It is Sunday night and I am off to book group
Don’t get in my way
I need to be there come what may
I am off to book group
I don’t care if the kids are sick
I don’t care if I’ve got work to do
I am off to book group...with half the book read
The kitchen is a mess
The laundry is piled high
The phone calls aren't return
But I don’t care
Book group is for me
Book group is my free therapy
I’ll drink my glass of wine and chat with my girlfriends about:
kids, husbands, in laws, work, politics, art shows, theater, movies, old boyfriends, poetry, weight loss, weight gain, restaurants, schools, memories, old letters, aging parents, childbirth, menopause, thoughts, observations, religion, morals, ethics, cultural taboos.
And on occasion...the book.
It is Sunday night and I am here at book group
Reading to my friends whom I love and treasure
Like my favorite books.
Sunday, 31 May 2009
The View From My Window
Getting Ready to Say Goodbye to London
I know I am suppose to brush after every meal but in reality I brush twice a day – after breakfast and before bed. I have one of those fancy Braun electric toothbrushes. 2 minutes for the whole process, not including flossing. While I brush I look out the window of my bathroom attached to our bedroom in the loft.
A loft is what Americans would call the 3rd floor – or attic. When we bought our ca. 1911 house in London the loft was a scary place accessible only through a square hole in the ceiling from the floor below by way of a ladder. It was where the previous owners who had lived here for 50 years, Mr. and Mrs. Harvey, kept their old luggage, sledges (a remnant from when snow was more predictable in London), and ancient sports equipment. It was also where the open water tank was that was a catalyst for a series of bizarre dreams of open sewers and drowning rats – but that is another story.
When we bought our house in November of 2006 we ripped off the roof and built out the attic with dormers. A matching staircase was built from the first floor (US 2nd) to the loft complete with heart shaped cut outs on the banister. Now, the loft is where the master bedroom and en suite (US ‘adjoining’) bathroom are. The views are tremendous. It is our own private tree house looking out over the Memorial Gardens of the Hoop Lane Crematorium. .
I start brushing my teeth in the bathroom looking out the small window by the sink but my view is obstructed on the left by the gables that go over the storage room. I then walk into the bedroom with toothbrush still in mouth and look out. Directly behind our garden fence are three giant poplar trees. They remind me of France and the long driveways that lead up to the chateaus in the Loire Valley that are flanked on either side by rows of poplars. Last spring all the neighbors abutting the Memorial Gardens were sent notices from the Barnet Council saying there was a petition to cut down the poplars along with a number of other trees proposed by the Garden. A neighbor started a letter writing campaign and the tree cutters were denied. A victory for the trees! The Lorax would be proud.
The previous owner’s son told me that both of his parents were cremated there and they planted some flowering azaleas near the house in the memorial garden. I have tried to find them, but so far never have.
The first fall we lived in London, 2003, while Evan was at work and Josh was at school Simon and I would explore the area in his Maclaren buggy. One of the first places we found was the Memorial Gardens. At a year and a half he would toddle all over the gardens looking at the pretty flowers and smelling anything with color to see if it smelled nice.
From the window you can watch the appearance and disappearance of nearby buildings depending on the foliage. One of the buildings is St Jude’s on the Hill, an Anglican Church in the heart of the Hampstead Garden Suburb http://www.stjudes.org.uk/. Another one of the small buildings is the Children’s Gazebo. This is where parents, families, friends, relatives go to place flowers, stuffed animals and notes to children who have died. This view I will not be sorry to say goodbye to once we move, however it helps me keep things in check and reminds me to hug my boys a little harder and to keep my life in perspective and to appreciate the moments we are together because life is so fleeting.
I also look directly down on our own garden and see: the shed we all painted one Sunday in the spring when my brother and sister-in-law and niece use to live across town; the swing set where Josh and Simon and loads of their friends have spent hours swinging, playing and talking; the beds of flowers and trees I have planted these last couple of years; and the bamboo that is growing nicely in front of the playhouse. When we were designing the garden Simon really wanted to plant bamboo to attract pandas. The bamboo also acts as a hiding place so you can’t see the playhouse too well.
From my window I see our neighbor Julie’s apple tree (Bramley’s) and it is magnificent. She shares the bounty so I can make pies and she makes her apple jelly. She has a tire swing attached to a lower branch that is so inviting. At 87 she is rarely on the swing – but it is a fine invitation to her younger friends that she often entertains. In preparation for our moving I asked her if she would be interested in anything from our garden. We decided she should have the teak bench that was Mrs. Harvey’s since the two of them had a 50 year relationship and their sons had grown up together. Julie use to see Mrs. Harvey giving her lessons to her students sitting on the bench in the garden.
