Since moving to the US last year a number of things have cropped up on a number of occasions that have made me want to claw my fingers through my hair and scream GET WITH IT AMERICA, THIS IS THE 21ST CENTURY. For example- why the lack of electric kettles? Making a cup of tea should be as simple as flicking a switch and waiting a couple of minutes, then pouring out hot water. Yes, boiling-hot water at the touch of a button. Instead I find myself having to regress back to the Second World War and boil my water in a kettle atop my stove. Although I have actually seen modern electric kettles creeping into some shops, I point blank refuse to pay the $70 asking price when the equivalent back at home is just £4.79 in the Argos catalogue. So for now I am a Wartime Wife when it comes to making tea.

Laundry matters are also something else over here, with top-loading washers still being pretty commonplace. Yes, top-loading washers. You can actually still buy them in the stores over here. Thankfully now that we have our own home I now have access to front-loading washing facilities which have very much been the standard back in Europe since well before I was born, and are something which I *INSISTED* on ultimately purchasing within minutes after accepting DrMr’s marriage proposal which determined that I would be emigrating permanently across the pond. I’m a housewife of the millennium, not the 1950s thankyouverymuch… aside from the stovetop teakettle, that is. Unfortunately, as for the electric kettles, this latest, greatest, newest ever concept in American clothes washing also comes with a price premium, but I’ve been spoilt by 31 years of English life and VERY MUCH NEED a woollens cycle on my washing machine in order to have a happy laundry experience. Now finding a detergent that actually gets my whites as bright as I would like is a whole different matter, but believe it or not I did actually bring over some British detergent with me when I moved, so with careful rationing I remain a happy launderer (plus my family can bring some more out when they visit). And my goal for this summer is getting a washing line up outside so I can dry my clothes the natural way, rather than ruin blast them in a drier. Again, normal for the UK, not so normal over here.

Now these two things (amongst a couple of other more minor cultural idiosyncrasies) I’ve been able to adapt to of course, and these new modified techniques of performing everyday activies are now becoming the norm. But once in a while I encounter yet another ‘new’thing, and each time I do it completely knocks me for six and sends me completely off kilter. This latest one is pretty major, and it concerns of all things, GRASS.

Here in the new house, we have lawns. One in the front, one in the back. By American standards they really are rather small and could laughingly be referred to as more like patches of grass, but I’m English, and in England everything is usually on a much smaller scale, and so to me we have full on gardens. Gardens which contain grass that needs to be mown on a regular basis.  And here’s where the gripe begins:

Chances are it is probably ME who is going to be mowing the lawn. At least for the time being (i.e. next 6 months) whilst DrMr has his foot in a cast and can’t really be expected to perform such activities. I don’t mind this at all in fact. I thought back to the days when back in England when I would help my parents with the garden and it was always a big treat to be allowed to mow the grass. So relaxing. Young Father looks forward to it, and I don’t blame him, it’s theraputic with the smell of the grass and the gentle hum of the electric hover mower. Read that last part again: the gentle hum of the electric hover mower. That’s what I envisioned we would get too. A Flymo to be exact. Your bog-standard electric garden cutting tool back home in the UK (although the company is actually Swedish).

It may look kind of garish, but it does the job perfectly. Unlike conventional mowers, hover mowers float effortlessly on a cushion of air, without any wheels and they mow in any direction following the contour of the land. Seriously, even the weakest of people can use these things, and can pretty much do it one-handed too. They even collect all the grass up and compress it into a basket which is WAY more efficient than having a gathering bag on the back. And yes, above all they hum gently, so the birds don’t fly from the trees whenever you start one up and you can remain on good terms with your neighbours. Moreover, you don’t even have to break the bank to get one of these either, they are cheap at under £100 (but even that is considered to be on the expensive side).

Why am I mentioning this? Well here in the US of A, THESE THINGS ARE NON EXISTANT. Here, when enquiring about hover mowers, people look at you and chuckle nervously in disbelief, or comment that that sort of compact, lightweight garden tool must be way futuristic when in fact THESE THINGS HAVE BEEN AROUND IN EUROPE AND THE COMMONWEALTH SINCE THE 1970S. Aside from being pregnant, I am also female and therefore evolutionary and biologically not as physically strong as my male counterparts. With a hover mower this is not of any relevance whatsoever, but here in the States it is entirely relevant where mowing tools are all BIG and HEAVY and because of all the raw materials involved they’re also rather expensive setting you back at least a couple of hundred dollars even for a cheap one. And because of their size and excessive use of raw materials, these giant hulks of equipment are also very DIRTY and SMELLY and NOT VERY MANEUVERABLE AT ALL. Heaven forbid should you have a slope in your garden, like we do- it’s backbreaking work. I know this because I mowed our lawns this morning. So much for it being relaxing work and something to look forward to.

