Sunday, September 2, 2007

Midnight Call

"HiMom!IonlyhavefivesecondsbutIwantedyoutoknowI'mfine!" Click.

Micah lived in England for two years in the early 90's, when he was about 20. He didn't have a phone, and there were no cellphones or e-mail (sounds like a different century!) Weekly letters were our only mode of communication. However, every few months our phone would ring with his unexpected but welcome voice on the other end. If he happened to pass a phone box and he had 50 pence in his pocket he'd drop in the coin and call us just to let us know he was alive. The call would end when the money ran out, usually before we could even respond.

One night the phone rang a little after two a.m. Calls in the middle of the night are always startling and upsetting, so my heart was pounding when I answered. "Mom! I just witnessed a murder, but I don't want you to worry!" Click. There was no way to call him back and find out any details. Was he in danger? Had the murderer seen him? Did he need help? Where was he?

We didn't get the explanatory letter until ten frantic days later. A man had beaten his wife to death on the sidewalk outside the flat. Micah saw it through the window, and ended up calming the man down, and calling the police. Eventually he even had to testify in court about it. But, luckily, his phone call saved me from ANY worry....yeah, right!

Have you ever had a phone call that scared your socks off?

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Mr. Meat

I love Dee in the kitchen. It means something mouthwatering will emerge, usually with rice and a sauce. He brings home various kinds of roasts and cuts of meat very early every Saturday, along with springs of rosemary, sage, and some secret concoction of rubbing spices. First he massages the meat into submission and gives it a perfect wrap, then entices it into the steam bath, (reminds me of Spa Day), and puts the lid on. Soon aromas start wafting through the whole house, and I find drool rolling down my chin before he calls me in. The table is set, veggies are decoratively arranged, along with condiments, bakery fresh bread, and a chilled beverage served in an iced glass straight from the freezer.

He's famous for his marinated Thanksgiving Turkey. He gives it an overnight brine soak, stuffs it with a garden of herbs and spices, and a lemon, and then roasts away. Before it is done he pops in a stick of butter, turns it over so the melted butter will invade every crevasse and lets it soak in for an hour. The turkey melts in your mouth.

Dee's turkeys are treated so well after death that the intelligent ones volunteer for duty. Their memory is passed down and remembered in better fashion than long gone relatives. "Remember Aunt Nina Bee?" "Not really...did she kind of smell?" doesn't hold up to "Remember the turkey of '99? She was so plumb, so juicy...she held her butter and let it ooze at just the proper moment. Her breast...soaked in salt water to give it firmness and texture, and her rosemary perfume made you want to lick the skin..." "Honey, don't talk about tasty breasts that way in front of the kids..."

Dee speaks of the tender treatment he gives his meat. It's an honor to loose your innocence to him. He knows how to make it a sweet moment of surrender as he tucks them in with sweet onions, soft potato layers...and then pours a sweet brown sugar/Ginger Ale glaze to coat them in silk. He's not called Mr. Meat for nothing.

Can you tell I'm starving?? I'm hoping his early trip to the market tomorrow morning (he gets there before they start setting up their stalls) will net us sweet juicy corn, peaches, tomatoes, and a roast that will delight in joining us for dinner as the guest of honor. If they're lucky, our guest cuts of meat hear their life stories as they're passed around the table. "Oh, the Epperson's owned that land starting in 1860 and all their animals lived on the bottom floor of their home, to give them heat. They had a big bull they brought it"...It's always nice to be sure of your paternity before you're chosen for your last supper. In Mr. Meat's loving crock pot, you'll drift away in an aroma of sweet onions, garlic, with a melted butter mask that will sooth your breaking heart. The last words you'll hear will be..."This is fantastic, so tender, it melts in your mouth"...and you will see that you have died to give others a better life...like a soldier. Be proud. It's an honorable way to reach the measure of your creation.

And it's an honorable way for us to push the boundaries of our own, and then vow to go pick on vegetables for a while and let the turkeys alone; perhaps become Flexitarians for a month or so (while Mr. Turkey gets plumper and juicier for our next cooking adventure in Mr. Meat's kitchen.)

I started this post about the trend of faux animal skins on shoes. I couldn't get past my hunger and I turned it into another use of our animal friends. My writing may not inspire the rest of you, but I think I'll make a midnight McDonald's run. Shall I bring you some fries?

Thursday, August 30, 2007

New Experience

Chloe starts kindergarten next week.

"Hey, Oma, you could come for my first day!"

