It's a Canoe Day

Saturday morning we packed up lunches (pbjs, ham sandwiches, apples, carrots, tomatoes, and yummiest of all, The Real McCoy's ridge cut salt and vinegar crisps, they look alot like potato chips, but they're not), and drove 15 to 20 minutes to the Thames in Reading, 3 minutes from the Thames Valley Park where Mike works. We rented canoes and were set up with two guides, Phil and Matt, at a riverside business called Marsport. 



Michael studies the geese while waiting for daddy to arrange the canoe rental.

 

I have been warned that swans are aggressive, this one was quite mellow,
 and although it doesn't show, it was as tall as Dominic.
Later, several more swans joined the party and one in particular came after us,
hissed and showed its tiny sharp teeth...spooky!



It was a completely gorgeous day, sun shining, and it was in the 60s. When the sun is out, I feel compelled to soak in it. The sun in England is stripped of its virility, at least lately. Yesterday I saw it, a pale yellow circle in the clouds and felt a little sorry for it.  

Moving on, Dominic was paired with Matt. When we told him he would ride in a separate canoe with a strapping superhero he got completely distressed. "But I don't know how to canoe!!!" He wailed in the bathroom, as we climbed out of and into the life preservers we had previously been harnessed into. He pictured the two of them as a team. I reassured him that strapping Matt knew perfectly well that 5 year old Dominic did not know how to handle a canoe and he calmed down.





 Michael was graced with the sweet temperment and rowing skills of Phil. He patiently rowed behind as Michael enthusiastically dug in his paddle, pulled hard and flung it out with a spray of water into Phil's face, for an entire hour.





Matt is 20 and has been racing kayaks in competition since he was 11. He was feeling pretty good about hisself and he entertained us with stories of his glory days. Dominic was not impressed. He won 28 of 30 races entered, and had lots of tricks. He knelt down in the canoe and paddled like a pasty white Algonquin wearing a dry suit, shoving the front of the boat where Dominic was seated, up out of the water and propelled them at an impressive speed. Boring. He handled the boat with calm precision, that made the oar seem like an extention of his being. Boring.

We paddled down river about 1.5 miles to the charming town of Sonning, where there is a lock. There is also a stair way where you can carry your canoe or kayak and drop it in on the other side, called a portage. The town of Sonning was described by Jerome K. Jerome in his book Three Men in a Boat as "the most fairy-like little nook on the whole river". (Thanks Wikipedia!)

This is where the guides turned our party around. The river was peaceful and glass-like. Matt and Phil told us there are days when the current is so strong there are advisories against paddling, hard to imagine, seeing it so calm. It's about 12 feet deep in the middle, 215 miles long and has many locks and portages. It's the longest river entirely in England. Matt told us about a canoeing race called Devizes to Westminster, sometimes referred to as "The Canoeist's Everest", a 125 mile canoe race which has run every Easter since 1948. He said a person could be proud if they had completed that race. His mom finished it four years ago.

Along the way we passed a few long, skinny houseboats; when I see one, I want one!!! People live in them and tie up along the river here and there.  They are super cool.



Here is one that passed by as we finished our paddle.
It was loaded with fellows looking a little sinister, and in my opinion, post-apocalytic.
Mike's vote was hippies.

Matt ended the ride a little frustrated at not wowing Dominic. He pulled out his tiny, black freestyle kayak and went to town. He flipped it, bounced around, rolled with oar, rolled with just hands, etc. It was too much. Dominic has converted, and Matt is 100% awesome!

Amazing Grace

I have a friend!
Thank you God for Etsko.
She is my next door neighbor and we have gone for coffee, lunch and shopping. She is from Japan, married to John, an Englishman, they have a 4 year old son. We laugh about the mysteries of England.  We sat outside yesterday evening, had a large glass of wine and watched the boys go wild. Thank you God for Etsko.

We are getting to know an American family who came over from Tucson with Opentext a year and a half ago. They have 2 young teens and plan to stay at least until their kids are into university. They came over for dinner on Friday, and I am excited for more time with them.

