants refers to a general state of wiggling or impatience for a desired event. If you want to share your own antsyness, you'll want to announce, "I have ants in my pants, and now I've got to do a boogey dance." A boogey is, of course a bogey.

Thanks to the University of Alaska, Fairbanks for the shout out in the alumni news feed.

Fabulous Things About America: Mother's Day

This is the seventeenth Mother's Day that I have spent without my mother.

 And it is the first that my father has spent without his mother.

  
It is hard to imagine a greater priveledge than spending Mother's Day with my three sisters, who are now mothers themselves.

Fabulous Things About America: Part 2

True Dimensions of an American Fridge

Among the surprising things I've learned this week is that I don't miss having an American sized refrigerator. Jet lag is confusing enough without the added bonus of having to dig for milk while trying to remember what milk looks like. The milk is in the two square containers on the top, right hand side. To give you a general idea of exactly how big the refrigerator is, each of those containers holds 3.78 liters of milk. The bottom two drawers are as big as my entire refrigerator back in the UK, and the fridge is two feet deep. I've seen bigger 'American refrigerators in England.

This particular fridge held all kinds of little miracles for me, not the least of which were pickles. The English most certainly do pickles.But cucumber tends to be called gherkin, and when pickled, it tends to be preserved in just vinegar. I'd forgotten exactly how much I love pickles. On spotting them, my legs did a fine impression of my nephew's legs when he is overcome with excitement.

 
















On the other hand, I'd still pay a lot more in rent for an American freezer. The white box o the left hand side contains ice. Yum, ice. I've been her a week now, and I've yet to use the ice. It's been very warm here, yet it hasn't occurred to me to start popping ice cubes into every available drink. I may have a go in the morning just to see if I really missed them or if their lack in the UK is just one more faint reminder of where I come from.

I'm leaving the American South for the American West tomorrow, where I'll meet up with the rest of the extended family and continue eating my way through America.  I wonder what will strike me as strange or new or simply fantastic when I get there. America isn't home any longer, but it remains where I am from.

My Bologna Has A First Name: It's T-U-R-K-E-Y

Early last week, Mrs. AmericanEnglandStyle sent me a text saying that she'd discovered bologna in the aisles of her local grocery store. I didn't believe her. Mrs. AmericanEnglandStyle has been in the country for almost a decade. I've got five years behind me, and between my American-expat friends, we've probably spent a century at our local grocer's. Collectively, we've spent many hours sampling food we've never heard of and buying new-to-us foods. I simply did not believe Mrs. AmericanEnglandStyle. I thought perhaps that she'd forgotten exactly what bologna tastes like.

So when I went to visit Mrs. AmericanEnglandStyle she produced the above packet. Remind me to never ever again doubt her word. I have never liked bologna (although my sisters maybe inclined toward correcting that statement). As it turns out, I still don't like bologna. And Turkey Ham is, let me assure you,tastes like bologna. And it has the texture of wafer sliced, well, bologna. Suffice it to say, I may sing the Oscar Mayer Bologna song, but I wont be eating it any time soon.

I will however be eating many yummy things when I'm at home. Take note my sisters, I need some food.

1. Mexican Food (Colorado version)
2. Tostitos, Fritos, and corn nuts, Doritos--You can get Doritos here. They're good, but not the same.
3. jalapenos--the fresh variety.
4. Life Cereal
5. Clam Chowder
6.bbq beef
7. A steak that is actually rare.
8. Corn bread.
9. Wintergreen lifesavers.
10. Root beer
11. Bratwurst (by which I mean the American version)
12. Grilled corn on the cob
13. Corn on the cob.
14. Watermelon (you can get it here, but yuck)
15. Meatloaf.
16. Pancakes, maple syrup, bacon and american breakfast sausage.
17. EasyCheese. (I suspect I will think this is gross after one squeeze, but yum)
18. French Toast (I can get and make this here. I just don't want to call it eggy-bread).
19.Lox and Bagels.
20. A reuben sandwhich.
21. BlueCheese dressing.
24. An American Style salad.
25. Something deep fried with Ranch dressing.
26. Fried Chicken.
27. Sloppy Joes
28. Grilled Cheese (Yes it is different than cheese on toast.
29. A BLT wish crispy bacon. (I know I say streaky bacon is the same, but it isn't).
30. Waffle for breakfast.
31. A sausage and green olive pizza.
32. Sopaipillas



I'll think of more before I get there, I'm sure.

Fabulous Things about England # 14

Occasionally, I come across a sign that isn't necessarily there for my safety. The sinks in this seaside public toilet were far too small for my hands never mind my feet.

Since the sign was put up by the local council, it is safe to assume it was placed because people were washing their children in and breaking the sinks.

Susie Sells Seashells by the Seashore

It's difficult for me to explain why I dislike spending the day on Florida's Gulf Coast, the only seashore I've spent any time on in the States. I love playing in the water, but the sun and the heat get to me. I enjoy playing in the sand, but I am completely disgusted by the trash that washes up on the beaches. I haven't seen the gulf coast in at least seven years despite a three month stay a few years ago. It wasn't that I was opposed to walking the beach. I just knew that I'd get bored. I find sitting on a beach alone mind-numbing. I have the same problem in airport lounges.

A dear friend's youngest turned one this past week. We went to the seaside to celebrate. I love the English seaside. The difference has everything to do with boredom. I suppose towns in the North East of the US probably would equally keep me entertained. In addition to the steam fair, crazy golf (miniature golf), arcades, and a view of Wales, a visit to the English seaside town of Weston-super-Mare includes:

Donkey Rides for Children

The donkeys walk down the beach and trot back.

A family game of cricket. Boy could she throw.

Weston-s-Mare is notoriously stingy with its water. We were lucky to see the actual sea at all.

The sea rolled out within an hour of our arrival. 

That's all right though. These concrete paddling pools hold some of the water on the beach. It's tempting to try to walk out towards the disappearing sea. Of course, that's exactly what the quicksand wants you to think.

Summer

I grew up in Colorado where we had long dry hot days and cool evenings, and in Indiana where we had long hot humid days and evenings. Here in England we're supposed to be due a long hot summer where hot is in the upper twenties and lower thirties. That would be the high seventies and low eighties in Fahrenheit. We've been promised such a summer for the last four years running, so I'm not keeping my fingers crossed.

Clearly, I've adjusted to the temperatures in England because today it was almost 21 (70 Fahrenheit) with 65% humidity, and I'm sweating up a storm wearing a skirt and a vest (tank top). I'm thrilled to be complaining about the heat, but I suspect that I've just become a giant wimp.

Here's Bath in Summer. The light wasn't brilliant, but Bath never photographs poorly.