Thanksgiving with my Roots

Or at least pilgrims' roots.

We celebrated Thanksgiving last Saturday here in London. It was a handful of Americans and a majority of Brits around the traditional dinner table. We did some arts and crafts, notably, turkey hands - a staple for American children since pre-school (nursery). This was completely new for the Londoners, and they found great joy in transforming a mere hand tracing into an image of a turkey.

Another project (again borrowed from primary school classrooms) was to dress the part of either a pilgrim or a Native American. The British all insisted on making feathered headdresses to represent the native peoples. I found this quite a contrast since GB has historically been quite the champion of imperialism worldwide. I believe one of the Americans created and wore a pilgrim hat - someone had to represent the nation's founders.

We ate everything one could expect or hope for: turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, green bean casserole and pumpkin pie. Yum.

And of course, no social event would be complete without me creating an awkward moment. We did the classic 'going around the table' saying what we were thankful for (no duplicates allowed). When it came to my turn I said:

"I am thankful that I could get away from LA...
...and that I get to go back soon."

You'd be surprised at how many crickets could chirp in that small pause of the elipse. After the second half of my sentence was finished, I heard relieved, audible, deep "Mmm"s from around the table. Glad that people are concerned about my loyalty to my hometown, or are at least eager to ship me back asap : )

Interestingly enough, last Thanksgiving weekend I visited Greece. This time, the Americans who flew in to celebrate with us in London are doing ministry work in Athens! A Grecian theme two years in a row...

White Collar, Working-Class Woes: A Quarter-hour in the Life

Today was one of those days. I was supposed to send an anonymous CV from our recruitment office to a client. I took painstaking care to remove the candidate's name from the Word document and the body of the email. I proofread and re-read everything twice and clicked 'send'.

A few minutes after the email hit the recipient's inbox. I checked my sent mail to find...the candidate's name gracing the email's subject line.

With unsteady hands, I phoned my boss' mobile. he roared with laughter at the ridiculousness of sending an anonymous CV with the name in the subject line - he didn't care much about this particular case.
*sigh of relief*

And I have an unclassy run in my black stockings that kept growing progressively larger throughout the day.

When Pigs Don't Fly...

Today my receptionist asked if anyone would volunteer to obtain a greeting card for one of the girls in the office who's leaving the office this week. As usual, I offered my services and was rewarded with a "Good girl" as I headed out the door.

I took a co-worker along with me for help in choosing the right card. We stopped at the corner shop and decided that we had to pick a silly, random one - something suitable for our leaving fellow office minion.

I picked up a card with smiling blue cows which seemed to be the right one. However, my co-worker picked up one with grinning pink pigs of all shapes, shades and sizes! Between the two farm animals, we decided that pink pigs trump blue cows anyday.

We triumphantly headed back to the office, presenting the fruits of our successful mission.
Our dear receptionist held the card in her hand for a few moments and said calmly, "We usually try to stay away from pigs and things here..."

(Did I mention the small fact that our office is owned and run by a Jewish woman???)

I took the opportunity to crown this gaffe by taking my ham sandwich with me to lunch : )

Can I have your digits?

Yesterday evening I was at the pub after church; and as usual, we were engaged in a random assortment of conversation. Our table was joined by one more member of the community who quietly took a seat on my right.

In the middle of some discussion about music (or something), W abruptly picked up his mobile, looked me in the eyes and asked, "Can I have your number?"

I was taken quite aback for a couple seconds. I'm not accustomed to gentlemen asking me for my number, in fact, I've never been in such a situation before.

"What are you going to do with my number?" I asked. (Some of the smartest and best people answer questions with questions - and so when in doubt, I emulate.)

"I'm going to send you a text." the unfazed W replied.

"What will you text me?" I continued to buy some time to think about this.

"You'll see." said W confidently as he readied his phone.

I looked helplessly at C. "Should I give it to him? Is he an okay person?"

C, a very laid back, older gentleman (who, incidentally, works at the Houses of Parliament), slightly shrugged / grinned and said "I think it'll be all right."

