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.

Other People's Nursery Rhymes

The problem is, of course, leading other people's children astray. It's a question of not sending an English boy off to nursery singing "Ring around the rosies/ pocket full of posies/ ashes ashes/ we all fall down." The English sing "Ring-a-ring of roses/ pocket full of posies/ a-tishoo a-tishoo/ we all fall down."

While American toddlers learn to blow dandylion seed in hopes of making a wish come true, here in the West Country they are simply attempting to tell the time. I hear that there are places where children learn that they are trying to tell the hour at which their wish will come true.

Things I Miss From Home: What They Have Done

I know that I've promised you a giant BUT for two weeks now. I'm working on it. Really, it may be the longest blog post ever by the time I finish it. In the mean time, I've been thinking about how much the US has changed since my last visit. My last visit was, admittedly, well before the economy took a tumble. It was before the last presidential election cycle was in full swing. In fact, it was before my two youngest nephews were born. It was also before the wide availability of this:

 It's important to note here that the term 'organic' carries different, less stringent, standards in the US than it does in the UK. Nonetheless, I wasn't sure if I should cheer or cry. Nostalgia can be a bitter pill.


There's a new Facebook like button at the top of the page. This is because I have to imitate all of the other bloggers in England; moreover, my friend Jon insists that he's the only one who reads the blog. Would you please help this woman out and click on the like button, or the follow button, or leave me a note to learn what an rss feed is and how to use one? I'm back to writing the BUT post. See you soon.

The Secret to Creating Drooling Glassy-Eyed Americans

 Happy Home Maker UK asked me to take pictures of Target. For those of you in the UK, this may look like just another giant box store on an industrial estate. It is a giant box store on an industrial estate. More importantly, it is a microcosm (macrocosm) of American culture. Interesting fact: there are Target stores in Australia. they share the Target logo, a giant red target, and look rather like American target stores. The two companies are otherwise unrelated.

 I think it must be virtually impossible to be an expert in one's own culture. I wandered through the store knowing that there was something different, something American, about the store, but I still cannot articulate what that difference was. Perhaps you British, Canadian, French, and Australian Americanists can enlighten me. Certainly, there is more space in between the rails (racks) and the shelves are lower than in a typical UK discounter.

 There were of course the obvious differences. Hundreds of cheese poofs (cheese balls) for less than a British fiver. For that matter, there were animal crackers and animal crackers in bulk. You can see them at the very top of the above photograph.

 There wasn't just soup. There were sixty kinds of Campbell's soup. The soup aisle was twice as long as my local baked bean aisle. It was all a bit overwhelming, so I skipped canned soup all together.

 And the pickle aisle contained mostly olive and pickled gherkins. If you look closely you may be able to spot some things that are more at home on a British store shelf

 No matter how many times I tell myself that streaky bacon is the same as American bacon, I still know that it isn't true. I remember when I left America that I thought bacon was terribly expensive. It wasn't. I think it is even cheaper now. I'm grateful to my family and friends for feeding me rashers and rashers of crispy bacon and letting me have more than my share of the maple syrup.

 I have spent many a happy hour looking at the ink pens in Target's aisles, but it is very rare to find a fountain pen in such American aisles. Sarah metioned that she sensed a giant 'but' coming. There is indeed a giant 'but' coming, but there are a few more joyful things I'd like to share first. Slugs on the Refrigerator shared her own 'but' today. It's worth a read. My thoughts are wandering that way too.

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.

Fabulous Things About America: Part 1

I know I packed my camera cord, but I have no idea where I packed it. Perhaps, it is in with the presents for the nieces and nephews. I hope that I didn't leave it with the socks that I couldn't find and therefore did not pack. When the camera cord turns up, I'll post some photos for you.

I spent a long time last night trying to find the light switch in my sister's bathroom. Or rather I looked at the wall outside the bathroom for ages and waved my hand around in the doorway looking for a pull switch. I finally gave up and felt my way to the toilet. This morning it dawned on me that the switch was on the inside of the bathroom next to the door.

More importantly, I was greeted at the door by the smell of banana bread. I ate it with lashings of butter. No one called it cake, and it was the very best welcome to America snack ever known to woman.

I hope you are all well. What else shall I eat while I'm here?