This is the lawnmower that we got. The smallest one that we could find with a grass catcher on the back. It’s also electric and cordless.

I HATE IT SO MUCH I WOULD HAVE PUSHED IT INTO THE RIVER AT THE BOTTOM OF THE GARDEN HAD I HAD THE STRENGTH TO DO IT. Its only saving grace was that it is electric as there is nothing I despise more than gasoline mowers that belch out dirty fumes and are so noisy that they can wake up sleeping babies three streets away. The electric bit was a compromise. DrMr wanted gas, I said no (for the above reasons, and also for the fact that I can never get them to start). The cordless bit was a counter-compromise to compensate for the lack of cable on the electric mower. But it’s still big, it’s still heavy, and I can’t get it to turn corners. It’s not relaxing to use. And it doesn’t even cut the grass evenly.

I did actually manage to find an electric hover mower here. Small, compact, lightweight and perfect for the job. And cheaper too.

I wish more than anything that we would have got it and that mowing the lawn could have been the relaxing experience I imagined from home, but it had no grass catcher on the back, and wasn’t cordless, therefore couldn’t be compromised upon. We could have raked the clippings with a garden rake (excellent job for a small child in years to come, I used to do this when I was small and loved it), or even got one of those garden vacuums to suck the clippings up instead, but it had a cord to power it and it had no grasscatcher. So we got the other one instead. And for the next six months we will probably be paying someone else to cut our grass as I’m female and weak and can’t push the one we ended up buying. The one which doesn’t even cut the grass evenly. So I’m just going to sulk about it and blame it on my pregnancy hormones. And let someone else cut the grass from now on instead.

Aside from my passport, there are a couple of other staple British things that I can never ever see myself giving up. Hopefully I will never give up my accent, although over time I will probably/inevitably develop some hideous hybridised twangs but hopefully nothing that will sound too ‘Madonna’ (note to friends, if this ever happens, PLEASE TELL ME.) One thing I vow on never doing though is giving up on the letter ‘h’. An ‘hour’ may always be a hour, but a herb will NEVER be an ‘erb. Good gracious no! The Queen would not approve!

I am going to *try* not give up my British ‘S’s in words like realise or my ‘U’s as in colour, but computerised spell checkers can sometimes autocorrect that without me noticing. This also applies to the two distinctly different British spellings and respective uses of practice (noun) and practise (verb) as in America both utilise the noun form so you can have a doctor’s practice, and have a boy who practices the trumpet. But apparently there are some Americans who still use both forms (probably of British descent, tee heee!) and Canadians, Australians, and South Africans also do the British thing too (I’m sure Melissa can verify this, but it wouldn’t surprise me as she also says ‘colour’ and ‘realise’, oh and Happy Harbour too). Oh, and the ‘double L’ as in modelling, and as in jewellery which also has an extra ‘E’ in there too (Americans spell it as  jewelry.) And speaking of extra letters, in England we spell haemoglobin, not hemoglobin, and we also spell encyclopaedia. Nope, I’m not going to give those extra letters up either.

But there’s certainly something I can never, ever, EVER see myself giving up…… and that’s my baked beans. Heinz baked beans to be precise, in the dark aqua blue can, made in England and not an ounce of high fructose corn syrup anywhere in the ingredients list (we don’t really do high fructose goo in ready-made British ‘cuisine’ either). Heinz do indeed do a variation of the baked bean over here, in a green can and labelled VEGETARIAN but homygoodness they are not the same. And don’t be fooled by other brands either which add so much sugar to the sauce that you could practically eat them for dessert. No, no, NO. Beanz Meanz Heinz. British Heinz. In the dark aqua can. Preferably on hot buttered wholemeal toast, and preferably with cheese.  Or just with cheese on the top (I have just about found resolve to my cheese problem, but have yet to find a satisfactory loaf, so am probably just going to make it every week instead.)

And what’s that in the background above, I hear you ask? Why that’s my lovely new dining room sideboard that we got from Ikea last week which makes a lovely shelf for some of my favourite cookbooks.

And yes, they’re mostly British. I’m not giving up Nigella or Jamie either, or my WI Book of Biscuits

HO. MY. GAWD.

I don’t know which is worse, the sight of me first thing in the morning, or the fact that AMERICAN CHEERIOS ARE DIFFERENT

They taste…..errrr……… salty

Actually that was a stupid question. Early mornings will never be the same. Moop.

