Pig Flu didn’t get me. But I have tumbled headlong into the disorienting embrace of jetlag.
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to experience my homeland in the summer time. Over the last few years, our American sojourns have occurred during the festive period (either Thanksgiving or Christmas) and while I love the woods where I grew up, there is something tremendously melancholy about loads of bare trees waving their naked braches in the cold. In addition, if I want to freeze my ass off, I’ll just go outside in the UK around mid June.
I had completely forgotten how summer utterly transforms the area. My parent’s yard looked more akin to Eden than Frederick County when we pulled in the driveway on the way home from the airport. It was a veritable wonderland of big, blowsy blooms and green as far as the eye could see. The Prawn has eyes only for Grams and Pop Pop in the moments after we arrived, but I could hardly stop gaping at the yard and drinking in the summer smell that we are so sadly lacking where we reside.
I should reverse gear and mention that our trip over was once again very smooth, despite the presence of a toddler. We are fortunate in that we have a rabid Sesame Street addict on our hands and with this currency, we can buy any amount of good behaviour. Even nearly 8 hours worth. Yes. I know. Very bad parents, but very happy ones. However, this experiment led us to discover that an iPhone has a pretty astonishing battery capacity if you don’t mind watching videos in 4’ x 2’. To make extra sure of no gaps in our Sesame Street delivery system, we had videos on BOTH of our iPhones AND both of our laptops. With the Prawn safely anesthetised, I was free to watch the goggle box as well in the form of “Benjamin Button”, (note to self: DO NOT WATCH OVERLY EMOTIONAL MOVIES IN PUBLIC PLACES. The stewardess that came around with orange juice midway through the flight asked me if there was anything she could do for me. Doofus.) “Anchorman” and an episode of “Flight of the Concords” (which, by the way, is simultaneously funny and deeply unfunny at the same time.).
We were lucky to get mostly fabulous weather for our visit. Of course, the time change wrecked havoc on the Prawn and the first morning, the Rock Star found himself blearily blinking at her in the kitchen at 4 am. This was also the setting for one of her best quotes of the trip. The Rock Star had just turned on the coffee maker, which began making it’s burbling noises, startling the Prawn.
After just about jumping out of her skin, she declared. “Okay. Not scary. Just man having a wee.”
First of all…I HAVE A CHILD WHO NOT ONLY RECOGNIZES THE SOUND OF SOMEONE HAVING A WEE, BUT CAN TELL ME ABOUT IT. Secondly, I think perhaps that we need to have a chat with Boy Racer about leaving the bathroom door ajar when he uses the toilet in our flat.
The Rock Star and I took a little grown-up excursion to the beach during the second week of our visit. We wondered how the Prawn would take being abandoned with her grandparents for two days, but truth to be told, we ended up missing her far more than she did us. Oh, those two other people that are usually around? What were they called? This was pretty much the Prawn’s reaction to our absence.
I’ve not been to Ocean City since Senior Week way back in the mists of time when I graduated from high school. (During this visit, Virginia and I found a truly depressing photo of us taken during that week and wondered WHY IN THE HELL we weren’t wearing itty bitty bikinis when we both had the bodies for it.) My memories from those three days aren’t very clear. This isn’t due to alcohol consumption (I was in a slightly sanctimonious phase at the time, apparently) but rather just because I’m old. Virginia reminded me that aside from the reading on the beach and eating junk food, she and I and our third compatriot in mischief spent an evening building a giant sand penis. (Maybe not quite so sanctimonious.)
The Rock Star and I refrained from any sand sculpture during our visit. Sadly, we got the worst weather of the week for our visit and spent most of our one full day at the shore either indoors (we went to see “Star Trek” in a cinema who’s heyday was probably in the mid 50’s, but enjoyed the film, nonetheless.) or walking the boardwalk in sweatshirts. Luckily, the day we arrived was fairly warm and clear, so we indulged in lunch and drinks at Hammerjacks. (I fully indulged my margarita cravings on this holiday since bartenders on this side of the Atlantic seem to be thoroughly incapable of making one that doesn’t taste like grass clippings.) Of course, we also got caught in the mandatory, mid-afternoon downpour. By the time we decided maybe we ought to take shelter, we were already soaked through and trudged the 20 blocks back to our hotel, squishing merrily as we went. (this rainstorm necessitated the purchase of new shoes on the Rock Star’s part as his took nearly 4 days to dry completely.) In the absence of decent weather to sit and read on the beach, we mostly just wandered about aimlessly, (a pursuit that’s curiously satisfying after you have children) ate utter rubbish and discovered a hideous dead puffer fish in the middle of the night by way of my almost stepping on it.