I barked at Michael for playing with the settings while I finished dinner.
He took this photo of his handiwork and I love it.

Set up by the front door, 45 minutes before the guests arrived to beg for money.
Is it wise to wear your crown and bling when begging for money?

My latest theory is that I am living in a land where almost everyone has some degree of social anxiety. Is there such thing as a country filled with shy people? How can that be a country-wide phenomena?

To remedy the isolation I feel in my daily life I have discovered the beauty of the ipod. I have never been a big user, I enjoy going out for walks without the added sound track. I like hearing the sounds that come my way. Mother nature, other peoples music, pounding bass from a bouncy car, dogs barking, people barking at their dogs or kids, kids laughing, etc.

Not any more.

I like to listen to George Lopez talking about the hilarity of growing up Latino while grocery shopping at Tesco. I laugh out loud while I seach in vain for hot dogs (I never found them). And they are called frankfurters...As I walk around Heath Lake I yuk it up while Chris Rock kills me with his stories about being black in America. And I have noticed that more people engage with me, smile at me if I have a HUGE grin on my face, about to break into laughter.

On a walk around Heath Lake

I do want to say that everyone I interact with here has been incredibly nice. English people are very nice, courteous, sweet and generous. We have had many people go out of their way for us, over and over and over. It is humbling. If only they were more chatty!

When I'm at home, I find I want to rock out. My current favorite is Wolfmother, they speak my language. I think this desire for more input is my nervous system adjusting to the QUIET...it suddenly makes sense to me that punk rock came out of this country (and to be fair, out of other countries too). Growing up tidy and sensible has got to encourage some serious expressive creations. Throw me into a mosh pit, I want to FEEL something.

A few years back I was knocked to my knees by a massive clinical depression. With the help of Mike I was able to get immediate help from my OB, who put me on Lexapro and got me in to see a counselor within a week. For the next year as I worked to recover I read only Jane Austen novels; she had been a favorite of mine since my late teens. I read everything I could find, including two unfinished books (devastatingly frustrating, by the way...I want an ending!), and several of her books I read more than once. I think I read Emma three times in a row. And every night in the early days of the depression I watched Pride and Prejudice before bed. Sometimes only 10 minutes, then the next night I started where I had left off. The world she describes was a safe place for my mind to be.

When I say that I love Jane Austen, I mean deep down. I feel her reach across the centuries and hold my hand the way my living friends and family did during that time and do every day. She captured humans doing their thing and they are funny and ridiculous. And thoughtless and selfish. And scared, secretive, generous, caring, daring and bold. She was born in Steventon, Hampshire, which is less than 30 minutes from our house.

Watching TV for me is like having a best friend who is a gossipy, popular girl in junior high. Her parents have more money than mine, and she often leaves me frustrated but unable to explain why. I resolve to move on and make better friends, but then the next day she has a new pair of designer jeans, and her hair is so cool, and other people like her and want to hang out. Besides, I have no one to eat lunch with.

I have often asked myself and Mike...what would we do if we didn't have TV??? Think of everything we could accomplish, we could be writing stories, painting great works of art, we could play games as a family, read more great works of literature, etc, etc. But oh, that America's Next Top Model, that Gossip Girl, that Food Network, that NBA Mike likes so much...

We decided to go without TV here in England. I thought it would be harder for the boys, but to my surprise, they adapted very easily and play nicely 90% of the time and attempt murder the other 10%. They invented a game called "Sink". Michael brought it up the other day and Dominic wailed, "But I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY SINK!!!!" Michael explained, "It's when I am a vampire and you are a zombie and we get sucked down the drain!" Sounds like fun! 

Now I feel the pressure to get all that other stuff done! I gotta get on that, just as soon as I finish facebooking...

Michael with an invention and journal,
notice pencil tucked behind ear buried in mass of curls.
He and Dominic are on it.

So I move into this life we are so blessed to enjoy. And I look forward to the day when I can squeeze and kiss my Anna and William, when I can laugh in person with my sister, when I can get loved on by my mum. When our beloved friends descend on us in swarms and we laugh and cook and sing spirituals. Today I thank God for this rich life filled with love and laughter, and for the lovely, living, beautiful Etsko.

