And now for something a bit different...

As I have been tired, busy, and promising someone a chance to be a published blog author for almost a year now, I am very happy to finally offer the chance for a guest writer (as opposed to a GHOST writer, and I am glad for that, let me tell you, as I would never sleep well again after being so well-haunted...) to take over for a bit. Kelley and I have been friends since we were small, and my sister Kelli introduced us. She is here on a visit, and I am happy to put our family blog in her so-very capable hands. (Or so she says, though we haven't actually experienced that massage magic as of yet. hint hint.)

Hi there! Kelley here. Amy thought it might be nice for a small change, so you are to temporarily to be exposed to my version of a little thing we like to call "return to the motherland." Just teasing, I have never actually called it that before, but since this is my second visit to Amy and Ashley in England, and Amy promised a blog from us last time (she lied, naughty girl) I promised that I would write this time. (She just thinks it will be once. I intend to milk her for every word.)

After a long flight from Dallas/Fort Worth airport to London Heathrow (9 hours) and then a trip on the tube to the train station (1 hour) and then a train trip down to Canterbury (1.5 hours) I arrived here on Friday the 2nd. Note that if you should visit from America, these sleep Nazis will NOT allow you to escape your exhaustion and jet lag until what they consider an appropriate evening hour. It gets dark here at four. Tor-ture. (In the infamous words of Sir Stephen: no pain, no gain, so deal with it. Or something like that.)

On Saturday, the 3rd, we visited some friends of Amy and Stephen's for dinner. Here are Stephen and the Transplants (that's actually the name of their band):


By the way, he doesn't always smile like a serial killer in photos. Andy and b00 (the friends) made us a lovely meal, (involving eating anglerfish for the first time, and blood, gore, and medical-grade superglue, but not on any of us) and we played a few rounds of a new game called Bausack. It is a really challenging game where you make a tower of these odd-shaped wooden blocks. The catch is that other players choose your pieces for you. The last tower standing is the winner. The rookie (that's me) won the first round with this creation:


Ashley had a lovely 2nd place masterpiece with this one:


We stayed quite late past dinner, and walked home in the dark (very dark) and cold (really, really cold) and snuggled into beds with hot water bottles and many blankets.

Today, Amy and I went down to the High Street (yes I said down, then high), which is a short, quite scenic walk from their flat. (She says short and quite scenic NOW, but when we were actually walking it she sang quite a different song involving lots of 'Are we there yet'esque statements.) This is a school field nearby.


See the little black hills of dirt? Mole holes. Stephen says to call them mole hills, but I will let you decide. (Kelley and I both called them mole-holes until Stephen corrected us. I suppose I know that they should be called mole hills, and I don't know why my instinct is to call them mole-holes, but it is.) As you stroll down the path alongside the river, the Canterbury cathedral pops up in between the trees and over rooftops like a creepy stalking historical monument.


(Just look at those creepy stalker-building spires. You can't miss those, it's how you differentiate between a regular historic monument and a creepy-stalking one.) I kid. It is really quite stunning, but for some reason never fails to surprise me when I'm walking down the road surrounded by buildings and all of a sudden, Bam! No, it doesn't mow you down. It's more like, Boo! Here I am! Again! This is the creepy wooded path that Amy will not go down in the dark unaccompanied. Can't say I blame her:


(That picture may well be the favourite one that Kelley took today. I love the muted colours and it actually looks just like a creepy pathway should. Well done, Kel.) Here are a couple of buildings within town. This is a synagogue on one of the side streets (Story: This building used to be a synagogue, and it has since been bought out by The King's School, a swanky private institution that charges more in tuition for the boarding children than my tuition does. It is now a recital space used for music performances.):


This is an official Canterbury Historical Building (according to the sign)--there are quite a few of these in town. (In the midst of a variety of small shops, this house is actually residential. I almost feel sorry for the people who live there, as every tourist in the area has to stop and take a picture of this house. One time I actually saw someone taking a picture of the residents as they went in.)


Not sure if this sign is old, but it was on a historical building and I just liked it.


And this lovely old building houses...the Gap.