I said out the numbers and the conversation resumed. In a few seconds, my mobile beeped its receipt of a new message: [Name of man sitting on my right] periodically falls for a girl at church. Just a heads-up. He is very harmless, but information is useful. x

As W finished his last, rambling thought about thresholds, I said "Thank you for letting me know."

"No problem." he said.

Life after London

My french co-worker placed a news article on my desk this week; this part caught my eye:

"The architect Frank Lloyd Wright once said that if the world were tipped on its side 'everything loose will land in Los Angeles'."

--Matthew Garrahan, "Diverse city looks beyond challenges.", Financial Times Tuesday, October 28 2008.


I was going to say that I found this true - I'm loose (okay, not in that way) and I find myself likely drawn back to the city that raised me : )

A Parisian Weekend

It was my second time going back to the city of l'amour. The first time, to be honest, I wasn't too impressed. I decided to give the place another chance since my gal pal has now moved there for a fashion internship.

I had a GREAT time : )

The highlight was really attending the ballet at the famous Opera House. It's where the Phantom of the Opera is set. Looking down at the staircase at the main foyer, I couldn't help but hum "Masquerade" to myself.

I also ate far too much: Pastas, pain au chocolat, baguettes, creme brulee, fruit wine, cafe au lait, macaroons and drinking chocolate...

I still have little desire to live there, however. Maybe only for a short time...

Himmel der Bayern (Barvarian heaven)

I returned Saturday evening from Munich. It was alternately beautiful and thought-provoking.

The beautiful part:
It was warm the first night we arrived. I wore a light, turquoise cardigan out to dinner and was quite comfortable. It's autumn (for the places that actually have seasons) and the trees were turning shades of red and orange - I had never truly experienced the happiness of "fall."

The food was delightful. I think I ate my body weight in sausages, potatoes and apfelstrudel.

My newest goal is to learn German - I may need it someday when I live there...who knows?


Thought-provoking part:
I saw Dachau. I stood on the very grounds.
I had a long think about it on Sunday afternoon.

Brit Input on a Foreign Election

I received my ballot in the mail!

Doesn't mean I'm any closer to deciding which bubbles to fill in...

This weekend I took a short trip outside London to Richmond. It was absolutely beautiful - but that's not the point.

On the way back on the train, my British friend asked, "Who are you going to vote for?"

I said that I wasn't quite certain yet and asked his opinion.

A woman sitting in a nearby seat poked her head around and asserted herself, "Excuse me. I don't mean to intrude on your conversation, but I just have to say that if you vote for McCain, he's going to die and Sarah Palin will take over..." She continued a very forceful attack on Ms. Palin. We amusedly returned to our private conversation, but I heard words like 'Russia' and 'war' spew from the seat behind us. The woman's elderly companion touched her knee in warning, however, the British commentary continued.

Always interesting to be a bearer of controversy : )

I've made my decision. I'm going to decide this Tuesday & mail it off!

Tate Britain

I've always insisted that I don't have a natural bent for art. I admit that I just don't get it. And I'm okay with that.


Last weekend, I decided that I would go by Tate Britain for a visit for two reasons:
1. I didn't particularly like Tate Modern, so Tate Britain would have to be an improvement, right?
2. It's free : )


So when I stepped inside the first gallery, I wasn't prepared to love it as much as I did.



Here are my faves:

"April Love" (1855-6) by Arthur Hughes


The colours were absolutely, divinely rich. Shades of purples and green accents...I could eat it : )

"The Bath of Psyche" (1890) by Frederic, Lord Leighton

By just setting eyes on it, I knew this had to be the mythical Psyche from Roman rhetoric...and not from remembering world history from ninth grade. Having read CS Lewis' Til We Have Faces this past summer, I suppose Lewis just described the scene so well that it just clicked when I saw this painting.

"Broken Vows" (1856) by Philip Hermogenes Calderon

I was impressed by the way the mood was captured in the subject's posture and expression. ...Uh oh, I'm sounding like those art people whom I always secretly mock : (

Anyway, this scene looked so painful that I had sympathy pangs.

Book List

Boring, I know. But they have always been good friends to me. Here are the recent pals I've commuted to work with each day:

Captivating by John & Stasi Eldredge - Its infamy reached me back home, before I ever found it here in London on the little bookshelf at church. I was strongly urged to read this, as it's the "woman version" of Wild at Heart, a Christian book about manhood. I was a bit disappointed in the writing style, as well as the content and grounding in Biblical reference.

Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference? by Philip Yancey - A British friend, upon seeing me with this book, told me that the devil uses "Christian books" for mischief in the minds of Christians who read them...well, religiously. This friend asked, "Tell me, have you ever been dramatically changed by a Christian book?" Now - if it can be said about any book - I'd have to say that this one in particular gave me a lot to think about. I think something has changed in my perspective on prayer...and God himself. I don't know that it's any better or worse - but different.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen - An oldie, but a goodie. Highly amusing as well as tiresome from the start due to Austen's use of humour / satire. It was interesting to see her development as an author, having read Persuasion not long ago.

PS, I Love You by Cecelia Ahern - My current companion. Was handed this book even before finishing the last pages of Northanger Abbey. One of my co-workers who concentrated on Irish studies for her MA tells me that this is the Irish literary scandal - Ahern is the daughter of the Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, a big reason why she was able to be published and made into a major motion picture. Let's be real: Not well-penned in the sense of writing style, but the author is a good storyteller.
*Haven't cried yet. Of course, I do have a heart of stone : )

Ramadan

Several weeks ago, at the church service I've been attending, we had an Islamic teacher come and dialogue about beliefs and misconceptions. I had forgotten so much about what I had learned in high school about the Muslim faith and the Pillars, etc. that I was no use for intelligent discussion or even questions.

And we are now in the midst of Ramadan month, a period when Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. Last night, I had planned on heading out to church like many a Sunday. At the last minute, I got word that a couple people from the church were invited to break fast in the evening with a Muslim family and would I like to come along?

Answer: With bells on!

It was a new experience for me to have the hospitality of a Muslim family during Ramadan, or at any time for that matter. An interesting part was that the lady of the house, who had prepared the entire meal, was a Frenchwoman who had been raised in the south of France in a Catholic home and school environment, but had converted to Islam only a couple years ago.

The evening did dip into deeper conversation as we asked questions and answered their queries on what we thought about subjects like prayer and interacting with people of different beliefs. Our hostess explained that she believed that we are all (as in everyone in the world) Muslim, but some people learn more slowly.

The family also said that there were 3 kinds of people: believers, non-believers and hypocrites. And this launched us into a discussion on our own ability (or lack thereof) to judge others.

I really didn't have much intelligence to contribute to the conversation - but I was content to listen and learn.

Recently Read

I found my new favourite Austen! I so empathise with her main character, Anne Elliot, in Persuasion that I absolutely devoured this book whilst on the Tube this week.

The first (and last) time I rented the film adaptation, I fell asleep. Maybe I'll give it another try?

I've taken down a page-full of quotes from this novel (go ahead and judge me), but here's just one:
“‘Surely, if there be constant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand each other ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irritable, misled by every moment’s inadvertence, and wantonly playing with our own happiness.’” --Anne Elliot

My next book will not be from the ChickLit genre so as to set my feet back on the ground & give my mind a good cleansing : )

Love Languages!

It's funny how real-life experiences are just as necessary as text-book lessons. Like when I had my forehead bruised as a child by a falling apple while picking fruit at my grandfather's house - and then later I learned about the theory of gravity in school. It made sense.

Likewise, I had already guessed that people respond in a special way to their mother tongue. Yesterday evening confirmed my sneaking suspicion.

Last night, I was sitting at the kitchen counter as my new Austrian flatmate was going out.
"Auf Wiedersehen!" I called out.
She stopped and looked at me. "What did you say?"
"...Auf Wiedersehen." I repeated.
"Ah! I feel like I am at home." she smiled and pranced out the door.

I also remember being in Dublin last year, staying with my Turkish host. His friend taught me to say 'thank you' in Turkish, so I decided to put it to good use.
"I have something to say to you." I told my host.
"What is it?"
"T'shikular."
"That was beautiful!" He wrapped me in a big hug.

So of course it encourages me as I learn very slow, awkward French from my work neighbour - and also as I think before speaking with my Argentine roommate (who, btw, brought home a thick, 12-person chocolate cake on Tuesday night & coconut bread last night from the bakery).