And I intend to go to Hampshire, to visit Steventon, to Chawton where Jane lived her happiest years in a cottage with her mother and sister, and to Winchester, where my dear friend is buried.

"In her, rare union, were combined a fair form, and a fairer mind;
Hers fancy quick, and clear good sense,
And wit which never gave offence;
A heart as warm as ever beat, A temper even; calm & sweet.
Though quick & keen her mental eye Poor nature's foibles to espy,
And seemed for [ever?] on the watch,
Some trails of ridicule to catch
Yet not a word she ever penned
Which hurt the feelings of a friend."
                           James Austen, brother of Jane

"William, Anna, Michael and Dominic"
by Dominic

The Empress of Peking

My boys have a new game.

When daddy comes home from work they speak in squeaky, high-pitched voices and claim to be Grandma. Daddy interviews them to figure out who is the real Grandma.
What is your favorite breakfast? Pasta. (It used to be wine, which CRACKED up the real Grandma)
Do you like to go to the movies? YES!
Who do you love? Michael and Dominic and William and Anna and Mei-Ling with her button nose!
Who is your best friend? Linda!

Last night the game went on painfully long and dominated all of dinner. It was a draw, they are both Grandma.

I have been thinking a lot about Babette lately, she has been gone a week, and I am alone to contemplate the month we had with her. She flew over with us and helped in every way to get settled here in Crowthorne. (If you are considering a similar adventure with small children, be sure you have the help of a loved one!)

Babette is a giver.
The list of what she has done for us is too long to repeat, but it includes giving us her time and her money in various generous amounts, repeat, repeat, repeat.
I am more tit for tat (not in everything, but generally speaking, my mind likes to find order and keep a balance). Being around a giver is a challenge for me, because ideally, I would like to keep up with her generosity, and not be buried in kindness, hopeless to return her favors.

My four children are graced with amazing grandparents. I am grateful to the universe for arranging this gift of love and devotion. How can I ever repay you, Universe?

Silvia and Guillermo, Mexican grandparents extraordinaire. They keep minute tabs on William and Anna, teach them to dance, laugh, argue, to be courteous and to be vital family members. I love them forever and would sell my soul to keep them in our lives. I am who I am, thanks in large part, to them.

Bubbe and Zaide, old fashioned grandparents, adoring them all, especially enjoying the big ones and let's get a babysitter for the under 5 crowd, shall we? Bubbe and Zaide are teaching their grandchildren to believe in psychics, love your spouse passionately, hike, bike, lift weights, drink swampjuice, and play golf when you have mostly grey hair (or when you're old, whichever comes last).

Grandpa Longton loved his grandbabies. Every trait possessed by the grandkids my dad was able to identify as Longton, or possibly Lalonde... No in-laws got credit in my dad's book. Dominic was born with Mike Spacone's man-sized perfect nose and my dad announced, "That's a Longton throwback nose!" What???
Days before my dad's death he was on the floor (yes, with leukemia, in hospice!) showing Michael and Dominic how magnets work, rolling them around his tiny house.

Grandpa Jim is their Harley-riding grandparent. Every kid should have one of those! Jim has massive man hands, rides horses in a crazy sport called "Team Penning" which involves other cowboys yelling curse words and cows with numbers on them. He is a sweet softy who has taught his grandkids the joy, no, not joy, the IMPORTANCE of pasta, and it's equally important partner, red sauce. When we get back to Tucson, I want to party on the beach in Mexico with Jim and the 4 grandkids, of course there will be pasta and lots of wine.

Nana and Papa, sweet, loving, adorable Sacramento grandparents. I love how they swoop in and nail all the kids with their love and attention. Donna is pure tenderness and attention and Pete is a walking love bomb. We are deeply grateful for them in our lives. They are the least Mexican grandparents, but they teach the kids to love El Mezon, mariachi music, and Sonoran hot dogs, which are best consumed in a parking lot in the cool evening of a hot summer. When we are in Tucson again we will go for raspados! This will be Donna's new favorite thing to do.