Here is a shot of the high street (also called the Parade) (Or at least 1/3rd is. There is St. Peters, The Parade, and then the High street all as names on this one straight, 1/2 mile stretch of pedestrianised road.):


And just around the corner, this sign wishes you a Happy Christmas. (On January 4):


And here is the cathedral again. I think it's following me.


Before we left town to head home, we made a couple of stops, one of them at Tesco, which is one of the groceries.


Now, the grocery stores amuse me, because one of the first things my mother said to me when I told her I was visiting England was "Yuck. You'll hate the food." (She doesn't yet hate the food, because no one here eats English food. We all eat Thai and Indian and American food, and French and Chinese and Spanish food. England is all about World food, anymore.) And it's not that it's just different, but they have odd names for things. For a complete mental perv like me, it is a joyous place.

For instance, there is an entire aisle dedicated to biscuits. Don't care that they are covered in chocolate or cinnamon flavored, they call them biscuits. Check out my picture of the cookie aisle. (I love biscuits. And cakes. Darn them. And this picture looks as bright and colourful and makes me want to bring them all to a much better home: namely mine.)


And this is the pickled portion of the store. Never seen so many pickled things in my life. And guess what wasn't in this section. Pickles. (Though there are pickled eggs, and onions and beets and garlic and sauerkraut, and lemons and shallots. English people like their pickled foods.)


And here is mince. Supposed to be ground lamb or beef or pork or whichever, but tell me truly. Doesn't this look like the bits in 'Kibbles n Bits'?


(If you don't think that looks like kibble, go HERE and look. I have thought that it does ever since I saw it for the first time, and I was so glad when Kelley said she thought so too.) For those of you curious about the edible porn, there are cans of things like this:


The can says things like "Everyone loves a pair of bangers!" and "Size isn't everything!" and "Hide the sausage!" These will henceforth be referred to as "Porn and Beans." And this:


Now, I saw the movie "The Full Monty", and I think that its funny that this is a can of sausage and beans. I'll let you run with that one. For those of you that haven't seen the film, and this joke is doing a complete flyby at the moment, go HERE. You'll see what I mean. (The Full Monty, in this case,refers to the full English breakfast, which the English have held onto tooth and nail despite being a culture of world foods. The full English breakfast consists of as many of the following items as possible: Eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, toast, mushrooms, black pudding, hashbrowns, fried bread, and tomatoes. The Full Monty=coronary heart disease. In a can.)

And after the Tesco, we stopped by the candy shoppe, called the The Sugar Boy, where you can see these:


Ahhh...Uncle Joe's Mint Balls. They keep you all aglow. You say immature, I say nevertheless amusing. Our last stop was to get kebabs, which are lovely pitas stuffed with meat shaved off these huge roasters, like this lamb one:


They are really yummy, I totally recommend them (mom's advice be darned). Afterwards we headed home and had dinner, including a yummy custard desert, which is like pudding, but a bit thinner, and served hot. We are now all huddled in Amy and Stephen's bed as Amy reads aloud, and I will shortly have to haul myself from the warmth to my own bed and hot water bottle (Best. Invention. Ever.) Thanks for letting me hijack your favorite blog, and I hope you will let me share again. Cheers.

No, Kelley, thank YOU. We all hope that you will hijack this blog again in the near future. Even Stephen is happy. Ill and delirious with fever (no Dearest, I am not a reindeer and I don't need to eat another carrot...) but happy nonetheless.

New Street and Memory Lane.

Update: We are moving.

We have been looking for a house to move into for a while, and it was getting pretty close on time. I was starting to get pretty worried that we were going to have no place to go. I started having dreams about houses being taken away from us at the last minute, and being homeless. Classic anxiety dreams.

As of yesterday, we THINK we have a house. It is smaller than what we are in now (that's good) and a lot less expensive too. Not too far away from where we are now. So it is easy to walk everywhere that we need to get to. Closer to my work, actually, though further from the Universities and Ash's school.

I actually slept last night without having dreams that involved houses. Nice.