Eons ago, not long after I started a website but before I moved over here to Peachy Hollow, my insanely cool sister-in-law posted a comment to one of my posts which included the words “Tag you’ve been meme’d“. To me, a native brit, the word “tag” conjures up images of address labels that you tie onto luggage, in particular the kind that Paddington Bear had attached to his coat, or little price labels that people put on things at garage sales. At that stage however, I was also aware of labelling posts on blogs with a “tag” buzzword that would hopefully immerse you fully into the world of Technorati. I was not familiar however with the concept of a MeMe. So based upon this limited knowledge and an absense of any prospects for further enlightenment, naive little me actually tagged my post “you’ve been meme’d“, thinking that all and sundry might come flooding over here from Technorati.

A few months later, I realsed that tagging someone was an American’s way of running up to somebody in a school playgound and yelling YOU’RE IT at the top of one’s lungs. So that’s it, Americans play “tag”, us brits play “IT!“). Ok then, that’s settled. Actually not quite as there was the whole MeMe thing was still lost on me, but then I had not one, but two MeMes in the space of one week courtesy of Kalurah and Fliss and suddenly all became clear and I felt a bit thtupid, duuh. So without any further ado please find below my belated offerings, starting with:

“8 random things that are WEIRD about me”
posted by Kalurah the other week:

1) I have really long toes to the extent that a friend once exclaimed that I had ‘ET feet’. Moreover the top joints on my second toes don’t bend- actually they do bend when I wiggle them with my fingers, but I just can’t make them bend on their own.

2) Other people love Mr Darcy, but if I did that I would be cheating on Gilbert Blythe.

3) I feel very unsettled if the vibe of something isn’t right. For instance, if the seat I’m sitting in at the cinema doesn’t feel right, it can spoil the whole film. Likewise for meals at restaurants, and on buses I always have to sit on the left, next to the window. It’s not the end of the world if I do find myself in the wrong seat, but it can cast a dampener. It’s a family thing that I get from Mutti. We’re all like it. Fortunately DrMrNin finds it amusing and endearing, otherwise I don’t think he’d have married me, lol!

4) I’m a perfectionist to the worst extreme and frequently inject my entire energy into doing things and not stopping until they reach my own ridiculously high standards. I know I’m like this, so will hesitate to undertake certain projects until I know I have the time and energy to do things properly. Other people interpret this as procrastination, when really it’s me being perfectionist and not wanting to invest less than 110%. Being like this has it’s plus points (I’m very driven, generally do things to the very best of my capabilities etc.) but it also has its negatives- in addition to the misinterpreted procrastination, I’m rarely entirely satisfied with what I do and have a hard time accepting compliments, I frequently work too much, and I’ve actually worked myself so hard that I had to take 6 months of sick leave to recuperate. I guess I have issues But a lot of academics are like this, it’s a trait that can be really useful in research……passion and all that! But I’m still trying to train myself to be less of a self critique – you will ocassionally notice typos and syntax errors here at Peachy Hollow which I know are there, but I’ve left them *intentionally* to prove to myself that the world will not end because there’s a double space in a blog entry. And these days I always make sure I try to play as hard as I work, it’s all about balance.

5) I am addicted to woolcraft and am on the verge of banning myself from the local wool departments. During lunchbreaks and before I catch the bus home I’m like a junkie, trawling around the wool shops for my latest fix. During teabreaks and bus journies I can frequently be found with yarn in hand. My explanation is that over the last ten years or so I haven’t had much time for craft, so I’m compensating now.

6) I have a VERY BIG problem wearing denim and black leather footwear. I just can’t do it. Actually, black denim and black leather boots I can do, but not regular denim. It used to be *all* leather/denim combinations including brown, but I got over that because I got some really nice long boots. Suede and nubuck in all colours are fine though.

7) I drink my venti lattes in takeaway cups with a straw. Try it, it’s very comforting. I got DrMrNin into it too.

I can’t stand the sound of people eating, it nakes my spine want to turn inside out. And I cannot bear the site and sound of people scraping the stuck food of their knives onto their forks. Eeeeuw, it makes my tummy funny just thinking about it. I think that plays a part in my dislike of eating in front of strangers as I don’t like looking at them, nor like they looking at me. And why there HAS to be background noise at mealtimes.

So there you have it, hurrah! I’ve done my first MeMe! I’ll think about who I’m going to nominate whilst I’m at work tomorrow …getting rather late here already, tee hee!

OK, wow, what a response! There I was wondering who I could nominate, but you wonderful folks have made it easy for me instead…….I’m going to nominate the first eight commenters, tee hee!!!! So Jamie, JuneBug, ashpags, kari and kijsa, Melissa in NZ, Fliss, Michelle E. ~ ‘Vintage Pastiche’, and Christina… CONGRATS! You’ve all been MEME’d hee hee hee! Can’t wait to hear your weirded out things. Of course there’s no obligation to do this any time soon or anything, it’s not like I got to this straight away

So one down, and two more MeMes to go…. In semi-chronological order of receipt, I’ll attempt Fliss’ one next which is Eight Random Things. I’d better get my thinking cap on….

