I Wanna Ride the Pony.

Last weekend we had great fun checking out Old Harlow and Churchgate and found a house that was for sale that we loved. When we came home and looked it up on-line and almost gagged on our cheap UK wine (how we miss being clobbered by the LCBO back in Canada– not!) when we saw the listed price of 399,000 pounds! Good grief, Charlie Brown, why are houses so expensive here? And secondly, how do the average Brits afford to buy a place? I do find that rather disappointing in that we (okay well mostly me) would like to own again. I often struggle with the whole rent versus own dilemma but after Ricky spent 12 years working endlessly on our place in Douro, I know he is not eager to take on another “do it yourselfer” anytime soon.

When I stopped in Churchgate to ask the local butcher if I could take a picture of his shop, he asked where we were from (gosh people are so friendly here too by the way). When I explained that we were Canadians, he asked if we were associated with the Memorial University of Newfoundland’s campus in Harlow. I had heard that there was a Canadian connection but wasn’t sure until we chatted with him. His girls were adorable with their ratty hair and unmatched outfits. They stared at us while we chatted with their father and the oldest reminded me of a young ratty-haired Molly in her cropped Hello Kitty t-shirt and black patent shoes. She’d be embarrassed by her lack of style and disheveled hair now, no doubt!

After touring the little village, we just had to wet our whistles in the local pub. I felt like a celebrity as we sat and sipped on our tea, as the locals got into a staring match. The couple sitting behind us at another table gawked when we ordered our drinks; another at the bar examined us when we chatted with the bartender. The young lad behind the bar had to mind his head on the beams in the low ceiling and they had to stoop when they came through the door from the kitchen. He didn’t ogle at us and we had a good discussion about the dangers of his job and how Rick and I, obviously due to our small stature, would be ideal as barkeeps in there. I think he found our discussion, about work related injuries, amusing.

Then on Sunday, we got out on our bikes (mine incidentally was sorely lacking in the gear changing and brakes department and we rode for over an hour before I finally got cranky about my bike. Rick didn’t realize it was not up to snuff and was wondering what all the whining was about – Gee go figure) and hit the nearby trails and stopped to pat the ponies in the fields along the way. We both commented on how much happier we are living here in Harlow compared to Dartford. I think it is our close proximity to the countryside and the area being more open and green.

The other wonderful surprise for us is the fall colours in the trees and the collection of fallen leaves that we just didn’t get in Kent. As Canadians, we get the most spectacular colours in the fall and being in England last time lead me to believe that we would not experience that again. So when the trees here started turning and they don’t go bright red like in Ontario but the yellows are brilliant I was so friggen happy. I wanted to scoop up the leaves, toss them over my head, and jump in a pile like a freckle-faced 10 year old fool. It is funny how simple things like that can bring you such joy.

When we had biked to the point that I had to stop and walk instead of ride, given its condition, Rick could hear the pub on our street calling us and we made our way home. But no bike ride is complete without some sort of injury and I greeted the hedge down the street with my face and the seat of my bike greeted my woo hoo with the same eagerness that my mouth expressed loudly my sheer displeasure with the tumble that I was sure it would be some time before I could venture out and do this again. As I hobbled the remainder of the way back home, Rick waiting with a look of “what is the problem now” written on his face, I knew the next drink was not going to be tea. And before I talk about the pub next I tell you when Rick took my bike out for a spin while I sat inside with a bag of frozen peas on my well “you know” he told me he didn’t realize how rough it really was and apologized for not sorting this when he first did the maintenance when we bought them. And like the good man that he is, he got right to straightening out the kinks but I still was not feeling the love on the concept of jumping back on that horse just yet to try out the improvements. I’ll save that for next weekend’s touring.

So the pub that is 88 steps from our house is just a peach. There are three sections to the pub and each would cater to whatever type of atmosphere appeals to you (pool table, loud music, and boisterous drinkers in one end and the restaurant serving 2 for one meals in the other). We like the Snug which is in the centre. It is quiet and cozy with a fireplace and leather chairs and dark wooden beams on a low ceiling (just like the pub in Churchgate). Book your parties here, the chalkboard sign says, and Rick thinks he would like to celebrate his 60th. I think he just wanted to be able to have a nap in there. I’ll keep that in mind, I tell him. I’ve got some serious work to do then, my friends. We chatted once again with a female bartender and she asked where we were from. Funny how your nationality comes up on a regular basis here and at home we hardly give it any notice. I don’t mind to be honest. It gives you an ice breaker and an opener when speaking to a stranger. I like that. I like even more that we can explore new places again too even if it means I’ll be choosing padded seats for a while.

