Sometimes it helps to be American

I'm so often told "I wish I had an accent like yours", but today, American people, I came across a situation where it would have been useful to have an accent like yours.



In a conversation with my mum, she referred to something that "wouldn't have mattered formally". But to clarify, I had to ask her "formally, or formerly?"



Now see, if we'd been American, we wouldn't have had that problem.



Similarly, I might have to seek clarification if she ever talks to me about cheetahs or cheaters, though I expect the context would give it away in that case.

Thoughts on our return to the US

Just to clear up a bit of confusion...



Yes, 14-yo's video does make it look as if we live somewhere beautiful. No, actually, we don't. Some of the pictures he used were taken on our holidays in Colorado and Arkansas. Just felt I had to put the record straight, as I have in the past whinged on about how there's no beautiful scenery near us. Thank you for all your comments, by the way. He loved them.



Anyway, here we are, back again, new school year beginning. Here are three lists. I used to be a civil servant, and I still find lists a good way of organising thoughts. Or of writing a blog post when you can't quite string it together in any other way.



1 Nice things about returning to America



a) People. Friends. A group of three families who organised a 'welcome back' barbecue for us, hiring the party room at the local pool, and whenever I said "what can I bring?" insisted "we've got it covered". Americans do hospitality and welcome in a fabulous way.



b) Each time we come back, it feels very different. Like a child starting a new school year isn't actually any taller than on the first day of term than they were on the last day of the holidays, but somehow they seem it. A step away and a step back brings a new perspective.



c) The weather seems sensitive to our arrival. For the second year running, a hot and humid spell has broken the day after we get back. It's very nice of the weather to be so accommodating. It must know I don't cope very well with the heat. This year, I am especially grateful, as it's been record-breakingly hot. It was over 100 degrees (38 celcius) for over 40 consecutive days, and one day it reached 113 (45). I have a little shared laugh with people here about how in England we all pluck our t-shirts away from our bodies and woggle them about, trying to create a tiny breeze, saying "wow it's hot today" when it gets to 80 degrees. Sorry, British people. I have a joke at your expense. (When I was an au pair in France, the little boy I looked after thought a t-shirt was called a p'tit shirt - isn't that sweet?)



2 Things that have changed in Britain



a) Oreos. I spotted some in a supermarket. That's a shame. They're not a patch on hobnobs, digestives, kitkats, or a million other nice British biscuits. And they leave a horrible black ring round your child's mouth. Don't buy oreos.



b) Jaffa cakes. Don't like them. Never have. Never will. (They haven't changed, so I don't know why they're on this list. Wrong list, Jaffa Cakes.)



c) Moving on to non-biscuit-related topics. Sharpies. Yay, wa-hoo wa-hey. Sharpies have arrived in Britain. I cannot imagine how we have lived without them in a satisfactory manner till now. Go out this minute and buy yourself a Sharpie. (Except you, Josephine, you've already got one.)



d) Speed cameras. They are everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Have they been breeding?



e) Top Gear presenters. They are everywhere. Not only is Top Gear on television whenever you turn it on, but they are presenting pretty much every other television programme there is as well. Including that rather addictive one that's made in Argentina because Health and Safety in Britain wouldn't allow it. What's it called...?



f) More Americanisms in British everyday speech. I don't feel very strongly about this. I think language evolves and grows, and you shouldn't try and put it in a cage and keep it. It needs to rove free, like the buffalo over the plains (though it didn't end terribly well for them in recent history). Rove... or should that be roam...? See, a case in point. We should all be free to grab whatever word we want, to suit the mood and the moment, and if that means that some become more popular and some die out (like the buffalo nearly have done), then so be it (though I do feel sad for the buffalo, so this is an imperfect simile). But I have noticed that there is an increasing number of words that have crossed the Atlantic. 'Mad' meaning 'angry'. 'Smart' meaning 'clever' (I blame smart phones, smart technology, etc for this one). 'Call' instead of 'ring' when talking about phoning someone.



