And now back to your regularly scheduled post election coverage

I had written about our voting experience and my passionate beliefs about using your right to vote, but I hadn't followed it up with election results. it was just too painful and disappointing to talk about. I wanted to write about happy things like our Mysterious Benefactor. But it is time to face the music.

 Yeah, we are pretty gobsmacked at the election results--with all the vocal people who were so anti-Tory it was a real slap in the face to see Cameron re-elected.  It feels a bit like when George W Bush got a second term in office. We didn't see that coming either. We were living here when that happened and were so careful to order our overseas ballots so we could vote against him. It didn't help.

But my greatest worry at the moment is that our shining example of the Peter Principle Michael Gove (worst  Education Secretary *EVER*--he was removed and became Chief Whip for a bit) has just been moved to the position of Justice Secretary. Holy crap, the damage he could do. He screwed up our school system so badly. He is charged with scrapping the Human Right's Act and replacing it with British Bill of Rights. God help us all. Plus back in the 1990s when he was a journalist he was very in favour of bringing back hanging--and as (in) justice secretary he might try to do just that.

My other big worry is about the Trident Nuclear Weapons.  2016 is when the renewal of Trident comes up in Parliament.  The Tories are in favour of it. I am not. Weapons of mass destruction that we vow to never use which costs us billions of pounds a year seem a ridiculous expense when Britain is suffering under austerity measures and cuts made by Cameron in his last term. We need money for the NHS. We need money for schools. we need money to help people who are living below the poverty line. Since the Tories have been in power, food bank usage has risen over 200% in this country. Some of this has been from "creative" ways to raise money like the bedroom tax (where your housing benefit can be reduced if you have a spare bedroom. Child off away at college but comes home for breaks? Doesn't matter. Person disabled and all their equipment like wheelchair, breathing machines etc stored in extra bedroom? Doesn't matter). This has caused people already living at the poverty line to move into despair. There has been more than one instance where someone felt so hopeless that they could not pay their bills with their housing benefit cut that they committed suicide.

I have just signed a petition to let the government know we still feel strongly about Trident. The more people who get behind this issue, the more likely it is that decision makers will pay attention. Every name added to the petition takes it one step closer to succeeding.

You can go here if you want to sign it yourself: http://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/trident-time-to-move-on

Spread the word on Twitter and Facebook please.

Lastly, I am very concerned with the Conservative Party wanting to legalise fox hunting again. But this is a class issue. According to activist and legendary Queen guitarist Brian May, David Cameron "stands for privilege, for the continuation and acceleration in the difference between the extremely rich and the extremely poor."

May goes on to say, "it's beyond belief anyone can find pleasure in torturing animals to death. This government, they are basically fox hunters. Moreover, they are proud of it. People who are prepared to ride roughshod over animals are prepared to ride roughshod over people. They shouldn't be running the country."

Amen.

But they are. So what can we do?

Protest. Show your displeasure. Sign petitions. Write your MP. Give a damn.

Will you do it with me?

edited to add: you might want to check out this excellent post about the election from Jack Monroe.  www.agirlcalledjack.com/2015/05/10/post-election-post-mortem/












                                                                 

Fight for your right to (vote for a political) party

Cardiff on Bank Holiday Monday

Well, we did it. We voted this morning in the *pouring* rain. Rain in Wales? Seriously?

/sarcasm/

It was a particularly heavy rain for Wales which seems to often be in permanent drizzle mode.  We got soaked, but it was worth it.

Clearly, lots of people don't think it is. I think in the last general election only 60% of eligible voters turned out. That is 40% of people who could have had their say and didn't. (Just showing off my maths skills and the fact that I know my number bonds to 100) and those were perhaps some of the ones who later were very vocal about their dislike for the current government. I think people only earn the right to bitch about the situation if they have tried to do something about it.

