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Category Archives: What’s She On About?

Mi mi mi mi miiiii…

24 Jul

Well, the fat lady is warming up… This end of the big move is almost over! Packers finished up today, although it was looking questionable for a while.

100_9468One major sticking point, literally, was our queen-size box spring. I couldn’t remember how the moving-in crew got it up the stairs and through the narrow hallway to the master bedroom, so had no good advice for its removal. Obviously, it’s not bendy, and four professionals spent half an hour trying to flex it around a bannister to get it downstairs. In the end, all it needed was to be unwrapped from the protective, but bulky, paper bag they’d encased it in, and voila! Down it went!

100_9465There was another small crisis when the guys realized that the five crates they brought today weren’t sufficient to hold everything (guess they didn’t judge very well how much fit into the four they brought yesterday compared to what was still left to be loaded). Luckily, the truck had a bit of spare room behind the last crate where they could stash the sofa and some other bulky items for which they will build a special half-size crate once they arrive back at the depot.

I had to ask if shipping crates are a standard size around the world, or if these were smaller than what we might have used in the past. The question was prompted by the fact that are leaving here with nine-and-a-half crates, yet we arrived with just five. We did not accumulate that much extra stuff at the auctions, and we jettisoned a dining room table and six chairs, so I chalk it up to the fact that Japanese packers are more efficient users of space than British. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 🙂

100_9472There’ll be no rest for the weary tomorrow–there’s nothing like a move to reveal one’s lack of attention to thorough housekeeping. The breeze from the open windows is blowing dust bunnies around like tumbleweeds. Carcasses of small insects suspended in cobwebs have been revealed in every corner that was previously blocked by a piece of furniture. Tomorrow will be dedicated to removing all evidence of my lackadaisical cleaning habits.

 
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Posted by on July 24, 2013 in Observations, On Life, True Life, What's She On About?

 

We are waiting…

17 Jul

101_8630Dear Royal Baby,

We are not amused.

Your tardiness is infringing on our royal summer holiday. Our bags are packed, and we are most anxious to depart for Balmoral. We fear we would appear cold and uncaring if we were to leave for Scotland before your birth–the press were scandalized enough by our joking (mostly) comment today that we did not mind whether you were a boy or a girl, just so long as you arrived soon.

Besides, it would be damned inconvenient to drive eight and a half hours up the M6 just to find out that you had finally appeared, and that we were expected to rush back to Paddington for the requisite oohing and ahhing. In actual fact, we would be most content to meet you privately when you travel with your parents to visit Balmoral later in the summer.

We are hot, we are sweaty, and we are getting cranky. We long for the cool, green hills of Scotland so that we might escape the hottest London summer in seven years. You are urged, most respectfully, to hurry the hell up.

I have the honour to be (someday),
Your loving great-grandmother,
HM Queen Elizabeth II

At the risk of upsetting Her Majesty, I am secretly hoping the baby holds out for eight more days…then I can say I share my birthday with the future British monarch!

 
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Posted by on July 17, 2013 in Observations, What's She On About?

 

Pack your bags…slowly

10 Jul

101_5505So, the moving company has come to do our pack out survey–a man in a suit wandered through every room, taking copious notes about the household items we plan to ship back to the States, asking questions, and occasionally raising an eyebrow. (Wait, don’t all your clients pack out 150 antique glass bottles, 8 vintage Singers, and a dozen copper bedwarmers?)

When he was done with his tour, he consulted his notes and informed me it would take four days to pack everything because we “have a lot of smalls.” (Hey, are you trying to be funny? I’ve lived here long enough to know that smalls are underwear. Does it also mean “breakable junk”?)

I stopped myself (just barely) from blurting out, “The packers in Japan did it all in one day! Even the dodgy crew we had in the States managed in a day and a half.” Instead, I fetched my calendar to see which week we could devote to this job. Settling on 22-25 July, the surveyor politely informed me that the chaps would take care of it all, I didn’t need to do a thing, and that they’d see me on Monday at about half-nine. (Half-nine?! That’s 9:30. Oh, okay, now I see how this is going to play out…we’re packing out British-style.)