And there are great grandparents. When I met Mike he had lost only one of the 8 grandparents the universe had given him, today 4 are going strong. So a big saludo to Betty and Lou Adam, Grandma Sally Spacone, and Marge.

I would like to come to terms with the unevenness in relationships. Like that verse from the Bible, "There is a time for every season under heaven." Now is my season to receive from some, and to give to others.

Tea at the Jane Austen museum in Bath.
This is where we discovered the most delicious tea, Empress of Peking.
Of course, Babette surpised me after with a bag of this tea she had secretly bought for me. 

So I take from Babette.
I take her time, her help, her laundry skills, her babysitting hours. I take her money, even though I don't want it. I take her willingness to sit on the floor and build a Lego Starwars ship, I take the stories of her life that she shares, I take her permanent good mood, I take the love she has for my family and her love for our family. And most of all, I take her son, my soul's greatest blessing.

Thank you God in heaven for the love you have packed into Babette, for the caring kindness she heaps on us. May we all be grateful and loving and kind.

And once last gripe, if I may. My husband had better not be deluded into thinking that I will be that good looking when I am in my sixties. Am I right??

Sunnyside

As I mentioned before, we are TIRED from the effort required in adventuring. We baked a banana cake and made soup all day yesterday and today we spent nearly all morning piddling the time away. We talked about trying again to go for Sunday Roast at the Golden Retriever, as we have yet to have the roast turkey because we cannot get there before 5 pm, however hard we try. Our biggest ambition for today was to get to the GR by 12 noon and have the roast turkey...with cranberry!

Mike announced that he wasn't feeling that plan, and should we do something else? Afterall, we are in England, there is a point to all of this, a grand plan.

But what to do...go to London? the abbey in Reading? Stonehenge?

I got on Wikitravel and looked up Reading, and we saw a house with a church and watermill on the Thames near a town called Mapledurham.

Today is the last day the home and the water mill are open until Easter. It seems many places close for the fall and winter and part of spring. This tends to worry me since I have no friends and need NOT to be trapped in our house for long stretches. At any rate, we made it and it was gorgeous. The house is big and old and filled with musty, dusty things. Lots of chairs embroidered by 9 sisters who lived in the home a long time ago and had no Gossip Girl to entertain them, a library with catholic books left by Alexander Pope, a collection of strange looking bath tubs and funky porto-potties. Massive stair cases, lots of massive portraits of dead people and a muy muy elderly historian in every room ready to chat about the house, its content and owners. Just the sort of place you want to bring a hyperactive almost 7 and 5 year old.

We spent about 10 minutes going through the house. No joke.

This is where the boys had the most fun. As we approached, we explained to them why we think it is important to be respectful in a graveyard, "we want to respect the families that have loved ones buried here, and we want to respect the dead people who are buried here." Ummmm...no one said not to play hide and go seek behind the gravestones or not to leap over the tombs. True that.

This is the inside of St. Margarets, where local residents have been worshipping for 900 years. OMG, it smells like it has been worshipped in for 900 years. I would love to see a service, Mr. Collins or Mr. Elton preaching from the small pulpit. And Jane Austen is one of my dearest friends.

Here is my favorite part of the grounds. The water mill. From 2 to 5 pm on Saturdays and Sundays from Easter to the end of September it is a working mill, grinding corn and wheat flour. I bought a bag of wheat flour and I am excited to bake a loaf of water mill/stone ground flour bread, with some oatmeal thrown in...mmmmm. Today there were 2 teen-aged swans paddling around, looking bored and annoyed with their parents. The teenagers are starting to lose their gray fluffy feathers, you can see the white poking through.

Mike and I can see our own white feathers poking through, more and more every day. Another reason to celebrate this adventure.

Dinner at the Bengal with Dane, forever grateful to Kwesi and Anita

By the way, I am a fan of must. It brings back great memories of the summer we spent with our Taylor cousins, Aunt Teri and Grandparents in New Hampshire in an old musty house.

Will they? Won't they?

