Crowthorne

Crowthorne was a hamlet until Wellington College was opened in 1859 to educate the sons of British Army officers. (A tidbit I just learned, a hamlet is a rural settlement too small to have it's own church.)

Wellington College.

 In 1863 Broadmoor Hospital for the Criminally Insane made its debut.

Broadmoor Hospital Female Patient 1956

I don't want to die in Crowthorne.

Thomas Cowan, RIP.

Or anywhere else for that matter, just yet.

But I have to admit, being a corpse here wouldn't be half bad.

St. John the Baptist Church (not to be confused with a baptist church).

It's pretty. And there's lots to like.

I am in love with our library. It is filled with lovely, warm, friendly, kind people who care about books, and only scold my children in the gentlest ways.

Cafecito!! I am a Costa Coffee Card holder. This is a great place to eat lemon cake and drink a decaf latte.

Crowthorne Inn.

I heard a story by a school mum about the Crowthorne Inn pub, which people here call "The Crow". She and her man thought they would check it out. She reports that as soon as they walked in, the "locals" turned and clearly sent the message that they were not welcome.

Children aren't welcome either.

I am so curious, but not sure if I am brave enough to visit. I asked a friend who grew up here if she is considered a local.  She explained that because she left for university, and then lived and worked out of Crowthorne for a few years before returning, that she wouldn't be seen as a true local. I suppose that counts me out too. I don't even know if it is actually an inn.



Butcher shop.

 Many of these shops are on the High Street. Every town has a High Street, which is the primary business area, equivalent to Main Street.

We haven't tried fish and chips in Crowthorne...not sure why. I am a fan of fried anything.

Approaching the end of the High Street, or is it the beginning? Not sure. Don Beni is good for marginal, expensive Italian food, which I happen to dig!

Busy corner? The Prince is a cute pub on the corner. Mike and I ducked in for an ale the afternoon of the Oakland Infant School Disco Dance! One and a half sweet hours to ourselves. Stayin' alive, stayin' alive!

The view around the corner heading up Duke's Ride. Flower shop, Royal Post, dry cleaners and The Prince.

Capers is a nice sandwich shop. If I were a lady who lunch(es), I would devote myself here.

Barber shop, good for shaving boys' heads.

Berkshire (pronounced Baakshir) Bicycles. It reminds me of the tent Hermione carries in her magic bag. It looks teeny from the outside but is enormous and has a staff of thousands. Hooray for good service!

Is this sign passive aggressive or is it my imagination?
Something about it bothers me, cannot put my finger on it...

Handy launderette.

The post offices here are very different than what I am used to in US. I don't know if this is a small town thing, or an actual country difference. There seems to be more newspaper reading, and less working happening here...

Multipurpose venue.

Adorable train station!

Platform one and three quarters.

When I was about twelve, I seem to remember irritating my mother with my incessant discussing of how I wanted to live in a teeny tiny house, and shop in a teeny tiny store and buy teeny tiny things, and on and on and on.

My wish came true.

Crowthorne is a charming teeny tiny village. It has a population of 6,711 frequently shy individuals. I wonder if we are counted in that group?

I really love how close we are to everything, and how everything is close to everything. I can run to the ATM, pop into the library, cross the street and have boys' heads shaved, run next door and get my bike fixed, hop up the street and have a coffee and then jet over to the grocery store for dinner.

That is something Tucson can work on while we are gone.

Happy wet daffodils.

Nitpicky

I am mildly OCD. I like certain things done in specific ways.

If I love you, you very likely know how I like my peanut butter and jelly to go. As my sister describes it, the peanut butter and jelly cannot meet until the moment the two slices of bread are united in holy matrimony. The truth is, I hate the taste of peanut butter when it has been contaminated by jelly. I use a knife for peanut butter and a spoon for the jelly. I am always careful to keep the pb jelly-free.

But I digress.

Who doesn't love to see the note posted at your kid's school?