Notice on the sideboard my little map. I'm quite excited to see where all of you are. If you click on the map, it will take you to a larger version, and from there you can even get more detail and see more accurately where everyone is. I have wanted a map on the blog for quite a while. Stephen-the-Computer-God made it happen. He is a nice man. I think I'll keep him for another day or two, anyway.

An old friend found me via Classmates.com. A friend whom I think a bout every now and again, as he was my first date, and my first dance. The 5th grade dance. I have a picture of the two of us at that dance. If it weren't packed, I would scan it in. Maybe later.

Anyway, talking to him led to his wanting caught up on all the time since 5th grade. That, and the letter from Linda Marie to Kelli that I found in my correspondence box. As many of you know, I don't have very many happy memories of those years. So this is a bit of a warning: the rest of this post is going to take a meander down my memory lane. It is most likely a little unpleasant. You don't have to read anymore if you don't want to. I won't be offended.

My only memory I have of my mother from when I was a child was when I was 5. She had the Carpenters on the phonograph in the living room. It was morning, and I got out of bed and went looking for her. I couldn't find her, and started to get scared. But then I saw her through the window in the backyard. She was cutting flowers off of a bush in the backyard. Small fragrant white flowers. She brought them in, wrapped them in a wet paper towel, and wrapped the paper towel in aluminum foil. She was going to take them to work. I remember the maroon carpeting. It was still thick then.

My first memory of me interacting with Linda Marie was of her throwing me against the chalkboard that Daddy had hung for Kelli and I in the hallway. I don't remember what I had done wrong, but I remember being shocked that she had hurt me. I still didn't know that children were for hurting.

I remember Kelli washing the dishes. I remember that she wasn't doing them right - she didn't have her hands completely under the water. It was too hot. I remember her crying. I remember Linda Marie throwing her on the ground and straddling her and punching her over and over again until I couldn't stand it anymore and I though I was going to explode. I remember that I screamed at her "STOP!" It was the only time I ever stood up to her.

I remember being told over and over that I was stupid and worthless and that I couldn't do anything right. It didn't matter what I did. I was a waste of space.

I remember the knot of sick that my stomach would twist into on Saturday's at about 5:00 pm. I didn't even have a clock. My body knew the time. She would be home at 5:30, and 5:00 meant that I felt sick and terrified, huddled on the couch holding onto myself. I have never been so scared as that since.

I remember not brushing my teeth well enough, and Linda Marie reaching across Kelli to slap me across the face to get me to do it better.

I remember not getting dressed fast enough in the 7th grade, and having to go to school in my pajamas. I hid in the library. The boy I didn't want to talk to and hated because he reminded me of me tried to ask me out on a date as I hid.

I remember a trip to the park with the family, in which we were supposed to fly kites. I had to go because I couldn't legally be left home alone, so I was not invited to participate. We had chicken, and I remember eating friend chicken on the blanket while the rest of my family played and flew kites in the park.

I remember the gun. I remember the broom. I remember telling Kelli that everything was ok, go back to sleep, don't come out. I remember hating that she had a half-door at that moment. And I remember that his telling me that I was his good girl after might have made what he was doing ok. Especially when no one believed me when I told anyway.

I remember having to apologise to him and his parents for lying about him. And watching him smirk at me as I did.

I remember Social Services' coming meant that there would be cookies baked. And that I would not get any of them.

I remember the baby bird I brought home. I remember hearing the squeal as it died in the middle of the night. I remember knowing that she had done it.

I remember her throwing away my Cabbage Patch Kid. Its name was Ruby and it had glasses and brown hair like I did. I loved it too much, so it deserved to be trash.

I remember being locked out of the house for 12 hours a day. I remember being hungry. I remember that 8 glasses of water at one time will make you sick, and that water really does not taste good.

I remember her screaming at me in the middle of the night, standing beside my bunk-bed, light on. I had not washed the knives right. I pretended so hard that I was still asleep. I prayed that she would not know that I was awake. She threw the knives in my bed so I would sleep with them and told me that I deserved to be stabbed to death while I slept.

I remember playing in the sandbox that Daddy built for Kelli and I in the backyard. I played cooking shows. Leaves and sand and locust shells became many things, all narrated for a live studio audience.