Mind the Gap

Standing on the Tube platform, oddly, I am reminded of a scene from the children’s movie, “James and the Giant Peach”. James is lying on a beach with his mom and dad having a lovely time and looking up at the clouds. But suddenly, the wind picks up and a dark cloud with the image of a rhino is charging through the sky and James’ parents are taken by the storm leaving him behind. And like the charging rhino in the movie, the carriage approaches with the same force. One moment there is a remarkable stillness as I wait along with the throng of other commuters and the next a distance rumble tells me it is on its way. A wind builds and my scarf dances and a light shines out of the tunnel. The train bursts into view so violently that I wonder if it will stop. But it halts; people collect and wait anxiously for the doors to open. Will I get a seat? We all scurry into its belly perhaps ignorant of its strength and volatility. Mind the doors, please. Move right down into the carriage and use all available space. Mind the doors. Mind the closing doors. And allow ourselves to get swept along as it travels to its next stop.

The past two weeks, I have felt a bit like James. The HR job, that I was so pleased to have secured, turned into a major disappointment. The woman, who was assigned to be my manager, took great pleasure in picking apart everything I did, expected me to automatically know where to find things and what I needed to do to accomplish my tasks, and instead of being grateful for my assistance was generally irritable and impatient with me. The icing on the cake was when she asked me to update some information on applicants in their spreadsheet and when I simply asked when I pointed to the various documents in the directory which one I should be using her response was “why is this here?” and “what is that doing there?” and “you forgot to add the details on this” while she took over my computer and banged up and down on the cursor arrows going over “my” mistakes. Hold the phone, Aunt Sponge, I just asked which spreadsheet I should be using.

The daily travels to London, as well, were long, hot, and taxing. The trains from Harlow are excellent in that we are on the Stansted Airport express route which means that they run often and fast to London but the challenge was the additional journey once I got off the train and entered the world of Tube travel. As Canadians, we are accustomed to our space. We live in a large and spacious country and we live, for the most part, in large and spacious homes. There is something , for me anyway, that is not quite right about being so close to a stranger that you can tell what they had for lunch. People sneeze and they cough into the carriage without covering their faces. Their oversized purses and hard covered briefcases often jab you in the back, butt, or the shin depending on how you are pinned in the Tube next to them. And when you think that there simply can’t be any more room for another passenger, the train stops and several slink in and join the band of smoked oysters in this underground can. It gets particularly hot, stuffy, and smelly in there as well and I learned to remove my outside coat before my train arrives. There have been times that I have had to put my scarf around my nose and mouth as someone next to me smelt so awful, it made me nauseous.

Getting a seat is also a luxury and people will toss their manners, if they had any to begin with, out the window and have no hesitate beating you to a place to sit down. I have been bumped, knocked, and at one point when I was actually removing my pack and clearly assuming the seated position, challenged for a seat. Now I can’t say that all travellers are this rude as there have actually been two instances where a man, a very kind one in my opinion, has offered his seat to me. Chivalry is nonexistent in the commuting world. And it is not that I am expecting that a man gives up his seat for a lady but gosh darn it does he have to practically leap and stumble over folks feet in order to get to a place before me? Then there are the unexpected and ever present delays that occur and you just never know how long it is really going to take you to get from point A to B on any given day. Sometimes it’s a slower train ahead that stalls the process, or someone’s bag has become stuck in the closing doors, or for reasons I just can’t wrap my head around no matter how unhappy or unsettled I may have felt in my life, decide to throw themselves in front of the train and experience what I imagine to be an excruciating death on the tracks.

So when the doors opened on Friday after I had done my final stint with Sponge (I’d had enough earlier in the week and gave my notice) and a gush of recycled air from the platform blew on my face, I felt as though I was leaving a bizarre world where anything can happen behind. But the Tube gets in your head. It can make you hard and put you in survival mode, of sorts. I know for me it heightened my need to create my space when I am out in the public and however convenient public transportation may be here, I’d like to avoid that raging rhino and walk as much as possible to get me where I need to go. Because I’ll mind those doors, mind the closing doors alright. No problems.

A Soft Place to Land

I’ve learned that as quickly as you have dismantled your life around you, you can rebuild it again. I’ve also learned how important making a home comfortable is to me. Purging our place in Douro was gratifying to a point but once it became an empty shell, I didn’t want to live there anymore. It felt hollow and cold and the fact that I was there by myself made my urge to move on even greater. It is true that a house is just a house and that it is the people, the love, the joy, and the trials and tribulations that make it home. For me, home has to be a soft place to land and as quirky as our place is in Harlow it has been a good landing so far. I am happy to have been able to move on. Quirky Manor is a three bedroom mid terrace house that was probably built in the 50’s. The walls are solid and it is difficult to hang pictures. The good news is this means that unlike our place in Dartford we can’t hear the neighbours sneeze. There is also lots of space for storage which is unusual for many British houses. I guess the good part about that is that it discourages you from being an over consumer. I think of all the things we had in Douro and in the end did we really need them? Probably not. But having adequate storage to put linens, dishes, and clothing is certainly a bonus here.

