On November 4th, 1994, our United Airlines flight from California touched down at Heathrow airport, bringing my family to the UK. We were arriving on a two-year assignment for my husband’s IT job. It was the beginning of our excellent adventure. It started badly.
We were leaving Santa Barbara, where I grew up, where I met my husband, where we were married and our kids were born. There I had a job I loved, teaching at the University of California. We lived five minutes from the beach and, even better, ten minutes from my parents. The kids were small, blond, and used to going barefoot most of the year. It was a good life in a great place with friends and family all around. But we wanted a chance to live overseas, always had. When Paul was offered the job in London, we jumped. On the Fourth of July the two of us came to check the place out. The city was warm, sunny, drenched in history and greenery and excitement. Friends took us out to dinner in Holland Park, where Madame Butterfly was being performed in the open air. How could we not move here? It was beautiful, enriching, and when you grabbed a bite to eat, you got opera as a side dish. Sign us up.
Four months later, the plane bumped down onto the runway. It was cold, dark and sleeting. The kids were airsick. I still could see my mom waving goodbye at the Santa Barbara airport, crying so hard that she knocked out a filling. We moved into a rented house ahead of our belongings, meaning we ate on a sheet on the floor and the kids spent their long dark afternoons playing with a single tub of Legos. I almost immediately came down with pneumonia, which turned out to be a tenacious case of San Joaquin Valley Fever. Paul was working like a dog and taking care of the kids to boot, and when he took a business trip to South Africa, an airline meal gave him a nearly Medieval case of food poisoning. What had we done?
Twelve revolutions around the sun later, we think we did something wonderful. We’ve had a great time, made terrific friends - English, Irish, Bangladeshi, even Texan - and seen more of the world than we ever dared dream of. The kids are tall, blond, and equally at home on a California beach or the London Underground. I’ve had the chance to fulfill a dream and write for a living. And we’ve had the tremendous, eye-opening privilege of living in a new culture, which helps anyone understand and appreciate their own.
Tonight it’s bangers and mash. And it’s time to go around again. Cheers, everybody.
14 responses so far ↓
Patti // November 5, 2006 at 12:03 am
Happy anniversary, Meg!
On Tuesday, we will celebrate the first anniversary of the finalization of my son’s adoption. Looking back over the past 2 1/2 years, I am amazed that the scared, grieving, angry, stubborn 7 1/2 year old has turned into the funny, articulate, empathetic, stubborn 10 year old who today said, “You know, Mom, if I get any more mature, I might explode,” and flung his video-game character off a cliff 10 times in a row so that my 3 year old godson could win. That was just before pitching a fit worthy of a two year old over having to brush his teeth…. However, our days are no longer dominated by hours-long tantrums and he can handle the kinds of changes and transitions that everyday life brings. He’s still fairly anxious and tends to view the world through the eyes of Chicken Little, but by the next sabbatical I think he’ll be ready for us to try an excellent adventure somewhere in the U. K. Right now, this parenting gig is pretty good and seems less and less like a crazed decision induced by an overdose of “Adoption Stories” on Discovery Health channel.
Meg // November 5, 2006 at 4:23 pm
“You know, Mom, if I get any more mature, I might explode.”
God, how I love boys! What a great story, and what a wonderful anniversary for you all to celebrate. Congratulations!
megs_webmaster // November 6, 2006 at 10:28 am
Well, congrats for lasting that long! Not sure I would have done in your shoes. Still, I’m immensely pleased you like living here so much. Here’s to the next twelve. And one point for the GGU, I think. I’ve noticed this quite a bit, reading other American-generated sites. You refer to Legos. I’ve always been brought up with the knowledge that Lego is Lego, whether plural or singular, like a sheep is a sheep are sheep. A box of Lego. A Lego brick. Some Lego. It’s not a criticism, just an observation. Is this another addition to the “tomayto tomarto” debate? Any thoughts?
Meg // November 6, 2006 at 12:09 pm
See, this is what I mean when I say that living in a new culture is eye-opening. Even with twelve years under my belt and with approximately 42,976 spaceship/pirate/building-block bricks stashed around my house, I didn’t realize that in British usage, “Lego” is both singular and plural. I presume this is an actual difference in idiom between UK and US kids, rather than acquiescence to the Lego Group’s demands that we abide by its trademark. (See the Wikipedia entry for illumination, history and some funny non-toy references to Lego… such as a mathematics article on “The Entropy of Lego” and a link to Homer’s Odyssey. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lego)
Wait… The Lego Group. Its trademark? Their trademark?