I also feel very strongly that if you *can* vote, then you damn well *should*.  Particularly if you are a woman or a person of colour because our ancestors fought hard to give us this privilege. My mother remembers very clearly the time when African Americans were trying to get to the right to vote in Louisiana. The struggles and humiliations they had to endure to earn a right that was actually theirs. And as for women, the Suffrage movement was a hard victory. Many Suffragettes were jailed and force fed using a tube jammed down their throats and a funnel if they dared go on a hunger strike. They worked hard and endured humiliation and were repeatedly treated as not being clever enough to understand the voting system--only a man could do that. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. Well I for one am glad they did worry because I could not have voted today without their sacrifice. Women in the United States earned the right to vote in 1920, but British women had a harder struggle. Women over the age of 30 who were landowners earned the right to vote in 1918 but all women aged 21 or older regardless of social class did not earn the right  to vote until 1928. We owe them a great thanks.

I have a fond memory of walking with my parents down Twin Bridges Road (you had to walk in the ditch!) to get to Pop Holland Scout Hut so they could vote. I recall we had a special tote bag with the word VOTE in stars and stripes where we carried a picnic lunch. It was a huge adventure and i had just been reading about Susan B Anthony and was all fired up about my future right to vote. I can remember giving an impassioned speech about why voting is so important and my father saying he wished I would come and spark some life into his college students out at LSUA because they were all so disinterested  in politics. I wish he would have actually done it because I would have brought a soap box (well, an apple crate) and just given it my all.

So if you are one of my UK peeps--Go. Vote. Today. If you are one of my US peeps--when your time comes, you know what to do.

Bigger than Judas

It came, it came! Our second Jonny and the Baptists CD! I have practically worn out the other CD from playing as we waited for this one to arrive. We got an email saying it was on the way right when we were leaving for Chichester and had to wait until we got back to get it. SOB! But it was well worth waiting for as our favourite comedy blues duo have done it again.

It is still mostly Jonny and Paddy but with a hint of Will Bartlett on keyboards and Lucy Hunt on saxophone. It is a live CD which had me worried for about 2 seconds. You know how some people you love sound really shite live? Neil Diamond I’m talking to you. But then some people sound even better live like Rogue from the Cruxshadows that we saw in that Goth club last month?  But then I remembered, DUH! We’ve seen them live at the Distraction Club so I knew it would all be alright.

 

I was pleased to see several of the songs we heard live that night at Distraction Club on there.

 

Festival of Me is all about that festival of narcissism that is the outrageously expensive wedding. Just to show people you can afford it and that you are better than them. Because splashing out your annual salary on a one day event guarantees happiness, right kids?   Again--doing what they do best--sarcasm and bitterness.

 Best bit: Jonny won’t even get a Plus One in his invitation as he only ever brings the guitarist Paddy and how embarrassing and sad is that. Answer: Very.

 

In the children’s section we have:

 When You Grow Up--a lovely ballad to Jonny’s young niece all about how she can do anything she wants to, grow up and be anything, do anything--but at 2/3 of what the men around her will be earning. She’ll have to decide whether she wants to be known  as the one who brought the tribunal or the one who “let Richard get away with it again.”  But it does end on a hopeful note of making the world a slightly better place by the time she grows up. Awwww. Bless.

Fun fact: I loved this one as that was me in the 9^th grade--I complained about the sexist coach Mr V (keeping to initials to protect his identity) we had teaching us science at my high school. Every else loved him because he didn’t make you do much work and everything he said was an innuendo and he touched girl’s on the bottom. I really liked science and being a bit of a Hermionie I complained about him to our principal and Mr V was relegated to a non teaching position: in-school detention. Sadly, I spent a lot of time in there over the next three years due to dress code violations and dying my hair purple, but at least we got a science teacher who taught you something. But everyone hated me all year for getting rid of Mr V.

 Listen up for: Some beat boxing by Paddy and an imitation of everyone’s favourite feminist role models The Pussy Cat Dolls.

