Do you know what your Carbon Footprint is?
Well, if you lived here in London you would.
It is your impact in the world with regards to global warming; Europe is leaps-and-bounds ahead of the United States in this area. It's all about goin' green here in Europe.
Why here in England there has been serious talk about banning those plastic shopping bags. You know, the ones you can't carry more than 5 items in.....the ones that won't even hold your 6 litres of milk without tearing.
One British chain of stores will totally eliminate the use of plastic bags altogether by this time next year.
Which really ticks-me-off.
I already forget the grocery list that I painstaking make, inevitably leaving it on the counter. Well now I have to remember to bring my reusable eco-bags along with the list.
The pressure, oh the pressure.
Green fact: Did you know that appliances on stand-still are still using electricity? Well, they do and here in my flat I have fancy mains switches for almost everything in my kitchen to prevent such waste. So, when I am not using my George Foreman Grill (no, not really, but if I had one I would), I would be "green" if I switched it off at the mains as well.
Or perhaps just unplugged it.
So as I have learned, if after 20 minutes your toast hasn't popped up it usually means someone has hit the mains switch accidently OR it could be the toaster you just bought to the tune of $60 (30 pounds sterling) has died. Hopefully it is the prior.
We had a doozy of an episode last week.
I found water dripping out of the adjuct freezer. After cursing to the appliance gods once again, I began to realize how much food was going to be spoiled because there was no way I was going to be able to fit it all into my ******* of a refrigerator.
After unloading the freezer and cleaning up the water I discovered my problem. My $60 toaster had bumped into the mains switch for the freezer therefore cutting off its complete electrical supply causing the thing to defrost unbeknownst to me.
Is that all? Can I get an Allelulia?!!
For this flat has had a (1) a new cooker (british for oven), (2) a new dishwasher, (3) a new washer/dryer and (4) a new boiler installed since we moved in. It seems we Americans have brought a curse with us OR the appliance gods think it would be really funny to "enhance my experience" of living here in the middle of a foreign country, in a flat, with a family.
I believe it is the second.
Because if it had been the freezer that had died you would have heard my screams all the way to The Lone Star State.
And you would find the frozen pizzas, mince (ground) beef, whole chickens (organic-free range of course), and chicken fingers strewn across Regents Park.
I kid you not.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
gauche American
I got my hair cut last week and I just have to tell you about it.
I found a new salon here in St. John's Wood just down the High Street. I had been warned in advance from a few of my friends that the place "comes with alot of attitude". I took that to mean a typical Euro-ness about it.
Now back home in 'merica (as Andrew likes to say), I had been seeing the same stylist for several years. Needless to say he knew me and my follicular challenges so I didn't need to explain myself much when I went in. He knew what I would approve of as far as styles and also how my bouncin' and behavin' hair would cooperate. (NOT!)
So now I had to verbally share my issues with a total stranger. And a French one at that.
His name was Dror. I believe he was French and in his late 20's. He had to introduce himself twice to me - as I didn't understand a thing he said. I have finally become comfortable with the British accent and now I must broaden to French I guess.
After he got over the intial shock of my dark roots and split ends we got down to business. He explained that the last cut was "all wrong" and he was going to make it all better. Uh, yeah, good luck with that......
We discussed that I was now a low maintenance hair kinda person......I am not going to spend more than 10 minutes everyday on my hair. (which is something I would have never ever said 9 years ago OR believed it was even possible! ) But in my old age I have learned it is futile to even try.
And I have discovered that I am losing my hair at a hair-raising rate these days. I feel if it continues at this rate I will certainly never be mistaken for being Ed Hogan's daughter.
Scary.
So in explaining my challenges I ultimately embarrased myself by showing a side of me that I knew existed and had been repressing (or at least attempting to) for quite some time.
You know the saying,
You can take the girl out of Texas, but not the Texas out of the girl.
Well, to a certain extent that is true.
I wanted to point out one of the frustrating characteristics of my hair.
My cow-lick.
Now do you know what that is? Is that a common saying? I don't know if it is.........but Dror seemed to scrunch his little French nose up at me and tilt his head in such a way that I knew I would forever be labeled the "gauche American" in that haughty-taughty salon. In fact, I was so oblivious to what I was saying I even repeated it....."I also have this cow-lick at the back of my head that never lays flat" I continued to say repeatedly.
There was complete silence on his part. He then discreetly bent over to whisper in my ear that he believes that what I am referring to is a "growth pattern". Oh, yeah, that's it....a growth pattern. I believe I turned 15 shades of red at that point.....which is, by the way, one of my colors so it wasn't all too bad.
