Thanksgiving in London

Today is Thanksgiving. As I get ready to head to work, I take pleasure in reading everyone’s posts about the holiday – Macy’s Day Parade, the football, the food, the shopping….I got to thinking (a bit earlier this year) just how significant this time of the year is to us and reflecting on all that’s happened over the last year and what’s to come...

In one year (and a bit) you can make a bittersweet decision to change your life as you know it and embark on a great adventure. You can feel a plethora of emotions – anxiety, nerves, sadness as you say goodbye to your nearest and dearest including your beloved car, sheer excitement that you are following your dreams. You can discover that in pursuing your dream you’ll willingly do things that only a few weeks ago would be inconceivable - like getting up at the crack of dawn and traveling  2 + hours 1 way to work. You can reconnect with an old friend and dance to nursery rhymes with the next generation. You can get a bit tipse and debate the whims of life and the ever important bucket list with your cousins. You can have your runs high-jacked by small children and head to the playground. You can experience disappointment that you never see any of those people who were so keen for you to move to your new city. You can have a huge sense of relief to know that the people you will spend 40 hours a week with are some of the best nutters you’ve ever met. You can showcase your hidden DIY talents to stunned family members. You can find the perfect flat for yourself and bask in your great find especially when it’s in one of the worst cities for real-estate. You can further gloat when you successfully smuggle in your contraband cats and manage to hide them from several engineers and the building managers months later. You can travel home for the holidays & experience sheer bliss at hanging out with those you said 'see you soon' to a few months back & indulge in all the goodies you can’t get in your new city. You can go jet-skiing in Mexico on Christmas Day. You can miss home and all its comforts in a way that you never thought possible & question every decision you made about moving but when it’s time to say good-bye to home and head back to your new city, you can rest easy knowing  you made the right decision. You can laugh until you cry with your new friends, have a bit of banter with much loved comedians, throw stones into the sea with your baby cousin, discover your new city’s hidden secrets, raise a glass or two in a converted church, come face to face with ancient history, sample the Manischewitz & celebrate the best damn showgirl you’ve ever met, share your new city with visitors from home, learn to take the snarky comments about your home country in stride, fall in love for the second time in your life with the city you have wanted to visit for years & have the time of your life with one of your closest friends. A few short weeks later, you can have your heart broken as you watch that same city come under attack. You can say ‘mission accomplished’ after successfully pulling off a surprise visit home for an epic birthday.

In one year (and a bit) you can move to London and have an absolute whirlwind of a year. In one year (and a bit) your great adventure can come to a screeching halt and your life can irrevocably change.

1 month ago today I lost my Miss Kitte & Griffith, my flat, my possessions – pictures, jewelry, knickknacks, people’s carefully thought-out Christmas presents, my impressive magnet collection…. I lost my friend of 25 years – he came into my life during a time of crisis, traveled the world with me & left me during a time of crisis. He was a bit worn around the edges…to me he was just as pristine as the day he came into my world. His name was SnowFlake. 

Today is Thanksgiving. I am thankful for the gift of life, my family and friends on both sides of the pond, the years I shared with Miss Kitte and Griffith, the opportunity to move to London, my community’s amazing show of support and my £10 faux Converse.  As we head into the holiday season, I look forward to celebrating the simple things in life and seeing what the next chapter of the great adventure holds. ShelleB may be down, but she’s back in the ring and ready for another swing & she wishes everyone back home a warm and wonderful Happy Thanksgiving !!!! =) 

Let's Get British

Six Months

It's still oh so surreal. At times, it seems much, much longer and I question my decision to come here. Other times, usually on my Sunday Funday walk-abouts, I'm beyond dazzled by this great city and all it has to offer.

I was absolutely convinced I would win the big date with my all time favorite DJ, JD. Devastated doesn't begin to describe how I felt when I wasn't chosen. Story of my life ;) I found some solace in the fact that he once again gave me a shout-out one morning after I tweeted him about his song choice. It was MJ...

I took myself out on a hot date for Valentine's Day. I went to the movies aka cinema where cocktails and assigned seating are a thing. So posh, so British. I treated myself to a berry flavored cider and enjoyed the world wide phenomena, 50 Shades of Grey. Best date ever.

Six month work probation periods are a thing. I passed mine. The day I passed, I spoke to a group of 15 year olds. I received phenom feedback from the program manager - the youth of Britain think I'm cool and I feel officially old. I'm always taken aback when I receive positive reviews re my interactions with kids. Perhaps I missed my true calling; summers off would have been great.