Patti // November 6, 2006 at 12:59 pm
Oh! Oh! Language geek moment. Canadian usage is also “Lego.” In Danish, the name for the toy came from the phrase “leg godt” (”play well”). My Danish-born mother carefully explained this to little Patti when the latter opened her first box of red and white bricks on her fourth birthday…and the wee pedant solemnly repeated it to every child she encountered for weeks after.
Mark // November 6, 2006 at 3:52 pm
I’ve returned to the new world, and I can say with heavy conviction that it is ‘Legos’. Anybody who says different is, frankly, WRONG.
Meg // November 6, 2006 at 4:04 pm
Thanks for responding with such insight and…fervor. Me, from now on I’m going with the Latin usage. One Lego, two Legii.
susan // November 6, 2006 at 5:24 pm
Lego. Just Lego. (Mark, what part of the New World are you making that solid, unmoving standing from?)
The Xpresspost delivery truck left a book-shaped package at my doorstep this morning around 8. It’s now noonish in Toronto, but I had other compelling tasks demanding my attention–run screaming to the chiropractor with a sudden back problem, remove the rat carcass from the trap I set in the composter last night.
Once I open the cover of Kill Chain, that will mean an end to anything productive for the rest of the day. And since it’s my grandson’s 2nd birthday today, I really have to be strong…. It will sit by my bed, having bypassed all the other new books on the TBR pile (including Jenny Crusie’s newest, which shows you my priorities are really undergoing a twist) and I will pick it up around 11 p.m., and there will be no rest for the wicked tonight.
susan // November 6, 2006 at 5:29 pm
Oh wait, I just read the back cover…. Find Track Target Kill. Funny how it exactly fits the rat situation (see composter, above). Although I didn’t have to track very far.
Patti // November 6, 2006 at 6:06 pm
Hey, Mark, while you’re in the New World, please watch a news programme with a weather report. That big blank area at the top is another part of the New World whose spelling and usage are somewhere in between the US and the UK. We are fond of the letter “u,” but our cars have trunks and hoods, rather than boots and bonnets (does it mean they are more athletic than fashionable?). We’re also on the other side of a very long, as-yet undefended border and are rendered a little nervous by unequivocal statements from the south. Granted, our statements of patriotism tend to be along the lines of “as Canadian as possible, under the circumstances,” but we like to retain our little quirks (like Lego, just Lego).
Hmmm, to make a plural in Danish, often “er” is added to the end of the word, so that might make it Leger (don’t really know what to do with words that end in vowels other than “e”), which would make the soft Danish “owr” sound (very little “r”) and sound to an English-speaking ear not unlike, well, Lego.
Susan, be strong, especially about the rat carcass (ick). I’m still waiting, and not very patiently!
Kate // November 6, 2006 at 6:26 pm
Patti, if you think the US-Canadian border is truly undefended, I must conclude that you are not a fan of The West Wing. In the wonderful episode “A Good Day” (season 6, episode 17), it comes to light that Operation Northern Lights exists. A contingency plan for invading Canada. Written around 1789. Think about it.
Meg // November 6, 2006 at 7:47 pm
Canadians: I should have known better than to urge Mark (aka Oldest Son) to enter the linguistic fray on behalf of his well-loved 42,976 Lego/Legos/Legii/Leger, especially when he had three minutes to get to a midterm. (See above re: boys, qualities of.) But I laughed out loud at “that big blank area at the top” of the New World… his oldest friend is from Toronto.
Susan: Congratulations (I guess that’s the term for it) on getting your rat. I picture you as an Ontario commando, or maybe Bill Murray in Caddyshack. Now, get to that little boy’s birthday party! I can take knowing that my books keep people up late, or induce them to skip work. But a grandbaby’s second - go! Then come on home and be wicked.
Kate: if you’re planning an invasion, maybe you could take along a few copies of the new book for those who are waiting for it.
Patti // November 6, 2006 at 9:14 pm
Kate, I didn’t see most of that season–it was my son’s first year with me, so I was working, sleeping, or panicking. There was that War of 1812 business, too. However, if you invade with copies of Kill Chain, I’ll meet you at the border, buy you a coffee, and take you for a lovely, scenic drive up to the Canadian Shield, a trip that does make its way by the Canadian Forces base at Borden, but I don’t think anyone will notice. From there you will be well poised to begin your assault on James Bay.
Meg, the snarky “big blank area” comment (a little heavy-handed–sorry, Mark) comes from when I was a kid and we’d watch t.v. from Buffalo NY and wonder where we’d gone.
Meg // November 7, 2006 at 5:42 pm
Glad it was just cheesy TV graphics. For a while I was fretting that a snowstorm had literally turned you all into the Great White North.
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