So for the rest of my appointment I sat there reading my British issue of DECOR and kept my down-home mouth shut. I also wondered where that phrase came from.....why would we call it a cow-lick?
He styled my hair in such a way that is soo popular now. Straight and smooth. Which only makes me appear like a wet rat in my humble opinion. I have had straight and smooth and thin all my life and now it is en vouge - but I still don't like it. I want voluminous thick hair.
Big hair - that is....and I don't mind admitting it. And I don't care how 80's it might be....
By the time I was paying for this overpriced, under-styled, and over-attituded haircut I believe most others in the salon had forgotten about my slip-up. For I was witness to a very loud quarrel between 2 older (maybe 70+) ladies who were evidently "regulars". Both of them were dripping with jewels and had hung up full length fur coats upon entering. (I had been watchin' them from the beginning.) Their appointments were running late and they were not pleased, but they seemed to be arguing with each other about it or maybe something else....nobody really knew.
And that is one thing I have learned. Never upset the older British generation because they will flat let-you-have-it. They don't mind expressing their unhappiness to anyone.
So being the gauche American that I was, I inquired as to what was going on while I was checking out at the front desk. The lady at reception replied, "Oh, not to worry dah-lin. Those 2 are best friends and they are like Jeckyll and Hyde" "Not to worry. Not to worry." (don't forget the British accent)
So I slipped out of the salon quickly while the entertainment had switched to the 2 other characters. And went home to mousse my new "do".
I found a new salon here in St. John's Wood just down the High Street. I had been warned in advance from a few of my friends that the place "comes with alot of attitude". I took that to mean a typical Euro-ness about it.
Now back home in 'merica (as Andrew likes to say), I had been seeing the same stylist for several years. Needless to say he knew me and my follicular challenges so I didn't need to explain myself much when I went in. He knew what I would approve of as far as styles and also how my bouncin' and behavin' hair would cooperate. (NOT!)
So now I had to verbally share my issues with a total stranger. And a French one at that.
His name was Dror. I believe he was French and in his late 20's. He had to introduce himself twice to me - as I didn't understand a thing he said. I have finally become comfortable with the British accent and now I must broaden to French I guess.
After he got over the intial shock of my dark roots and split ends we got down to business. He explained that the last cut was "all wrong" and he was going to make it all better. Uh, yeah, good luck with that......
We discussed that I was now a low maintenance hair kinda person......I am not going to spend more than 10 minutes everyday on my hair. (which is something I would have never ever said 9 years ago OR believed it was even possible! ) But in my old age I have learned it is futile to even try.
And I have discovered that I am losing my hair at a hair-raising rate these days. I feel if it continues at this rate I will certainly never be mistaken for being Ed Hogan's daughter.
Scary.
So in explaining my challenges I ultimately embarrased myself by showing a side of me that I knew existed and had been repressing (or at least attempting to) for quite some time.
You know the saying,
You can take the girl out of Texas, but not the Texas out of the girl.
Well, to a certain extent that is true.
I wanted to point out one of the frustrating characteristics of my hair.
My cow-lick.
Now do you know what that is? Is that a common saying? I don't know if it is.........but Dror seemed to scrunch his little French nose up at me and tilt his head in such a way that I knew I would forever be labeled the "gauche American" in that haughty-taughty salon. In fact, I was so oblivious to what I was saying I even repeated it....."I also have this cow-lick at the back of my head that never lays flat" I continued to say repeatedly.
There was complete silence on his part. He then discreetly bent over to whisper in my ear that he believes that what I am referring to is a "growth pattern". Oh, yeah, that's it....a growth pattern. I believe I turned 15 shades of red at that point.....which is, by the way, one of my colors so it wasn't all too bad.
So for the rest of my appointment I sat there reading my British issue of DECOR and kept my down-home mouth shut. I also wondered where that phrase came from.....why would we call it a cow-lick?
He styled my hair in such a way that is soo popular now. Straight and smooth. Which only makes me appear like a wet rat in my humble opinion. I have had straight and smooth and thin all my life and now it is en vouge - but I still don't like it. I want voluminous thick hair.
Big hair - that is....and I don't mind admitting it. And I don't care how 80's it might be....
By the time I was paying for this overpriced, under-styled, and over-attituded haircut I believe most others in the salon had forgotten about my slip-up. For I was witness to a very loud quarrel between 2 older (maybe 70+) ladies who were evidently "regulars". Both of them were dripping with jewels and had hung up full length fur coats upon entering. (I had been watchin' them from the beginning.) Their appointments were running late and they were not pleased, but they seemed to be arguing with each other about it or maybe something else....nobody really knew.