Office life here is interesting yet not that different from Corporate America. Water-cooler chats are coded as time for tea, an actual 9-5 work day and work from home Fridays exist for most - not me, vacationing like its your job, cut-throatness not so cleverly hid behind passive aggressive British politeness...I can't quite place what differentiates the two environments but I'm sure it'll come to me.

Twice in two weeks, the power went out on my street. The whole street. The main road into Central London. Both times, stores casually closed and stuck signs on the doors saying sorry no electricity. Not a word about revenue loss, inconvenience, efforts being made so it doesn't happen again occurred. It took three hours for power to be restored the second time. I sipped my Coors Light by candlelight and made immediate plans to invest in a torch aka flashlight.

A week and a half later, my tv reception went out. After not having a tv for a week, I was told to buy an indoor ariel aka antenna. I've spent plenty of time over the last few weeks, taking it to the old skool & finding the perfect position for the 'rabbit ears' to pull in a signal. The elusive property manager showed up last night with the tv technician to have a look - apparently they've identified the problem and it will be resolved in the next day or two. Given his track record, I won't hold my breath.

Apparently I've moved to a far-flung remote village that sometimes masquerades as one the wealthiest, most sophisticated cities in the world.

I've successfully (knock on wood) managed to hide the cats when some technician or another came by the apartment to sort things out. I enlist the full help of the gods that my luck doesn't run out anytime soon. My nerves can't take anymore random visits. Neither can Griff's anxiety. #firstworldproblems

One sunny Sunday, I survived a sinkhole's assassination attempt but forgo a sneaker. As sad as I was to lose my New Balance kicks, I had to laugh at the predicament I found myself in. Only I would go for a run at Hampstead Heath all in the name of a good cause and lose a sneaker. Covered in mud, rocking one shoe - I strolled the 1.5 miles back home with no shame in my game. Boss.

My first non-work related night out on the town was a smashing success. Soho was just what the doctor ordered. I successfully avoided the scene of where mine and Nurse Sher's most infamous crime to date occurred. It was a school night. I'm sure I'll return.

London runners are more obnoxious than NYC runners. I didn't think that was possible, but the miniature backpacks they all run with gives them the slight edge.

I'm delighted to report that on any given day, there's a strong chance you'll encounter a kilted gentleman.

Dinner Date.

I used the expression fooking hell in a spot on Midland accent. My cousin was suitably impressed.

Most days, I pay no mind to cashiers calling me love, dahlang or pet. On rare occasions, I stare at them with a puzzled/troubled expression on my face. For people who are known the world over for being conservative and emotionally challenged, they are awfully free with the terms of endearment and I wonder how they address people they actually care for. Hey asshole, I love you so much...?? I thought about John and Shirl and was horrified to realize that in affection, they called each other by different names and only dahlang when they were annoyed or taking the piss aka making fun of each other. Mind boggled.

Baggers at the grocery store do not exist here. Cashiers do not assist with the bagging here. Lines are always backed up. It's wonderfully inefficient. Using the self-checkout is not an option unless you want to give up your soul. To keep it even more interesting, the store provided plastic bags come with holes in them. You've got a 25% chance a bag will survive the trip home. Longchamp, Louis Vuitton, North Face - I've seen them all used to safely transport groceries home. The whole system used to infuriate me. Now I loathe those that have not mastered the art of a bagging - shitty plastic or designer bags aside.

Five months into London life, I finally bought a hoover aka vacuum. Originally priced at £130, I picked it up during a sale for £70. It doesn't work.

It never ceases to amaze me that we find friends in the most unexpected places. Magic.

The Canary Wharf London Underground staff beyond bring it with their daily inspirational quotes. Starting the day off with a smile, never gets old.

I went out for drinks by London Bridge one evening. I shared a bottle of wine with someone. A bottle of wine. No beer, no whisky. A bottle of wine.

I must confess, I find myself using expressions such as fab, brilliant/brill, well done you, lovely, etc. more often than not. I even used the word mate instead of friend once.

My American accent has been the cause of a few snubs at the more snooty watering holes. Haters gonna hate and I'm gonna keep it moving.

I went back to my old stomping grounds for an afternoon/night out and it was awesome. As we strolled the Edgeware Road enjoying the fragrant hookah smells & visited the touristy pubs by Paddington, I was reminded of Franko's big adventure in London nine years ago. Life is wonderfully mysterious and unexpected.