3 Things that are still just too counter-cultural for me to love



a) Over-competitive sports for children. I've said it before, and I'll say it again (in fact I have a ranty blog post just waiting to spout out and rove all over my blog any day now on this very subject).



b) A phone message from a very chirpy student on our answerphone:



"Hi, Dr Husband, this is Francine from X University. I'm just calling on behalf of the university as the new academic year begins, to say how much we appreciate the faculty members. We just want you to know that the university values you so much, and we're so glad you're part of it."



Does this really work for most Professors? Really? Or do they, like Husband, stand glowering at the answerphone, making retorts about how a pay rise would do more to make him feel valued than employing a student on the minimum wage to go down the faculty phone list making vacuous calls.

My son's take on living in America

Gosh, that's a boring title. Sorry.



Anyway, 14-yo entered a competition for expat kids. The challenge was to make an audio-visual presentation about your life in a different culture. He wasn't short-listed as a finalist. If you want to see the entries that were, you can go to this facebook page, and vote for a winner in each of the two age categories.



I thought his was rather good, though, so I'm sharing it with you. The images are all from our own camera, and I think it really does give a little flavour of what our life is like here. (Apologies for the picture quality.)

What can really only be described as rambling

OK, so here I am on the other side. Of the Atlantic. This isn’t a mystic voice from beyond the grave or anything. But you probably knew that. Oooh, I was about to write “But you probably knew that already”, which just goes to show. Year by year, day by day, sentence by sentence, I am being tweaked and shaped, and I become less and less the two people I flit between, UK and US, and more and more the one hybrid lump of somewhat amorphous personhood that… oooh, “somewhat”. Did you spot that?



For thus it is. The longer we live here in the Midwest, the more I become me, in this life that is my life. I’m no longer constantly surprised that it is my life. I don’t spend so much mental energy on comparisons and analysis. I’ve got used to the loss of many of the things I’ve had to let go of (not all…), and I’ve got used to carrying round the new things I’ve acquired. It’s just me, here or there. I’m feeling what the French would call “dans ma peau”, meaning literally “in my skin”. Very good expression, don’t you think? It’s rather taken me by surprise, because these transitions from one location to the other, from one culture to the other, are usually rather difficult. I know, too, that homesickness is a spooky lurking beast, and can pop out unexpectedly when you round a corner, so don’t be surprised if my next post is all about how much I miss England and how miserable I am.



For the moment, however, and we all know that the moment is the best place to live, life is good and seems full of potential. Today the kids are all back at school. I am debating whether to go back to the toy shop, which is fun, but has - as I predicted - rather lost its novelty, and is appallingly badly paid. I am capable of so much more, and as Husband’s teaching schedule this year means that he would be free to do school pick-ups, I have the freedom to explore. So I am job-hunting. I applied for a job online, but logged out half way through the process. I hadn’t got round to logging back in and finishing the form, when, blow me down, quick as a wink, the next morning I woke to find they’d sent me an email saying thanks but no thanks. This serves to confirm my worst anxieties about Corporate America. Way too flash fast for plodding-along me. But I know you’re all going to tell me not to be discouraged, and yes, you’re right. I will persevere.



The other idea that’s bumbling around in my head is to do an MA. My thought process goes like this. I can do an MA for free at Husband’s university. Ooh, good deal. What do they offer that I could do and that would be interesting and useful? (You have to remember it’s a small private university with a very small graduate programme, so the answer is not going to take long.) An MBA? Well, that would certainly look good on my cv, but it looks like you can’t really do it unless you’re in a job that will let you do on-the-job projects and assessments. And an MBA? Me? Really? Moving on… Counselling and Family Therapy. No. Not for me. At least not from that side of the table. Christian Ministry? An MA in Christian Ministry? Hm… Well, I don’t want to be a Christian minister… But it does look interesting. Some of it, anyway. And what’s this bit here? “You don’t have to be preparing for ordination or Christian leadership to take this course. Many of our students sign up for their own personal development.” Ooh, sounds like me. I’ve already spoken to Husband’s colleague who runs the programme, and he said he’d be happy to have me. Wa-hey! The only snaffoo (just learnt that word, isn’t it great?) with the idea is that I have discovered that although it’s billed as a freebie for families of employees of the university, it’s a taxable benefit and therefore does have a financial implication. Given the huge fees that people pay for these kinds of courses, even just paying the tax on it is significant. Plus there's the ginormous loss of earnings that I could potentially enjoy in my new, reinvented, Iota as Corporate Princess, “who needs to fill out a whole application form, can’t you see how impressive I am from the first half?” self.