Our encounters with the natural world were not restricted to our journey to the beach. The Rock Star left his shoes on the front porch and when he brought them inside to put on again, he neglected to do what every child raised in the forest is taught to do if your footwear has been outside for any length of time without you; turn them upside down. This resulted in a rather girly scream and a swear in front of the Prawn when the bottom of his foot came into contact with a VERY large toad who then disappeared under the couch, prompting all of the adults in the room to go a little crazy, much to the delight of the child, who spent the chase laughing like a loon. (I was having a shower at the time, however, I could hear the commotion.)
Several days later, we made the unsavoury discovery that the baby birds in a nest on my parents front porch had become cocktail snacks for very small snake. My mother demanded that the offender was removed from the scene of the crime, much to the chagrin of my father, who’s dislike of snakes is well documented. (So much does he dislike them, when he DOES manage to capture one, he’ll put it in a sealed bucket and drive it almost 10 minutes away before releasing it. Therefore, a family phrase, “being driven to Libertytown” has been coined to mean getting something distasteful as far away from you as possible.) The Rock Star, ever game for new experiences, offered to wrangle the serpent, armed only with a bunny shaped oven mitt. Being deemed too small to be deserving of a roadtrip, the offending reptile was released in the woods. However, only hours later, my father nearly stepped on what can only be described a “much larger” identical snake who was obviously coming to protest the treatment of his offspring at the hands of a long-haired, oven mitted buffoon.
Of course, no trip would be complete without some good times luxuriating in the company of family and friends. We got to spend some good times with Virginia and the Phantom Scribbler as well as a quick visit with another high school chum, my parents neighbors (who I’ve known since I was 7) and cousins various. The Prawn heartily enjoyed playing with all of the children of said individuals. Virginia’s Boy became “ MY BOY” to the Prawn, which registered quite high on the cute scale. She also enjoyed frolicking with her first cousins-once-removed in their paddling pool. It’s always satisfying to see your offspring getting on nicely with other people and not having to worry about uttering phrases like, “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU: NO BITING!” At least not yet.
Our flight back was an unusual one. As we took off, we were keenly aware that the next time we landed on American soil, it would be as immigrants. (Well, two immigrants and one citizen) Although we’ve always known that we were going to migrate back to the States, we’ve now decided that 2010 is the year of the big move. We spent some time on our visit pootling around local communities that we’d like, which was equally exciting and daunting, as there is so much that we need to get done over here first. However, as they turned the lights down in the cabin, we were just pleased to think about the prospect. We were also pleased that the Prawn decided to sleep for nearly the entire flight. (As did I, miracle of miracles)
So we now find ourselves back home in our little flat, having to deal with day to day issues like that strong mildew smell that seems to be coming from the sink, but can’t be beaten by drain cleaner, the creeping damp in the bedroom and the small mountain of laundry piling up in the hamper.
Cest le vie. Back to the routine.
Let me start by saying that my house is a wreck.
The Rock Star and I made our annual pilgrimage to Hyde Park yesterday for a day of epic tune-age at the Hard Rock Calling Festival. This year, we were lucky enough to score tickets to the sold out final day headlined by none other Mr. Bruce of Springsteenshire. Not only were we graced by the Boss himself, but supporting him was the Dave Matthews Band, who I’ve been darn near gnawing my own foot off to see since 1995 when I first got hooked on Under The Table and Dreaming. So it was with some sense of anticipation that The Rock Star and I headed in to London, stopping along the way to collect an old friend, Kara, and her husband Jon, who were in visiting from the States and also managed to get tickets to the gig.
Sometimes when I get something completely awesome, I love to show it off. I’m a huge magpie and like to proudly display my shiny. However, yesterday, I got some YUMMY and thought I ought to show it off before it completely disappears!
Calling all yarncraft fans!
Rejoice and be glad, fellow handmade-ites for today is Etsy Day!