The accent started the second full day in England. Mike and I left the boys with Babette at the Wokingham Hilton to go on our Ikea odyssey.  There is a very handy Wii game near the lobby and when we returned late in the afternoon Michael was yelling that he wanted to "thraaahsh the computah!" Wow, I thought, that was fast!

The first two weeks I heard them playing with the accent many times. They seemed to enjoy the challenge and novelty of it. I imagined that starting school might rip their American accents away, never to be heard again for two years. So far they sound like they live in Tucson. Will they? Won't they? I dunno.

What I do know is that we are tired! Late last week it hit, while grocery shopping at Tesco. I suddenly felt like I had been hit by a Mack truck. The adrenaline I have been flying on for 2 months is wearing off. I notice it when I have to do something slightly to very stressful. Yesterday I drove with Babette to Costco in Reading, to get my new computah.  It required me to drive on the M4 for the first time, 70 mph with "Cartrina" our "sat nav" telling us how to get there, "at roundabout take...5th exit..." When we got there I felt like I needed to take to my bed for a week, and we still had to get home. This applies to lots of other things too; we are taking the boys out of school tomorrow for a day to spend the weekend in London. When I picked up Dominic this afternoon I mentioned to his teacher that he wouldn't be there tomorrow and why. "Oh!" she said, "Well, you will need to apply for permission to take him out of school, and the Head Teacher will most likely not give it to you, it's the law."
What??
I felt like crying.

I want to be here, I want to be doing this!

When I see people in the grocery store with sure signs of being recent immigrants: looking lost and bewildered, often speaking something sounding like Chinese, I want to grab them and hug them and say, "Oh my God, you are so brave and daring!!" Can you imagine the stress of the pilgrims? People made that voyage with children, months at sea, to arrive in a place with no Ikea to speak of. Yikes. All to get away from this place. Sometimes I look at the people that are from here and wonder why their ancestors stayed, and why mine left.

So I want to visit the town of Longton and see Wales from where my mother's father's family, the Harlans, fled. Visit Normandy, where I believe I have Viking roots. Doesn't my dad seem like he was Viking material?? We want to go to the tiny town of Prezza, Italy, where there are Spacones on every corner, to Germany where we both have roots, gotta find the Kesslers, Adams, Katters and Kotters.

But first I need to ask permission to pull my boys out, and by the way, Michael fancys a girl in his class named "Heathah".

Businesslike

"Help to give your child confindence when you bring him/her to school in the morning; be fairly brisk and businesslike when you come into school, leave your child promptly with a firm 'goodbye', and be on time to collect your child at the end of the day."
Advice from a booklet, When I start at Oaklands Infant School...

Michael and Dominic have started school. The uniform is gray trousers, a light blue polo, navy blue jumper (sweatshirt) or cardigan with the school badge. Michael started Monday and is immersed in lots of writing and spelling. Dominic's first day was Thursday and he wrote his name for the time by copying his nametag.

"I LOVE SCHOOL!"

I cannot express how proud I am of our guys. They are working HARD. Moving to a new country, into a new house with very few toys, no TV, no Sam Bosco or Rohan or Henry. Starting a new school before any of us has our bearings, and into a new system that teaches "literacy and numeracy" in preschool.

In May Michael finished kindergarden in a dream of a school in Tucson called Second Street Children's School, and Dominic was all set to be in the Bear class this fall. At Second Street they follow the Reggio Emilia philosopy of education which has as it's focus relationships and community, not literacy and numeracy. I am pointing this out to show the drastic change that Michael has encountered. His new classmates not only were reading and writing in kindergarden, they were spelling correctly also. It is going to be a big year for him. He, of course, is chipper. On our way to school day 2, he was singing at the TOP of his lungs, "I LOVE SCHOOL, I LOVE SCHOOL!!" over and over and over. (We are starting to notice how much LOUDER we are than anyone within hearing distance)

Dominic is not to bring "Blankie" to school. Those of you who know Dominic know Blankie. When I heard this I anticipated nervous breakdown size L. To my utter amazement he handled the news very calmly. Day one without Blankie went very well. This morning he announced he was NOT leaving home without Blankie. I said ok to that, and we walked out the door with Blankie in tow, along with backpacks, raincoats, etc. On our walk to school he sniffed up a storm and seemed completely bummed. As the walk progressed he threw B my way and dashed off to cavort with Michael. Arriving at Oaklands he announced B would not be coming with him, but he needed one last sniff. I was holding it and he buried his blond head into my side and sniffed for a full 2 minutes. Oh my baby boy!! To be honest I was thrilled to have Blankie on the walk home. I felt like going to bed for 6 hours to cuddle Blankie.