So… job or MA, job or MA, or shall I just go back to the toyshop and potter along? Options, options.



Meanwhile, back at the first day of school for my kids, I have to just tell you that I am super-impressive in the whole area of school supplies these days. Gone are the laborious hours wandering round Target, Wal-mart, Hobby Lobby, Office Max and wherever else the last person mentioned, lists clutched in sweaty hands, wondering why on earth it has to be a pink eraser, not an eraser of the colour of my choice. I am now Supplies Queen. I know that all erasers are pink (except those white polymer ones), so that pink erasers are easy to find! I know what a 1½” 3-ring binder with an accordion folder inside is. Yes, I do! I know what a folder with brads is. Ha! I know that… sshhhh… it doesn’t always matter if what you get isn’t exactly what is specified on the list. Is it really going to matter if your child has a 2” notecard ring instead of a 1” one? No! I am so obviously Supplies Queen that I’m surprised Target hasn’t made me a crown using their construction paper (one pkg, any colour), dry erase markers (pack of 4, thick, different colours), 3” x 5” plain white index cards, 7” pointed Fiskars scissors, and Elmers glue.



But pride comes before a fall, so I must temper my self-adulation, and tell you that having a child start High School puts you right back at the bottom of the pile. You know how it felt when your child started Kindergarten or Reception, and everyone else seemed to know what was going on except you? Well, High School brings that feeling back with what might be called a vengeance.



And now, since this is 1,000 words and already too long, I’m going.

Iota's mother's loft: final instalment

I couldn't call this post Iota's summer holiday top tips for entertaining children: Part IV for reasons which will become apparent.



This last item was in a box of my own stuff. It's a copy of The Sun newspaper, dated Saturday October 19th 1985 - a month or so before my 21st birthday. The headline that day was





BUDGIE COOKED ALIVE IN MICROWAVE



Lads giggled as the oven went 'ding'





(You see why I couldn't bill this post as summer entertainment for children.)



Attached to the paper is a note from my older brother which says "This must be the best headline ever. You should keep this paper. It might be worth something some day."



So now, nearly 26 years later, who will make me an offer for this historic newspaper?



The thing is, even if I don't make any money from this loft item, it did make me laugh, and reflect back on family life over decades, and be grateful, and who could put a cash price on that? (It went back into my box of stuff, in case you were wondering. I couldn't put it in the bin somehow.)

Iota's summer holiday top tips for entertaining children: Part lll

And now we come to my two favourites. Both of them have strong memories from my own childhood, and both of them - hurrah - occupied my three children for hours.

Here's a crane.


The main body of it stands at just over 2 feet high. It was made by a friend, and when his children had grown out of it, we inherited it. It's fully functional: the arm can be raised and lowered, and then the hook wound up and down.

I remember spending hours with my younger brother playing "cranes" (although there was only one, we always talked about playing "cranes" in the plural). One child is upstairs, and dangles the crane hook down through the banisters to the other child, in the hall below. There is seemingly no end to what you can do with a crane. You can put something on the hook, and tell your playmate to shut their eyes, wind the object up, and guess what it is by feel. You can choose an object, and race to see who can wind it up the quickest. You can put something really heavy on the hook, and then let go of the wheel, letting it spin and the string unreel at speed, till the object hits the floor with a thud. You can hang a doll or a teddy bear by the neck. Oh, the possibilities are endless.