A case of head lice has been reported in your child's classroom.

That's one of my favorites.



Phthiraptera, au naturel


Four year ago, I saw something hop off of my baby's blond head. LICE!! Somehow I had made it through 18 years of parenting without having to deal with the real deal. I scanned every one's head and M and D were struck. Dominic's scant blond fuzz soon gave up the critters. However, lice love curly hair (but according to Wikipedia, not so much the curly hair of black folk).  A happy family went to town in Michael's mop. Eight weeks later I was about ready for Broadmoor Hospital.

The infestation came to an abrupt end when in a fit of hysteria I grabbed a teeny beard razor and shaved my bewildered baby's head. Oh happy day!

Unfortunately, the night before we found proof positive of lice, the boys had slept at my sister's house. Poor Shannon was inflicted with a serious case of pseudopediculosis. She itched and scratched long after Michael was bald, and nary a nit did I ever spy on her head, as she popped by daily for a head check.

Lice are wingless insects of the order Phthiraptera, obligate ectoparasites.  Ectoparasites means they dwell on the skin of humans, versus endoparasites, and obligate (parasite) means they cannot live without their host. Which would be Michael, in this case...again...

So this past week, the last day of school before half term, the day M and D were supposed to dress in "fancy dress" for flight week (M was going to be a NASA astronaut, and D Peter Pan), M woke with an itchy head.

Can I curse here? Can I scream the F word?

Fucking Phthiraptera! (Say that ten times fast.)



Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas, in my hair
A home for fleas, a hive for the buzzing bees
A nest for birds, there ain't no words
For the beauty, splendor, the wonder of my hair

Mike and I have had some amazing talks, one enormous plus to our current life in England. On my birthday we had a great one about my fear of going crazy.

Birthday flowers from Babette, and Virgin by Anna.

I love my husband so much. He is a person who is constantly trying to maximize every experience, which can get annoying. He occasionally hijacks our friends' plans, interjecting (in a super friendly way, as only he can manage), "That sounds great, but what if we...(insert Mike's better idea here)..."

His brain never stops trying to improve you name it. We had an addition put on our house that was quite disruptive, causing us to move out for 6 months and dipped deep into our savings. Within months of moving back in, he was planning the next improvements. He is ambitious. He envisions an outdoor hallway connecting important parts of the house, built entirely of glass (doesn't that sound cool?).

I love him for many reasons.  I will never forget the day, years ago, when I feared my reason was leaving me and he suggested I let myself go there. "Don't be afraid," he told me. I was stunned by my fellow human being. Embrace the darkness. So bold and scary.

He tries to improve/change all things in his life, but never me.

On Friday I treated M and D with hair cuts and Permethrin, and the lice seemed to enjoy it excessively. I got lots of great tips on Facebook when I posted my distress. I LOVE Facebook. So we are going with olive oil head soaking (which makes Dominic ask for a bowl of pasta with olive oil and salt), applying conditioner to clean hair and blow drying and lots and lots of nitpicking.

 

Children Should Be Seen and Not Heard

Assembly time for the Beech class! Michael is in year two, which is first grade in the US. The British system gets a one year (or more) head start, with full time school for all children starting in year pre-K, which they call Reception year. No wonder they are reading whizzes!


Sing Hosanna.


M and D attend a secular, public school. In my opinion, people who whine about how we have kicked God out of school could:

a. send their kids to parochial school.
b. cork it.
c. move to the UK!

Dominic, Ailsa and Archie not being naughty.

Dominic announced the other day that Jesus can do whatever he wants because he is the King of Kings. I am uncomfortable with Christianity being taught to my children, even though I have my own deep beliefs. Teaching religion to children is a touchy subject, but I am rolling with it.



Michael sitting sensibly.


I would love to show more photos that we took of the goings on at the assembly, but I need to respect the privacy of the other munchkins. It was another organized extravaganza!

Lighthouse, Michael, Daddy.

