The accent is on

I know I talk about accents a lot, but in my defence, I am frequently required to talk about accents in my real life, so it seems only fair that I should be allowed to in my cyber life too. I'm very used to talking about my own accent. Most people remark on it, if they don't know me. Most of them say they love it. That's an easy conversation to have. "Thank you" I say, "it came for free. I didn't have to study it, or pay for it, or anything." It's a nice conversation (if a little repetitive).

This week I've had two rather different conversations about my accent. The first was in a park. A five year old girl came up and introduced herself to 4-yo and asked her to play. They spent a happy time, while the mother asked me where I was from, how long I've lived here... the usual. Then as 4-yo and I were leaving, the little girl came over, looking rather puzzled and intrigued. She finally came out with "You speak excellent Spanish".

This made me laugh, not only for the way she had misunderstood, but also because it was such a very polite grown-up phrase coming from such a little girl. I explained to her that I wasn't speaking Spanish, otherwise she wouldn't understand what I was saying, that it was English, the same as she spoke, but it just sounded a bit different. Her mother came to my rescue: "like Charlie and Lola - she's from the same place as Charlie and Lola".

I felt the cache I normally enjoy from my accent was a little depleted (if you've never heard Charlie and Lola talk to each other, then find a clip on youtube or listen to a story here, and you'll see why it's not the most flattering of comparisons). Then getting 4-yo's hair cut today at Master Cuts, one of the other clients, a young chap with an adventurous hairstyle, said "I love your accent" (no surprises there). "My room-mate's parents sound a bit like you. They're from England, I think, but I find them really hard to understand if they talk fast". "Whereabouts are they from?" I asked, gearing up for the appropriate variation on the northern/southern/Liverpudlian follow-up conversation. "Um... I think they're from Dubai".


Oh, and speaking of hairdressers, I have another hairdresser-and-accents story. I have had to find myself a new cosmetologist (as you'll remember they are called), as my old one has moved away to Connecticut. Most inconsiderate of her. So off I went to a new one. The usual format: she asked me how I wanted my hair, I chatted away to her about my hair while she was washing it, I then moved back to the vertical chair, and as she started to cut, she looked at me in the mirror and struck up a bit of polite conversation. But her opener was far from predictable: "So have you lived here all your life?" Her face was completely straight, not a hint of irony. I didn't want to embarrass her, so once I'd recovered from the shock, I just replied "No, we've been here a couple of years", and then asked about her. I mean, judging by other people's reactions, I don't pass for a local just yet.

I'd like to think it was a bet, and that as I left the cosmetology salon, the entire staff and remaining clientele erupted in yelping laughter and shouts of "I can't BELIEVE you did that!" But I don't think so. I think she just hadn't noticed my accent. Did a nice job on my hair, though.

Carnival time

Just to let you know, there is a blogging carnival going on over at London Mums Blog, which I am taking part in.



I've never joined in a blogging carnival before. It's rather fun.

Sweet Land

Whenever I've felt that moving abroad is tough and lonely and all those other self-pitying things that we expat wives notch up on our imaginary totem of hard-done-byness, I've always managed to find some comfort in comparing my lot to those of women in bygone ages. I always hated history at school, and wrote it off as boring and pointless. I now increasingly see the huge value of learning about the past, about past lives. Boy, does it make you thankful to be a 21st century woman.

The pioneers, those women who sat in covered wagons with their children, bumping along day after day after day, full of uncertainty, fear, loneliness, illness. No email, no telephone, no blogging, no antibiotics, no heating, no air conditioning. How pathetic they would think we modern day women are! "I don't understand the school grading system. I can't get decent sausages. The bacon is really fatty. Air travel is so expensive." I hang my head in shame.

Last night, I watched a movie "Sweet Land" - look it up on Netflix. It's set in the 1920s, when Inge arrives in Minnesota to marry a farmer she has never met. Because of her German background, she is unable to get the necessary papers to allow her to immigrate or marry. The local minister preaches against her from the pulpit ("her coffee is too black"), and life is bleak. It is a beautiful movie, which I thoroughly recommend if you're not in a hurry (emotionally, I mean, at 110 minutes the film itself isn't unusually long). Slow-moving (oh how those days must have dragged for her), with lingering shots of the land, the houses, the faces of the characters, it's full of the detail of life at the time, domestic, social and agricultural.

I loved Inge. Beautiful, composed, dignified, standing up for herself as best she can, treasuring her few possessions, a gramophone player and a smart hat. She arrives in a strange and hostile land, speaking only a few words of English, but has been sensible enough to include in her handful of learned phrases "I could eat a horse". That speaks to me of a woman who, facing her life's biggest adventure and biggest hardship, shrewdly and wisely decided where her priorities lay.

Holding out for a hero

Help. I’m all behind with blogging. I’m needing to do that Hallowe’en post and Hallowe’en is already old news, and I want to show you some more fabulous autumn colors - I’ve been out with my camera – but the weather is turning, and if I don’t hurry up, winter will be upon us and autumn will be yesterday’s story.

Today, though, I definitely need to put those on hold and say something about the election, because this morning, who wants to read about anything else?