Sweets & Spanish

Unfortunately for me, my newest roommate works at the Hummingbird Bakery in Notting Hill, not far from our flat.

She mentioned that the shop offers red velvet cakes. My instinctive exclamations of rapture made my feelings on the subject clear. Later that week, a sweet, little box appeared on the kitchen counter - inside, four very red and very velvety cupcakes. A dangerous precedent to set for our flat.


Happily, my roommate is also from Argentina! In the first few days of her moving in, I set a Spanish-only rule between the two of us. Fortunately for her, this rule makes me talk less and much slower.

Baby Sharing

A friend at another recruitment agency across town sent me an email forward of a series of cuties. This guy is my favourite - he's on my desktop right now : )

Recently Eaten

Last night, after work, I went for dinner at Wagamama, an Asian-inspired noodle restaurant. Yum.

The best part was that I got a 2-for-1 voucher deal online, so I bought two dishes for the price of one! (Btw, not a very common thing in London.)

I had the chicken kare lomen which was spicy, but I think I'm building my tolerance quite well.


*Side note: Fyi, I took a pal along...I did not eat 2 plates by myself : ) ...this time.

A few more vocab words

Jumper (n.): sweater

Fit (adj.): attractive, equivalent of 'hot' (slang)
It took me a while to understand that this meant 'attractive' instead of athletic.

Brolley (n.): umbrella (slang)
Side note: I left mine at church last Sunday, so I'll be trekking through the rain this week :(

Mum (pn., n.): Mother, mom

Lorry (n.): big rig, truck

Torch: (n.): flashlight
You may remember this word used by Edmund in Narnia: Prince Caspian.

Quid (n.): pound, equivalent of calling a dollar a "buck" (slang)

Shandy (n.): Drink: part beer, part lemonade

Lemonade (n.): Clear soda, tastes & looks like 7up/Sprite


*My favourite commonly used word--"Sorted"
It can be used in the following contexts:

Under control - "I had it sorted." like when Peter Pevensie felt he had the fight in the Underground handled & chided Edmund for intervening.

Command to 'get it together' - "Get it sorted." or "I need to get it sorted." especially when the subject is all over the place & muddled.

Recently Viewed

A friend called me at work today & suggested going for a movie in the evening. Immediately, The Dark Knight came to mind and I started getting excited.

My friend found the perfect time at a theatre on Tottenham Court Road and we met to catch the 18:15 showing. However, when we arrived, there was a printed sign apologising for the incorrect online posting of the movie times. Wahh.

My compadre was still gung-ho about seeing a film, so I reluctantly agreed to see Hancock, although I had vowed not to ever spend my time on it.

In the first fifteen minutes, the film proved itself to be truly American. The characters were harping on "my son's soccer team" and the setting was clearly downtown LA and its suburbs. There were shots of Capitol Records' spire, Fig and the tall US Bank.

I went in thinking I already knew the predictable plot--and I did--but it surprised me by being not as terrible as I expected; and it had a bit of a twist. I almost cried at one touching point (although I'm admittedly a faucet these days) and it was really romantic in a special way (although I'm admittedly a hopeless romantic these days).

Still wishing Will would produce more impressive projects because I know he's capable of more.

More Vocab Words

Football (n.): Soccer
*See previous post

Sqwunk (adj.): Crooked
Introduced by my Zimbabwean co-worker: "My teeth are sqwunk."

Lounge room (n.): Living room
I know, obvi.

My roommate's right foot

Congratulations to my roommate!!!!!!!!!!!

Tonight, she made the cut for the Queens Park Rangers - a professional, local football team in London!

After joining in on one practice this evening, they asked her to play in their next match in Brussels...

She rocks (as all Trojans do).

Asian Delights

I was wandering around Notting Hill today when I discovered an Asian community--in the American sense.

In Britain, Asian refers to someone or something of Indian, Pakistani, etc. descent. So, strictly speaking, I am not Asian in the British sense. I haven't learned the British name for someone like myself--maybe East Asian?

