It's Official

Dear all, 

We are here until the summer of 2012. 

Overall, we have handled this news well, especially those of us (M and A) who never wanted to leave.   The rest of us, who are severely lacking in sun exposure, are trying to warm to the idea. 

In this economic climate, we are grateful for J’s job and are well aware that we live in one of the most beautiful parts of the world.  We live in a Kingdom, for God’s sake!  It’s the stuff of fairy tales.  Sort of.  Except the bit about the rain, the damp cold, the lack of summers, the drafty house, the cost of living, the lack of family and old friends, having to remember that the word ‘pants’ means ‘underpants’ and the fact that the British eat faggots and spotted dick (although not at the same time-spotted dick is for pudding). 

Additionally, it is a country that has offensive names for towns such as Penistone and Crapstone.  Or worse yet, roads called Butt Hole Road (honestly), Crotch Crescent (my favorite) and Slutshole Lane (?).  On the London Underground, I smile a sophomoric grin when the recorded voice announces ‘NOW APPROACHING SHEPHERD’S BUSH’.  ‘Yuck,’ I always think to myself, ‘is THAT what I smell?’

Right.  Scratch that.  Those are actually examples of why I LOVE this quirky country.    

I must admit that M’s recent mumble about returning to the US for college made my heart swing.  Two additional years in England, I worry, will make the twins more settled (they will finish their secondary education here) and want to go to university here. University leads to jobs or marriages (or both) in England.  That means we are possibly left with only R and A in the USA to care for us in our old age.  R is unlikely to be a decent carer (unless we make it extremely easy and very lucrative) and A, by his own admission, wishes he had a different mom, one who didn’t say ‘no’ all the time, so, as a companion in our old age, he isn’t looking too promising, either. 

I am easing myself back into English life from which I had started to detach.  I have stopped looking at the pictures of our new house back home on a daily (hourly) basis.  I, like everyone else in Cheltenham, am simply biding my time doing laundry and talking about the weather until Champagne Season begins (even now I glance at my watch, wondering how much longer I have to wait).   

In the mean time, I might indulge myself by putting on some Bob Seger (Roll Me Away is one of the all time best lets–get-the-Hell-out-of-here songs) and daydreaming about my homeland.

With love from England,

T-Ann