Counting my knickers….seriously

I have to actually count my knickers. And the inventory sheet says underwear but I’m going to continue to refer to these garments as knickers because I like the word.

I’m supposed to be working today on completing inventory form number one for the moving company and I’m feeling a little bit frustrated. First of all the form is printed in what must be a size 2 font. And the space to actually fill in the number of knickers I will be relocating to the US is not big enough to actually write in a number. And not only do I have to put in a number but I also have to put in a replacement cost amount. Thinking about the replacement cost of my knickers is actually draining my brain. Because I also have to list everysinglesolitaryitem in my entire house including how many forks I have and how many ties my husband has and I have to determine the replacement cost of said items. And I have to decide which items will travel by air (the quicker route but limited in weight) and which items will travel by sea (the long scenic route).


And in between trying to fill in the inventory there are people knocking on my door who would like to buy items I’m selling because I need to sell ALL my electronics and a few assorted pieces of furniture and two cars and give away all my houseplants, spices, liquids, as well as the Bath and Body Works franchise my girls have left in their bathrooms.


And, in between counting knickers and ties and forks and selling all of my stuff that needs to be sold I am on the phone calling the veterinarian who tells me to call the airline who tells me to call the cargo terminal who tells me to call DEFRA (Department of Food, something that starts with an R, and animals) who tells me to call the customs division who tells me to call my veterinarian…hmmm….maybe I can slip the dog under my coat and she can share my seat for the ride back to America. We all know airline seats are so roomy and my dog would absolutely love it too…I can totally picture her asking for a white coffee…she loves a good cup of coffee.

I popped into the little market at lunchtime today and bumped into our favourite waiter from our favourite local curry house and I tried not to cry. I was mostly successful.

Oh, and then there’s my friends…I need to see my friends. Yesterday I hosted an end of the year brunch for the women’s bible study group that has met in my home every single Monday for the past five years. They wrote me the sweetest note and they gave me an Emma Bridgewater plate with the British flag on it. And again I tried not to cry but I maybe wasn’t quite as successful in this case.

I also have to stop and look out my window every few minutes because when I do I see this-

And of all the things I love about this house it is the garden that I will miss the most.

And after I look at my garden I think about my ice trays because they test my patience on a daily basis and I think that if I think about something I find annoying here I will feel better. Except I’m secretly a teensy bit worried that I will soon be standing in my lovely new kitchen in my lovely new house with it’s lovely American sized refrigerator with ice that magically appears when you hold a glass up to its door and I am going to think about my ice trays here in England, frozen together, covered in frost because the freezer is not frost free and I suspect I might miss even this.

Spectacularly spectacular or Where is Mr. Roget when I need him?

Springtime in England is…spectacular. You knew I was going to say that didn’t you? If you read my blog you already know how I feel about the English countryside. You may also find yourself thinking I overuse the word spectacular but I promise you I’ve tried to come up with a better word and there just isn’t one.

Yesterday my husband and I drove thru the little town beside ours...it’s called Denham Village and it oozes charm and is home to one of the most magnificent wisteria vines I’ve ever seen. (And also a fantastic Italian restaurant but that would be another post).

The actor John Mills (Hayley’s dad) used to live here. I know this because they have conveniently posted a small blue plaque right on the house. I mean cottage…this definitely qualifies as a cottage I think. All around the UK you will find these small blue plaques that let you know if something significant occurred where you are standing. It may have been home to someone famous (or notorious) or some noteworthy event happened right where your feet are.

This wisteria vine is old as in old old with a huge thick trunk. It seems to go on forever.

And speaking of spectacular (and it seems I always am) the bluebells are in bloom here right now and I am not the only person who uses the word spectacular to describe them.

They cover the ground like a carpet and are one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.

Oh, and have I mentioned that the rapeseed is also in full bloom here at the moment?

Spectacular!

Going to find my thesaurus now….you’re welcome.

A Mother's Love

I’ve always wanted to be a mother…when I was small and someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I would answer, a mother. And motherhood has not disappointed. Something shifted inside me the minute I looked at my newborn baby and the fierceness of the love I felt was surprising and wonderful and consuming and so real it felt like I could actually hold it in my hand. The feeling is so huge in fact, that I think I might burst and that there isn’t room inside me to love anyone more than I love my child in that very first moment of life.

