I know that going to the lakes is always a good remedy for my feeling homesick and blue, because after growing up in flat, flat, flat cornfield Illinois, those rolling green hills are always breathtaking.  I always feel so lucky to live in this part of the country, so close to the coast and the hills.  When I first came to England, we were planning to sell this Lancaster house we live in now, and were renting a flat in Morley, just outside of Leeds.   To say the difference is like night and day would be the understatement of the century.

So, we spent the bank holiday in the sunshine, drinking pints at a pub that is older than my entire country, followed by some rummaging through a reclamation yard for interesting bits.  In the states, when someone dies and leaves a house behind to nobody, they do estate sales, where an auction company takes control of the property.  The public is invited to come make an offer on anything on the property.  In the beginning, this means things like old dishes or drapes which might still be up, but it quickly empties out and turns into offers on old doors, built-ins, kitchen cabinets, flooring and even the plants in the garden.  (You will have to dig them up yourself.)  

But in the states, the houses are wooden, especially the old midwestern ones, and so dismantling them isn’t as hard as say… removing an archway or beams from an old tumble-down stone house you’d find in the countryside here in England.  The reclamation yard had lots of fun claw-foot tubs, farm sinks and glass doorknobs, already pulled from the rubble, just waiting for new homes.    One day, we will buy one of those old farms and fill it with repurposed treasures from such a place.

Somewhat related:  I have been thinking a lot lately that one of the biggest cultural differences I find between the US and the UK is that in the US, we very much like to hire professionals for things.   We want professional cake decorators, professional eyebrow waxers, professional dog walkers, etc.  We feel better when we know someone does something exclusively for a living.   

In the UK, the emphasis is the other way around.  People here delight in learning to do things for themselves.  They will make the cake and walk the dog.  They will put in the tile, or refinish the floor.  And if it’s not quite perfect, it’s ok, because they take a lot of satisfaction in having done it themselves.  They feel better knowing it was their own handiwork that made it happen.

I think there’s a lot to be said for that.

and if I have my way, it will be my last.  Ugh.  That guy is a nasty sadist who has some obvious personal issues and enjoys taking them out on the unfortunate.  I guess it shouldn’t shock me that someone pays him to be an asshole, but I can’t believe anyone watches it.

Say whatever you like about shows like Springer, but at least they come without the seriously creepy mean streak.  Jeremy Kyle makes my skin crawl.  I wouldn’t be at all shocked to find out he beats his family and robs old ladies at knife point.

crowth:

inteawetrust:

When I found this site, I had two thoughts:

“Score.”

“Crap.  You can’t buy ANY of that stuff here?”

Wow. I know that there’s no fresh food on there, obviously, but browsing through that site makes ‘The Real Taste of America’ seem about as real as its economy right now.

To be fair, their spelling and language seems to indicate to me that the people running this site are English, and probably don’t know jack about the “real” taste of america.   They just know what we can’t buy here.  (AKA Mountain Dew, favorite of geek gods.)

I was excited to see cornbread mix, actually.   English people love wheat, but when they came to the states, it wouldn’t grow there and was too expensive to import.   They made friends with the natives, who showed them corn and voila:  you can now sit outside with a bowl of spicy chili and a side of jalapeno corn bread.  Yum yum yum.

I should write a post some day about “american” food.   It’s true that we can trace almost all our favorites back to some other country, but that doesn’t make them any less “ours” than our grandmothers.

—

#89 Saint Patrick’s Day « Stuff White People Like

I was going to write a post about how we celebrate St. Pat’s in the states, but basically, this SWPL sums it up perfectly.

Today, I realized that if you’re not home, the post man will leave your packages at the neighbor’s house.  That would be such a weird thing to do in the states.  Usually, if we’re not home, they will leave them on the porch (in good neighborhoods) or take them back to the office (if you’re in an apartment or the ghetttooooooo.)

What do you do if your neighbor is a tremendous jerk?

I think it’s safe to say that americans are much more house proud than the english.  We spend as much or more time taking care of the outsides of our homes as the insides, and the garden is no exception.

I’m always amazed at the state of people’s gardens here.  Recycling bins falling over next to trash cans;  piles of stuff to be burned, tipped over pots and rusted bicycles and of course, the proverbial clotheslines.  I can see into my one neighbor’s garden and he’s got an old mattress and a five foot tall pile of cardboard out there.  The guy on the other side isn’t bad, but looks like he’s not swept the leaves out of it in years.  Across the way, I see what looks like bags of trash lying on the ground next to a bin.

I guess it goes without saying that we’d never dream of leaving recycling or trash bins in front of our houses, where guests would have to walk past them to visit us, but then, we have the luxury of big yards and garages where we can put those things out of sight.  I grew up in a house with two acres, for example.  There is plenty of room elsewhere for the bins.

I think my personal favorite is the “we gave up” look, which consists of a lot of gravel thrown everywhere in an effort to get out of planting anything at all.