There's An Election Acomin'

Posting of Elections, Guildhall, Bath

 It's election time here in the UK. Elections to the National Assembly are taking place in Wales. Northern Ireland will be electing officials to both the Northern Ireland Assembly and to local councils. Scotland will be electing members to the Scottish Parliament. Here in England the elections are local. You could think of it as elections to the city or town councils in the States. These are the people who decide such things as zoning, traffic patterns, rubbish collection, parking allocation, and rents on city-held properties. Folks here in Bath are far more aware of their local representatives than in any place I have lived in the U.S. Both the Lib Dems and the Conservatives are hoping for high turnouts across the UK because there is one more very important issue at stake. 

The British are being asked if they want to change the way they elect Ministers to Parliament. That's not quite true. They're being asked if they want to go from electing Ministers in a first-past-the post-system to an alternative vote system. In the current system (fptps) the party which receives the most votes in any constituency gets that constituency's seat in Parliament. Since this is a country of three major parties and many minor ones, a party that received 30% of the vote could feasibly take the seat. Under the proposed system, each voter would be allowed to rank the parties in order of their preference. The party with the least votes in round 1 would be dropped. Then second choices would be added to the first choices until one party had made up 50% of the vote. Confused? You can read more here. I have more luck explaining these two systems to Americans than I ever had the American system to the British. There's a reason for that. The British are very smart. They value their votes. They do not understand a system in which the whole country could vote for one candidate and another candidate could still end up in office.

 I did try to get a photo of a 'No' sign, but one can only point their camera at people's windows so many times before the locals get twitchy.

A bench outside Bath's Guildhall.

I'm off to the States in a few days. I wonder what I'll find there. In the meantime, I'm packing. I'll annotate my packing list for you.

The Television Screen.

It's gorgeous outside. The sun has just dipped below the hills west of the house, so the fields below the are innumerable shades of green and the neighbors horses are gently grazing. I'm watching friends and thinking about everything that somehow must get done tomorrow. It isn't much really, but I'd like to finish the shawl I'm crocheting and that feels like a pleasure. As a child of protestant America, I'm not allowed to do the pleasurable until the work gets done. I'm likely to finish that shawl sometime next January--unless we're suddenly allowed crochet hooks on planes.

Sherry at Wherever She Goes  in Alaska has given up her family's home internet and television. They've not done it for the same reasons that so many essayists and editorialists seem inclined to mention. It isn't about saving her daughter from the red monster, nor is it about rejecting a modern way of life.  Rather Sherry and her husband would like to buy a house one day. Getting rid of the telly and the intermonster have done all of those other things for them, but it is also allowing another $100 a month to go towards that one-day home.

My current big purchase dreams are a sewing machine, a bed of my own, and dishes. It's difficult for me to remember that the Great British need to buy a home isn't part of my own experience or make-up. Culture here demands that one of a young person's goals should be to own a home. There are some good reasons for that that I may get to another day when I'm feeling brave. But it wasn't until I moved here that I ever thought that owning a home was important. I certainly didn't see renting as a problem, particularly since I didn't have children.

While I could now, given the right job in the right income bracket, afford a mortgage in the States, I carry a lot of student loan debt. Even at the height of the economic-ruination bonanza, I wouldn't have been able to get a mortgage for exactly that reason. So what money I do have to save goes in the sewing machine/new bed/dishes category. I'd happily give up the television for a sewing machine, but we don't pay for television. I can't give up the internet--I use it to do my job. And for me, there are many other negotiations involved.

When I moved into the flat, I only expected to be here for eighteen months. A year before moving in here, I'd given away or taken most of what I owned to the transfer station, left a few boxes with friends, and simply left some of it behind in the cabin. Giving those things up wasn't difficult; the reality of living out of two suitcases was. I no longer owned a bed or a chair, so I tried not think about who else had slept in the beds in my rentals. I tried to remember not to balance my coffee cups on a the couch cushions, and I was very careful not to obtain things I might want to keep. I did bring a skillet, a soup pot, cutlery, and bedding with me.

Back then, it made sense to move into a partially furnished house with a housemate who had enough kit to fill out most of it. Over time, my own belongings have begun to bulge from my room, off my bookshelf, and out of my cupboard. More than that though, I'm longing to make a home of my own. I don't want to need to apologize when I break a glass. I want to be able to put my headboard against any wall in the house rather than having to think about our shared wall, I want bowls that aren't blue. It all comes down to another desire--I want my life and decisions to stop being made on the basis of transience.