 

That’s Dangerous--based on a dreadful sounding children’s book --like a vastly inferior version of one of our favourite stories Officer Buckle and Gloria. If you want a sweet book about safety (safety tip number 101--always stick with your buddy) then check it out.

But I digress. So some things that are dangerous are:

 Getting too close to a stove

Putting things into your ear

Eating jam around some wasps

Putting forks into the toaster

Joining an insurgency

Often shitting blood

Not checking out that lump

Undercutting local dealers

 Listen up for: Paddy doing wicked percussion by beating on the guitar.

 

UKIP Party Song--made me laugh just because that is how it starts. You start thinking something like “I‘m proud to be British“ which grows  into “Gee, there are a lot of foreigners” and then it is an easy slide into voting UKIP.

 Best bit: And at the party there were a couple of black people, see they were born here so they were welcome too. They seemed so English we didn’t have to hide our wallets. I mean, we still did but we really didn’t need to.

 Fun fact: We *are* those foreigners coming over taking your jobs. But as we are white and speak English it is less noticeable. I can pass for Canadian.

 

Soup and Soup (reprise)

Two songs that are a tribute to soup! It’s a meal you drink, a drink you eat, a hearty sloppy soupy treat, you don’t need teeth, you don’t need friends. Soup is all you need!

 

Fun fact: Leek and potato soup is my favourite. This and little statues of hedgehogs were our only link to our beloved England for the first 12 years of our marriage whilst we figured out a way to get back here. We’ve lived here for almost a decade and are now British citizens so no one can make us go away. Plus we can vote….for UKIP. Just kidding. We actually vote Green Party because I love living in a country that actually has an environmental party, even if they rarely win.

 

My top favourite would have to be:

 

No One Knows which tells us that religion is not worth arguing about. Life is a massive queue until you die so why not some good things along the way. It is not worth arguing about God and acting like a complete tool because someone else’s beliefs clashes with yours. Here are some things you should argue about instead:

 1. Whose turn it is to buy the drinks

2. Does anybody mind if I eat these crisps?

3. Who is a better James Bond

4. Who is the best children’s television character--because let’s face it, it’s Rasta Mouse (Spiderman disagrees and would argue Danger Mouse)

5. What’s the proper way to hold a child because if you do it wrong and drop it you’re in loads of trouble

6. Whether certain words are allowed in scrabble like L’oreal, splunk or Chris de Burgh

7. Whether tarantulas make better pets than dogs (OK, this isn’t actually in the song, just an opinion by me. You never have to take them out for walkies, you only feed them once a week, clean out their tanks annually and all seven of our girls can fit on one set of book shelves. ‘Nuff said.)

 Best bit: Are these geese following me? I’m sure they’re the same geese as earlier

 Listen up for: particularly excellent harmonies from Jonny and Paddy

 Fun fact:  The most bizarre argument we ever had was before we were married. Spiderman and I were on the phone having a screaming row (to be fair I was doing most, if not all, of the screaming) about whether Hamlet was the only Shakespeare play to begin offstage. I was so enraged by his answer that I used the receiver to bludgeon the phone in an attempt to hurt his ears and make him go deaf. Spiderman assures me he suffered no ill effects from my outburst as he hung up as soon as I started shrieking like a banshee on fire. Unfortunately, the phone was damaged a wee bit. I had somehow managed to shatter all the outer plastic casing and all that was left was the keypad and some wires sitting on a square of metal.  You have to remember this was 1991, you didn’t own your phone--you rented it from AT&T and so I had to go home at the end of the semester and say to my dad:

 

Um…my phone…it…um…sort of…fell off my chest of drawers ….um….onto the carpet in my dorm room….and got broken. A bit. 

 I don’t think he actually believed me.

 

But our story has a happy ending. Spiderman did not leave me immediately, as perhaps he should have, for a considerably less mad woman but instead married me a year later. That’s right 21 years ago we had our own (budget) Festival of Me.

 Trivia: Hamlet really is the only Shakespeare play to begin offstage.

