Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Something Else...

After reading an article about Pres Hinckley's death, I slid down the page to the comments section. I was taken completely by surprise. I expected warm comments from little old ladies in Utah saying what a good man he was. The vitriol bubbling off the page was unexpected, to say the least. Some people really hate Mormons. Some of the most rabid comments came from fellow "Christians". I appreciated the statement one person made, that comments such as these would not be made by any Mormons after the Pope or any other religious leader passed away. I hope that is true. Another asked why the hateful ones felt the need to spend their time bashing instead of building their own church. I agree. I honestly don't understand why they do it. I felt really yucky after reading it. I just wanted to read nice messages about Pres. Hinckley, not about how leaving the #%$&# Mormon church had made one man's @#$% life so @$%^ much better than it had ever been and how @#$%*& happy he was about it. Call me cynical, but he didn't really sound too @#$% happy.

Wednesday, 30 January 2008

I just called and cancelled a dinner appointment with the sister missionaries in our ward. I think I would feel guilty, except for the fact that they've cancelled on me twice and the elders have cancelled on me three times. They say it's because of "other obligations", "P-Day rules", "Zone Conference" or "teaching appointments". I say it's because they don't like my cooking.

But that's impossible. I haven't screwed up a recipe in ages. Well...not since Christmas Eve when I mixed jalapenos into the enchilada filling instead of mild chillies. I didn't even know I owned a can of chopped jalapenos until I took a big bite of the chicken filling and gasped in fire-breathing pain. Grabbed the wrong cans off that Walmart shelf on my last trip to the US I guess, dagnabit.

At least we didn't have the missionaries over for dinner that night...

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Saturday, 19 January 2008

Hot cross buns are in stores again. I bought two packs, knowing they usually disappear too fast once I get them home to warrant a single pack buy. It wasn't until I was putting the groceries away that I realized there are only two people in our family who eat them. One is in Ghana for the next 21 months and the other is in Japan for the next week. It made me miss them both more. I put one pack in the freezer and, because I'd already opened the other, polished it off single-handedly over the next two days.

Why is it that I can't throw away food? What part of my brain gives me the green light to ingest untold quantities of cold ex-dinners, thus slapping it directly onto my already too-large hind quarters, rather than scrape it all into the compost bucket? I know there are starving children in Africa, but me having a rear the size of Manhattan isn't gonna help 'em.

I didn't grow up during the Depression. I don't have any horror stories of begging in the streets to save my sickly baby brother from starvation. I didn't ever go to bed hungry except as a rare yet effective punishment. I have no rational explanation for my inability to chuck that half cup of green beans or that last 1/16th slice of the apple pie-ish dessert thing Hannah whipped up the other night. It all goes into the fridge for a short layover before it reaches one of two final destinations: the compost heap (moldy and stinky) or my saddlebags (flabby and ripply).

Maybe we should invest in a garbage disposal.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Might as well start now...

I said I'd write again.

I'm still in England. I'm still married. We still have 6 children and the house is still under construction. We do have a beautiful working kitchen, but no radiators yet or flooring--just plywood. It will come. I think we're ordering a new front door before Tim leaves for Japan again on Sunday.

Tim is leaving for Japan on Sunday. He was there in December for two weeks which we did not enjoy, and he will travel there again after he's been home for two weeks after this trip. Too bad he has an aversion to Japanese food. What a colossal sushi opportunity flushed down the drain.

I got this cookbook (I wish I knew how to do the cool linking thing computer literate people know how to do.) for Christmas and her other book, Feasts. I love this woman, this Nigella Lawson. She's this gorgeous, voluptuous woman who makes no excuses for her love of food. Were I not a married heterosexual and she the same, well, who knows.

Last Saturday Tim and I traveled to one of the Home Office branches near us and applied in person for my Residence Permit that grants me "indefinite leave to remain in the UK." So what you have to do when you marry someone British is get the initial visa to stay here and then, after two years you have to apply to stay for real. They require documentation showing that you've been living together (documents from both years), that you're really settled In England and that you understand both the English language and the English culture. To the first I say, sure. I can usually make myself understood and I can usually understand. Unless the accent is too thick. And then I just nod and smile. The second? Uh. Well? Maybe. Can anyone? Really?

There is an official test one must take to "prove" you have command of the language and the culture. It is called The Life in the UK Test. There's a book you buy, read and study, then a fee you pay, (there's always a fee), then you take the test, then they give you a paper that says you passed. Cling to that paper, as they will not print another one and the Home Office expects to see it when you go to them begging not to be deported.

So, with great procrastinatorial aplomb, I finished reading the book about 10 minutes before we left for the test. We were allowed 45 minutes to take the test of 24 multiple-choice questions. I finished in two. Then I took another minute to check my answers. I thought I missed one. Found out at the Home Office I missed two. Darned if that mystery missed answer hasn't haunted me since. I know I got the one wrong about who gets a discount on train fare, but I thought I had the rest. Sample of questions: What holiday is the day after Christmas? What does a trade union representative do? How many million people are there in England? True or false: All eye exams are free in Scotland. (That would be true, by the way.)

Having passed the test, last Saturday we presented all our documents and our most earnest, non-terrorist countenances at glass window 11 and waited for the verdict. And....I'm in! much to the chagrin of the oldest children who feigned grave disappointment. At least I think they feigned.

Kathryn is not dropping off to sleepy-time land very quickly lately and will sometimes climb out of bed and say in her best 3 year old voice (she's 5 by the way) "I had a scawy dweam!" to justify her noncompliance with our wishes that she remain firmly ensconced in own comfy little bed. The other night she hadn't been in bed long enough to dream so scrambled for a quick justification and came up with this one: "I had a scawy life!"

I think it's best that I end with that.

Blogday, November 28, 2005

I was curious how easily my children or other people I know could find my blog with just one key word and found it to be frighteningly easy. I thought there would be more anonymity, but no. Does it really matter? I haven't written regularly for ages, so probably not.

I do have a request, though. Through the online search I found a blog entry of one of my friends (an excellent blog!) where she celebrated her Blogday by using an idea of another blogfriend who asked for "lurkers" to come out of the woodwork and reveal who they were and how they found her blog. I'm guessing, due to lack of regular entries of late, that there will not be many, but I'd love to hear anyway! Sure my real, official Blogday was back in November, but I was on a plane, so cut me some slack, yeah?

I will start writing again. It's a New Year's resolution. Happy New Year to all!