And that is one thing I have learned. Never upset the older British generation because they will flat let-you-have-it. They don't mind expressing their unhappiness to anyone.
So being the gauche American that I was, I inquired as to what was going on while I was checking out at the front desk. The lady at reception replied, "Oh, not to worry dah-lin. Those 2 are best friends and they are like Jeckyll and Hyde" "Not to worry. Not to worry." (don't forget the British accent)
So I slipped out of the salon quickly while the entertainment had switched to the 2 other characters. And went home to mousse my new "do".
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Pinewood Derby 2008
Our Boy Scouts of America Transatlantic Troop held their annual Pinewood Derby this past weekend. It was held in the American School of London gymnasium and involved boys aged 6 and up......sooooo Tigers, Wolves, Bears and Weebelos. Alex is a Bear and Andrew is not old enough yet.
Here is Alex with his buddy, Patrick. Patrick named his car "The Bananamobile" and Alex named his car "The Man". The inspiration for Alex's car is the Ford Mustang. (hence, the striping) And for those of you who aren't blessed with a pit-crew for roomates, I might add that this really does look like a Mustang!
Alex did all of the work himself - except for the drilling and a few minor adjustments by Dad. Last year we had the luxury of the use of power tools. This year, we had to make-do with what we could find. It is not easy building a car in an apartment!
A sampling of the cars in Alex's division.
They have 4 tracks here. Last year in Richmond we had only 2. Alex's is the second from the left. His car did very well this year winning several heats! Which is surprising because he spent half the time working on it in comparison to last year.
Alex won a trophy. We were so happy for him. Best "Kids Only" Workmanship for pack 175 Bears.
Here is the "Toothless Wonder" showing his big brother his support!<
Here is Alex with his buddy, Patrick. Patrick named his car "The Bananamobile" and Alex named his car "The Man". The inspiration for Alex's car is the Ford Mustang. (hence, the striping) And for those of you who aren't blessed with a pit-crew for roomates, I might add that this really does look like a Mustang!
Alex did all of the work himself - except for the drilling and a few minor adjustments by Dad. Last year we had the luxury of the use of power tools. This year, we had to make-do with what we could find. It is not easy building a car in an apartment!
A sampling of the cars in Alex's division.
They have 4 tracks here. Last year in Richmond we had only 2. Alex's is the second from the left. His car did very well this year winning several heats! Which is surprising because he spent half the time working on it in comparison to last year.
Alex won a trophy. We were so happy for him. Best "Kids Only" Workmanship for pack 175 Bears.
Here is the "Toothless Wonder" showing his big brother his support!Friday, February 22, 2008
Inherited Genes (PART 2)
So yesterday morning around 8:30 I am sitting in our postage-stamp sized kitchen drinking my morning tea and Alex walks in. I've already put Andrew on the school bus and Alex is home this week for his winter break. Mind-you, it is only 8:30 and Alex is already up and dressed and ready to go. We had plans to meet friends (the McGees) at 10. It was unusual for him to be up so early because these days he loves to sleep in.
"Mom, I think I know why the McGees went to Notre Dame," he says.
"Oh, why?" I replied. I didn't know he had been wondering why. The McGees are some of our new friends here in London. And of course, they are Notre Dame alumni.
Which doesn't bode well in this Boilermaker house.
And maybe that is the confusing part. Can they still be our friends and yet still be a Big 10 rival? Can we really have as much fun as we do with them, even though their mascot is that tiny green man? Who knows........
Anyhow, he replied, "Because Mr. McGee is Irish."
"Yes, that is definitely true," I said.
He then walked out of the kitchen, back to his room. I thought it was the end of the conversation, but he returned a few minutes later.
"And Mom, I am Greek, right?"
"Yes, partly. But also alot of other as well." I responded.
"Oh yeah, like Irish and German," he added.
"Yep." I said.
He left again.
He returned a few minutes later. AGAIN. "Hey Mom, am I part Mexican as well?"
Shhhhh. Did you hear that? (big pause)
It's my Gramper Ed rollin' over in his grave.
Shhhhh. Did you hear that?
It's all my relatives down in South Texas (& East Texas too) laughing their rear-ends off.
Oh-mi-gawd. What have I done to deserve this one? I mean really. I was tickled at the question. But then it dawned on me........of course, it was because of this. (click on it!)
It is called a "GaGa HoHo". (AKA Imperial Grandmother) Now, I do believe I can look at this several different ways. (1) I can believe that he has been raised in such a politically correct house that he really sees no difference in all of us, or (2) He really feels there has got to be some deeper reason for our emphasis on all things Tex-Mex. (3) Or maybe reasoning for our recent interest in going to Spain where, of course, they speak "mexican". And yes now maybe I am payin' the price for the forced Spanish lessons back in Richmond.