The bathroom arrangement is interesting in that there is a toilet and sink in one room and right next to it another separate room with a sink, a tub and shower. Both are quite tiny and neither have matching flooring. In fact, the one with the toilet has a sink that is so petite Rick’s hands barely fit it in when he washes them. We also tend to spill water on the floor as a result. A small mat on the floor will remedy that. There is no place to store cosmetics and shampoos so we finally found a three tiered free standing storage units that we can tuck under the pedestal sink. The Brits are very inventive when it comes to making the best use of space and it has been fun being creative with ways to do just that with our kooky water closets.

The furniture in the lounge has posed a challenge. They are rather large and surprisingly comfortable black faux leather and resemble a psychiatrist’s furniture. And interestingly enough, our landlord is just that! Things were tickyboo until we bought our tellie (an awesome 40” Sharp flat screen at a terrific price in Sainsbury which is our local grocery store) and had to put it on a stand and then scratch our heads and stand back and say gee how do we position all this now so we can actually see the screen? Well with some creative thinking and some shifting around, I think we have it figured out. Now when we watch the news I feel like I am looking up the announcer’s nostrils. I have never had such an excellent picture and it almost makes me feel boogly-eyed watching it. We are still on the hunt for a proper entertainment unit but for now the arrangement we have seems to be working just fine. Now next to the ultra modern living room furniture we have this interesting Victorian dining room furniture which has taken some getting used to. The table is round and at first glance looks like it is covered in glass but in actual fact has a plastic top (so you have to be careful putting hot dishes on the surface). The wine coloured plush chairs are comfortable enough but the style is just so formal that we chuckle whenever we sit down for a meal. We feel somewhat regal when we dine. It certainly is not the type of set we would spend our money on but they are functional and will provide for great conversation when we have guests over. I’ll tell them my Aunt Betty and Uncle Phil were cleaning out Windsor Castle and asked if I could take it off their hands. The kitchen has a lovely window that looks out onto the back garden. I like to stand at the sink and eat my breakfast as the morning sun spills into the room. There is also a little breezeway between the kitchen and the patio with doors that have big window panes and I love to open this up and let the fresh air in. There certainly are more cupboards in this kitchen compared to our last British home and I have ample space to do my food preparation. Our landlord put in a new hob and I am enjoying cooking with gas which provides a quicker and more even heat. The house is so quiet and aside from the ticking clock (gee this reminds me of Douro) the fridge every once in a while makes this funny noise that actually sounds like someone quietly farting. It would freak me out a bit when I first moved here when I would get up in the night to get a drink. The wall clock would be making its rhythmical tick and all of a sudden “perffff” and I swear to god I thought there was someone else in the room.

I’ve taken some pictures of Quirky Manor so you can see things like the tiny bathroom sink, oh yes and the interesting ventilation system in the window for when you have a shower (you pull the strings to open and then close it again), Aunt Betty and Uncle Phil’s dining set, the back yard which Rick has only just recently raked and turned up a tube of toothpaste, an ashtray, and three spoons and a fork along with the dead leaves, and has since mowed, evened out with new top soil and reseeded with grass seed. I have also taken some shots of the pub which is only 88 steps (Rick counted them out when we went for a pint last Saturday night), the houses in our area (one which caught my eye when I was out for a run on Sunday morning – such a contrast with the pink house and the autumn coloured vine and wispy tree in the yard), the hall runner which we picked up at North Weald market, and our dealio on the round coffee table from a nearby “blow your mind away with the prices and selection” charity shop.