"No, I can't. But maybe you could send me some pictures. What are you wearing for your first day?"

"Hmmm. Well, I guess you'll just have to wait for the pictures."

First days of school, (kindergarten, 3rd Grade, or college), moms sending their little ones off (no matter how old they are): these have been topics of discussion the past few weeks. The world can seem so big and scary and mean.

I think about little kids getting their feelings hurt, or their self esteem stomped on, and it makes me sad. It's so poignant because I know what it feels like. I'm acquainted with the sting of being left out (my dress was babyish because it had puffy sleeves) and being told I was ugly (I wore red and white checked glasses.) I knew the popular kids, and they walked home without me the first day of kindergarten. When my teacher found me crying on the school steps, she scolded me, and said I needed to "grow up." I was five. She told my mom I wasn't mature enough for school. I don't remember life getting easier when I turned six.

Judy had a story published today on Time Goes By. She told about observing a girl's heart being broken. She finished with these profound words:
"At some future point you'll realize that this experience is part of who you have become, and without it, part of you would be missing."

I want to anticipate new experiences with the excitement of Chloe, and I want to reflect on past experiences with the wisdom of Judy.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

The Spa Ah-h-h

A sorority of frazzled women, that's what we were. Toenails chipped, cuticles bitten, dead skin clinging like lint to our unexfoliated bodies, eyes puffed up like marshmallows--it wasn't pretty.

Our benefactress offered hope. A Spa Day.

All the women in my family were treated to this indulgence by my sister who is already radiant both inside and out. We were rubbed and scrubbed, wrapped and polished until our inner beauty started to shine through.

Sixteen of us awaited our various treatments in the Relaxation Sanctuary. Therapists called our names and whisked us individually to dimmed rooms, fragranced by eucalyptus and rosemary, where haunting Celtic melodies eased our frantic minds.

One by one we emerged, loosened and untightened so much we felt we would melt. Lunch and group therapy (the old fashioned kind provided by gossipy aunts) followed.

I could actually feel my wrinkles being smoothed away. My heels were soft and my cheeks were glowing. I don't think the valet parking guy even recognized me. The exfoliation process had eliminated layers of skin and I felt several pounds lighter. The Spa Day had done it's magic and I was a new woman...or at least a new version of an old one.
Thanks, Jo!

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

"Sum-Sum Summertime"

Summer Days...

Lazy, hazy, crazy...

Hey, watch your aim!

Lunch bunching,

Cousins Clubbing,


A fire's flame.


Babies,


Sleepovers,


Give me s'more.

Twins with twins,


Quiet reads,


Family rapport.

"Summer Days make me feel fine...."

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Wallow In It

Got your attention, didn't I? If you're of a certain age, this was sitting on top of your hi-fi back in the day. The girl got the guy's attention, but it was Herb Alpert who got mine. Did you ever see him singing This Guy's in Love With You and then playing his trumpet? I mean....

Check out the Number One Songs for the year you were eighteen and wallow in memories. It will be like rolling around in whipped cream!

I'm listing five of my high school favorites:
  1. Love is Blue: Paul Mauriat (Doesn't that tune come right back??)
  2. Winchester Cathedral: The New Vaudeville Band ("Do-de-oh-do")
  3. Light My Fire: The Doors ("F-i-y-a!")
  4. These Boots Are Made For Walkin': Frank and Nancy Sinatra (white vinyl boots anyone?)
  5. I'm Henry the VIII: Herman's Hermits ("I'm 'er eighth old man, I'm 'enery...")
I remember cleaning up Christmas to Love is Blue, and being in the back seat of Natalie's yellow and black GTO singing "Come on baby, light my fire..." with a bunch of boy-crazy girls. Is there anything like music to take you back? C'mon, "Sing, Sing a Song!"
(Thanks Kris!)

Friday, August 24, 2007

May I Have a Word?