Over the next year the view as I brush my teeth will be changing – sometimes from morning until night. I won’t have memories associated with these particular views but I wonder what memories they will trigger during those 2 minutes twice a day. Maybe I will start brushing after lunch as well.
I know I am suppose to brush after every meal but in reality I brush twice a day – after breakfast and before bed. I have one of those fancy Braun electric toothbrushes. 2 minutes for the whole process, not including flossing. While I brush I look out the window of my bathroom attached to our bedroom in the loft.
A loft is what Americans would call the 3rd floor – or attic. When we bought our ca. 1911 house in London the loft was a scary place accessible only through a square hole in the ceiling from the floor below by way of a ladder. It was where the previous owners who had lived here for 50 years, Mr. and Mrs. Harvey, kept their old luggage, sledges (a remnant from when snow was more predictable in London), and ancient sports equipment. It was also where the open water tank was that was a catalyst for a series of bizarre dreams of open sewers and drowning rats – but that is another story.
When we bought our house in November of 2006 we ripped off the roof and built out the attic with dormers. A matching staircase was built from the first floor (US 2nd) to the loft complete with heart shaped cut outs on the banister. Now, the loft is where the master bedroom and en suite (US ‘adjoining’) bathroom are. The views are tremendous. It is our own private tree house looking out over the Memorial Gardens of the Hoop Lane Crematorium. .
I start brushing my teeth in the bathroom looking out the small window by the sink but my view is obstructed on the left by the gables that go over the storage room. I then walk into the bedroom with toothbrush still in mouth and look out. Directly behind our garden fence are three giant poplar trees. They remind me of France and the long driveways that lead up to the chateaus in the Loire Valley that are flanked on either side by rows of poplars. Last spring all the neighbors abutting the Memorial Gardens were sent notices from the Barnet Council saying there was a petition to cut down the poplars along with a number of other trees proposed by the Garden. A neighbor started a letter writing campaign and the tree cutters were denied. A victory for the trees! The Lorax would be proud.
The previous owner’s son told me that both of his parents were cremated there and they planted some flowering azaleas near the house in the memorial garden. I have tried to find them, but so far never have.
The first fall we lived in London, 2003, while Evan was at work and Josh was at school Simon and I would explore the area in his Maclaren buggy. One of the first places we found was the Memorial Gardens. At a year and a half he would toddle all over the gardens looking at the pretty flowers and smelling anything with color to see if it smelled nice.
From the window you can watch the appearance and disappearance of nearby buildings depending on the foliage. One of the buildings is St Jude’s on the Hill, an Anglican Church in the heart of the Hampstead Garden Suburb http://www.stjudes.org.uk/. Another one of the small buildings is the Children’s Gazebo. This is where parents, families, friends, relatives go to place flowers, stuffed animals and notes to children who have died. This view I will not be sorry to say goodbye to once we move, however it helps me keep things in check and reminds me to hug my boys a little harder and to keep my life in perspective and to appreciate the moments we are together because life is so fleeting.
I also look directly down on our own garden and see: the shed we all painted one Sunday in the spring when my brother and sister-in-law and niece use to live across town; the swing set where Josh and Simon and loads of their friends have spent hours swinging, playing and talking; the beds of flowers and trees I have planted these last couple of years; and the bamboo that is growing nicely in front of the playhouse. When we were designing the garden Simon really wanted to plant bamboo to attract pandas. The bamboo also acts as a hiding place so you can’t see the playhouse too well.
From my window I see our neighbor Julie’s apple tree (Bramley’s) and it is magnificent. She shares the bounty so I can make pies and she makes her apple jelly. She has a tire swing attached to a lower branch that is so inviting. At 87 she is rarely on the swing – but it is a fine invitation to her younger friends that she often entertains. In preparation for our moving I asked her if she would be interested in anything from our garden. We decided she should have the teak bench that was Mrs. Harvey’s since the two of them had a 50 year relationship and their sons had grown up together. Julie use to see Mrs. Harvey giving her lessons to her students sitting on the bench in the garden.
Over the next year the view as I brush my teeth will be changing – sometimes from morning until night. I won’t have memories associated with these particular views but I wonder what memories they will trigger during those 2 minutes twice a day. Maybe I will start brushing after lunch as well.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
The Boys and the Obamas
Dear family and friends,
Back story: When Evan realized President Obama would be in London for the G20 he got in touch with his contact from the White House Office of Scheduling and Advance whom he had worked with for the Presidential Inauguration at the White House to offer his assistance. Much to his surprise, they took him up on it and for the past 10 days Evan has been working for the WH Office of Scheduling and Advance in charge of the motorcade.