My response, "No, Alex. There is no part of you that is Mexican." (well so-far-as we know) "Why would you think that?"
"Well ya know.....................'cause of GaGa HoHo and everything," he said so assuredly.
BINGO.
Now for those of you who have never met the Imperial Grandmother, I would not exactly say she exudes all things Mexican. Honestly, she can certainly carry on a conversation (or two) with them and every once in awhile it shows up in her wardrobe AND, okay maybe, she considers Nachos part of the four food groups but for the most part SHE IS AS WHITE AS THEY COME.
And I can say that.
Because I live in London. With every possible ethnic represented being that exists. Thank-you-very-much.
"Yes, I know............. GaGa HoHo. It would seem like that, wouldn't it?" "But no. None of us are mexican," I said.
"Oh. Okay," he said in his not-so-disappointed voice.
And walked back to his room.
"Mom, I think I know why the McGees went to Notre Dame," he says.
"Oh, why?" I replied. I didn't know he had been wondering why. The McGees are some of our new friends here in London. And of course, they are Notre Dame alumni.
Which doesn't bode well in this Boilermaker house.
And maybe that is the confusing part. Can they still be our friends and yet still be a Big 10 rival? Can we really have as much fun as we do with them, even though their mascot is that tiny green man? Who knows........
Anyhow, he replied, "Because Mr. McGee is Irish."
"Yes, that is definitely true," I said.
He then walked out of the kitchen, back to his room. I thought it was the end of the conversation, but he returned a few minutes later.
"And Mom, I am Greek, right?"
"Yes, partly. But also alot of other as well." I responded.
"Oh yeah, like Irish and German," he added.
"Yep." I said.
He left again.
He returned a few minutes later. AGAIN. "Hey Mom, am I part Mexican as well?"
Shhhhh. Did you hear that? (big pause)
It's my Gramper Ed rollin' over in his grave.
Shhhhh. Did you hear that?
It's all my relatives down in South Texas (& East Texas too) laughing their rear-ends off.
Oh-mi-gawd. What have I done to deserve this one? I mean really. I was tickled at the question. But then it dawned on me........of course, it was because of this. (click on it!)
It is called a "GaGa HoHo". (AKA Imperial Grandmother) Now, I do believe I can look at this several different ways. (1) I can believe that he has been raised in such a politically correct house that he really sees no difference in all of us, or (2) He really feels there has got to be some deeper reason for our emphasis on all things Tex-Mex. (3) Or maybe reasoning for our recent interest in going to Spain where, of course, they speak "mexican". And yes now maybe I am payin' the price for the forced Spanish lessons back in Richmond.
My response, "No, Alex. There is no part of you that is Mexican." (well so-far-as we know) "Why would you think that?"
"Well ya know.....................'cause of GaGa HoHo and everything," he said so assuredly.
BINGO.
Now for those of you who have never met the Imperial Grandmother, I would not exactly say she exudes all things Mexican. Honestly, she can certainly carry on a conversation (or two) with them and every once in awhile it shows up in her wardrobe AND, okay maybe, she considers Nachos part of the four food groups but for the most part SHE IS AS WHITE AS THEY COME.
And I can say that.
Because I live in London. With every possible ethnic represented being that exists. Thank-you-very-much.
"Yes, I know............. GaGa HoHo. It would seem like that, wouldn't it?" "But no. None of us are mexican," I said.
"Oh. Okay," he said in his not-so-disappointed voice.
And walked back to his room.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Bless his little heart
In a feeble attempt to try and find the source of the illness that seems to continually invade our petri-dish-of-an-apartment, I have become soooooooo suspicious of everything. We just can't seem to shake the bug.
So in a desperate effort, I asked Andrew to not drink the water from our special delivery/bottled water dispenser. I knew this was a desperate attempt but ever since I found an "unrecognizable" something floating in one of the bottles, I have been extremely suspicious of the water that comes out.
And quite honestly, I am not crazy. I am just dog-gone tired of doing laundry after sick-children.
When I told him, he totally got it. I could tell. He said, "You mean the water not in the sink?" Yep.
And here is the proof................
So in a desperate effort, I asked Andrew to not drink the water from our special delivery/bottled water dispenser. I knew this was a desperate attempt but ever since I found an "unrecognizable" something floating in one of the bottles, I have been extremely suspicious of the water that comes out.
And quite honestly, I am not crazy. I am just dog-gone tired of doing laundry after sick-children.
When I told him, he totally got it. I could tell. He said, "You mean the water not in the sink?" Yep.
And here is the proof................