This is the kind of toy that grown-ups like, because it looks so educational. We like to think our children are learning about pulleys, weights, relative forces, almost as if it was a practical hands-on physics lesson. Well, I never got anywhere with physics, but I did have a lot of fun with this crane. And so did my children.

And finally...

Corinthian!


It's a precursor of the pinball machine This one is 30 inches by 15, to give you an idea of scale. Many of you will look at this and respond "Ah, Bagatelle!" But this version is called Corinthian. Here's a close-up of the rather splendid label at the bottom, in which Walter Lindman (who he?) asserts his preference.

The bit of the label which the photo cuts off states "The recognised tournament board is Corinthian 21T". Dang it! Our board was only a 21S! Just as well we didn't know about tournaments. We would have bullied our parents endlessly to take us to one. We fancied ourselves as Corinthian players (though upping our game to a 21T might have been a shock). I can't think of a toy that gave us more hours of pleasure than this one. It was also an absolute favourite of visiting children. I remember friends loving to play. Maybe they only liked me for my Corinthian board.

The minute my children started playing this, the plink-plink-plonk noise of the steel balls bouncing off the pins was so familiar. This came from my mother's childhood, so it really has done sterling service. Alas, the drumstick used to push the ball up the runway has disappeared, but there are still 19 balls - the number there were when we played with it, or when my mother's family inherited it from some friends. That's quite impressive, not to have lost a ball in two generations. My kids used the handle of a wooden spoon as a pusher, and of course it worked fine (though I miss that drumstick...) Of course the more upmarket versions of Bagatelle have a puller on a spring, to fire the balls into action. I like to think the drumstick requires more skill and finesse. There used to be a list stuck on the back, of the names of those who'd scored 1,000 or more, but that has been lost. It was only a short list, as 1,000 is well nigh impossible. I don't remember anyone in my generation scoring 1,000.

It's another of those educational toys, isn't it? Think how good for your mental arithmetic, adding up your score at the end of each go. My kids shocked their grandmother by whipping out an ipod with a calculator on it. She made them put it away and add up in their heads or with paper and pencil. Good for her!

That almost ends this mini-series on my Mum's loft. There is just one more object of interest for tomorrow... Just one...

Iota's summer holiday top tips for entertaining children: Part ll

More items from my mother's loft. And by the way, what's the difference between a loft and an attic? Anyone know?

Look at these beautiful parasols. My mother doesn't know where they came from or who they belonged to.


They've evidently never been used; they're in beautiful condition. I'm guessing they were presents from someone's foreign trip. I don't know when they date from, but they belonged to my grandmother, and maybe someone before her. I remember enjoying them as a child. The pink one was my sister's, because she loved all things pink, and the blue one was mine, because I hated all things pink. I can't say that they kept 7-yo entertained for long, but she did prance around the garden with them a little. It's good to have the opportunity to teach children to look after things. In today's throw-away world, it's important for them to learn that things have value, by virtue of being old, or beautiful, or interesting. I taught 7-yo to open and close them carefully and gently, treating them with respect, as I was taught to do by my own mother.

The blue parasol lives in a parasol-shaped tin. The pink one lives in its original brown paper wrapping.


I love the curly writing, and the idea of the "modern shape" of sunshades. Lovely.

Here's another item that I remember from my childhood. It belonged to me.


It wasn't my everyday piggy bank. That was pink, with a removable stopper. The disadvantage with this pig is that it has no stopper. It's also very small - about 3 inches long, so it wouldn't hold much money. But it did have a few coins in it, and the children set about trying to get them out. They succeeded (that used up quite a bit of time), and were thrilled with the achievement of it. 10-yo presented the empty pig and the coins to me with pride: "We've got them out for you, after all these years!" What they don't know, is that I remember being perfectly able to get money out of that pig, sliding the coins out on a knife. I did it loads of times. I didn't tell them that, though. "Gosh, how clever!"

The coins were pre-decimal, so date from my early childhood (decimalisation was 1971, I've looked it up). There were a couple of sixpences - "these are what the tooth fairy used to bring" - and three threepenny bits.