 So if you like:

Good singing

The energy of live music

Comedy

Blues

Comedy blues

Laughing

You don’t mind a bit of swearing

 

Then please, pretty please with sugar on top, go straight to www.jonnyandthebaptists.co.uk and buy their new CD. Also while you are there, buy their old CD. Watch their videos. Go see them live if you live in the UK. Please support this band!

 

I love you Jonny and Paddy!

Pussycat, Pussycat, where have you been?

from the Welwyn Hatfield Times

I've been to Hitchin to see the Queen!

Do you remember that old nursery rhyme? Well yesterday it came true for me! The Queen came to Hitchin! She was here as part of her Diamond Jubilee celebration and to give an award to our volunteers at the wonderful British Schools Museum which is the only surviving Lancasterian school in the world and to meet some local shopkeepers at places like Halsey's Deli which was opened in 1854.

The Good: All the schools were invited and because my school has special connections with the British Schools Museum we got a prime location. Plus 30 of our children were chosen to dress as Victorian school children and stand closer to the Queen when she came. The day arrived and amazingly the weather was good. Blue sky and not too cold or too hot.

from The Comet

The bad: The Queen was due to arrive in Hitchin train station at 10:30  and then come in her fancy motor car with giant crest on top like a Mohawk hair-do--just so you would know it was the Queen riding around--by 10:45. But streets were being filled up behind the barricades by 8:00am and schools had to be there by 9:15 to be in place. We registered the kids and then high tailed it out of there  and walked 200 children in a big crocodile down to the town centre. It is a VERY long wait for little ones, outside with nothing to do and no snacks or water and having to stand in one place for 2 hours. Everyone had plastic Union Flags and all sorts of games were devised (and stopped immediately) such as "who could spit through the hollow straw-like handle" and "use your flag like a sword and poke your neighbour"--we did allow them to play their flags like a trumpet as the brass band played, we're not total meanies.



from Heart radio

The Ugly: We did everything right and our children were beautifully behaved. However I cannot say that of other schools. Several schools arrived over an hour after we did and then wanted us to move over so their children could get a better view. there was pushing and shoving with people crushing our children into the barricades and name calling when we didn't agree to "squat down and let them see"--and that was from the TEACHERS! We were told that we should move back and let their children in and we refused. If they wanted to get a better view they should have come early like we did. Besides we were put in this spot by the police and told to stay here and so we were not moving. Other schools--children and teachers--shoved and insulted us, but we stayed firm. Our school also seemed to be the only one telling children off for behaving badly as all around us children from other schools spoke rudely to adults and ran around unsupervised whilst their adults stood and did nothing--or worse encouraged them to do so. We behaved with dignity and they were all little shits. I was proud to be from Wilshere Dacre School.

The actual visit and viewing was very brief for us--we saw her get out of the car, saw her walk in front of us and then she disappeared down the line to speak to others and our view was blocked. The Queen was lovely, smaller than you imagine, and looked like your sweet old granny in her Easter best.

I was thrilled to be a part of it and proud to be a British citizen. God save the Queen.

This time last year...

...Spiderman and I became British citizens. It was a long and expensive process that included a difficult written exam which we had to swot up for ages in order to pass. But we did it. And on this day last year we were sworn in and promised to be loyal and true to Queen and country.

This is an emotional time for me, the anniversary of my father's death looms ever closer which always makes me feel sad and empty, but remembering this day and the joy it brought lifts me up.

Today Spiderman surprised me with 2 pieces original art by Skottie Young who illustrates all the Oz books for Marvel comics! What a surprise--and it genuinely was a surprise--that brought tears to my eyes.

He bought me a page from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz with the whole gang on the yellow brick road, but a close up of the Tin Man accidently stepping on a ladybird, which makes him cry and rusts his jaw because he was a vegan and Quaker (ok, that bit is subtext, but he was kind to all living creatures. Remember  how he wouldn't let Ojo have the left wing of a yellow butterfly, not even to save Ojo's Unk Nunkie from being a statue? Of course you don't. but I do.)