Art by Mary Engelbreit

I read my Thesaurus for fun, so I liked the little quiz I saw posted by Kris, which requires one word answers.
  1. Yourself: Approachable
  2. Spouse: Wise
  3. Hair: Short
  4. Mother: Hospitable
  5. Father: Fun
  6. Want to be: Genuine
  7. Favorite drink: Coke
  8. Dream car: Red
  9. Room you are in: Office
  10. Style: Chic
  11. Fear: Claustrophobia
  12. What you want to be in 10 years: Alert
  13. Who you hung out with last night: Frasier
  14. Muffins: Oatmeal
  15. Wish list item: Shoes
  16. Time: Midnight
  17. Last thing you did: Telephoned
  18. What you are wearing: Pajamas
  19. Favorite weather: Rain
  20. Favorite book: Mystery
  21. Last thing you ate: Cookie
  22. Your car: Equipped
  23. Your mood: Cheerful
  24. Your life: Blessed
  25. Your dream: Experience
You can have the last word.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Unlikely Heroes: York, England

Face Painting
Where were the superheroes? We needed saving. A year in England without income, not to mention root beer, heat, showers, Oreos, peanut butter...it was taking it's toll. We were basically running out of everything. Especially confidence.

Dee had finished his class work and was beginning his dissertation. He had to write a document of a few hundred pages, longhand, in our freezing cold bedroom, next to the drafty window in order to have a little light. Forty watts doesn't cut it during a drab and dreary Yorkshire winter, where it gets dark at 3:30 in the afternoon. He wore the requisite cardi (cardigan sweater) over his sweater vest, as well as fingerless gloves. It was a scene out of Dr. Zhivago.

The hot air was leaking out of our balloon and we were starting to feel adrift. Remember all those meddlesome folks who thought we were nuts? What if they were right? Was it just the weather that was giving us cold feet? It wasn't like we had a plan. Dee was now capable of restoring stained glass windows in medieval cathedrals, and replicating mortar from the 13th century, but there wasn't much call for that in SLC. What had we been thinking? Starting over in a different country and culture was bold and daring. Starting over again a year later in front of everyone we knew could be embarrassing and foolish.

The Mohawk
It was a little late to re-think it. I read my diary and we rehashed our old conversations, trying to recall the faith and hope and inspiration we had felt at the beginning. Dee started sending resumes, but doubt and worry crept in. We weren't finished being blessed, though. A couple of miracles buoyed us up.

I don't know about England, but here neighborhoods seem to have similar types of people. There's the organizer, the busybody, the bring-everybody-cookies lady, the know-it-all, the too-good-for-the-rest-of-you, and the helpful gardener with all the tools. Hermie (I've changed his name) was the odd-man-out. He was brilliant, which made him hard to relate to. His wife was nice, but she had some kookier elements about her, too. Hermie had come to blows with another guy on the block over which of their sons had won the Pinewood Derby. It was ridiculous and his reputation didn't have far to fall after that.

Anyway, one Sunday afternoon we were sitting on our bed in York, and the phone rang, which was extremely unusual. I answered and it was Hermie! He was wondering how we were doing, and wanted to tell us what great neighbors we had always been. (Luckily, we were hypocrites, so he didn't know what we really thought.) He was so friendly, and nice. We talked for a while and he said he had sent us something in the mail and wondered if we'd received it. We thought back, mentally thumbing through our Christmas cards from three months before and said we didn't think so. He told us to watch for it, and said goodbye. How thoughtful! That call was just the encouragement we needed, we told each other. What a nice guy. A few days later we got his envelope. Inside was a check for $1,000!!! He had written a lovely letter saying he hoped this would come in handy, and that he admired our nerve. Please spend it with the pleasure he got from sending it. Dee has a phrase for this kind of event: "How does your crow taste?"

A few weeks later, a good friend from home wrote to say she had always loved my diamond ring, and would I consider selling it to her. She had admired it before, but who asks a question like that? It was so unexpected, yet perfectly timed! We had mutual friends who were coming to visit us, and she sent a check with them. I packaged my ring carefully in a tube of Smarties (M & M's) so there wouldn't be a problem with customs, and they took it home to her. This infusion of cash was just what we needed.

Dee was contacted by a professor who needed some research done for a book. That became an insightful and amazing project, that ended up to be life changing. A couple of times a week throughout the spring and summer we followed old maps in search of 19th century mills, barns, churches, homes and other ruins. We explored parts of Wales, the Cotswolds, Worcestershire, and Cheshire and got familiar with back roads covered by hedgerows. Most of the time these were day trips while the kids were in school, and other times we took them along. We read local histories and journals written during the period, and followed the paths they described from the 1800's. The stories were fascinating and the people came alive to us. Slowly it dawned on Dee that this was what he wanted to do: chronicle the lives of everyday folks, document how they rose to the challenges they faced, and place these events in historic perspective. Coupled with his love for photography, it seemed like a plan! Our enthusiasm and anticipation came rushing back.