10-yo is the magpie of my family. He loves collecting things, and is fast developing a taste for old items. Yesterday, he bought two farthings for 20p each in a local bric a brac shop, to add to the sixpences and threepenny bits. That's the beginning of an old coin collection (he already has a foreign coin collection). I'm not a collector or a hoarder by nature. I'm minimalist in what I keep. 10-yo is both a magpie and a hoarder. It's a dangerous combination, and it was quite an effort to ensure that a large proportion of the contents of the loft didn't simply end up in a big pile marked "keep for 10-yo". He's already made my mother promise to keep the typewriter.

Back to the pig. I remember being fond of this pig too, but look at it close up.


Don't you think that's a rather sinister grin? This loft clear-out could turn out to be the Return of the Evil Pig.

.

Iota's summer holiday top tips for entertaining children: Part l

Help your mum clean out her loft. Yes. Truly.

Mum's loft turned out to be quite organised on investigation, but there was still quite a lot of stuff up there. You know. Loft stuff. And the government want to contribute towards the cost of having it properly insulated, so down the stuff had to come. Husband did a valiant job, descending boxes, trunks, suitcases, parcels wrapped in plastic, from the hole in the ceiling, as the rest of us waited below, being showered with dust and dead insects.

The most unappetising item was an old badger pelt. It was given to my brother, when he was hitch-hiking round France about 30 years ago, by a taxidermist who stopped to give him a lift. And if that's not the making of a Roald Dahl story, then I don't know what is. It was falling apart and we didn't inspect it too carefully, preferring to jettison it out of the landing window for later retrieval, bagging and binning. Ooh, and once we'd got the taste of jettisoning things out of the window, there was no stopping us. The badger skin was joined by a mouse-nibbled leather pouf, flowery curtains, a heavy wad of black-out material, a bundle of orange carpet, a roll of kitchen lino, foam camping mats, lots of heavy duty plastic, black bags, bubble wrap, dusty cardboard boxes. Next time you're at a loose end, try a bit of jettisoning out of an upstairs window. Very therapeutic.

This process in itself provided entertainment for the kids. Holding the ladder steady - what a very long-lasting activity that can be. Brushing the dust and insect corpses and paper shreddings off the tops of boxes - another one. Marvelling at the tooth-power of mice (mice? well, we called them mice), who can nibble through paper, cardboard, plastic, A level notes. And then, of course, the anticipation and reward as each box or bag is opened. Lots of it deadly boring grown-up stuff, but from time to time your childish patience is rewarded by gems such as this.


10-yo and 7-yo spent a very happy couple of hours getting this to work. They succeeded. So long as your text doesn't need spaces (space bar still not working). And so long as you don't mind colouring in the ribbon with black felt tip marker every few letters. And so long as you don't mind dusting a layer of black dust off the table underneath where the typewriter was when you've finished. Ta da! Nearly a whole morning's activity with just one item. We reckon it's 1920's or 30's. What do you think?

Then there's always the fun of seeing what Mummy used to play with when she was a girl.


These are about 4 inches tall - just to give you an idea of scale. Small enough to be dwarfed by a Bionicle, should one chance by. I have a vague memory that they are in national costumes. That looks like a Chinese coolie hat second from the left, held on with a blue headscarf. (Is it un-pc to talk about coolie hats?) And if I saw women wearing the headgear on the right, I can't for the life of me think of what country I'd be in. Any ideas? Perhaps I'm wrong about the national costumes. I find it a bit sinister, the way their eyes are all looking off to stage right, but 7-yo has spent some very happy hours playing with them. I even sewed a press-stud back on one of their costumes. Talk about devotion to duty, especially since I can't even remember if they belonged to me or my sister.

You may have noticed that this post is titled "Part l". Yes... Meh... That's because, over the next couple of days, I'm going to show you several more items that came down from the loft, which have provided activity for the children.

Then I'm going back to America, where they have basements instead of lofts. Don't worry if you're in America, though. I'm sure my top tip would work in your mother's basement, just as well as in a loft (except for the jettisoning).