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.