Goodbye My Friend

Three more sleeps. Only three more sleeps left in the house until it closes this Friday. The kids are all away at school now and Rick has been in the UK for three almost four weeks. The house is mostly empty and there are only a few items left to tuck into our new Ontario home which incidentally is 10' x 15'. Now that's downsizing! The stairs sound hollow when I clunk up and back down again. The kids' rooms are all empty. I wander from room to room and picture Keaton with his head buried in a sports game on his PSP, a rhythmic thumping comes from Channing's room as he listens to dubstep, and the blow dryer whirs in Molly's and above she sings along to Michelle Branch or Taylor Swift. The house is silent now. It has become a shell. I cry mostly because it is hard to let go and say goodbye but also because I am grateful for what we had here as a blended family. We beat the odds in these rooms. We meshed together and raised our children like a traditional family. Not many kids from split families had the benefits of stability, strong values, and mutual love and respect. And yet as difficult as the last three weeks without Rick have been I am anxious to move on. He has settled nicely in his new school and so amazed at the difference in not only the behaviour of the students but the general positive and supportive nature that permeates the building. I am so happy that he has found a place where he will thrive as a teacher. Goodness knows he deserves this. He is such a dedicated and talented teacher and I want nothing more than to see him content and appreciated as an outstanding professional. Working for two years at the Leigh in Dartford was his bootcamp and now is the time to reap the benefits of his labour. Just writing about him makes me realize how strange it has been being here without him. We have never been apart for more than a week and this has been a true test and testament to the strength of our marriage. He has been busy making our new house in Harlow a home and each day he writes an email so I have this to read when I wake in the morning. I miss his laugh and I miss his arms around me. Life carries on, no doubt, but there is just something odd about closing out the house, our house, without him. Having said that, I am almost there. There is such a sense of relief when I come home and see the "sold" sign at the end of the drive.

This means we can turn the page on this chapter of our lives and see what the next one brings. I am so proud of what I have been able to accomplish in order to make this all possible. It is a time that I am most grateful for being focused and organized and my daily lists and weekly planning have proved to be invaluable. There has certainly been no time for being flaky or scattered. But there has been time for tears, catching up with good friends, tying up loose ends, and taking stock of what I have and what I have had. So the next time I write I will be settled back in England. The house will be sold and I will have said my last goodbyes. Goodbye, my friend. We got off to a bumpy start but you grew on me over the years and I was able to call you home. Now it's time to say farewell. Goodbye, my friend. xo

In All Things Be Grateful

Three weeks have passed since we moved back into our home. We had our homecoming party last weekend and it felt amazing to see all our good friends again and we enjoyed hosting in our expansive house. It really is ideal for entertaining and when I think of our tiny spot in Britain, I am reminded of how fortunate we are to have such a fabulous home in which to live. The tunes were cranked and we didn’t have to worry about offending our neighbours, folks mingled and wandered without feeling crowded, the drinks and food flowed, and at one point I felt as though I was dreaming.

It is still all so surreal being in England one day and then back here in Canada living our old life but being two very different people. It is as though body and spirit were in different locations. Not sure if this makes sense to any of you but oddly enough it also got me thinking about if I felt like this only after two years living in a relatively similar country how might it feel for someone that has lived in a third world country for an extended period of time, fighting in Afghanistan, or in captivity. How on earth did I make this correlation, you are probably asking? Well, I think it speaks to the awakening that one experiences when they step outside of the box of their regular lives. Again, our lives in England were comfortable and interesting but we were separated from our families, long-time friends and our home and for me it was that time apart that made me reflective and being reunited I feel grateful. Be grateful. Now there is a good motto.

And speaking of grateful, having a steady income again (vs. the unpredictable pay as a temp) is certainly handy especially since Rick is unemployed. Although the first few days when he was dropping me off at work, I would whine, “No, Daddy, don’t make me go to school. I don’t want to go.” And he would shove me off with a “there, there” and I‘d walk in half happy to be with friends (and taking tap dance lessons again) and half irritated by what I was missing back in London at EY. Gosh, I loved working there. The job was challenging and fun and the folks were great. They worked hard and partied harder and I had no problems fitting in. And now that I have worked in the private sector where results are the order of the day, being stuck in a process driven environment is not what I can truthfully see myself in for a long time to come. But for now, it is meeting the purpose of giving us time at home and time to reassess how we truly do want to move forward particularly since teaching jobs in our area are just not happening for Rick.

And on the note of moving forward Rick has certainly not been idle. Every day he makes a list of things to do for the day such as clean windows (and gosh we have a LOT of them), cut the grass, fix the furnace, unpack boxes we had stored upstairs, and he is literally working from the time I leave for work at 8:00 am until I return again at the end of the day. The place is looking so tidy and a marked improvement on what we first encountered in August when our tenant was on the end of his lease. What a relief, by the way, to get him out of the house. And as a side note, we are still trying to recover several of our missing kitchen items from him. Rick seems more patient with the man that I am. Personally, I would still like to find that ugly dog I had requested in my previous blog entry to come and chew his butt off (or a few fingers for taking things that clearly don’t belong to him). Speaking of grateful, I should be that he didn't trash the place. And as Rick would say, “are you still carrying that woman on your back” which means I am hanging onto something that I should be letting go. So I’ll move on. Okay, I’ll try to move on and be grateful as well that our move back to Canada was quite seamless and void of major challenges.