I’m not sure why I thought moving house would occur at a less leisurely pace than any other activity here in the UK. The daily schedule of the two courses I took last month caught me off guard (I’d heard rumors of a typical day’s timeline, but had yet to personally experience one in all its glory), but since they were nearly identical, I suspect I got a preview of exactly how our four moving days will unfold. Here’s how I predict the chaps will operate each day:

  • 09:30-11:00 ~ Warm-up, get oriented with the day’s agenda, organize materials, begin packing
  • 11:00-11:30 ~ Tea break
  • 11:30-13:00 ~ Packing, enquire about nearby dining options, make lunch plans
  • 13:00-14:00 ~ Lunch
  • 14:00-15:30 ~ Packing
  • 15:30-16:00 ~ Tea break
  • 16:00-17:30 ~ Wind down the day’s packing, discuss tomorrow’s plan of attack, secure the truck for departure

Note: I am a little unsure about the length of the tea break…will it be a full 30 minutes, or since they are working (as opposed to sitting in a class like I did), will it be closer to 15? Time will tell.

I’m honestly not sure how I’m going to deal with the British pace of moving day(s). I’m used to running fast and furious to keep an eye on the crew for a long 10-12 hours, then being done, finished, complete. Four days in the chaos of a half-packed house is going to drive me to distraction. Won’t they (and hubby) be surprised when I stay up late and just finish the job myself after the truck drives away the first night!

 
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Posted by on July 10, 2013 in How It Could Be, True Life, What's She On About?

 

Other People’s Children

03 Jul

HPIM2405When we moved here in the fall of 2011, I didn’t get the memo about the unspoken rule in our British neighborhood (or is it all of the UK?) that if vegetation from your garden grows over the property line into the neighbor’s space, you are expected to go and trim it. Seems like that would have been an important bit of info for the landlords to share with the ignorant Yanks about to take over care of a multitude of unidentified and over-zealous foliage for two years. Or perhaps one of the neighbors who shares a fenceline with us could have popped round and said, “Once this stuff starts growing in the spring, it gets out of control rather quickly. You’ll need to come by and trim your hedges from my side every couple of months through the summer.”

If I’d known the rules, I’d have been happy to play the game, to keep peace in the neighborhood and make nice with the locals.

I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t know how fast or how far British plants could grow. I didn’t know the first thing about trimming shrubbery–when, how much, how often. Throw in three months of respiratory infections in the early spring where I could barely get out of bed, much less think about gardening, followed by a rock-climbing incident that left me with a broken thumb and out of commission for another month, and I freely admit that the garden got pretty wild and woolly.

But I was out there doing what I could, in the chunks of time I had available between jobs, as soon as I was physically able. Not good enough. I discovered, by means of a disgruntled phone call from the landlord, that the neighbors were talking behind my back and ringing up the landlords to complain about the state of the garden. That got my hackles up. And I really saw red when the back neighbor, whom I had never met or even laid eyes on, slipped a snarky note through the mail slot telling me that my rosebushes were endangering her health and safety every time she went to the trash bin and that she did not understand why I had not come round to trim them.

Why? You want to know why, lady? Because I don’t know you. Because I’m not from here. Because I don’t know all your British rules and customs and idiosyncrasies. Because if I walked onto a neighbor’s property in the US, opening a gate to enter the yard, and started hacking away at foliage, regardless of whose side of the fence it originated on, I’d likely be shot, but at the very least I’d be arrested for trespassing and destruction of property. I know y’all don’t have guns, but I don’t have diplomatic immunity and I’m not interested in meeting any bobbies.

But I’m all about trying to change the world’s negative stereotypes of Americans through word and deed, so when the roses and the laurel really started to take off last month, I staged a preemptive strike. I went round to the back neighbor’s house (whom I’ve still never met or laid eyes on) and slipped a very polite note through her door, offering to trim all the greenery that was encroaching from my side. She rang to say that would be lovely, she’d leave the gate open for me. So round I went on Friday morning, armed with my stepladder and pruning shears, and cleared away all of the leaves and branches and thorny rose runners that were invading her space. I was meticulous in the clean-up, removing every single clipping that had fallen into her potted plants and onto her patio. By George, there’d be no complaints of a shoddy job or accusations of my garden endangering her health and safety this year.

I didn’t expect her to pop out the back door while I was working with a pot of tea and scones. But I did truly expect that she’d stick her head out to acknowledge my efforts or at least my presence. Or, if she wasn’t at home despite the car in the drive, that she would call later in the day to say thanks. Not. A. Peep. Even a heathen Yankee like me was raised to say, “Thank you,” when someone does something nice. Sheesh. Other people’s children.