He also bought me a humourous drawing of Eureka the pink kitten sitting on the head of Jim the cab horse from Dorothy and the Wizard. We have often joked that this is who we are--me the sassy mouthed cat and Spiderman the grumpy one who carries the heavy stuff. So this is perfect for us.

I am overwhelmed with joy and warmth. We love art. We love supporting artists. We love Oz. Yes, Spiderman is really enjoying the Marvel comic versions of all my favourite books so he is now a confirmed Oz-ite.

Thank you my love. Thank you for everything.

We interupt this food network programme for an important news bulletin

People, we have British passports. As I have mentioned before, we bought our plane tickets thinking we could fly on our US passports only to find having 2 nationalities meant twice the fun--2 passports required. It has been a headache and quite stressful as both myself and Spiderman are tighter than a clam named Scrooge when it comes to forking over money for stuff we don't think we should have to. I mean, who needs 2 when 1 will do, right?  But since the embassy told us to, we have followed orders. Then there was the stress of filling out forms by writing in all CAPITALS in tiny boxes which is a recipe for disaster with me. Then forking out more moo-la for professional photos as ours weren't good enough, apparently. The backgrounds were "too cream." Then my photo was rejected for wearing a hat and we had to appeal and send a letter explaining how the hat is for religious reasons and finally we had to have to big scary interview which happened to be in another town entirely and cost us £11.20 for the bus. Unbelievable.

But it was all worth it. When the envelopes came today I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. We were told that within 1 week we'd hear if we were approved and within 2 receive the passports (if we passed) so I was expecting just a letter. When I opened the rather bulky envelopes, what should fall out? A passport just for me (and another for my sweetie) plus an organ donor form--I suppose now that we can travel if we were met by some untimely accident on our journey at least our organs would be used for the greater good.

So hoorah and lashings of ginger beer and all that cliche rot. I am thankful and grateful and give the full credit to God who hurried it along despite the earlier bumps in the road. And just like in A Christmas Carol--"The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can."
Now back to your regularly scheduled cooking programme!

Identity

Who are you? How do you decide who you are? Is it what you do for a living? Is it how you are known in the community? Is it because you have famous parents? What determines how you see yourself?

For a long time I was known as the daughter of 2 very famous and influential local teachers. People were always coming up to me and saying how my mum taught them in junior high and they could still recite some obscure interesting bit of trivia because of her or how my dad was so influential in helping them see the world as more global than local. I enjoyed that because I had the privilege of having both my parents as me teachers (junior high and college respectively) and I agree, they were two of the best damn teachers I ever had. I became a teacher because of them. I loved being known as a teacher.

I had majored in drama and so was well known throughout my town as someone who had been in lots of plays. I liked having a high profile and having people stop me and say how much they enjoyed my performance. I met one of my dearest friends that way--the elderly wife of an ancient professor--and we wrote many letters to each other about our favourite poems and the meaning of life. I liked being known as an actress.

When I got married I decided to keep my family name as I did not want others to not recognise me as Spidergrrl, actress and daughter of famous teachers. I liked being who I was and changing my name seemed wrong somehow like I would be losing a bit of myself. Sometimes I wish we could present a more united front with the same last name as it might make it easier and people would stop assuming we weren't actually married, but Spiderman says we don't need the same name to unite us. All we need is a &. I adore being known as a wife.

When I quit teaching after my break down from grief and stress following the death of my beloved father, I often felt I had lost my identity. I could no longer say I was a teacher and the painful memory of being the daughter of a teacher who would never be able to influence a new generation of people was almost unbearable.

Today I know who I am. I am that funny dressed woman who works in a school. All sorts of people know me as my clothes are fairly distinctive. I am approached fairly regularly by strangers who want to ask me questions about myself or ask if I will pray for them. And while I have chosen to be a teaching assistant here in the UK I still feel like a teacher. Because what is a teacher? Someone who makes a difference in the lives of children. Someone who listens and cares when no one else seems to. Someone who helps you become a better human being--through education or citizenship. I do all those things and more. What I don't do is paperwork, fill in forms, measure growth by unrealistic expectations. I just love and help and make it better.