So today, I found an area with Chinese dim sum, Thai, Japanese sushi, etc. I stopped by a market called something like "Oriental Shop" (yikes) and was excited by the familar goods sold there. Even after spending last autumn semester in this city, I didn't know items like shrimp chips, Hichew, and Japanese gummi candy could be obtained in London.

Here's a visual summary of my purchases:

From left to right: Peach tea, aloe vera juice, boba!, Thai green curry and roti canal pancakes.

Clearly, I hail from the West coast; Chinese shops/food/people and Spanish speakers feel really familiar and 'homey.'

French Roast

I think I accidentally settled in France rather than England.


By night, I live above 2 Frenchmen who are a bit difficult to live with or around. In fact, a police report may become necessary. But that is an irrelevant and needless story.

By day, at the office, my desk is next to the aforementioned garrulous French gentleman. The other day, I saw that Monsieur had left every 1-2 hours and brought back a venti sized coffee cup each time.

"That's a lot of coffee you're drinking." I commented.
"Yes. But eet ees only part coffee and part milk." replied M.
"Why don't you just get one cup of straight coffee & be done with it?"
"I could but black coffee ees...how do you say..." his eyes roamed around the room, looking for the appropriate word. "Black coffee...eet ees...DEES GAHS TEENG!"

His intense aversion and passion against undoctored coffee sent me into 10 full minutes of laughter. Monsieur just watched me patiently with a puzzled, and slightly bemused, expression. The poor man asked me if he had said it wrong, I told him it was quite the contrary--it was absolutely fantastic.

Local cuisine

After a rather long night, my Aussie flatmate introduced me to a new recipe...for a chip sandwich.
[For the non-Brits who are still left behind, "chips" are the equivalent of American fries; "crisps" are the name for potato chips; while "tomato sauce" equals ketchup.]

Chip Sandwich

Ingredients:
-An order of chips
-2 slices of bread
-Tomato sauce (optional)


Instructions:

1. Purchase an order of chips from the local chip shop.
2. Place chips between bread slices.
3. Add tomato sauce to taste (optional).
4. Eat.

*Note: This recipe works best the morning after a late night/early morning.

Recently Viewed

My flatmate suggested that we watch a movie on her laptop yesterday afternoon & she chose Dogma. I had never seen it before, but I remember once at university I was talking to a fellow cheerleader & student and this film was what he based his ideas about God on.

I was slightly surprised when my flatmate asked me mid-film if the things said and done in this movie were fairly accurate. She hadn't any background in the Bible, etc. she explained.

I told her what I knew, but after our brief interaction on this topic, I felt so dissatisfied. Felt like there was so much more to be said on the subject.

I still find it rather...interesting?...that this is the second individual that I've come across who has thought perhaps Dogma provided some factual information on reality. There is indeed a disclaimer at the beginning of the film, but the whole thing must still be a bit misleading?

My landlord is Jimi Hendrix

The saga of our very flighty landlord is a whole 'nother story.

The issue at hand is that our landlord is Jimi Hendrix.

So, my Brazilian flatmate bought 3 posters to spruce our rather bare living room (or the "lounge room" as my Aussie flatmate would say): one Charlie Chaplin, a Pulp Fiction and a Jimi Hendrix.

My American roomie came home one day, saw the poster and exclaimed that it looked just like our landlord. We almost died from the side-splitting laughter because...well...he does look just like Jimi. He just needs wilder hair and a bare chest.

Just this evening as we were getting ready for bed, my mobile rang. It was our landlord, ready to come pick up my roommate's overdue rent. He entered our flat and the first thing he said was "Jimi Hendrix! My dad was friends with him."

Roomie and I exchanged glances and I exploded into laughter. I couldn't help it.

We're both convinced that we're paying rent to Jimi Hendrix's long-lost spawn.

The Office (UK version)

Today was my 3rd day at my new job! I have a feeling that it's going to work out nicely, although certain signs don't seem to bode well...

When I arrived, I was told by the organisation that provided my work visa that in the UK, people aren't always so friendly right off the bat as compared to other cultures (namely the US).

