October 3, 2007


Good morning!

I miss writing to all of you. My hands are sticky
with traces of the After Eight mints that I had for
breakfast, so it seems like a good time to avoid the
kitchen and sit down to my computer. I have so much
to cover:
The last bits of our school year (that stretched into
July) were spent organizing our trip back to the USA
and partaking in all the loveliness of this year's
English summer. I make that statement dripping with
heavy sarcasm. Anyone aware that England was having
its worst summer on record could understand why I was
left with raw nerves by the time we made it to the US,
mid July. J called me in England from Wrigley Field
one glorious Chicago summer afternoon while he was
home on business (business?). He was describing the
perfection of Wrigley Field on a warm summer day. My
stomach ached with more than a little self-pity, as I
listened to him while I was sporting jeans and a wool
turtleneck and was still fighting the chills. It was
June 29. The cold and rain hardly stopped from June
until August. We were spared rain two days, I
believe, one for the summer ball and the other for
Parents' Day at school. Otherwise it rained and
rained like an adventure in a children's book until
most of England was quietly submerged in water. Most
businesses were closed until just before we returned
in August. It was a disaster, but being British,
everyone just "got on with it".

The summer ball was lovely apart from the fact that my
friend made me wear her 4 inch heels which rendered my
ankles useless. Admittedly, they did look smashing
with my hand-me-down dress, however, I walked like I
was strapped to stilts, only a bit less gracefully.
We decided to hoof it to the ball (it was two blocks
away) so that we could enjoy a glass of wine without
driving, but, in those heels, on those uneven
sidewalks, the walk took hours if I remember
correctly, and I had to ditch the shoes almost
immediately upon my arrival. But aside from being
shoeless, the ball was good fun and it was a perfect
venue to take note of the budding affairs that were
percolating between the wealthy/bored parents. It
also was helpful in keeping score of said affairs so
that by the time Parents' Day rolled around, you could
hold a comfortable place "in the know" and did not
present yourself as a completely aloof and disengaged
parent, unwilling to keep abreast of campus life.

Parents Day was, again, the ultimate in British prep
school fussiness. This year was made even more snooty
by the fact that M and S were leavers
(graduates) and we lunched in the "leavers' marquee"
(a big white tent). The day starts with chapel and
afterward children, parents and staff return to school
for tea. Everyone glances uncomfortably at their
watches and as soon as both hands are straight up
there is a mass exodus to the lawn where there are
small marquees set up for "house drinks". Each child
belongs to a house and his/her house master/mistress
serves (although it is mostly the boys serving) the
parents wine and drinks. Thankfully, my inability to
wear heels is rewarded at this one function. It is
always a good idea to resist the temptation of stylish
shoes and go instead, with flats. Many a dear pair of
shoes are ruined on Parents' Day when sinking into the
grass. When the small talk has been exhausted, it is
time for lunch. Most families tailgate unless you are
the proud parent of a leaver (or two) in which case
you have lunch in the marquee. The marquee lunch adds
another hour or so of behaving properly, chasing
grapes around your plate with a fork when you'd really
prefer to tailgate 30 yards away, kick off your flip
flops and just pick up grapes with your fingers.
Then, when it is okay to politely leave, you hook up
with friends and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. We
always seem to be the last to leave.

We flew home just a few days after school broke up.
The trip is summed up in one word: bittersweet. For
every long awaited "hello", there was a painful
"goodbye". We dragged ourselves from dentists to
doctors to orthodontists to mammograms to vets and
tried to see a lifetime of friends and family in
between. At one point when I was losing it on the
phone with J (who was lucky enough to dodge into
work and avoid orchestrating the whole thing) there
was a long pause and he asked, "T, are you having a
nervous break down?" As if there was time... I found
solace in Mexican food.

M and S spent a week in Mississippi
working on hurricane Katrina relief. It was the
highlight of their trip home. We were proud of their
willingness to give a week of their time in the US to
such a worthy cause despite the heat and humidity of
coastal Mississippi in August. They will never be the
same after their work there. They made good friends
and came back begging to go on more mission trips.
R, in his charmed life, scored a trip to Orlando
with our friends the Leys. 9:30pm the night before
departure, Ellen stopped over to ask if R could go
with their family on vacation. So R, while his
older siblings were swatting mosquitoes and raising
walls on homes in the Deep South, was swimming,
running around golf courses, perusing firework stands
and, in general, living the good life that comes so
easily to him. In my next life, I want to
come back as R.

A was completely mixed up by the time we back to
England. Sadly, he lost his English accent and he
misses our old house and dog. In our absence, A
developed an allergy to our cat, Leo, who was "on
loan" to my parents (but as my observant father
quickly figured out, "I guess that means Leo is
staying"). No one could be happier by this unforeseen
development than Leo. Leo laments the day he was
adopted by our well intentioned, but boisterous
family. He does not hide the fact that he cannot
stand most of our family members. He loathes
children's affections. All he ever wanted was to live
with a couple of seniors who over fed him. He hit the
jackpot with my parents. So we couldn't spend too
much time at my parents' which was too bad as A
had his adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears at
the very end of our trip which added another two weeks
to our departure date. A and I spent alot of that
time in Michigan with my Aunt Marilyn and Uncle Dick.
It doesn't get any better than my aunt fussing over
you. A particularly loved it as Aunt Marilyn
OFTEN overrides Mom Rules. In fact, he didn't know
that overriding me was even an option and he took to
Aunt Marilyn (as all children do for this reason)
immediately. They have a resident wood pecker which
A enjoyed watching. When we moved to our new
house, A saw an unusual bird in the back garden
(the only birds he sees regularly are pigeons). He is
sure this bird is a wood pecker. "Look!" he likes to
shout so an entire city block can hear, "Its Uncle
Dick's pecker!"

Alas, we did finally make it back to England and moved
two days later. More on that to follow.

With love from England,
T