The next time I walked into the kitchen these little notes had been taped ever-so-carefully to the front of the jug. Can you tell what they say?
Gosh. God bless his little heart!
Deep Thinking from a Kindergartener
I wish I had 100 HOT WHEELSI wish I had 100 SPONGEBOB CARTOONS
I wish I had 100 BASEBALLS
But I wouldn't want 100 PETS
I could eat 100 AIR HEADS (a candy)I could eat 100 CEREALS
I could eat 100 APPLES
But I could never eat 100 BUGS
I could hold 100 M&M'sI could hold 100 CHOCOLATE CHIPS
I could hold 100 LEGOS
But I could never hold 100 CARS
another one bites the dust
Would you believe, after loosing our FIRST TOOTH less than 1 1/2 weeks ago we found Andrew had another one loose? This second loose tooth was only noticed the day after loosing the first.
Yesterday, while trying to convince me to give-back their "electronics" privileges (another story), I decided to try to refocus their attention. ("Their" being both Alex and Andrew)
"If you pull your tooth out today, we will have Domino's for dinner." See, he lost his last one while eating Domino's. I thought I was in-the-clear on this one, for there was still a bit of blood trickling out from the tooth when he wiggled it.
And truth be told, Andrew is not one for blood.
He could have a cut on his hand so tiny that you could barely see it AND YET we still have to find the Batman band-aids hidden somewhere in our vast 1200 sq ft apartment to cover it up. Mind you, it is not so much the blood but the visible injury to the rest of the world that makes the band-aid a necessity. As if to say, "Yes, it is okay. Do not worry about me, for I am tough. Yes, maybe it was my brother who did this to me, but look, I did survive." The little guy LOVES that kind of attention.
On the other hand, he could have half of his arm hanging on by a single sinew of muscle and be fine, AS LONG AS THERE IS NO BLOOD. It kills me.
So anyhow, I thought I would still be making my stir-fry for dinner last night as there was noway in Hades he would promote more blood loss in his mouth.
Boy, was I wrong. Would you believe within a matter of approximately 31.5 seconds he had pulled that sucker out! And to boot, his big brother was lavishing him with congratulatory pelts. "Oh Andrew that is soooooooo awesome - we get Domino's for dinner. Way to go dude" (then a scary little celebratory dance follows - one that could only come from a gangly thin 9 year-old boy)
So, we had a visit from the Domino's guy last night. (Which to say, made my evening a lot easier.)And a visit from the tooth-fairy who, I know for a fact, is pretty tired of scrounging up 5 pounds at the last moment.
Here they are. Enjoying a once-a-week, no once-a-month, moment of happiness shared between 2 brothers. Joy. I love these moments.
Then of course, we are back to reality.
Yesterday, while trying to convince me to give-back their "electronics" privileges (another story), I decided to try to refocus their attention. ("Their" being both Alex and Andrew)
"If you pull your tooth out today, we will have Domino's for dinner." See, he lost his last one while eating Domino's. I thought I was in-the-clear on this one, for there was still a bit of blood trickling out from the tooth when he wiggled it.
And truth be told, Andrew is not one for blood.
He could have a cut on his hand so tiny that you could barely see it AND YET we still have to find the Batman band-aids hidden somewhere in our vast 1200 sq ft apartment to cover it up. Mind you, it is not so much the blood but the visible injury to the rest of the world that makes the band-aid a necessity. As if to say, "Yes, it is okay. Do not worry about me, for I am tough. Yes, maybe it was my brother who did this to me, but look, I did survive." The little guy LOVES that kind of attention.
On the other hand, he could have half of his arm hanging on by a single sinew of muscle and be fine, AS LONG AS THERE IS NO BLOOD. It kills me.
So anyhow, I thought I would still be making my stir-fry for dinner last night as there was noway in Hades he would promote more blood loss in his mouth.
Boy, was I wrong. Would you believe within a matter of approximately 31.5 seconds he had pulled that sucker out! And to boot, his big brother was lavishing him with congratulatory pelts. "Oh Andrew that is soooooooo awesome - we get Domino's for dinner. Way to go dude" (then a scary little celebratory dance follows - one that could only come from a gangly thin 9 year-old boy)
So, we had a visit from the Domino's guy last night. (Which to say, made my evening a lot easier.)And a visit from the tooth-fairy who, I know for a fact, is pretty tired of scrounging up 5 pounds at the last moment.
Why has God blessed him with those eyelashes? I sure could use a couple of them.
Here they are. Enjoying a once-a-week, no once-a-month, moment of happiness shared between 2 brothers. Joy. I love these moments.
Then of course, we are back to reality.
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