And they're right. My desk is next to a Frenchman who, for the first two days I was in the office, didn't say a word to me. I could barely get a mumble in response to my chipper "Good Morning!" Today, however, he surprised me by abruptly asking what brought me to London. He proceded to talk non-stop (I'm not exaggerating) for 3o minutes about pensions and the financial situation in France, the UK and America. I could barely follow what he was saying--I'm not sure whether it was his French accent or my ignorance of economics...

In fact, I (who had been dying to make conversation for the past couple days) was hoping he would stop and allow me to gather my thoughts and continue my work!

Moral of the story: be careful what you wish for : )

...Also, the very unique individuals who make up this office are starting to show their very colourful colours...more on this as things develop...

Currently Reading

It's quite appropriate that I've brought over my half-finished copy of God in the Dock. As with all of Lewis' works, I'm benefitting from it immensely; plenty of food for thought.

The first favourite quote I came across was in the article about miracles and likewise titled "Miracles." He writes,

"But when Christ at Cana makes water into wine, the mask is off. The miracle has only half its effect is it only convinces us that Christ is God: it will have its full effect if whenever we see a vineyard or drink a glass of wine we remember that here works He who sat at the wedding party in Cana."

It most likely makes more sense in context, but I liked it.

Recently Viewed

Upon arriving back in London, I saw the Tube station plastered with posters for The Edge of Love, the latest Keira Knightley chick flick. I was motivated to go see it since I hadn't heard anything about it back in the States.

It's loosely based on the life of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas, and the women in his life. The best part was the Welsh accents put on by Keira and Matthew Rhys. They could've been really bad, but I don't know the difference : )

Although it's really not the most fantastic movie I've ever seen and it cost me 10 pounds, I'm glad that I went to see it just to satisfy my own interest. Seems that Keira is the British actress, she's starring in more upcoming films here (ie: The Duchess)!

Employed

I've just kicked off the shoes and cast aside the high-waisted pencil skirt in favor of my favorite pink gym shorts (which double as my pajamas these days).

This morning I had my first interview (and evidently my last) in London!
I'm starting tomorrow at a recruitment company.

Thanks for praying for me!

Crossing the line

So I had secretly thought it was strange that I had never seen any real police activity for the 4 months I had been in London. It's strange considering that there's a pretty dense population, lots of alcohol and a wide social & racial strata. ...There was just that one time when I saw a pair of intoxicated men fighting, and one tried to push the other in front of the oncoming bus.

Last night, Roomie decided to make a trip to the grocery store and offered to get me something while she was at it. I asked for milk and olive oil.

A bit later, she came back in--empty-handed. She sat down and told me the story:
She walked two streets over to Somerfield (the little place where I'll be getting my eats for the next 6 months) and it was all covered in police tape. Somehow, she walked under the tape unchecked and walked up to the closed glass doors and peered inside where employees were packing away items. They frantically gestured that they were closed so my roomie turned to go back home. Before she could get too far, a police officer stopped her and asked what she was doing.
"I wanted to buy some milk." she answered.
"Were you here during the crime?" he asked.
"Uh, I didn't know there was a crime. What happened??"
"This is a crime scene. Now go...Go!" he ordered.

She was shuffled back on the other side of the police line and confusedly walked home to relay this story to me. We're still wondering what happened. I think I'll go today and get my milk and oil; maybe I'll find out.

I don't make this stuff up, folks.

The Homecoming

Upon arrival at LHR (Heathrow Airport), I topped up my Oyster card (which still had about 2 pounds on it from last December), and went to the platform to wait for the Tube.

As I got onto the train, I was instantly flooded with memories. The very familiar fabric of the seats on the Piccadilly line (deep blue with a scattered square pattern) brought back a very eventful 4 months of last year.

This time, I was convinced that I had packed lightly with one large, red suitcase, a carry-on and a backpack. When I alighted at my stop, Westbourne Park, I was dismayed to see that it's a station with stairs...and no lift.

I proceeded to lug my two bags up the stairs--one step at a time. To my surprise, a pale, young man--complete with freckles--passing down the stairs toward the platform to catch the train stopped, crossed under the railing to my side and, with few words, carried my bag to the top--he probably missed the train. Another young man, walking behind me grabbed my carry-on case and also effortlessly transported it to the top step. I thanked them both warmly and they hurried off to get where they were going. I would like to say that despite even Londoners' own assessment of their supposed cold reception to others, I felt very cared for by these two strangers. Yay, I like these kinds of surprises!

