Four years

I just looked at the calendar. Four years ago to the DAY I arrived in the UK.

I remember with painful clarity my harrowed plea at the immigration desk at Heathrow.
My whole life was ahead of me. The new life I chose.

And since then, I've worked for that life.

New career doing something I am compelled to do, which feels so right.
Marriage to the man I love and was compelled to never give up on, which feels so right.

I count my blessings today and give myself a bit of a pat on the back. I know how hard it was to get here. And I also know how easy it was too.

And today, Mark & I have the Big Flip charts out ... plotting our course and dreaming and conjuring up what's next.

Anything still seems possible.

Indefinitely

Another UK milestone.

I have a brand spanking new visa in my passport that allows me the right to remain in the UK. Indefinitely.

Literally, that is what it is called. (Indefinite Leave to Remain)

Even though if I leave the UK for more then 2 years, I have to reapply. I guess that was too long of a name for a visa.

Can't kick me out now!

But we better start thinking about Green Cards for Mark for a move back to the US someday.

Whew.

she shoots. she scores!

YEHAW.


I am proud and happy to announce I have passed my UK practical driving test! Sheesh. It was harder than I anticipated and my elation matches. I now realize the USA has wide roads. And lanes in the road Just For Parked Cars. And no roundabouts. And you can cross hand-over-hand when you turn. And you don't use your hand brake at stop lights. And the lights go amber when it is about to turn red (rather than GREEN here!)

I had a nice examiner named Ewan -- a lovely Scottish man in his 50s with a nice kind face and a gentle sense of humour. He calmed me down immediately. I had to parallel park, do a reverse around a corner and drive in all manner of roundabouts and junctions and various obstacles in the road. (At one point it almost felt staged -- I encountered a lady with a baby carriage, a worker on a ladder, construction, the whole works!)

So, a giant WHEW from this 40 year old learner. Even though we don't have a car, it is nice to know I never need to do this again.

"Do you just not like ironing?" A rant about dry cleaning in the UK

 ... asked the 50-something weathered Scottish counter worker as I dropped off and collected 2 weeks worth of items.  Sigh.  Our dry cleaning has become an issue of question, slight scorn and disbelief for many people in Great Britain.  And I am well and truly over it.

It started when we would go to the dry cleaners in Cambridge with mounds of Mark's work shirts. The worker ladies would be quite hassled at the amount and give us strange looks as if we had committed crimes with them and were trying to erase the evidence in soap and water.

And it continues in Scotland.  Our local dry cleaners is Johnsons -- a national chain.  And they are pretty used to us. But on more than one occasion our business brings discussion amongst the staff and patrons. 

Most people are bringing in and collecting 1 or 2 items -- a fancy dress, a suit, a set of curtains. Mark wears 5- 8 shirts a week and is a bit hamper happy and is known to wear a shirt 4 hours and throw it in the dry cleaning pile. So on a normal run, we have like 16 shirts, 4 trousers, a few scarves and a blouse or 2.  We get looks. One fellow customer pensioner aged- lady looked at my load and just started laughing, "My oh my, I have never seen anyone bring so much in before!  Is that a year's worth?"  

And today, the woman at the counter just accusingly saying "So, do you just not like to iron?"

Sigh.  I was not in the mood.  I explained to her that in the US it is quite commonplace in most cities to have business shirts laundered and pressed and not at all uncommon.  She STARTED to say before perhaps twigging that I was indeed American that it was probably because "they have everything done for them in the US." I tried to explain that we really are just the same, but it was a different way of doing things.  I felt myself get defensive and hot.  I hate it when American behaviour gets lumped, especially when the person in question probably has never been there. 

I also explained that it is quite affordable to have shirts done in the US and in fact, my husband actually preferred it to my own meager attempts at ironing.  Wow, do I live in a different country.  She answered "Well if he can afford it honey, let him pay!"  Now granted, Mark IS paying just now, but I didn't appreciate the inference that I clearly was not.

In the end it just underscores the difference perhaps in the mind-sets. Maybe this is a luxury. But we also don't spend our money on cigarettes and lager and the chippie 5 times a week like many folks do in this country.  It is our luxury.  I am not a bad wife because I do not iron my husband's shirts.  The British people as a general rule seem less inclined to spend money on themselves to make life easier.  Americans spend loads of money making their life easier. 

My defensiveness  comes from a place of not wanting to be seen as lazy and if I had more peace in my heart about it, I would just see the dry cleaners of the UK with different sets of priorities and maybe that 30 quid buys beer. Or maybe it pays for food. Or new shoes for their kid. The national average salary is £22k yet living is not really cheaper than in the US.  Money needs to go further. 

So instead of letting this make me feel slighted, I really might try to feel lucky that we can afford to have professionals handle these clothes.  

My rant, like my ironing, is lousy. 

laziest sunday ever

5:09 p.m. and I am still in my jimjams. 

It is the best Sunday ever.  

After a weekend of actual social engagements (thank you PP and Matthew and Dorothy) and more Glasgow home hunting, Mark & I are 10000% flopping.  Working through the day with various TV and snacks.  Toast. I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry ( So dumbly perfect for today) Nap. Frozen pizza. Mary Poppins. Everybody Loves Raymond  season 1 marathon. Mixed Nuts and smoothie. 

The day is giving up the ghost and it is fast becoming too late to put on clothes and wash my face.  

What I should be doing is reading my Life in the UK book, kindly produced by the Home Office to prepare me for my multiple choice Life in the UK test so I may have the Indefinite  Right to Remain.  Catchy visa name, eh?  

My test is tomorrow at 3 p.m. I have (kinda) read the book and paid attention to the House of Commons/House of Lords/Commonwealth info since I really didn't know boo about that stuff. But when it came to How to Get a Doctor, Holidays, Leisure, Money and Credit, I figure I pretty much have made that up as I went along these last 4 years. 

Maybe I'll just put the book under my pillow.