The children displayed their knowledge of the Queen Victorian era (1837 - 1901). They shared the experience of school, the treatment of children in general and described child labor. I learned that children as young as five years old started coal mining at 2 AM and worked 18 hour days. I feel sorry for those babies who toiled in darkness...


Queen Victoria.

 In January, the Year 2 children dressed up and spent a day pretending to be Victorian. They wrote on slates, were not allowed to speak, and on and on.

Photo from Oaklands Infant School website.

Kind and adorable Mrs. Terry was very serious in her Victorian teacher role and scared the children. 



A young Queen Victoria, by Michael.

On another day the Year 2 children again dressed up in Victorian garb and an expert on the era came to teach them manners and to dance.



Photo taken on the school day visit by Victorian expert.
Originally posted on Oaklands Infant School website.


At the assembly, 24 of the Beech class children (including Michael) performed a social dance right out of Pride and Prejudice!

They danced while singing the song,

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do,

I'm half crazy all for the love of you.

It won't be a stylish marriage -

I can't afford a carriage,

But you'd look sweet upon the seat

Of a bicycle built for two.

Shadow painting self portrait.

It could not have been cuter. Michael shows clear signs of being a future Mr. Darcy.

Lighthouses.

We learned about Grace Darling, a Victorian hero who, together with her father, rescued 13 survivors from a shipwreck in 1838. Her father William was a lighthouse keeper. She died of TB at the age of 27 (that tidbit is from Wikipedia, not the assembly!).

Once again, Mike and I were amazed at the ability of young children to walk silently in straight lines, to sit quietly in very close quarters and to perform an extremely orderly presentation. And impressed with the teachers' child wrangling skills.


DADDY, I WANT A GOLDEN ACORN!


We are very pleased with their school experience. The teachers and staff at Oaklands are loving and professional. We feel lucky to have landed in their laps.

If you want to read more on the subject...here is a post from November

Dominic's Ash Class assembly.

Dead People

Yesterday morning I woke up Michael and pulled his giant body into my lap and held him like a huge baby. While I inhaled his morning breath he asked me what school I would prefer for him, Victorian times or Oaklands School. This is what he told me about school in Victorian times to help me decide...

You have to clean under machines that have sharp parts and maybe someone won't know you are under the machine and they will turn it on and you will get cut and maybe get a finger or leg cut off.

You have to rub scroungy cotton together with your bare hands until your hands start bleeding.

You don't wear any shoes or socks and you go into peoples' houses and climb in their chimneys and clean them. You might get paid for that...but not very much, like a dollar a week.

If you do anything wrong you get hit on your hands with a ruler. The front or the back, but usually the back because that hurts more.

Then he seriously asked me which school I thought was better for him...

By the way, there are few things I enjoy more than my children's hot morning breath. It is divine.


Dominic is Harry Potter most days, complete with English accent. Michael is his best friend Ron Weasley, although mostly Michael is Michael and DOESN'T WANT TO PLAY HARRY POTTER! Mike is Hagrid and thankfully, I play myself. Dumbledore sent Harry to live with us because he was unhappy with the Dursleys.

Now...onto the blog!

Sunday we drove into London to visit the British Museum. Dominic is interested in Ancient Egypt and needed to see mummies.

Most major museums have free entry in England. I LOVE IT!

We have taken our boys to the Science Museum, the Natural History Museum, and the Victoria and Albert Museum. They are active beyond what their mother can handle, but they can spend one hour happily in a museum .

Mike follows one and I follow the other. I try to be open to whatever they want to do. I like living so close to London; knowing we can easily return frees me to let them lead the way and to enjoy whatever we manage to see.

At the Victoria and Albert Museum, Dominic and I spent a long time contemplating books in braille describing an ancient Persian rug called the Arbadil Carpet, which is on display and is a stunning 34' 6'' x 17' 6 ''. We looked at the books and felt the designs that pressed up from the pages. I loved the multi sensory experience. I also loved discussing with my little man what it must be like to use fingers to see the world.