He got to fly in a Chinook on Saturday on the dry run from the airport to the embassy, he got to measure the gate at Buckingham Palace to make sure the big US car that was flown over would fit through (it didn’t, so they switched cars), he brought in our fancy coffee maker to the advance office so the other staffers (mostly marines and 20 something’s who get paid nothing) could get a cup of coffee for free rather than paying 2 pounds a cup around the corner, he got tours for Josh (simon was sick) of the cool cars and the embassy and last night…well…then there was last night…..
The President was doing a meet and greet at the American School in a closed event to just Embassy staff and their families. This is protocol so he can thank his employees who are working so hard abroad. Since Evan is a temporary employee of the White House, we were invited. There were about 1000 people in the gym. The President and Mrs. Obama (she was wearing a brilliant yellow dress with black cardigan) arrived and he spoke for about 10 minutes basically thanking all the career foreign service people for doing such an incredible job, being diplomats in all their dealings, for not much pay, and then he thanked them for bringing the children. It was about 9:15 in the evening at this point. He said he and Michelle were already missing their kids. But he reminded everyone that this is why we work so hard…for our kids. And to see them making connections and having experiences – makes it all worthwhile.
We then had the incredible honor of being escorted to a private foyer to meet the President. There were also two groups of police and Military Officers who were having their photos taken as well.
Yesterday afternoon the boys and I discussed the fact there was a chance we could meet the President and if there was a chance we need to be prepared. We practiced, “Hello President Obama it is an honor to meet you.” And then we practiced questions…just in case they had an opportunity. To the best of my recollection (I am still reeling and don’t know how much I was really paying attention because mostly I was thinking, “OMG we are meeting the President. OMG we are meeting the President” Luckily the boys were much better poised) this is how it went:
Pres: (to Simon) Well hello young man.
S: Hello Mr. President it is an honor to meet you.
P: And what is your name?
S: Simon
P : And how old are you?
S: 7 and I have a question for you
P: You do?
S Do you know what the state fish of Hawaii is?
P: (Big Smile) Well, I use to know. Let me think…the humuhumu isn’t it?
S: Well…it is the Humuhumunuku-nukuapua 'a
Michelle: the what?
S: the Humuhumunuku-nukuapua 'a
M: Can you say that again?
(lots of laughter and photos from paparatzi)
P: What a smart young man you are. How do you know that?
S: We are studying the ocean in school.
Josh: Hello Mr. President I am very proud to meet you
P: Hello there and what is your name
J: Joshua Martin Swart Grossman and I am in 5th grade here at the American School
P: Nice to meet you.
J: I have a question for you as well Mr. President.
P: Yes?
J; In 5th grade here at ASL the entire class is studying Africa and my research is on conflict diamonds. I wonder if you could tell me what your position is on the conflict and any thoughts you may have?
P: (Big smile, looking through out the room….) well, nobody briefed me on this one! (Smiling at Josh and looking very thoughtful) but that deserves a thoughtful answer because it is such a horrible issue. As you know there are many countries in Africa and many of them are involved and lots of people are being exploited and hurt in the process. I believe that the countries must come together to get a hold of the situation and that people should be careful and make sure that if they are buying diamonds they are only coming from areas that are being respectful and legal in their diamond production.
At that point I made a stupid comment about only buying cubic zirconium diamonds and we all got in position for the photo attached….
I can’t even being to tell you how high we are all flying today….
Xo, wendy
Back story: When Evan realized President Obama would be in London for the G20 he got in touch with his contact from the White House Office of Scheduling and Advance whom he had worked with for the Presidential Inauguration at the White House to offer his assistance. Much to his surprise, they took him up on it and for the past 10 days Evan has been working for the WH Office of Scheduling and Advance in charge of the motorcade.
He got to fly in a Chinook on Saturday on the dry run from the airport to the embassy, he got to measure the gate at Buckingham Palace to make sure the big US car that was flown over would fit through (it didn’t, so they switched cars), he brought in our fancy coffee maker to the advance office so the other staffers (mostly marines and 20 something’s who get paid nothing) could get a cup of coffee for free rather than paying 2 pounds a cup around the corner, he got tours for Josh (simon was sick) of the cool cars and the embassy and last night…well…then there was last night…..
The President was doing a meet and greet at the American School in a closed event to just Embassy staff and their families. This is protocol so he can thank his employees who are working so hard abroad. Since Evan is a temporary employee of the White House, we were invited. There were about 1000 people in the gym. The President and Mrs. Obama (she was wearing a brilliant yellow dress with black cardigan) arrived and he spoke for about 10 minutes basically thanking all the career foreign service people for doing such an incredible job, being diplomats in all their dealings, for not much pay, and then he thanked them for bringing the children. It was about 9:15 in the evening at this point. He said he and Michelle were already missing their kids. But he reminded everyone that this is why we work so hard…for our kids. And to see them making connections and having experiences – makes it all worthwhile.