I’ve got four more weeks here. I’m tempted to spike the roses with Miracle-Gro. Good luck getting to your trash bin in August, lady.

 
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Posted by on July 3, 2013 in How It Is, Observations, True Life, What's She On About?

 

Superwrong

29 May

HPIM2150I am sort of a stickler for accuracy. So it bothers me when companies attempt to use foreign words or phrases on their products simply because they look cool or sound catchy. Unless their designers are fluent in this foreign language or they have a native speaker on the payroll able to translate and proofread the text before printing, the company just ends up looking foolish.

Case in point—Superdry. This clothing brand is all the rage right now in the UK, and judging by stores popping up in more than 100 countries, is rapidly gaining popularity worldwide. “Inspired by a trip to Tokyo in 2003, Superdry fuses design influences from Japanese graphics and vintage Americana, with the values of British tailoring. The result – unique urban clothing, with incredible branding and an unrivalled level of detailing.”

logo letras blancas fondo negro

The Japanese influence is very noticeable in the company logo, which includes both kanji and hiragana characters (two of Japan’s three writing systems). When we popped into the Superdry store at the outlet mall on Saturday, I asked my friend Yumiko, who is visiting from Japan, the meaning of the Japanese writing. She just laughed and said, “I think it is not Japanese.” When translated, the writing is utterly nonsensical to a native speaker. According to the Unmissable Japan website, the logo reads “kyoduko kanso (shinasai),” which could be deciphered as “maximum dry (do).” Perhaps an online translation service’s attempt at “Do Superdry?”

It seems odd to me, not to mention downright lazy (maybe even irresponsible?), that a company touting its “unrivalled level of detailing” would allow such gibberish in its logo. Obviously the designers assume their target market has no working knowledge of the Japanese language and would therefore be blissfully unaware of looking the fool. I, for one (and maybe the only one, looking at sales revenues), am refusing to buy Superdry products on principle. In my opinion, a company with £178.8 million in gross profit for 2012 can afford to hire a translator. When Yumiko tells me she can read the logo, then I might consider purchasing a new hoodie.

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Posts I commented on today:
(In case you missed the reason for this, I participated in the A to Z Blogging Challenge in April, and though I posted every day, I was lousy at visiting and commenting on other participants’ blogs. So for each day in May, I’ve vowed to visit and comment on three posts from the various blogging communities whose members have supported my efforts. At least one post MUST be from a new blog I haven’t yet visited.)
What I learned as I made my way through the A to Z Challenge (Paula’s Place)  new blog of the day
Friday Fictioneers–Flying Her Colors (This, That, and the Other Thing)
The Dress (40again’s Blog)

 
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Posted by on May 29, 2013 in Observations, True Life, What's She On About?

 

Envisioning

22 May

 

Self-Improvement“A vision board is a collage or collection of images of tangible and intangible things you want in your life.”

I have a real vision board, much better than the one I created (above) on Oprah’s website today. Only it’s not a board. It’s a file folder stuffed with images and quotes I’ve cut out or copied down since high school. At the time, each one spoke to some deep part of my heart or soul–showing a path to answer some need or fill some void. I didn’t know while I was collecting all this stuff that I was actually gathering the component parts of a vision board. In fact, I’d never heard of a vision board until I read Rarasaur’s Prompt for the Promptless this week. I thought the snipping and filing was a manifestation of my innate (but so far under control) hoarding tendencies. Beyond the actual collecting, I really had no solid plans for all of this inspirational fodder.

After reading Rara’s links this morning (to the point of almost being late for work), and finally having an idea of just what sort of end product my clippings yearned for, I decided to have a go at making a trial vision board on Oprah’s website. In the interest of time I just chose images from the 500 or so archived at the site, although I had the option to upload my own. I added my own text, futzed around with the layout (why are there no rounded corners? no cropping tools? no borders?), and saved the whole shebang as a .jpg on my hard drive. I could now theoretically use the file as my desktop background, therefore ensuring the vision board is in my direct line of sight on a daily basis, as it should be.

