Goings-on

I was in Las Vegas when Frank Sinatra died. The lights on the strip were shut off - not dimmed, shut off - for several minutes in memory of Old Blue Eyes. It was a very surreal experience, to say the least. Michael Jackson found the people of Great Britain to be much more forgiving and accepting than the people in his own country. At least, that's what I've been led to believe by the British press. I didn't go seeking out any vigils or memorials in the city yesterday. I wasn't a fan, really, though there were some older Jackson 5 songs that I liked. I think I'm getting away easy, though, because we only have a few channels and not all of them are 24/7 MJ.

Sophie is ready to go home. She misses her friends terribly and she mentioned to me today that she was afraid that her friends wouldn't be her friends anymore when she came home. We talked it out and I think she's okay now. I also explained to her that Sunday starts our fifth week, which means we're halfway there! From Sunday on, we can count down instead of counting up. That made her feel better. She's so conflicted. On one hand she realizes how fortunate she is to be able to be here for 10 weeks and she likes all the stuff we've been doing. On the other hand she just really misses everything familiar. Christopher is trying to live in the moment and he's thoroughly enjoying this trip.

Cooking is a challenge. I've worked it but it caused quite a bit of hair-pulling-out on my part until I managed to find salt in the grocery store (and in only one of three I frequent) and I bought myself a barely passable knife because the ones that are here are beyond horrible. I won't even bother trying to pack this one up to bring home. It's bad but it's better than what I had! The stores in London often have sandwiches and soups and pasta salads all packaged up and ready for people on their lunch hours to grab-n-go. Sometimes you even see a "3 for -whatever price-" where you get a main, a drink and a bag of crisps. Fun! There are sushi bars here that present the sushi on conveyor belts! How awesome is that? Sophie can't wait to go to one. Actually, I'm looking forward to it, too.

We're attending an American ex-pat Fourth of July picnic tomorrow. There was supposed to be fireworks but that was canceled. But we'll have barbecue foods to consume, wading pools to splash in and other Americans to meet. Sounds like a good day to me.

Middle of week three - already?

I love coming up from the depths of the underground and hearing a busker. The music sounds like it's being broadcast over the intercom and the buskers are almost always really quite good. Sophie likes to toss them a coin and Christopher likes to tell her that she shouldn't give money to every single busker we see. I like holding her hand and seeing the musician smile at her as she walks away.

Both of the children are writing books. Christopher is writing a graphic novel about Guy McDude and Sophie is writing a chapter book about a girl named Caroline Wiener. She gives me updates every five minutes or so while Christopher hasn't shown me a thing, other than his title page. I'm happy they're delving into their artistic sides. I don't think they'd be doing this at home.

Yesterday found us at the London Zoo, a very lovely place indeed. We saw baby warthogs (so ridiculously cute), meerkats (even more ridiculously cute) and porcupines; all things we have never seen in real life before. A British woman told me that the children were "lovely, with lovely manners" and I was very glad for that. I tell them all the time that we are representing the States while we're here and I'd like them to leave a good impression. I know far too many non-Americans have negative views of us and I'd like to debunk as many as I can. Let's call it my personal mission.

Cooking has been a challenge. Not only because the previous tenants left us with three lids and one very small pot, but because I don't have all my regular spices and herbs. I find myself wishing, nearly every day, that I had brought my knives with me. So impractical (though I would have just packed them in the checked baggage) but I miss them. It's a pleasure to cook with good tools.

Pete is still back in the States. He's playing a show in Chicago tonight and then in West Lafayette and Baltimore later in the week. He flies back to us on Sunday. It's been a while since we've been apart for more than a few days. It's good for us, I know. I just miss him an awful lot.

The rest of the week we'll probably go to Greenwich (since it's so close to home currently) and perhaps back to the Science Museum. We certainly don't lack for things to do!

Self-discovery

Things I've learned about myself in the two weeks we've been away from home:

I've turned into a homebody. I like being at home, I just don't think I realized it before now.

I don't like things being unpredictable.

I like routine.

I like quiet places.

I don't so much like the city.

I love to travel, I just prefer it to be easy. This: not easy.

I really am having a good time, even if it doesn't seem like it most of the time.

I love people-watching.

I like walking down a street in London and really feeling like I'm in London. Some streets are better than others for that "London" feel.

My kids are more malleable and easy-going than I ever gave them credit for before now.

I love, really love, quiet, green places.

I hate Canary Wharf.