We then had the incredible honor of being escorted to a private foyer to meet the President. There were also two groups of police and Military Officers who were having their photos taken as well.
Yesterday afternoon the boys and I discussed the fact there was a chance we could meet the President and if there was a chance we need to be prepared. We practiced, “Hello President Obama it is an honor to meet you.” And then we practiced questions…just in case they had an opportunity. To the best of my recollection (I am still reeling and don’t know how much I was really paying attention because mostly I was thinking, “OMG we are meeting the President. OMG we are meeting the President” Luckily the boys were much better poised) this is how it went:
Pres: (to Simon) Well hello young man.
S: Hello Mr. President it is an honor to meet you.
P: And what is your name?
S: Simon
P : And how old are you?
S: 7 and I have a question for you
P: You do?
S Do you know what the state fish of Hawaii is?
P: (Big Smile) Well, I use to know. Let me think…the humuhumu isn’t it?
S: Well…it is the Humuhumunuku-nukuapua 'a
Michelle: the what?
S: the Humuhumunuku-nukuapua 'a
M: Can you say that again?
(lots of laughter and photos from paparatzi)
P: What a smart young man you are. How do you know that?
S: We are studying the ocean in school.
Josh: Hello Mr. President I am very proud to meet you
P: Hello there and what is your name
J: Joshua Martin Swart Grossman and I am in 5th grade here at the American School
P: Nice to meet you.
J: I have a question for you as well Mr. President.
P: Yes?
J; In 5th grade here at ASL the entire class is studying Africa and my research is on conflict diamonds. I wonder if you could tell me what your position is on the conflict and any thoughts you may have?
P: (Big smile, looking through out the room….) well, nobody briefed me on this one! (Smiling at Josh and looking very thoughtful) but that deserves a thoughtful answer because it is such a horrible issue. As you know there are many countries in Africa and many of them are involved and lots of people are being exploited and hurt in the process. I believe that the countries must come together to get a hold of the situation and that people should be careful and make sure that if they are buying diamonds they are only coming from areas that are being respectful and legal in their diamond production.
At that point I made a stupid comment about only buying cubic zirconium diamonds and we all got in position for the photo attached….
I can’t even being to tell you how high we are all flying today….
Xo, wendy
Friday, 15 May 2009
Confessions of a Pick Up Artist
I pick people up. I always have. An old boyfriend use to accuse me of flirting all the time. I do, but I don’t discriminate and I don’t think of it as flirting. I am harmless. I chat.
I am one of those people who chat you up as you are waiting in line at the grocery store. And I am getting bolder as I get older.
It’s hereditary. One of my earliest childhood memories is of being in the line at the Red Owl grocery store in Minneapolis waiting for my mom as she chatted with her friend. Later in the car I would ask how she knew the person whom she was talking with and she would say she didn’t. “I just met her in line. I don’t even know her name,” confessed my mom. “What! Talk to a stranger?” I would reply in horror.
Quoting Holly Hobby and the decoupage plaque on our kitchen wall, mom would say, “There is no such thing as a stranger. Just an unmet friend.”
Holly Hobby has been following me around ever since.
When we first moved to London I tried to put my chattiness on hold. Chatting people up is not what you do in the UK. The moral code is to wait until you are introduced. It might be years until you meet your neighbors. The morning and afternoon 'school runs' are ridiculous. It took a good four months of walking by the same person every single day with our kids before she would give me the ‘Acknowledgement of Your Existence’ head bob.
Needless to say when you are at the Post Office nobody is introducing you to the person in front of you who is mailing a large parcel to West Africa. My inner brain chatter goes like this:
Mali. The African woman in front of me is mailing something to Mali. I have been to Mali. I bet nobody else in this whole post office even knows where Mali is! Should I use one of my 17 words of Bambara and say hello to her in her native tongue? She would be so surprised to have a middle aged white woman in the Jewish enclave of Golders Green speak a few words of her mother tongue. It is so cool to have stereotypes blown away. Do it Wendy. Do it. But then my cover is blown. American; the entire Post oOffice will know I am an American by my nice teeth and broad accent. Then they will blame me for George Bush and the war and British soldiers dying. They are still mad over the Revolution and our independence.
The line moves too fast and the opportunity is lost, but I was ready when I was in Sainsbury’s grocery store the next day.