But time passes and you discover with every passing hour that you can love more than you ever imagined possible. And you do. Because as your children grow up your love grows up too and you discover that your capacity to love knows no bounds. And never ends. And is amazing.

MOTHER'S LOVE
Her love is like an island

in life's ocean,vast and wide

A peaceful, quiet shelter

From the wind, the rain, the tide.

'Tis bound on the north by Hope,

By Patience on the West,

By tender Counsel on the South

And on the East by Rest.

Above it like a beacon light

Shine Faith, and Truth, and Prayer;

And thro' the changing scenes of life

I find a haven there.

~Author Unknown~

Today I want to say Happy Mother’s Day to my own sweet mother...

Thank you for your love for all of my life...for a love that knows no bounds... that never ends...

I find a haven there.

viva la France

Okay….back to France…Saturday morning we were greeted by our mini bus driver and Laurent who gave us a ‘to go’ bag of warm croissants (naturally) for the ride and then we were off to tour some of the champagne houses in the region. Let me just tell you that when you see the cellars of even one house you realize pretty quickly that a whole lot of champagne is consumed around the world. We visited just three houses and the number of bottles is staggering.

Our first stop was Moet and Chandon which is also home to Dom Perignon. Perignon was a Benedictine monk who was cellar master of the Abbey at Hautvillers near Epernay, a role in which he apparently excelled. The abbey doubled its vineyard holdings under his management and he is buried in a section of the Abbey normally reserved for abbots.

The tour began with a short film and then we headed into the wine cellars with our guide who explained the process as we walked. When they talk about wine cellars here they are talking about caves. There are literally miles of caves and thousands of bottles tucked into every nook and cranny.

The champagne houses have precise procedures they follow to ensure quality…bottles are hand turned or ‘riddled’ by someone whose job title is actually ‘The Riddler’. There may have been a Batman joke or two at this point in our tour. And we’re sure the riddler must have some serious carpal tunnel.

After leaving Moet we went on to a small house known as LeBrun where we sat in what felt like a family room and tasted three varieties of their champagne before driving into Reims for lunch. The cathedral in Reims is a World Heritage Site with stained glass windows designed by Chagall.

We had lunch and a stroll around town before heading to the final champagne house of the tour, Tattinger, which we all pronounced as spelled but were told it should actually be pronounced ‘tatt-en-zhay’. The cellars here are positively amazing. The oldest parts of the chalk caves were first excavated by Gothic slaves under Roman occupation in the fourth century. A few centuries later the caves were enlarged by the Abbey monks who used them to store the champagne they traded. The Abbey was destroyed during the French revolution but portions remain, including a bit of the chapel and some interesting staircases. The monks actually carved stairs into the ceiling so when they came down at night (oh yeah, no electricity) they could put their hands up and feel the steps to know where to put their feet. Those monks were pretty industrious and pretty clever too!

As an aside, whenever I think of monks (which isn't actually all that often) I remember a postcard Daughter2 sent to her friend back in the states from a trip to France we took shortly after arriving in the UK...it was blustery and after visiting an abbey her postcard said this. 'Hi...it's really cold here. We saw monks. Love, M.' She's too cute. I miss my girls. Sigh.

Where was I? Oh yes, back to now...after Tattinger we returned to the inn because it had been at least four hours since we'd had any bread and cheese. We really enjoyed getting to know our hotelier Laurent. He had quite a sense of humor and told some great stories. I especially loved it when he told us about the 'crazy' boulanger (baker) in town and added. 'I like crazy though...how could we laugh if there wasn't any crazy.' And he said it in his charming French accent all while wearing a tres fashionable scarf.

On Sunday we drove slightly under an hour out into the beautiful French countryside to visit just your typical French chateau…Vaux Le Vicomte.