Learning new things about yourself can be difficult, especially when you cast yourself in a harsh light. I'm discovering things about me that I don't particularly like, and I'm realizing that deeply held beliefs are not easy to change. I always told myself that the reason we don't live in a city is because of the kids. We need good schools and green yards and trees and safe roads for them to walk down. Really, though? Really I just like the quiet. I am not a city girl. I'm just not. And I think that's okay. If everyone loved living in a city there wouldn't be enough room for them all. Someone has to like the suburbs and the country. I'll take that position. Gladly. The city wears me down. I like being there and seeing it and experiencing it, but at the end of the day I need quiet. I physically need it.

There's a possibility of us moving again, this time north of the city to Golders Green, near Hampstead. Hampstead is where lots of posh people live. It's quiet and green and Very English. When the kids and I first went to view the apartment (the one I mentioned last week), Christopher said that the area looked to him like he thought all of England would look. I'm trying not to get too excited about the possibility of moving from Canary Wharf (because I don't want to jinx it, mostly) but it would be so much better in so many ways. Not noisy, not all lit up at night, and it would be easier to get to where everything is in London. Canary Wharf is far. AND, the tube line we use to get to the city is closed every single weekend until the time we leave. That makes getting anywhere really difficult. It adds at least an hour onto travel time. Unbearable. Had I checked the planned works website perhaps we wouldn't have moved out here. Then again, I doubt I would have realized how difficult it would be to get around. At any rate, I've checked the website and Golders Green isn't affected by any engineering works for the duration of our time here. Thank God.

And now Pete is gone for a week, leaving us to ourselves. What shall we do? We might take a train to the coast. Or maybe we'll just see more sights here in the city; there are plenty of things we haven't done yet, like Westminster Abbey, the British Museum, Kensington and Buckingham Palaces. We have options. Options are good.

London Calling

If your husband looks at you one day and says, "Let's take the kids to England for the summer," don't say yes right away. It will be harder than you imagine it to be, it will be more stressful, and even though you do TONS of research on apartments, no one will tell you (until you're already in the country) that landlords mark up short-term lets by so many hundreds of percents, making it that much more difficult to find an apartment that fits your budget. And it's not like you're talking $200 a month, here. You have good money to spend. It's just that the dollar is so weak and all the good places (where stuff is, where you can walk to a tube station, where you actually feel like you're in London) cost a fortune (don't forget the mark-up).

You'll plan and you'll obsessively look at apartments and houses online and you'll even find an estate agent (what we call in the States 'Real Estate Agents' but who are far more shark-like than we Americans are used to) specifically used to dealing with short-term lets. You'll make an appointment with her, or you think you have, but then she'll flake out on you during the first week you're in London, leaving you to panic that you won't find somewhere to live. Did I mention that you have your two kids with you? I think I did. So that makes things more complicated.



Meanwhile, you're trying to accommodate the kids, taking them to museums and parks, even though those things take up precious time that could be spent searching Gumtree for that elusive creature, the non-scammer. You find some really great parks, but guess what? They're in the really good area, the one you can't seem to afford. Figures. But then! You find an honest person on Gumtree who wants to short-let his flat and oh my god, it's affordable! You take the tube (and drag the kids along) out to Hampstead and fall in love. It's so green! And so English! And the flat itself is lovely, the top two floors of a charmless building, but that's okay; the flat is great. But. Of course there's a 'but'. The nice man and his girlfriend really were looking for someone to rent out the flat for the rest of the year. If no one else expresses interest, he'll be happy to let you have it until you leave for home. Yeah. How likely is that going to be? Everyone must want to live out there. It's fabulous. So much for that.



You end up finding a semi-reasonably-priced, and rather charmless, flat in Canary Wharf. It's far from the "good" stuff, but the flat is nice, it's pretty quiet, and there's a big grocery store within walking distance. Just as you're agreeing to rent the flat for the duration, you discover a flat listing in Kensington. The place you really want to be. Really. Desperately. You have to get out of the hotel, though, because it's too expensive for long-term stays and the Kensington flat isn't available unti July. It's only the third week of June. For God's sake, how long are you going to be here again? Until August 16?

You move everyone and everything (and for heaven's sake, why did you pack so much? I know, I know, you pared down. Pare down more next time. Jeez.) all the way across the city (which is only 9 miles! But takes 40 minutes to get there!) and settle in. You're still hoping for the Kensington flat, but you really aren't expecting it to be any good.

And that's where you are now. Just waiting. Homesick. Ridiculously homesick. It's only nine more weeks. But you'd give just about anything for your bed, your friends, your kitties. Your home. Oh, but make sure the kids don't see that you're homesick. I mean, you're still having a really good time. And your family is with you. You love them more than anything.

And you're in London! London!!

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