As the weather warms, the gents of London are getting their legs out. Yes, the gents are getting their legs out. Much like the trousers, the shorts are shockingly snug and slightly indecent in terms of length. And they wonder why the infamous question, British or gay exists.

Strolling through Little Venice and enjoying a glass of vino in the early Spring sun with a new found friend is priceless.

A little rain could never dampen St.Patrick's Day celebrations. The pub boasted a roaring fire, drinks were to be had, songs were to be sung, blarney was to be spun, Chinese food was to be eaten. Eire would have approved.

Friday pub lunches.

When I moved to England, I had three vices. I cold turkied dippity dip and have been clean for six months. In grand tradition, I attended mass on Ash Wednesday and by divine intervention decided to actively partake in Lent. I gave up Diet Pepsi, which extended to Diet Coke, Pepsi Max, Coke Zero, etc. I have not once caved. I have one vice left. Every morning I wake up convinced that day will be the day it stops but by the time I get home, I decide that the following day will be the day. Can't win them all I guess.

Instead of saying thank you to the paper boy tonight, I said cheers love.

Miss Kitte has adjusted to London Life well. She continues to enjoy the pigeons that fly by our building and seems to be utterly fascinated by all the comings and goings on our street. Griffith is still struggling but doing better. He's not bovered by the pigeons or the street scene. He's more interested in clawing the pieces of furniture I don't own and jeopardizing my security deposit. He's lucky he's so handsome.

Breathing here is expensive. Work has become reminiscent of life in NY. I've yet to adopt a routine work-out plan.

I am going on a sea-side adventure with my family over the Easter holiday.

I am going up North for a weekend to see one of my favorite Scottish/Indian comedians.

I am going down South to Wales to visit friends that are like family.

I am going to see one of my favorite Irish comedians in London.

I am going to Paris in September.

To answer the inferred questions in The National's epic anthem England, Yes I'm somewhere in London loving my life in the rain; Yes, I'm somewhere in London walking merrily.

London Life

Day 113 (this is not an accurate calculation)

I am now in possession of something I was sorely lacking - patience.

After a lifetime of dealing with the Brits and four years of intensive training courtesy of Big Blue, you would think I would have been better prepared. I've stopped slamming down the phone and asking my desk-mate what's wrong with this country. 

After a month of the 'engineer' determining whether or not his company can service my building, I now have the internet. I miss my quiet evenings sipping Coors Light and reading the same books over and over. 

Despite several passive aggressive email exchanges, my owner has still not popped by to have a look at the issues I cited. I've grown fond of the flashing light show that takes place every time I turn on the living room lights, so I'm not bothered (pronounced bovered). 

Doing laundry aka the washing is an all out event. 3 hour wash cycles are a thing. So are clotheshorses and irons. All articles of black clothing now have white stripes. I must find a dry-cleaner asap. 

Before I could start enjoying my 'leisure center' aka gym, I had to pass a physical. I will forever wonder what the feedback would have been if I hadn't obtained a passing score. 

Bureaucracy, Process, Health & Safety - that's what the Brits do. 

The phone technician asked me if I was Australian. My American flag throw was chillen on the couch along side my American flag pillow.

In the span of 72 hours, I was called crass - for suggesting a cash prize in a raffle, arrogant - when answering the question 'what are your Christmas plans?' and the quintessential fat, ugly, American - after declining a gentleman's invitation to accompany him to his hotel. Rather harsh the last one considering it was Thanksgiving Day. It's a universal fact, that Americans are hated the world over, but I've never had that hatred directed at me. I wanted nothing more than home - any state would have done. 

A week later, two drunk fools went off at me about how all Americans claim they're Irish. I took my double Jameson shot like a champ, flashed my passports at them and wished them luck in obtaining that visa for the States they so desperately wanted. 

Black Friday happened and the reaction of the Brits was priceless. They struggled terribly with the notion of not politely queuing up. 

I'm delighted to confirm that listening to someone speak French on the regular is as delicious as you think it would be. The phone-book would sound seductive. 

The Jubilee line needs to immediately be renamed.  

I break one of the cardinal rules of the underground daily - I fall in love with an unknown, handsome stranger. 

I continue to be shocked when a colleague calls someone a foreigner or disabled and isn't immediately called into HR. 

I took a selfie with a man passed out on the tube. I woke him to see what stop he needed first. So British. 