If I could have voted, I’d have voted for Obama. And this is why. To quote Spiderman, that most admirable of superheroes, “with great power comes great responsibility”. My vote would have gone to the person who grasps that truth.

Now I’m not naïve enough to think that that is the whole story. You have to be ambitious to get to be a presidential candidate – no-one could get there purely for their commitment to public service. The articles on “why Obama won” that I’ve read this morning all talk about the huge amount of money he raised for his campaign. And then even leaders who start out with the common good at heart may turn out to be corrupted by power. All that aside, though, the man does seem to have that quality known as ‘statesmanship’, an awareness of the awesome (in its proper meaning) magnitude of the job, and a vision of a future he wants to help shape. McCain has an impressive track record of service to his country, but I couldn’t credit anyone who sings “bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran” to the tune of Barbara Ann with a serious awareness of what it means to be a world leader. I hear a sigh of relief round the globe this morning, and I add my own breath to it (but quietly, since I'm in a state McCain won).

Spiderman’s costume is both red and blue, but my guess is that in his spidery heart, he is more democrat than republican. Just a hunch.

More thought on time

It is amazing that my children have any grasp of time at all. "We're leaving in TWO MINUTES" I say. Then I get chatting to a friend, and ten minutes later I repeat "I said we were leaving in TWO MINUTES. Come on, hurry up, get your stuff. Now. Quick. We're going to be late." Then I remember one more thing I had to tell my friend, and five minutes later I repeat "Now. We're going. Quick. I said TWO MINUTES."

Maybe my mother was the same. Maybe that's why I have a struggle with the whole concept of time. If my children ask me any of those cosmic-related questions like why we have summer and winter, my reply is "that's because the earth spins on its axis, no, hang on, wait a minute, no, it's because the earth goes round the sun, and, um, the sun is hotter on one side than the other, no no, that's not right, um, oh yes, I remember, it's because the earth is tilted and doesn't face true north, so it gets colder when it's round the back of the sun because England and America get tilted away, and yes, that's why the moon is sometimes up in the daytime too because we see it for longer when we're tilted." Poor kids. They don't have a chance.

I know 7-yo ponders these things. He once said to me "It's not fair for kids. When you're a kid, when something is boring, time seems to slow down and it lasts for ages. Then when you're having a good time, like at recess, time seems to speed up and it goes by so fast." I hated to disillusion him, but felt I had to. "You know what? When you're an adult, it's exactly the same thing. You've got more used to it, but it's the same thing." He took the news in his inimitable child stride.

Living in America makes it more complicated for them than it was for me as a child (which was already complicated enough, let me tell you). They know that when we Skype grandparents, it's our morning but their afternoon. How complicated is that? They understand very easily now, but I remember struggling to explain it before we came. Before we flew out, nearly two years ago now, we carefully explained to them that it was going to be a long and exhausting journey. Not only was it a long, long way and we'd have to be in the plane for a long, long time, but also, there was this thing called the time difference. This meant that the day would be an extra long day, because it would be like it had six extra hours in it. We'd arrive in the evening, but it would be for us as if it was the middle of the night. We'd be tired, very tired, was the message I was trying to get across. 7-yo took a different message though. He told a friend of mine "Do you know, in America it's great, because their days are six hours longer than ours."

I repeat, I would love to be inside my child's head for a day.
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Time flies

I don't know what they've been teaching 7-yo at school. Actually, I do know. They've been teaching second graders all about spiders and insects. This is why last night at dinner 7-yo shared some of his knowledge with us along these lines:

"Did you know flies see things in slow motion? If you do this..." (waving his arm up and down vigorously) "they see it like this..." (same action, but at 1/16th speed). At this point, Husband and I are looking at each other quizzically. I've never been very good at the whole time/space comprehension thing, and am grappling with the idea that the humble house-fly might be not only more able to understand it than I am, but is even somehow at the level where he is able to control it. Husband, who is a philosophy professor (have I ever told you that?) has a mind that is probably some light years away already on a journey of analysis of 7-yo's statement from historical, ethical and theological perspectives.

7-yo fills the silence with more insights. "They know what is going to happen next. That's what it's like when you see things in slow motion. You can tell what is going to happen next. That's why they're so difficult to swat. They know you're coming." So not only can the house-fly slow down reality, as he buzzes about his daily business, but he can also see the future, (which must be a burden, if it is a future that contains the bashing of himself continuously against the inside of a never-to-be-opened window). Blimey. Evolution got it wrong. They'd be much better at running the world than we are (once they'd got the hang of window catches).

Husband and I agree that this would make a rather good episode of Primeval (which is all the rage with the programme schedulers on BBC America), and the conversation moves on to more pressing matters, such as choice of ice cream flavour for dessert.

I would love to be inside my child's head for a day.
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What's in a name? - Part III

They held a mock election in 11-yo's school (middle school). McCain won by 4 votes. He voted for Obama, in spite of the fact that one of his friends told him that Obama supported terrorists.

7-yo has also been told that Obama supports terrorists, is a terrorist, in fact. They're not holding an election in his school (lower school), which he is sad about. He'd vote for McCain. "Why would you vote for McCain?" I asked. "Because it sounds like candy cane, and I like candy canes", he replied with a grin.

Now there's an angle that I'll bet the Republican PR people haven't thought of using.