The chateau is located in Maincy and was built from 1658-1661 for Nicolas Fouquet who was court financier to Louis XIVth. Fouquet only lived in this magnificent home for three weeks before he was arrested. Seems King Louie didn’t appreciate an underling having a grander home than the king and found a reason to have him imprisoned for the remainder of his life. Not saying he was a choir boy but many of the charges were made up and the punishment was more for daring to build a home better than the king’s. In fact, Louie took the architect, landscaper, and painter who worked together on Vaux Le Vicomte and moved them over to Paris to create his home in Versailles.

Vaux Le Vicomte’s biggest claim to fame though has to be its gardens. The landscape artist trained as an architect and this is apparent in the terraces, fountains and lakes around the chateau. You can rent a golf cart type vehicle to tour the 60+acre property but we just took a nice long walk which was a lovely way to end our weekend in France.

Sunday we were back on the chunnel train for the ride home to England. Hubs drove so I could snooze and pretend we weren’t approximately 328 feet under the English Channel.

And the moving company is coming today to survey our goods and see if they will all fit in our allotted sea and air shipment and I’m pretty sure it will stress me out and I may just decide to think about the French countryside instead.

The Doctor is In...British Words from A to Zed, Week 5

I have another post to write about notre voyage vers la France but will save that for tomorrow since today is Wednesday and Wednesdays are all about British words.

I woke up this morning thinking about how my allergies have kicked into gear and I may actually need to phone my GP and make an appt. with his surgery. And my doctor’s surgery is not to be confused with my MP’s surgery and neither have anything to do with an operation.

When an MP (Member of Parliament) has a surgery it means they are opening up their office to their constituents to come in and talk about their troubles and make complaints, etc. This would be the equivalent of your local senator or representative opening their office for you to come in and make complaints and tell them what’s irritating you about the local government. They don’t do that do they?

Back to my GP…he’s my family doctor by the way and a doctor’s surgery is a doctor’s office. When we arrived in the UK we had to register with our local doctor’s surgery and this is all based on where you live. If you live in my village and move only about 5 miles away you will need to switch your GP. We are eligible to receive medical care under the NHS (National Health Service) but we also have private insurance through my husband’s company and for anything urgent or serious we always go private. Having private insurance means you will be seen by a specialist (called a consultant) in this century as opposed to the next one. That may be a slight exaggeration but the waiting time to get in to see a specialist under the NHS can be frighteningly long. And by frightening I mean…’hmm, yes your daughter has scoliosis and has outgrown her back brace and will need major surgery if we don’t get her in and if you go with your NHS coverage we can get you in to see Mr X (he’s the orthopaedist and I’ll explain the Mr. in a minute) in 14 months.’ In using our private insurance we were able to see Mr. X in only two months. Still a long time when you are a growing 13 year old girl but definitely better than 14 months.

Now about that Mr. title. Let me just say that I adore Mr. X, my daughter’s orthopaedist. In fact I like him so much more than the doctor she was seeing in the states and when she was more or less released from his care after 5 years of seeing him every 4-6 weeks we hugged and daughter2 and I both felt a little sad to think we wouldn’t be seeing him again. He is world renowned and kind and has six children of his own and has always treated daughter2 with the utmost respect and courtesy. I remember the very first time we sat in his office and he was talking and talking about important ‘stuff’ and all I could think about is ‘why did they send me to someone named MR. X when what I may need is a world class surgeon?????’ After Mr. X had been talking for a few minutes he stopped and said, ‘Let me back up as I can see you are wondering why I am called Mr. and not Dr.’ YES I AM-ARE YOU A REAL DOCTOR??? Turns out that yes indeed he is a Dr. and because he is more than a Dr, a world class surgeon as it turns out, he is addressed by the title of Mr. which indicates training beyond that of an ordinary doctor. Whew, that’s a relief! It is still not clear to me how the title differentiates my surgeon Mr. X from say my neighbour Mr. Y who is just a Mr. Mr. and not a Mr. Dr. but I will just add that to the list of things I’m not entirely clear on here and that list is actually quite long.