I had my first Royal Visit. My little cousins and I got trapped on my rooftop - the CCT tape clearly hasn't been reviewed yet. We went ice-skating, drank mulled wine, paid Big Ben a visit, strolled the Thames & someone may or may have not drunk wine out of a teacup. Excellent visit all around. 

I got a shout-out on Free (pronouned Fwee) Radio from my all-time favorite DJ, JD. Besides moving to the UK, it was the highlight of my year. 

If you convert £s to $S, I paid almost $400 for a haircut and highlights. Thanks London. 

In 2.5 weeks, I went to Dublin, New York, Mexico, Arizona and Connecticut. When I got to Grand Central and met a friend by the clock, I had to remind myself that I had in fact moved to England and this was no longer my norm. I was as annoyed as ever walking through Times Square the next day. The West was beyond amazing - I must confess, the more I visit in my advanced age, the less eager I am to leave. I witnessed a man appreciating his life's work in Mexico - it took my breath away. It snowed in Connecticut & even though it dampened my plans, it made me smile. 

I was as sad as I predicted I would be when I left the States and have struggled terribly to settle into life in London since coming back. Retrospect - it'll get you every time.    

Miss Kitte and Griffith were completely in love with our country home and were not pleased about the move to London. Miss Kitte is adjusting back to city living and adores watching the pigeons that fly by our building every morning. Griffith is not having any of it. 

I spoke to one person on my birthday. 

My team surprised me with a birthday goodie bag - crazy cat lady themed gifts and dinero to see a show in the West End. They know me so well. 

The UnDateables. 

Getting paid once a month sucks. 

I have not dippity dipped since September.  

I took a stroll through Regent's Park recently. Gents playing Rugby never gets old. 

Greenwich mansions have nothing on some of the digs here.  

Super Bowl Sunday means napping at 5pm, a midnight kick off, beans on toast and Pims for snacks, going to bed at 4am and waking up for work at 6am. 

My all-time favorite DJ, JD gave me another shout-out this morning after I tweeted him about the song he played. It was Berlin's Take My Breath Away. 

I have yet to plan my trip to Paris. I have yet to rendezvous with any of the peeps. I miss everything that is home; I think about it more often than not. 

I never wake up dreading work. Despite the awful train service, I never flip out. I sleep. 

To answer the inferred questions in The National's epic anthem England, Yes I'm somewhere in London loving my life in the rain; Yes, I'm somewhere in London walking merrily.

 

This Is England

On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, 511 said goodbye to life in the States to give living the dream a go in England.

That was one month and fifteen days ago....

Commuting here is beyond awful. It's ridiculously expensive and the service is atrocious. A leaf on the track causes chaos for hours. Those of us in the house who can handle the o'dark thirty wake up call, bravely face the dawn and the leaves..I take back every bad word I said about Metro North.

I've become a pro at standing in-line. The Brits do love a good queue, bless them.

I take immense pleasure in the fact that gentleman still exist. A large number of them can be be found scattered throughout the underground. Sadly none can be found on the 6:13 or 6:49 London-Midland train. As a result, I've become bbfs with the floor of Coach C, aka the bathroom car.

Saying that, I find it deeply disturbing that a great number of gents run around dressed in extremely tight clothing. There's nothing remotely attractive about a man in super skinny trousers - never mind the risk to securing future generations..

Cosmos in a can are a thing. I'm pretty sure I saw Lance Armstrong with one.

There are beautiful people everywhere.

I've raised a glass with the Lemur of Leicester (the poor man's Wolf of Wall St), met a British sailor who renounced his British citizenship and now lives in Cali - he owns three homes and a horse named Star - he's taken to life in the States like a pro, an x convict - his claim to fame and the best thing from Wales that's ever happened to London - there was very little in the way to support this, but gotta love the enthusiasm.

A whole month went by before I saw a Ginger. It was Ed Sheeran singing his new song on the X-Factor - my heart simply melted. Two days later, I saw a real life Ginger - damn that Ed Sheeran.

I've resigned myself to never having a good hair day again :/

Casual Fridays bring out some interesting outfits.

A case of Saturday homesickness led me to being the proud owner of an American flag onesie.

Love me some Free (pronounced fwee) Radio.

I Wanna Dance With Somebody continues to withstand the test of time and distance; never fails to get the crowd going. The DJ and I killed it on stage. Meghan Trainor's All About that Bass has similar results. My cousin was highly impressed with my performance. The good people of Rugby are eagerly awaiting an encore.

Miss Kitte and Griffith have adjusted well to clean, simple living, although they miss Friday date nights and Sunday Fundays. They've grown fond of the country life and have vehemently expressed their opposition to going back to city living.