When Mike and I went to St. Peter's in Rome 10 years ago, we had a tour of the Vatican museum. Our guide told us the Michelangelo felt that his sculpures were already within the stone, placed there by God for him to uncover. I was deeply moved by this and I feel this analogy is true in life. Treasures are buried in our lives and it is our privilege to uncover them. I wrote Mike a note on his birthday in August, 4 days before our departure, that I was excited to discover the treasures buried for us in England.

What I never expected was that the first treasure we would uncover would be our children. I am so moved by their courage and spirit of adventure. I am so thrilled by their ability to have fun at all times. They are so funny, loving, warm, selfish at times, generous and dramatic (right, Lowell?!). Being here with the boys, Babette and Mike for company has focused my attention and opened a door into my boys life that I had not fully experienced in our previously beautiful, full life. I am grateful for this special time.

Treasure #2, Krispy Kreme donuts for sale at the local Tesco. So good and sooooo EXPENSIVE!!

So Far So Good On England

We officially have the basics down, beds, blankets, pots, pans, apples, pb and j. Still missing: phones, internet, cars, new computer to skype on, winter coats, etc.
The big news of this past week is that I drove (our rental) for the first time! It had to happen. The wrong side of the road wrong side of the car is the least of it. It is the roads that are so narrow 2 cars can barely (or not) pass each other, cars parking all along the roads, pointing this way and that way.  Add buses wider than one lane of traffic, windy, confusing roads without road signs, drivers who love to honk, and a lexapro free american and you've got yourself excitement!

Do I look nervous?

The absolute best part of driving was scaring Mike. I endured his first week of "Behind the Wheel, Welcome to the UK," sweating, slamming on my invisible brakes, wincing, praying, laughing and yelling occasionally. I noticed a distinct change in the closeness to the left side of the road he has driven, after riding with me in the driver's seat. (If you need to re-read that last sentence, I don't blame you) It is frightening to sit in what should be the driver's seat and let someone nearly/actually run you into the side of the road over and over and over. That said, I think it is going pretty well.

Our boys start school this week. Michael will have Mrs. Terry, a darling 20 something-ish English doll. She is about 6 inches taller than he is and probably weighs 5 lbs less. Dominic was with me and got to meet his teacher and Michael's. Dominic's teacher is my size and age, a lot frumpier (than Michael's teacher) and happens to have frizzy hair. A feature I believe I also possess. After meeting both women, we walked away from the school and Dominic stammered, "Mom, was my teacher...was...was my teacher....the one with the....crazy hair?" When I said yes, his reply was, "Why?"

As promised, we visited Legoland, which is about 20 minutes from our house through beautiful countryside in Winsor. They have the crown jewels in Legos. Charming! It was a highlight for the boys, who have been waiting months for this part of the adventure to happen.

It has been wonderful to see how well the boys are adjusting. We have a nice play set in the backyard and have had nice weather to enjoy the outdoors. The parks here are amazing, packed with tons of children and pregnant women.

Shorts and bare feet

At a fun fair Henley-on-Thames

We visted Henley-on-Thames yesterday with Babette, http://www.henley-on-thames.org/. It is charming almost beyond belief, as are many other towns between here and there. The book The Wind in the Willows was inspired by this part of England. I wish everyone could see this area!

To my sweeties and loved ones I send my warm saludos, hugs and kisses. I miss you and love you.

Here are a few photos with my babies before we left.

I will leave you with Dominic's observation to Mike as we were walking along the wooded path behind our house. He and Michael were running ahead dressed as knight and king and Dominic turned around for a moment and yelled, "Hey Dad, so far so good on England!"