Amenhotep III would have loved inter dental brushing.

   In the British Museum, the fascination was real dead people.

We learned about the ancient Egyptian process to mummify a body and saw the salts and tools used. We enjoyed the mummified cats, bulls, falcon, ibis and a teeny tiny fish.

Michael was busy taking most of these photos.

Except this one, taken by Andrew Becraft.

Dominic and I spent some time visiting the 5500 year old dead man seen above, mummified naturally in the dry sand. He sat down next to the case and said he really wanted to live in Egypt. I wasn't sure what the appeal was. He asked what his life would be like.

(Blessings to all Egyptians!)

Michael and Dominic are interested in death, as are most people, I think. Dominic's favorite things are blood, and skeletons, vampires and zombies.

Michael surprised me the other day when he said he wanted to chop off  his head and die because he doesn't have a Wii. He is feeling deprived. Almost everyone he knows has one.

I felt his words in my guts.

I said he couldn't chop his head off right now because he has too much to do. He needs to grow up, play lots of sports, get a job he loves, fall in love, get married and have children. He needs to be a super daddy and then be a grandpa, and then see all of his grandchildren marry and be a great grandpa. After he is done with all of that he may think about chopping off his head.

He seemed satisfied with the plan.

Que sea lo que Dios quiere...

 

Harry Potter having his first sody pop after the British Museum!



Soup

I am having a hard time.

Mike and I four years ago celebrating my 40th
with a getaway to Alamos, Mexico. Heaven!

Before we left our life in Tucson, I remember hanging out in our bedroom that I now miss so much and telling Mike that I was looking forward to leaving everything behind.

''I don't need this." I seem to recall saying, and gesturing to our fabulous mud adobe house.

I think I said something about my home is in my heart, my home is with Mike...

Turns out I don't like being without William and Anna, my sister and her people, my dear friends and yes, I miss my house. I tend to be over/hyper confident, it is a family trait. My parents constantly told us we were amazing. I grew up feeling just a little bit sorry for everyone who wasn't us. I had imagined I would live this dream to the blanking max while laughing with triumph.

HA HA HA!

A British friend told me about seeing a healer who had her speak the words, "I am successful, I am successful, I am successful." And then "I am failing, I am failing, I am failing."

I had a frightening thought the other day, that what if something brought us back early to the US? What if we had to return now?

I think I would feel I had failed at this attempt to live our dream.

Windsor Castle
Notice black coat, will be featured later.

I read an article in the NY Times about smiles. The author says when we see someone smile, we unconsciously move our facial muscles and share a fraction of a smile. She claims that at this moment we connect and our brains have a small party. I miss the smiles of my friends who know me know me know me. I miss the party our brains have when we connect. I have diagnosed myself with SDS, smile deficiency syndrome.

Mike and barnacle.

Living here we are reduced to a foursome. It is an interesting change and I have noticed that with so much togetherness there is no hiding.

Our rougher traits are daily companions. Before it was easy to put my best self forward and retreat when my best self was nowhere to be found. And to avoid my family members' annoyinger parts. Here, there is no retreat. We have few distractions, no TV to veg out to, time zone difference limits phone life, we have few/no friends to run to, no babysitters to lighten the load.

I possess a myriad of flaws relating to lack of executive function. (Among others.) Mike is now more fully acquainted with sides of me that I would prefer stay mysterious.

I have been surprised by unexpected feelings of unconditional love from my husband, as my lame-ass side is revealed. I would have said before that Mike and I had unconditional love for each other, but I am not so sure we were as well acquainted with our "conditions." In our new life, it is what it is.

Actual tree, is it not perfection?

I feel a greater intimacy with my unskilled self. There is a new freedom in it and I feel cherished warts and all.

Mike, of course, continues to be dreamboat he always was.