It feels as though I've been with my team for years. I couldn't have hand-picked a better group of nutters if I tried.

My first week in London, I was repeatedly told how how amazing my Irish accent was. Now I'm accused of being Canadian almost daily.

I live for the weekends. One of my little cousins give me sh*t for being a Red Devil and my other little cousin hijacks my runs. We go to the playground. I offer no resistance.

Gogglebox.

I'm so over getting confused or dirty looks when I explain to a cashier that my card is a sliding kind and I need to sign.

Reconnecting with an old friend is awesome, but dancing to nursery rhymes with an old friend's baby is priceless.

I now drink Peroni when I'm out. The pubs of London need to get on the Coors Light train.

My rent is more than I wanted to pay. I've been forced to do manual labor and assaulted by a frog and raspberry bush. I'm out of Chapstick and Advil. I would pay good money for a sip of a Dunkin Donuts hazelnut coffee or a brief stint behind the wheel.

I smile all the time.

To answer the inferred questions in The National's epic anthem England, Yes I'm somewhere in London loving my life in the rain; Yes, I'm somewhere in London walking merrily.

More than "Just a Dog"

I grew up less than 1/2 a mile away from my local police station. I was never fascinated by the human police, but I was intrigued by the K-9 unit. I was a little girl with a love of all animals and was raising a German Shepard/Rottweiler mix, so the outside kennel I would pass everyday, always intrigued me. The DARE program would visit my school and I was always excited that I was able to interact with the police dogs I would occasionally see in that kennel. I understood that those police dogs were different than my dog; they were more than a little girl's "friend."

The occasional seeing-eye dog I would see was held in the same regard. That dog was different than my "friend." That dog was someone's eyes; the light to someone's dark. Those police and seeing-eye dogs were more than just someone's "friend." Those dogs were part of a team; a lifeline.

Fast-forward 15+years and "working" dogs are much more common in my everyday life than they were whilst I was growing up. I see these "working" dogs in action at least 1x a day in NY's Grand Central Station. Sometimes I see the yellow lab puppy getting into trouble by his fellow officer for laying down on the job, sometimes it's the National Guard soldier, a German Shepard, assessing the people with tail wagging & tongue hanging out and sometimes it's the seeing-eye dog helping a person navigate his/her way through the throngs of people. I don't think twice about the police/military dog fulfilling a duty or the seeing-eye dog assisting his partner. They are all on a mission; playing a small, yet huge part in day to day life.

A few months ago, that mission become personal. A service dog became a part of my family and my life. I'm humbled anew by the dedication and devotion that goes into training these service dogs. Pardon the pun, but there is an army of people working to ensure these dogs are experts in their fields and are ready for anything/anyplace that duty dictates. They are dogs yes, but they are so much more. They are our security forces. They are our bomb & drug detectors. They are our eyes and ears. They are a friend. They are someone's confidence, pride & dignity. They are more than a dog. They are someone's partner.  And as such, they and the person/organization that they work with, deserve the up most respect.

I'm deeply saddened to know that these dogs and the partners they work with aren't being treated with the dignity and respect they deserve. Please join me in standing up for these amazing human and K-9 partnerships, in any form they come in. To some they might just be a dog, but to those they work with and serve, they are a lifeline.

Steve Jobs

There are no words to describe Steve Jobs and his impact on the world. He was more than a visionary, more than a revolutionist. He was Steve Jobs and his loss will be felt for quite some time, but his legacy will never die.

RIP Steve Jobs

Acceptance

On the journey of life, you meet all kinds of people.Some you like.Some you don't.Some stay with you a spell,while others quickly pass through.When I met her,I never knew how much she would come to mean to me or the impact she'd have on my life.She never questioned the whys or hows I came into her life;she just accepted.Not only accepted me,but those that came with me.Always willing to share a story or 2 with them.Embraced them because they were a part of me.Now she's gone.

St.Patrick's Days,Christmases,Bdays,Lazy Sunday afternoons; all with her.Suddenly she was gone.She was facing a battle none of us could prepare for.

Now her battle is over.She's on a new adventure.The greatest adventure humans can ever participate in.The unknown.I wish nothing but god-speed,comfort & peace for her.For me,I wish for 1 more walk on the beach, 1 more bday toast, 1 more Christmas dinner, 1 more anything...And to her I say, thank you.Thank you for your gift of unshakable embracement,acceptance and friendship.May you rest in peace.