It was a "roof" (rough) neighborhood
During our year in York the cooperation from our kids was overwhelming. It was a family project. They did without all the usual props: no phones, malls, cars, proms, basketball games, cheerleaders, pep-rallies... they wore uniforms to school, and hung out with each other. We had lots of other years, before and after, filled with the paraphernalia of life in the USA, but this year set a new tone. Our family became it's own foundation. We protected, sustained, comforted and fortified each other. We all gave up everything, and we discovered what was really important. It was worth it.

Cute new school clothes
Dee always says that our year in England was when the kids earned their hero status. He relates it to an experience he had at summer camp when he was in the ROTC.

His platoon was running in formation when Dee had an asthma attack. Suddenly he couldn't catch his breath and he was starting to lag behind, slowing the whole group. His arms were bent and the two guys on either side of him (who were both taller than Dee) lifted him from under his elbows, and carried him the rest of the way. Dee compares the kids rallying around us and supporting our dream to those two soldiers. They ran in formation, lifted us up and made sure we finished the run.

The Heroes: Micah, Heidi, Amy, Gabi, Marta, Peter, Josh

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Speaking English

This is Mini at our market. The first time we went to the shops we took the bus. The trolley (grocery cart) was tiny and I wondered how anyone could fit all their purchases in it. We loaded up flour and sugar, brown sugar, salt, cinnamon...all the things we needed to stock an empty kitchen, and ended up filling two carts.

When we got to the check out counter, the woman asked if I'd brought boxes. I didn't understand what she meant. It turned out we were supposed to bring our own boxes or carriers to take the groceries home. She rummaged around in the back and found us a few.

Self service had not arrived in our home town, and I was surprised to realize I needed to unload the trolley, and then bag the items myself. At the end of the process I expected the grocer to help me out to the car. Another surprise: no help, and....no car!! How was I supposed to get all this home? I forgot I had taken the bus! We dragged our boxes several blocks before we ditched them behind some bushes, walked the rest of the way to fetch my strong young sons and went back to carry it all home. A little culture lesson.

Our favorite stop of the day was at the bakery. We bought a cute round loaf of bread which had a special name that I can't remember. A hob? Or was that the stove? (My Yorkshire is failing me.) I do remember that the ends of the loaf were called the doorstops. We bought custard tarts everyday as well.

On the way home from school we stopped at the sweet shop for a lollie. That's a Popsicle. Most of the candy was in big jars, but we became addicted to Crunchies, Flakes, Smarties and Curly Wurlies. We crossed the street and visited another shop to buy our newspaper. Everyone knew everyone and it was fun to be recognized as the American family.

The green grocer had the fruits and veg, and the butcher shop next door sold the meat. There was often a pig's head hanging in the window, and intestines and brains were highlighted in the displays. I wasn't very adventurous but some of the kids got hooked on steak and kidney pies.

Minced beef (hamburger) was our staple. Dee invented a way to barbecue. He found a wheel barrow in the back garden, which he balanced with a brick, and used the rack of the oven for a grill.

For 50p (about 80¢) the kids feasted on chips and scraps at the chippie shop. The hot, bubbling oil that fried the fish and chips (fries) had bits of batter floating in it. Those are the scraps. They were skimmed off and put in a paper cone along with a few chips, and that was lunch! Douse it all in vinegar and you automatically start speaking with a British accent.

It usually happened during our family prayer. Squeak! Plop! A quick amen, and all nine chairs were shoved back or tipped over as the family ran to the door to see what was in the mail. The post dropped through the slot and landed on the tile floor about 8:am, during breakfast. It was the highlight of every morning. Letters kept us going. I had our friends and neighbors save the letters we wrote and they are treasures. "I like you. Do you still like me? Do you remember me? I need letters!"

I met a woman just before we left and we became pen pals for the whole year I was gone. There was a high profile murder mystery going on at home, and she sent newspaper clippings every day. It was like a magazine serial in chapters. We didn't have much in common in real life, but she was such a support to me with her regular letter packages.

The pillar box across the street from our house became our friend. After all, it held all the love and new memories we were sending across the pond to our dear ones.

We were without a washer and dryer. At that time in York there were no laundromats, so every couple of days Dee dropped off two giant clothes hampers at a laundry service. At night he would pick them up again, and lug them into the house. I sat at the top of the first flight of stairs with all our clothes, while the kids perched on the stairs below. I tossed everybody their belongings, as I thought about the intimacy of strangers sorting through my underwear on a regular basis. Community washers leave a lot to be desired, and by the time we were going home there was a distinct dinginess to everything we owned. Luckily we hadn't brought much, so we didn't feel bad chucking it all when we left.