I remember growing maggots. I caught the fly, and kept it in a film canister. The maggots ate the body of the fly before they died, too.

I remember being told that my mother hated me, that she didn't want me, and that her family was evil. I remember being told that my mother had burned all of my baby pictures. That I was not important enough to be loved.

I remember being called a liar over and over by the people I told.

I am 33, and she still hangs around in my memory. I still don't know if I hate her or not.

Ok! Enough being lazy, dad-gummit!

I am badbad. I know. Term has been over for a week, and I have not written to you all. Not even once. I'm sorry, really, I am. I decide, ok, today I'm writing... and I end up painting. Or staring blankly at a wall. Or sleeping. It seems so hard to even think about /doing/ anything at all.

Our family is doing well. Ash is really settling into school, enjoying more and more success. She was the only kid in her GCSE science class to take the higher test. She is turning in homework, and doing well. Even her maths is going ok. She has finally remembered (though she may well deny it if you ask her) that she enjoys maths.

I have spent some time in various schools in the area. One, a 'special school' for children with behaviour disorders, left me feeling very disturbed. How can anyone expect a child with a behaviour disorder to intrinsically understand what is and is not appropriate behaviour if there is no-one there to model said appropriate behaviour for them? I simply do not understand the concept of segregating children with special needs. I see the need for extra support (though the seeming definition of 'extra support' is very lacking, in my opinion... as in non-existent.) I don't think that the way to do it is to make sure that discrimination continues by teaching all children that anyone who is different needs to go to a 'special school'. I have to be careful... I could rant about it for quite a while. Let me just end with saying that as much as I am torn by the concept of special schools, I am even more disturbed by the lack of teaching that I saw in such schools. (or at least the ones I have been to.) The kids might as well be on the street or at home. Teachers didn't really care, there were no specialists dealing with those children and their individual special needs, there wasn't even any modification of teaching to make the learning more available to different needs. Everything was 'dumbed down' and that was it. Inclusion is the big talk of the moment here... but I have yet to see places that have implemented it.

And here is something else to think about... the UK is JUST as concerned about test scores as the US is. There seems to be no escaping it. Why is it that so many educational experts see that test scores only show how well tests can be taken, and not how well a child learns? Why does the modern 1st world get so caught up in competition and test scores? (I hear all about how far behind the UK is compared to other countries based on test scores as much as I did in the US also.)

Ok, ok. Enough already of the boring AmyGripesAboutEducation thing.I want to share some of my home with you now. Be aware, none of these pictures that I am going to share with you are ones that I have taken. They are found on the internet. I swear there will eventually be pics of personal things, but just not yet.


This is just a quick map to show you where in the UK we are. Canterbury is in the southeast of England, and is one of the smallest cities in the UK. It is far smaller even than Las Cruces... I figure it is about 4 miles from 1 extreme side to the other, with most of everything in a 2 mile radius. Easily walkable. London is about 1.5 hours away by train. To see an interactive map of Canterbury, click HERE.

This is Westgate, perhaps a 5 minute walk from my house. The town used to be circled by walls, which have now been turned into what we call the ring road. There used to be a gate in each of the four directions. This is the only one still standing. It has been turned into a museum, which Ash has visited and said it was nice. I'm taking her word for it, as I have not been there yet.

If you were standing to take the last picture of Westgate, and turned around, this is what you would see. If you were really really tall, that is. This is the High Street, which is the equivalent of Main Street. All the main shops are along here, along with the library. It really is the hub of the city. The red building you see is our favourite kebab shop.


This is the Old Weaver's house on the High Street... built 1500. It is an Italian restaurant now. The River Stour runs along side, and just at the other end is the ducking stool, which they used to use to strap in and dunk suspected witches and nagging wives. (No, I haven't been on it. Meanies, the lot of you!)


This is the Cathedral, and the reason that Canterbury is a city. One of the definitions of a city is a place with a cathedral... and thus any place with a cathedral is a city. This particular cathedral has quite a bit of history, being the burial place of the black prince and the assassination spot of St. Thomas Becket. Here is the cathedral from Stephen's work:

The University where he works is at the top of what I like to call hell-hill (because that is what it feels like to climb it.) You can tell just how big the cathedral really is. It is over a mile away.