Determined to get the most out of our tiny little back yard, I have decided to take up gardening.  Chicago has such extreme temperatures that it’s really hard to keep things growing.  Spring bulbs invariably get killed off by may frosts, roses burn to death in the hot August sun, and your nearly-ripe tomatoes get snowed over by surprise in mid-September.  Here, despite being February still, there are crocuses and snowdrops up all over already.   I see tons of daffodils, bluebells and tulips starting to peek out, too.  It’s a lot of fun for me after living in the land of ridiculous winter temperatures my entire life.

So far, I have cut back our giant bamboo plant so it can actually breathe.  I emptied the collection of “dead stuff in a pot” and fixed the edges on the two beds.  Today, I might dig up the old stump of a rosebush that’s never coming back to life ever, and replace it with the yellow climbing roses I picked up yesterday.   I also bought a japanese cherry tree, which makes me happy and excited.  It only takes 25-50 years to grow to its full size of 5 feet, ha.  Tiny little trees ftw!

I was really, really tempted to get some topiary, simply beause my brain associates it with english gardens like whoah, but one day at a time.  I planted poppy and delphinium seeds instead, and then gave some TLC to our aloe vera and swiss cheese plants, all of which are totally way too big for our tiny house.

If you have a garden, what do you like to keep in it?  Flowers, mattresses and half empty bins are all acceptable answers.

We have discovered today that americans do Valentine’s day differently from Brits.  My very excellent mother sent me a care package today and inside was a v-day card for me and another for him.   He found this to be exceedingly unusual.

Here in the UK, it seems you only send Valentine’s stuff to your crush or romantic partner, and you’re supposed to send it secretly.

In the states, we have a bit of that, I suppose, but it’s not really uncommon at all to buy some sweets for say.. your siblings or parents, or your best friends.   You might bring a box of chocolates to the office, even.   The stores this time of year are lined with aisles of special cards designed for children, covered in Looney Toons or Dora the Explorer or whatever.   They buy them in boxes of 30 and take them to school - one for each classmate - and they often bring them in along with a tray of cupcakes or candies to be shared in a class party.

Anyway, I think he’s satisfied my Mom wasn’t putting the moves on him now.  Glad we could clear that up, and glad I didn’t send his parents anything, haha.

In the US, our cough medicines still have Dextromethorphan - a cough suppressant that’s illegal in UK meds.  We take acetametaphin for headaches, which is also not available in the UK.   Deodorant here in the states often contains a couple of ingredients whose names I forget that are not allowed in the UK, either, and so even the same brand is often not the same formula.

So, I made a little trip to the Walgreen’s yesterday and loaded up on good old fashioned American drugs, haha.  I’m going to start a black market for dayquil in the Northwest of England.  Dayquil is awesome.  You can say whatever you want about Beechams and I will laugh in your face and taunt you with the golden miracle pill that will cure whatever is wrong with you.  (For six hours anyway, until it wears off and you feel like you’re going to die again… or worse, because you should have been sick and resting and instead you were at work because you felt ok.)

It’s bizarre to me that we can get so many drugs ourselves off the shelves in the US, but in the UK you have to bug an actual human being to hand you things from behind the counter.  It’s weird and annoying to me.  Also, the english won’t give you naproxen sodium (commonly known as Aleve in the US) without a prescription, which is weird to me as everyone here takes it for any kind of body ache, just in a much lower dosage than you’d get for something like a sprained ankle.

I also picked up children’s motrin for my sister-in-law.  I haven’t actually met her yet but think we’ll bond a bit because she spent the last three years being a UK expat in America, and surely can understand what my life is like sometimes because of that.

I also packed a ton of american candy, like twizzlers, tootsie rolls and starburst jelly beans.  I sheepishly admit to even packing a small jar of good peanut butter, because although I can find it there, it’s never the same.  I picked up taco spices, because although I can find the “same” brand of them in the UK, they don’t taste the same, either.  UK taco spices are decidedly more of a curry flavor than what we’d do in the US, where we eat very little curry comparitively.  I also got spices to make real guacamole, because OMG WHAT IS THAT CRAP THAT COMES IN A JAR THAT PASSES FOR GUAC IN THE UK?   EW!  I have no idea what that’s supposed to be but it’s not guac, ok?  Don’t eat that stuff.   I also grabbed some stuff to make ranch dressing, and spinach dip.   The thing with the spinach dip is that I can make it, sure, but finding hawaiian bread in the UK is probably a joke and I have no idea how to make it.

I used to delight in my husband’s visits to US groceries with me, because we would find all manner of foods he’d never tried… but then I started to realize that every time he said, “ooh” i should be thinking, “Ah, crap, ONE MORE thing I will not ever see in the UK.”

So today, I will look like someone’s granny, muddling through the airport with a bag full of food.   Look, I resisted bringing twinkies and real marshmallows, graham crackers, velveeta or root beer, so I get some points there, right?  I’m not THAT desperate.  Yet.

Anyway, my flight is in about 7 hours and I have stuff to do.  See you in Manchester.

— From a letter to a friend, regarding English mannerisms