Different soon became routine. We rented a piano for $10 a month, so there were lessons and practicing. Josh found a gym to work out in, and finished his Eagle project. Walking and taking the bus or the train was convenient transport and I got comfortable with the kids venturing around town on their own. There were church discos (dances), and school carnivals, and new friends. Heidi was 7, and was picked up for a play date in a taxi by her friend and her mother. Apple cider was alcoholic and when tea was offered, it meant dinner. Pudding could be cake, pie or a fruit and cheese plate, but rarely pudding. A jumper is a sweater, and plimsolls and trainers are shoes for games (gym class.) We were loving every word of it! When ta (thanks), brilliant (awesome) and soz (sorry) became part of our vocabulary we felt we had truly become Yorkies.

(To be concluded...)

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Left, Right, Left

I've been in a special club since I was a little girl. I'm a Lefty.

Righties (it just doesn't sound as cool) don't understand us. I actually think it's a prejudice kind of thing. I'm a member of a few minority groups, but this is the one I'd go to bat for, (left-handed, of course.) Only 12% of the population identifies with these complaints:
  1. Ink stains on your little finger because you always drag it over your writing.
  2. A stiff wrist from holding your hand above the coil on the notebook.
  3. Ladles that have the spout on the wrong side, can openers that turn from the wrong side, and lids that twist the wrong way.
  4. People always angle a receipt in the wrong direction when you have to sign it.
  5. Not being able to see the line when you're cutting.
  6. Numbers on the keyboard are on the wrong side.
  7. Desks with attached seats are on the wrong side.
  8. People regularly comment on how awkward you look doing everyday tasks: peeling carrots, slicing bread, chopping vegetables, tying bows...it's not a confidence builder!
  9. You usually have to learn skills like knitting, throwing, painting, etc. from a right-handed person. It makes everything harder.
  10. We are always told we do things backwards, everything from feeding a baby to cutting meat. (Why isn't their way backwards? It is to us!)
  11. It's more natural to flip through a book or read a magazine from back to front.
  12. Sitting next to people at a table is always uncomfortable, (like, say, having two left hands.)
  13. Right hands are associated with truth (raise your right hand, shake hands with the right hand, join your right hands, "the right hand of God,") while left hands are associated with wrong (left-handed compliment, left-wing, leftist.) Think about right on, and left out.
I assume if you're still reading this you're probably left-handed, or you love someone who is. I've noticed that right-handed people don't even care that they're not in the club. They assume they're, well, you know...right.

We are masters of adaptation. David Wolman wrote, "Lefties have to spend nanoseconds here and there, every day, stepping back and reconfiguring how to operate in the world. It isn't a conscious process, but it happens, and it's a lifetime of calculus that right-handers don't have to contend with. Lefties can never accept the world as it is presented to them."

Something very significant about members of my club is we recognize each other. I wonder if Righties have noticed that Jerry Seinfeld and George Costanza are both lefties. What about Bobby Goren? If my waiter has a great backhand (scrawl, not serve) I comment. We like to bond with a fellow Southpaw. In fact, I married one. See? I'm not completely out in left field!

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Book It

Reading a novel that takes place in some exotic locale, while traveling through that exact place is as good as it gets for me. Bibliotravel is a website where you type in a city, state, or country, and it then lists books (fiction and non-fiction) that take place in that area, as well as local authors. It's a great way to prepare for a trip, be on a trip, or daydream about being on a trip. You'll be fully booked for your next holiday!

Bragging

"If you woke up in someone else's body, whose would it be?"

I thought about this for a while. I wonder if anyone would choose mine? I decided to list ten reasons why my body is great.
  1. My fingernails are very strong, and they grow fast.
  2. I have a fabulous sense of smell. It makes life sensual.
  3. I have 20/20 vision for distance.
  4. My eyebrows show up. I've never had to draw them on.
  5. I don't seem to wrinkle easily.
  6. My elbows aren't rough or scaly.
  7. I can walk.
  8. I don't have varicose veins.
  9. Advil is the strongest pain killer I need.
  10. I have an awesome memory.
All in all, I don't think I want anyone else's body, if it means giving up my own. I'm getting used to it.

Do you have anything to brag about?