Recently I discussed my desire to stop yelling at Dominic and Michael with Michael, which got out of control the week Mike went to Amsterdam (AKA Hamsterdam), while trying to get them out the door for school. Michael had four helpful suggestions.

Scary mommy?

1. Stop yelling.
2. Relax.
3. Don't wear your hair in a pony tail.
4. Stop wearing black coat (the one I put on every morning as we dash out door).

Date Night, Crowthorne Style.

I put myself out there with my family and I feel scared and vulnerable at times, and empowered and adored.

Simultaneous Ice Cream and Video Date Night.
Look for Janet Miller artwork and Mexican Flags!

Post Date Snuggles, Crowthorne Style.

I feel like this life is making of us a family soup stock. We cook in each other's presence, knocking into one another in the heat (figurative, of course, there is no actual heat to be had).

It is a sloppy business this family stock making. Michael, with obvious anxiety, asked a few weeks ago as he listened to Mike and I discussing this life...''Is mommy gonna cry again?" I assured him that no, I wasn't. Later in the day I sobbed, but fortunately he missed out on that one. He asked if daddy ever cries and said he really hopes to see him cry someday. "You will." I assured him, sad at the thought of what the occasion would be.

My sister has a new mantra, ''I have enough, enough for myself and to share with others." Isn't that lovely? I decided that I need a mantra. So I spent some time contemplating and one came to me.

''I belong here.''

Contrary to my true feelings, I am comforted by these words.

I belong here. I am cooking, we are cooking and we are not done.

When I look ahead from this point of view, I have a new excitement for the life that waits for us. I feel we will return, all of us, with a sacred stock, ready for the new ingredients that life will bring.

And a highlight of last week. A TOOTHLESS (actual tooth count was approximately three) old man I had never seen before popped up and said, "What do you call a woman who works like a man?"....(wait for it)..."LAZY!" Isn't that funny? The best part was the huge happy smile on his old adorable face. Our brains connected for a moment and all was well.

Now here is my recipe for chicken soup...


One chicken, lemon thyme, rosemary, olive oil, s and p
One fat yellow onion, minced.
2 ribs of celery with leafy tops roughly chopped
2 parsnips roughly chopped
1 turnip roughly chopped
1 cup roughly chopped rutabaga
1 cup roughly chopped carrots
4 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped or smashed
big handful of cilantro
T salt, t pepper (or to taste)
1 -2 bunches or a big bag of greens, chopped with stems (curly kale and rainbow chard are my favorites, but any kale or chard will do, spinach works as well)
1 medium sized butternut squash
1.5 cups of pasta
lemon
Parmesan or grana padano cheese


Preheat oven to 350 F, coat chicken with olive oil, sprinkle with chopped lemon thyme and rosemary, s and p. Roast the chicken covered, 20 minutes per pound, then uncover and roast additional 20 minutes or until internal temp is 180 degrees F, legs are wobbly and juices run clear. When you remove from oven, cover and let stand 1/2 hour. Remove meat from bones. (This step can be done day or days before, save carcass in freezer until ready to use.)


In a big soup pot, saute onions over low heat until caramelized. Mmmmm, smells so good! Don't let them burn. Add next 5 ingredients and saute until they start to brown.

Add garlic and saute 30 seconds.  Add chicken carcass and any remaining juices from roasting, cilantro, salt and pepper and boiling water to cover chicken. Cover, bring to a boil and reduce heat to simmer for 3 hours or so.

Meanwhile, halve butternut squash, remove seeds, rub inside with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, and pierce skin a few times. Cover cookie sheet with parchment paper, place halves face down and roast in 350 F for 30-45 minutes.

Strain the stock and return to the pot. Discard carcass and cooked veggies. Add pasta and kale, when cooked through turn off, add cooked roast chicken and scoop out roasted squash and add to soup. Serve with big squeeze of lemon and grated Parmesan or grana padano and some hot crusty bread.