When I first moved into the flat, we didn't have a landline or internet. I did most of my work at the local or uni library, and I felt like I was allowed to watch telly when I got home. I did a three-year master's degree in the States. Inevitably, I had class on a Thursday night. For the following year and a half, I taught on a Thursday night. Those first six months of evenings in this flat were spent getting caught up on Friends two episodes at a time. I got into the habit (or back into the habit) of keeping the television on for the sake of noise and company.

It is looking increasingly like I am not going to find a job that pays enough to keep me in the country under the points based system. Still I need a job in addition to the teaching I do online to live out my UK visa days. As I said, the television isn't mine. I don't own it, and it sits in communal space. I'd like to see it gone because my own will-power isn't enough to keep me from turning it on and ignoring the things I need to be doing on the internet.

Unexpected Rules: A Conversation With the GP

Circa January 2009:

GP: How much do you drink?

Me: A glass here and there.

GP: How much did you drink last week?

Me: I haven't had a drink since September.

GP (said with very real concern): Do you have any friends?

Me: Yes?

Circa 2010, Phone Call With Consultant to correct information in a letter

Consultant: How much do you drink?

Me: I have a glass here and there?

Consultant: How much did you drink last month?

Me: Three glasses of wine.

Consultant: You don't drink.

Circa 2011

GP (filling in request for x-ray): You don't really drink.

Me: No.

I'm glad we've finally clarified that point.

How Not to Offend Your Mother: Mothering Sunday

The shops here are full to bursting with Mother's Day cards, flowers, and gift vouchers (gift certificates). While British companies have taken on the all too American habit of suggesting, in May, that Christmas is just around the corner and placing Easter baskets in their windows before Valentine's Day has passed, the current reminders of Mother's Day are reasonably well timed. It is after all next Sunday.

Mother's Day is still largely referred to as Mothering Sunday here in England and throughout the United Kingdom. I have spent five years thinking that it fell sometime in March and feeling rather confused about which Sunday in March. This year I thought I had somehow managed to block out the holiday entirely, and I was therefore forced to go and learn something. I'm rather annoyed about this as this was supposed to be the year of learning nothing.

Mothering Sunday in the UK always falls on the fourth Sunday in Lent, and like its US counterpart, is widely celebrated in the secular sphere as well. I'm going to point you to my new favorite go-to website for all those niggling cultural questions. If a Junior School can do it better than I can, I'm all for letting them.

During my five years here in Bath, I've largely marked the day by buying my grandmother's Mother's Day card and putting it in an impossible to remember place in anticipation of American Mother's Day on the second Sunday in May. I did this so well the first year I lived here that Gram received an extra large bunch of flowers to make up for the lack of a card.

For those of you who are American expats, this is your reminder that to buy your Mother's Day cards this week. They will have disappeared from stores by the middle of next week. The American expat mother's I know often celebrate twice.

As for Father's Day, it is celebrated at the same time on both sides of the pond.

As for the sign above, I've asked around, and no one has seen that particular phraseology before.

Toilet Doors without Peeping Holes

I don't know whether to post this under Fabulous Things about England or Things That Annoy the Poo(p) out of Me (first installment coming soon). Or maybe I need a series of posts on things my British friends have noted about the United States.

Not so long ago my friend S. mentioned that, while visiting the US, she'd felt awfully exposed in the public loos because of the gap between the loo doors and their walls. I rather suddenly realized why early in my stay I had felt so completely claustrophobic in English public toilets.

You'll have to forgive the poor photography below. Both my friend in the US and I found that it is virtually impossible to get a whole toilet door in a photograph.

US public restroom door #1

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It looks like just a sliver from this angle, but my American friend was kind enough to provide us with a close up as well.

Now imagine you're in the queue with a small child who asks questions.

The Brits have a rather obvious solution to peek-a-boo in the loo.

It's all about hinges.

I think I can add stall doors to the list of ways in which British engineering is better than American engineering.

Unexpected Rules # 1

It is considered bad luck and rude for women to wear black to a wedding. This completely ruins my ability to keep one dress for all occasions.