I hate the Sainsbury’s at the o2 centre on Finchley Road. Big. Impersonal. Always moving the inventory around so they can frustrate the customers. Finally, I had finished my shopping. I was 2nd in line at Check Out Counter Number 2. What is that? The check out woman was singing to herself. Quietly singing, but singing never the less. I know that song, it is John Denver’s Back Home Again One of the first albums I ever owned was the John Denver Songbook. I even bought the music book with the money I saved up from babysitting so I could play my guitar with the door closed and pretend I was on stage with John.
She got to the second verse. She is faltering. She is losing it. She needs me! I stick my head around the person in front of me loading things onto the conveyor belt and offer up:
There's all the news to tell him, how'd you spend your time….
Needless to say by the time all my groceries were loaded into the shopping bags, we had made it through Annie’s Song and even a pretty good attempt at Thank God I’m A Country Boy. The other customers were amused and moving their lips to the words. I suggested we take over the PA system and be the live entertainment at Check Out Counter Number 2.
Maybe we could meet after her shift ended and we could pick up some extra cash busking at the Finchley Road Tube station.
She was Irish.
As we head out on the road this coming year one thing that worries me is of being lonely. Yes, there is Evan and the boys, but I need a good chat from time to time. But not to fear, I will just channel my inner Holly Hobby and remember I am only alone as much as I want to be. How does this sound, “So, have you ever seen the inside of an RV?”
I am one of those people who chat you up as you are waiting in line at the grocery store. And I am getting bolder as I get older.
It’s hereditary. One of my earliest childhood memories is of being in the line at the Red Owl grocery store in Minneapolis waiting for my mom as she chatted with her friend. Later in the car I would ask how she knew the person whom she was talking with and she would say she didn’t. “I just met her in line. I don’t even know her name,” confessed my mom. “What! Talk to a stranger?” I would reply in horror.
Quoting Holly Hobby and the decoupage plaque on our kitchen wall, mom would say, “There is no such thing as a stranger. Just an unmet friend.”
Holly Hobby has been following me around ever since.
When we first moved to London I tried to put my chattiness on hold. Chatting people up is not what you do in the UK. The moral code is to wait until you are introduced. It might be years until you meet your neighbors. The morning and afternoon 'school runs' are ridiculous. It took a good four months of walking by the same person every single day with our kids before she would give me the ‘Acknowledgement of Your Existence’ head bob.
Needless to say when you are at the Post Office nobody is introducing you to the person in front of you who is mailing a large parcel to West Africa. My inner brain chatter goes like this:
Mali. The African woman in front of me is mailing something to Mali. I have been to Mali. I bet nobody else in this whole post office even knows where Mali is! Should I use one of my 17 words of Bambara and say hello to her in her native tongue? She would be so surprised to have a middle aged white woman in the Jewish enclave of Golders Green speak a few words of her mother tongue. It is so cool to have stereotypes blown away. Do it Wendy. Do it. But then my cover is blown. American; the entire Post oOffice will know I am an American by my nice teeth and broad accent. Then they will blame me for George Bush and the war and British soldiers dying. They are still mad over the Revolution and our independence.
The line moves too fast and the opportunity is lost, but I was ready when I was in Sainsbury’s grocery store the next day.
I hate the Sainsbury’s at the o2 centre on Finchley Road. Big. Impersonal. Always moving the inventory around so they can frustrate the customers. Finally, I had finished my shopping. I was 2nd in line at Check Out Counter Number 2. What is that? The check out woman was singing to herself. Quietly singing, but singing never the less. I know that song, it is John Denver’s Back Home Again One of the first albums I ever owned was the John Denver Songbook. I even bought the music book with the money I saved up from babysitting so I could play my guitar with the door closed and pretend I was on stage with John.
She got to the second verse. She is faltering. She is losing it. She needs me! I stick my head around the person in front of me loading things onto the conveyor belt and offer up:
There's all the news to tell him, how'd you spend your time….
Needless to say by the time all my groceries were loaded into the shopping bags, we had made it through Annie’s Song and even a pretty good attempt at Thank God I’m A Country Boy. The other customers were amused and moving their lips to the words. I suggested we take over the PA system and be the live entertainment at Check Out Counter Number 2.
Maybe we could meet after her shift ended and we could pick up some extra cash busking at the Finchley Road Tube station.
She was Irish.
As we head out on the road this coming year one thing that worries me is of being lonely. Yes, there is Evan and the boys, but I need a good chat from time to time. But not to fear, I will just channel my inner Holly Hobby and remember I am only alone as much as I want to be. How does this sound, “So, have you ever seen the inside of an RV?”
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