These pics are just a start of what all I want to show you. Hopefully they will make up for the fact that it has been so long since I have last posted. And here's to my getting back in the swing of posting. Love you all!

Have Yourself A...

First of all, a very Happy Thanksgiving to all of my friends and family. Even though I didn't do anything, really, but study... I was with you in spirit. Imagining Anna's pumpkin cheesecake, Dar's turkey... my pecan and pumpkin pie. I miss you, my family and friends.

There was, of course, not enough time or fundage to call everyone that I wanted to call, or talk as long as I wanted to those I did call. But my thoughts were with each one of you.

There are still 4 projects left on my plate... and they are all due next week, so this really is crunch time. Last night I dreamt about not getting them all done in time. That I was trapped doing them forever and nothing was actually getting done at all, and that the clock was pressing down on me, crushing me. No wonders what I have been thinking about, right?

There have been so many changes here...

The Christmas lights are turned on in the High Street at night. It is amazing to me how something so simple really transforms the whole street. The trees look as though there are will-o-the-wisps floating in them, the whole street glows, and there is an air of Christmas. It makes me excited for the holiday.

The weather, while still cold, is far less cold than I expected. I still freeze, it is still at least as cold as the deep winter in New Mexico, but there has been no snow, and only one day when I walked outside and swore my face was going to fall off from the bitter frost. It has been raining a lot... which I still haven't gotten used to. I still LOVE the rain so much, seeing it grey outside makes me happy.

The river here is SO sensitive to the rain. When it doesn't rain, the river is low. The ducks and moorhens walk around on rocky patches. But the day after a rain, the river runs deep, and if you see a duck at all, it has attached itself to a glob of waterplants to avoid being swept away. It often amuses me that the ducks are so graceful when they swim, while the moorhens have to paddle like crazy and still get swept downstream. That is the joy of not having webbed feet. Poor moorhens.

Speaking of moorhens, the babies I watched from the time I got here have finished growing up and have moved away. Occasionally Stephen and I see one that he says is one of the babies, but I have no idea how he can tell. They all look the same to me anymore.

The one change that I am not happy with involves the sun. It gets really dark here, really early. By 5:30 it is midnight black. The sun is setting at 4. Stephen tells me that by the deep of winter, we will walk to work/school in the dark, and walk back home in the dark. I can't really imagine that yet... and wonder how I will respond. I hope I am not someone who needs the sun in order to function. I have never not had the sun before...

There are changes in us, too. Ash has taken to going out wandering with her friends, and occasionally she wanders out past when I am comfortable. In her defense, my comfort level has nothing at all to do with time, but with how dark it is... so I feel like she is out WAY too late and it is only 6pm. She is so good about coming home when she says and letting me know when she is going and with whom. For the most part, anyway.

I am ready to be done with this degree. I feel as though I am most productive when I don't have to interrupt what I am doing in order to go to class. I spent a few days at one of the local schools, focused on behavioural disorders, and I enjoyed it. I miss being in a classroom. Next term I will spend 6 weeks in a classroom, and I am looking forward to it. I never wanted to be a teacher because of the studying... but because I love being in a classroom learning with the kids. (Though I find that there are some specific classes I really want to take right now... physics, for one. And something math-y.) I miss Tristan so much that it hurts. And I made an apple pie that was so lovely... including the pie crust, from scratch. Yay me.

Stephen is enjoying his job; at least as much as I suppose it is possible to. He has lots of opportunity to direct his own tasks. He likes that. Gaming happens at our house, which I like, because I can pretend that I am involved even though I'm not... and it makes me a little more ok with the fact that I simply don't have time to do fun things like game the way I want to.

Well, this post is long enough to perhaps make up for a bit of my not blogging as much as I want. By the end of next week, things should calm down. I only have 1 big paper that /must/ be done over the break. The rest of the page long list is simply things to keep me ahead. So I should have more time to keep you all up to date. More soon, then!