Let’s go back to my GP…a visit to him for some allergy relief will probably result in a trip to the chemist and when I say chemist I mean pharmacist. I have found the chemists in the UK to be really knowledgeable and in fact was in London with my mom one day when she had a problem with her eye and we stopped into a chemist and they had her come behind the counter and looked at her eye very carefully and asked her a million questions before determining if there were some drops she could buy over the counter. By the way, you won’t often find the familiar brand name meds from home that you are used to using in the shops here. I often have to describe symptoms to the chemist and have them direct me to what I need. And I always buy extra strength Tylenol in the US when I’m home. The equivalent product here is called paracetemol but for some reason I don’t think it works as effectively. And I buy Dramamine when I’m in the US too. Here the product is called ‘travel calm’ which sounds wonderful and optimistic but Dramamine and I go way back and I never leave home without it. And my family thanks me.

Sometimes a trip to the GP results in a jab. One thing I’ll say about the British…they call 'em like they see 'em. A jab is exactly what it sounds like…it’s an injection in the arm or somewhere. Nothing like seeing the eyeballs pop out of my daughters faces the first time the nurse said, ‘Come on inside for your jab.’ Injection is a meaningless word to most kids but the word jab they definitely get.

We’ve seen the inside of a hospital here ...a few actually…have I told you about daughter2 and her penchant for mishap? Yeah, well that’s a post in itself which I’ll save for another day but as I was saying, while I do not care for hospitals I do particularly like the word theatre which is what they call the operating room. Sounds so much nicer doesn’t it? It is a bit confusing when they talk about the registrar though because the word registrar makes me think of signing up for summer camp or a soccer team but the registrar in the hospital is actually a resident doctor. And physio. I like the word physio. It’s physical therapy or PT in the states but always called physio here.

I could go on and on and since I pretty much have I think I’ll wrap it up for now with a final thought. The aim of my blog is not to stir up controversy but because Nationalized Health Care is such a hot topic in the states right now I will leave you with this piece of information taken word for word from the NHS website….just something to think about as changes are proposed to healthcare in the US. I absolutely think everyone needs access to healthcare in our country but I hope we think very carefully about how we make that happen. Free isn’t always better. In fact, free isn’t always even good. In fact, free isn't really free. And free is most definitely not fast and when we’re talking about healthcare oftentimes speed of delivery is what makes all the difference. Cheers!


‘Wednesday March 25 2009
The NHS has achieved the shortest waiting times since its records began, the Department of Health said today.

It also said it had met its “18 weeks” waiting time target, whereby patients referred from a GP for further treatment start that treatment within 18 weeks. The target became the operational standard for the NHS from January 1 2009. Today’s announcement confirms that the deadline was met.

Most NHS patients do not wait as long as 18 weeks . The average wait for treatment for patients admitted to hospital is now just 8.6 weeks. Outpatients waited an average of 4.6 weeks at January 2009, compared to 7.4 weeks at August 2007.

If you’d like to read more here’s a link to the NHS site….http://www.nhs.uk/news/2009/03March/Pages/NHSwaitingtimesQA.aspx

Why are French women thin?

I’m sure I don’t know. In fact I’m a little concerned that no amount of time spent in the gym this week is going to make up for all the bread and cheese we consumed while in France last weekend. Fabulous bread and cheese are served everywhere you go and you are not allowed to say no thank you. I maybe didn’t try too hard but really you can’t say no. And we for sure didn’t want to…we were in the heart of Brie country for goodness sakes. Did you know that in France they often serve their cappuccinos with a ginormous dollop of whipped cream on top? Yikes!

We had such a wonderful weekend seeing the Champagne region. We stayed in a teeny tiny village (more like a street actually) called Saint Ouen sur Morin in a charming ‘auberge’ (inn) owned by Monsieur Laurent and his lovely (and thin- even-though- she eats- bread –and- cheese) wife. Let me just say that Laurent could rock a scarf like nobody’s business. Turns out prior to being a hotelier he was a fashion designer in Paris. All the guys on our trip discussed whether they could get away with the same look as Laurent and all the women pretty much agreed that they could if (1) they were French and (2) they were former Fashion designers so basically, no, they couldn’t get away with the look.


I’m going to break the weekend into deux posts (there’s my awesome French again) since we managed to pack a whole lotta fun into three days. Three couples of the five arrived Thursday evening and then two more couples joined us the next day. On Friday we piled into a couple of cars and drove about a half hour out into the French countryside to the medieval town of Provins. Before I tell you about Provins I must tell you that the Champagne region at the beginning of May is absolutely breathtaking. Fields of rapeseed are blooming literally everywhere you look and really a photograph cannot do it justice but I tried.