Sniff, blub, and boo de la hoo. I always manage to miss the good ones. Ugh. When I was home for Christmas last year, I missed four whole good ones in one week!

It turns out there was a 4.2 earthquake in the early hours of this morning back 'home' in NorCal, and as the epicenter wasn't that far away from where we live, it did a pretty exciting shake job in the apartment. It wasn't newsworthy here in England at all (we've had torrential rain, flooding and all sorts, and quite frankly unless people are killed and it causes mass damage, it's simply not newsworthy). I found out about it as SoonToBeMrNin copied me in on an email he sent as soon as he got to work. Here's what he had to say:

it was AWSOME [sic]. the bed was bouncing up and down, and lots of stuff in the apartment was rattling. by far it was my favorite earthquake

I know this must have DEFINITELY been a great quake experience, and I know he is rubbing it in that I wasn't there because:

• He copied me into the email, meaning that he was so excited to talk about it, that he wanted to get the word out fast, and to as many people as he could in one go. To email me first, his SOON TO BE WIFE, would have required him to delay his explosive burst of mass communication for all of about thirty seconds, which would  of course have completely deadened the impact of the news and ruined the glorious event-sharing moment.
• In his excitement to blurt the news out, he misspelled the word 'awesome'. He may have noticed it, but forwent the correction as this would have required him to delay his explosive burst of mass communication for all of about another thirty seconds, which would of course have completely deadened the impact of the news and ruined the glorious event-sharing moment.
• The fact that the climax of his statement was that it was by far his most favourite quake. This was the kicker. The real blow to the belt. The real punch in the stomach. The whole favourite quakeness thing is a VERY big deal for him. It comes up in conversation after every little bit of earth shakiness we experience, no matter how slight, or if it was even if it turned out to be not a quake at all. The 'quake of six years ago' was his favourite for a long time, until a better one came along last year, and I felt that one, so I know it was THAT good.

You see? I definitely, DEFINITELY did miss a good one this time. And SoonToBeMrNin wanted to dang well make sure that I knew it, so he rubbed it in with a CCed email, and a knock-out punch of a last sentence. UGH!

Now I'm not suggesting at all that every single earthquake is fun, as I would very much imagine that being in a humungously large BIG one where there's lots of damage and destruction must really be quite terrifying. But as far as places go, the San Francisco Bay Area is pretty much built to withstand a certain amount of shaking (compare this to an equivalent shake in England earlier this year)– what with with two major faults running through the region (the San Andreas and the Hayward), it simply HAS to be. So as long as when a quake hits it's not so big as to cause disruption to everyday life, it can actually be a LOT of fun to be in one.

For those of you who haven't experienced an earthquake, it's kind of hard to describe what it feels like, as it's such a unique sensation. Some of them feel like a big rumble deep underneath the ground, kind of similar to sitting in a building, and having an extremeley large truck thunder past at high speed along the road outside. These are the ones that feel the most fun. Others feel like when you're sitting in an apartment, and the person in the apartment above or below drops some extremely heavy piece of equipment on the floor, or slams it into the neighbouring wall (e.g. a washing machine, giant chest freezer, that sort of thing, but a lot BIGGER and MORE FORCEFUL, depending on the size of the quake). I've often mistaken tiny quakes like that for thinking our upstairs neighbour as having had an accident with a piece of heavy furniture. The other type that I've experienced are the jerky ones. The ground literally just jolts, and there's usually an accompanying big BANG that comes from I don't know what (everything suddently jolting??). These ones actually aren't so pleasant as they happen so fast and suddenly that you get that OHMYGODWHATJUSTHAPPENED adrenaline rush and sit there wondering what it was, if it actually happened, and if it's going to happen again. The cats don't like those ones. Actually they don't like any of them, but they don't like those ones especially.

The rumbling ones are definitely my favourite. They last a couple of seconds too, so they give you a bit of time to realise that it's happening so that you can actually appreciate the event in a whoa this feels really odd, it must be an earthquake, this feels really cool kind of way. That was how it was last year during SoonToBeMrNin's previously favourite quake. We were in a movie theatre, slumped in the seats, and realised that we were being rocked back and forth and round in circles, and then bumped up and down. Yes, looking back that was definitely a good one. The other good one I felt was earlier this year when I was in our apartment, and literally felt the rumble move from one side of the bedroom to the other. That was most peculiar. Definitely a good one though. SoonToBeMrNin wasn't actually there for that one, and he was bitterly disappointed. Maybe that partly explains his need to rub it into me that I missed a good one last night?

The last time I saw rain was back in April, last time I was in England.

It's the small things like this that I find are the amongst the most comforting aspects of being at home.