Also, after this event, I understand why people use the term "emotional baggage." It's not a fun thing to carry about.

I walked from the station to my new flat. The landlord himself is quite a character, but that's another story...
I rang the doorbell and my luggage was again seized, this time by the kind Frenchman living downstairs, and brought up a flight of stairs to my flat. My new flatmates are quite interesting & diverse (as usual)--I would be surprised if it were any other way given my past history.

The first young woman I met is Brazilian and is studying English here, very friendly; in fact, I'm sleeping in her sheets if that gives you any indicator of how warm and kind she is. Her immediate roommate is an Aussie who works with disabled schoolchildren during the day. And then there's my unemployed self rooming with my amiga who lived in the flat below me last time we were in London!

All that remains for me to do is to join the ranks of the employed!

Strangers on a plane

Monday, almost 3 days ago, I boarded the aircraft which brought me back to London. I wasn't particularly excited about the flight itself as int'l flights are one of my least favourite things. Honestly, it's always the people you sit by that make the flight a bit better or rather worse. Isn't that just like life?

So when I found my seat that evening, I wasn't sure how to feel about sitting next to a rather tense, grim woman and the little girl in her care. Before the plane even took its place on the runway, I realised (not without a little interest) that the woman and the girl were speaking completely in German. The woman, asking the flight attendant for meds to treat her unbearable headache, used halting, strained English.

I congratulated myself for pre-assigning myself to an aisle seat.

A short while into the flight, the woman shyly smiled at me and walked her fingers in the air to indicate that she and the girl wanted to get past my seat to use the lavatory. I smiled back and quickly stood into the aisle to let them by. While the German woman pulled out her bag from the overhead bins, the young girl looked at me with the steady shamelessness that only little ones can pull off.

I, in my shamelessness, decided that I would try communicating with the girl, an adorable blonde with bright eyes.
"HOW...OLD...ARE...YOU?" I said clearly and slowly, just to make sure that she understood the question.
"I'm 6 years old. What's your name?" she replied in effortless, native English.

Wow. I was the one who needed the help here.

I answered her and turned it right back on her. "What's your name?"
"Luna." she replied, "It's Spanish for 'moon.' My daddy and mommy met under a full moon, so they named me Luna!"
I smiled, delighted at the beautiful story.

"Are you going to London?" I asked.
"I'm going to Germany!" she declared.
"Do you live in Germany?" I queried, still in disbelief that this 6-year-old had complete, native fluency in both German and English.
"I live in Valencia."
"Oh."

I began to wonder if the reticent woman chaperoning her was her mother (I deemed this unlikely) or a German-speaking nanny taking her to the Fatherland...

Little Luna answered my silent question minutes later by asking "Mommy" a question. As Mommy dozed off, I entertained her by watching her play with a teddy-bear sticker book. Luna glanced deviously toward her sleeping mother and then leaned toward me and said, "Mommy and Daddy are divorced now." And just as quickly she returned back to playing with the stickers as if nothing had been said. I took another look at the German mother with lots more questions building in my mind but, out of the bit of propriety I have, kept them to myself.

A couple hours later, it was time for Luna's bedtime. She rested her head on her mother's lap and tucked her feet onto her own seat. It only took a few minutes before her feet involuntarily found their way to my knee. Something about this sweet, little girl with such a divided life stirred me and I preferred having her tiny feet in mismatched socks invade my plane seat.

Probably the most enjoyable flight I've had yet.

And here I am safe & sound!

The Remix

Isn't it interesting how hindsight is 20/20? In my last post (written 6 months ago) I was leaning toward the idea that I wouldn't be back to Europe in the near future (or ever!)--and here I am with a ticket to London scheduled for tomorrow!

It feels funny to be going back; this time, all by my lonesome & without a real plan. No job, yet : )
I'm told that my adventure is rather Sabrina-esque; and in fact, it does seem to be quite parallel to my life.

Don't expect the sophisticated haircut upon my return, though...nor an increase in culinary ability.

See you on the island!