Rapeseed is used to make canola oil and also bio diesel fuels. There are also magnificent rapeseed fields in the UK but when we left Thursday the fields in England were just a little bit later in the bloom cycle than those in France. All over the Champagne region we drove thru miles and miles of countryside surrounded by nothing but fields of yellow mixed with fields of bright green farmland. Every once in a while you’d pass a tiny village with stone buildings and sometimes a cathedral but mostly it was just the lush landscape.


The town of Provins is one of the best preserved medieval cities in France. The upper town (Ville Haute) is located within high 12th century ramparts. Eons ago Provins was famous for its fairs which were the most important in Europe. The city was also one of the first financial markets in Europe but that changed at the beginning of the 14th century because of new commercial routes, wars, and plagues…you know…typical medieval ‘stuff’.

Tour Cesar (the castle) towers over the town of Provins. This is a keep complete with turrets and a pyramid shaped roof which my husband and I climbed all the way to the tippy tippy top of (no small feat!) all while sucking in our stomachs. Let’s just say it’s a good thing we hadn’t eaten more bread and cheese than we did or we would not have fit thru the staircase, if you can even call it that. Narrow does not begin to describe the passageway.

Apparently alot was happening under the city too back in the day and one of the underground spaces is now a bookstore. Of course all the books are in French but it’s really pretty incredible to see. And it also makes me grateful I didn’t live in the Middle Ages. I've concluded after living in Europe that I’m more of a 21st century kind of girl.

We had a lovely day in Provins...

...the lovely day of course included lunch at an outdoor cafe which of course included cheese and bread. Late afternoon we meandered back thru the countryside to our quaint little inn. We drove to a neighboring small village for dinner that evening and had a typical four course meal…and by typical I mean naturellement, that one course was cheese and bread. And I also mean it was fabulous.

In part deux of this post I will write about our day touring some of the champagne houses and Sunday’s visit to a nearby chateau…tres tres magnifique! Au revoir pour maintenant.

Underwater Driving

Well, technically maybe I wasn't driving underwater but I did drive my car onto the Chunnel train on Thursday and then sat in that same car while the train engineer drove the actual train with me and my car in it across to France. And the Chunnel train does indeed run under the Channel and it's only a 30 minute ride from shore to shore. They post the 'escape route' on the wall in case you have to evacuate as you're crossing but I try really hard not to think about that.

Taking your car on the Chunnel is actually a fantastic way to get from England to France. You book your space online, show up 30 minutes before departure, drive up to the immigration window to show your passport, and then literally drive your car right onto the train. And you just sit in the car while the train crosses under the sea and you drive out of the train on the other side. Voila...you're in France. It's tres cool. My French is pretty impressive isn't it?

The really important thing to remember on this excursion is that when you exit the Chunnel train on the other side of the Channel you are in France and in France they drive ON THE RIGHT. And I'm in my British car so I'm sitting on the right hand side of the vehicle and there is a roundabout almost as soon as you come out of the train station and I have to say outloud about 100 times...GO RIGHT, GO RIGHT...LOOK LEFT, LOOK LEFT..yes, you know how to drive!

My husband had a meeting in Paris all last week so he arranged for a car to bring him out to the hotel we are in for the weekend. We are visiting the Champagne region of France with four other couples and our hotel is about an hour and a half outside of Paris as long as your driver doesn't go thru the center of Paris during Friday night rush hour and also if your driver doesn't get lost en route in which case it may take you four hours to get to that same hotel. He wasn't frustrated or anything though and if he had a blog I'm sure he wouldn't mention it at all.

This is another Bank Holiday weekend in the UK and I've said before that Bank Holidays are ideal for short breaks. I will write about our weekend once I'm back in the UK but for now let me just say that the French countryside in Springtime is almost as spectacular as the English countryside. And let me also just add that in the French countryside there is French food...and cheese...and champagne. There's an awful lot to love about the French countryside y'all.