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

I Think I Can...I Think I Can

Do you have a mountain to climb? I am so impressed by people who just keep on chugging. Kelly (who is too young to have such wisdom!) recently posted some advice that is worth repeating:

"Often times my happiness seems to get caught up in the whens and ifs of life. I will be happy when..., or my life will be complete if... On such occasions I like to remember the words of Gordon B. Hinckley:
Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he's been robbed. The fact is that most putts don't drop. Most beef is tough. Most children grow up to be just ordinary people. Most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration. Most jobs are more often dull than otherwise...

Life is like an old-time rail journey--delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust cinders, and jolts--interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Life Lessons, Continued

Life Lesson: Do not post blogs while under the influence of Ambien. I made the mistake last night of whiling away the last few minutes before i conked out, working on my blog. Unfortunately I pushed publish as I was drifting off to dream land, and the post Life Lessons From York hit the public before it was finished. So tonight I went back, added a bit, and subtracted a bit and did my usual tweaking. It's fit for a re-read now! Scroll on down...

Monday, August 13, 2007

Life Lessons From York

Everybody in the family went to school while we were in York except me. However, I got an education as well. Every time I stepped outside my house I encountered a situation that made me think. There were teachers around every corner. They seemed like just regular people but I learned a lot from observation. My bus didn't take me to a school, but it took me to some places of learning.

1. Yorkshire folks do everything in the rain. We flew kites, went to the beach, had picnics in the park...none of the locals batted an eye. Josh went spelunking with the scouts for a week with torrential rains the whole time. The boys did a 45-mile hike (that started at midnight) across the moors in muddy bogs filled with frogs. The weather report was always "bright at times, showery at intervals." Life Lesson: You'll miss a lot of fun if you wait for perfect conditions.
Lyke Wake Walk Marker

2. The beauty of a home has nothing to do with square footage or interior decorating. We had friends who lived in row houses, with tiny gardens on narrow streets. Pete played with his friend in a pub the father managed. The family lived upstairs. Our neighbors ran a hotel, and lived there. We lived in servant's quarters. Life Lesson: Don't confuse a house for a home.

Blossom Street across from our house

Dale Street next to the school

3. Parents come in many varieties. I waited for my kids everyday outside their school with people I was scared of at first. It was 1985 and punk had not arrived in my neighborhood at home. Tattoos, mohawks and piercings signaled danger to me. That was before I saw how they interacted with their kids, swooping them up and carrying them on their shoulders, examining spelling tests and essays. Before long I realized I was naive, arrogant and condescending. They, on the other hand, were friendly, interested and hospitable; in other words, nicer than I. Life Lesson: Don't judge a person by their hairstyle.

Punk Rocker Parents

4. Just because a school is older than your state, or your country, it isn't always old-fashioned. Our primary school was Scarcroft. It was built in about 1840, and looked like a haunted house. There were still gas masks on the shelf from World War I! We were warned it was in a "roof (rough) neighborhood." But the teachers were wonderful, the kids were taught Bible stories and they opened each day with prayer! The headmaster took our kids under his wing and made sure they were integrated into the school quickly. They were each inundated with friends and invitations.

Dee attended classes in the King's Manor, built in the 1600's, and his workshops were in the York Minster (built in about 1100) where they studied the restoration of stained glass, among other crafts. The older kids took unfamiliar subjects like Latin, and were placed in 4th year French classes (they'd never studied French) because they had no lower levels. They learned cricket in Games and now understand the British education system and terms like O Levels. Life Lesson: Modern doesn't mean better.

Scarcroft Primary School, York
,

Scarcroft Green

Kings Manor, Part of University of York

5. Never sell your kids short! In fact I learned to follow their lead. They jumped into experiences just because their friends were doing it. I'd always heard, "Well if your friends walked off a cliff, would you do it, too?" I'll let you judge for yourself:

Community Dance Festival (we're on the right)


Community Christmas Panto (Pantomime or Play w/ cross dressing leads--very traditional)

Life Lesson: It's OK to do things you've never done before, and might never do again. Don't compromise your standards, but jump in with both feet, and be a good sport.

Major Life Lesson: There is a world full of hard-working, God-fearing, family-loving people who are very different from me. They are trying to make the world better by living decent lives, that are different from mine. The world does not revolve around me, or the USA. I am not better. Differences make us interesting, and similarities make us strong. Other people don't want to be like me, any more than I want to be like them, so I won't presume to force my ideals on them. I will cram myself full of all the goodness they share with me, and I will be a better person. Now, I consider that understanding a good education.

To be continued....