The purpose of a vision board is to subtly remind you of what you want in life, to encourage you to envision success in achieving these goals; keeping your aspirations at the forefront of your mind makes you more likely to recognize alternative paths to fulfillment when they are presented. Therefore, the board must be easily and regularly visible (a major flaw in my current vision folder system). Assuming that your wants and needs will change as priorities shift, reality bites, and dreams come true, your vision board should morph as well. New images should be added, tired old quotes should be replaced, the layout should shift to reflect the importance of today’s dreams (some people like to start from scratch instead of rearranging an existing board, but I don’t think I can find that much free time). These requirements lead me to conclude that a good old-fashioned corkboard and some pushpins are going to be the best tools to build and maintain my real vision board. I have no doubt that there are computer-savvy folks out there who would find it just as easy to build an electronic version and update the content with a couple mouse clicks, but I am still a fan of hands-on cutting and pasting.

I’ve already got a whole pile of projects that need my attention, but I will add “create vision board from accumulated stuff’ to the stack. Maybe I should make that task HIGH PRIORITY and add an inspirational quote to my board naysaying procrastination–then I can envision a project list with all the boxes ticked and open myself to new ways to make it so.

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Posts I commented on today:
(In case you missed the reason for this, I participated in the A to Z Blogging Challenge in April, and though I posted every day, I was lousy at visiting and commenting on other blogs. So for each day in May, I’ve vowed to visit and comment on three posts, one of which MUST be from a new blog I haven’t yet visited.)

Today’s Writing Prompt: Dreams (The One-Minute Writer)
W is for Writing Groups (A Guy Named Soo)  new blog of the day
Cat Heaven Island in Japan–Photos (Janice Heck)

 
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Posted by on May 22, 2013 in How It Is, On Me, True Life, What's She On About?

 

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Operations

15 May

HPIM2059I live in a small village. The only way in or out is via two roads which intersect in a T…travelling along the top cross-bar of the T, the village is exactly 0.65 miles wide. As you enter the village on either end of this cross-bar, a lovely planter made from local stone sits at the base of a sign which welcomes you to the village and simultaneously reminds you to drive carefully, namely by reducing your speed from 60 mph to 30 mph.

Two and a half weeks ago, a friendly blue sign appeared next to each of the speed limit signs, presumably placed by the Thames Valley Police, declaring, “POLICE OPERATION IN PROGRESS.”

Ooohhh. Intrigue. I wonder what kind of police operation? It is not uncommon for these signs to be placed in the vicinity of a speed trap or where an accident investigation is underway, so as I drove through 0.645 miles of the village to reach my neighborhood, I was on high alert. No sign of a patrol car (they are impossible to miss, being that they are painted in a high-vis yellow/neon blue checkerboard pattern, with neon orange stripes on the boot) or officers on foot (also impossible to miss in their high-vis yellow vests and jackets). Oh okay, so maybe it’s a covert operation (we’ll ignore the fact that advertising the operation so blatantly would, in some ways, diminish its covertness). Maybe they are hiding nearby to catch lead/metal thieves or number plate thieves or fuel oil thieves who have been active in the local area of late. If that’s the case, they are really good at this covert operations stuff, because I have not seen hide nor hair of them in the 18 days that the POLICE OPERATION has been IN PROGRESS.

Which leaves me to ponder the small print on the sign: “Please excuse any inconvenience this might cause.” Uhm, I’m sorry, to whom are you apologizing? To me for blocking up the road and snarling traffic through the village with your non-existent patrol cars and foot officers? To the lead-footed drivers who could have potentially been caught in your non-existent speed trap? To the thieves who could have potentially been apprehended in your non-existent covert sting operation? The only inconvenience you’re causing, as far as I can tell, is to the good Samaritans who’ve had to pick up your bloody signs every time they’ve blown over in the squalls of the past week! Either come do something that warrants your signs being posted or come collect them to display in some other village, because obviously they’re just taking up space here. Better act quickly, because my hoarder voice is whispering that one of those would make a very unique souvenir from England!

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Posts I commented on today (including three that I should have commented on yesterday but didn’t):
Successful Completion (K’s)
Y- Yogurt (ridgesandripples)
A to Z Reflections from around the bay (that girl from around the bay)  new blog of the day
A Little Blogiquette (Life Is Good)  new blog of yesterday
Death of an Alarm Clock (Phenomenal Lass)
A Walk on the Beach (Northwest Photographer)

 

 
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Posted by on May 15, 2013 in Observations, True Life, What's She On About?

 
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