As many of you know, we are making a quick trip back to the US soon to visit family who are unwell. After purchasing our plane tickets we discovered that having dual citizenship meant we needed dual passports. Joy.  I never felt strongly about being an American, but I feel proud and honoured to be British. But my identity is both, inextricably twined together. So we've been rushing around trying to secure British passports. It has been a roller coaster of a time as my application was originally rejected due to me wearing a head covering in the photo. After sending a letter explaining that I do wear a head covering for religious reasons my application was approved and we were onto the next step. So I guess that is another part of my identity--I am a Quaker and religious woman who prays on her knees twice a day.

 Yesterday we had our "Identity Interview" which all first time applicants must go through. It is a rigorous 30 minute session where you are asked lots of questions about your background that supposedly only you would know. It was really scary as several things I was not completely sure of but tried to be honest and say what I could. And if you can't trust a Quaker, who can you trust? I won't reveal any questions because then you'll know how to steal my identity! But we both think it went well and hope to receive British passports soon.

But having to defend my identity made me think--who am I really?
A daughter
A dramatic actress
A wife
A teacher
A Quaker
An arachnophile
A vegan
A musician
A friend

Who are you?

Sufferin' til suffrage

Because of our first time to vote in the UK (see previous post Election Day) I thought I would put in some of my favourite lyrics from School House Rock. Women in the United States earned the right to vote in 1920, but women in the UK had to wait longer. Only women who were householders over the age of 30 got the vote in 1918; women over 21 (the voting age for men) did not get the vote until 1928. I feel obligated to vote because of those women who "carried signs and marched in lines" and endured spectacular ridicule and abuse and imprisonment to give me that  privilege.

SUFFERIN' TIL SUFFRAGE
Yeah! Hurray!)
Now you have heard of Women's Rights,
And how we've tried to reach new heights.
If we're "all created equal"...
That's us too!
(Yeah!)
But you will proba ... bly not recall
That it's not been too ... too long at all,
Since we even had the right to
Cast a vote.
(Well!)
Well, sure, some men bowed down and called us "Mrs." (Yeah!)
Let us hang the wash out and wash the dishes, (Huh!)
But when the time rolled around to elect a president...
What did they say, Sister, (What did they say?)
They said, uh, "See ya later, alligator,
And don't forget my ... my mashed potatoes,
'Cause I'm going downtown to cast my vote for president."
Oh, we were suffering until suffrage,
Not a woman here could vote, no matter what age,
Then the 19th Amendment struck down that restrictive rule. (Oh yeah!)
And now we pull down on the lever,
Cast our ballots and we endeavor
To improve our country, state, county, town, and school.
(Tell 'em 'bout it!)
Those pilgrim women who ...
Who braved the boat
Could cook the turkey, but they ...
They could not vote.
Even Betsy Ross who sewed the flag was left behind that first election day.
(What a shame, Sisters!)
Then Susan B. Anthony (Yeah!) and Julia Howe,
(Lucretia!) Lucretia Mott, (and others!) they showed us how;
They carried signs and marched in lines
Until at long last the law was passed.
Oh, we were suffering until suffrage,
Not a woman here could vote, no matter what age,
Then the 19th Amendment struck down that restrictive rule. (Oh yeah!)
And now we pull down on the lever,
Cast our ballots and we endeavor
To improve our country, state, county, town, and school. (Right On! Right On!)
Yes the 19th Amendment
Struck down that restrictive rule. (Right On! Right On!)
Yes the 19th Amendment
Struck down that restrictive rule.
(Yeah, yeah!
Yeah, yeah!
Right on!
We got it now!)
Since 1920...
Sisters, unite!
Vote on!

Thanks ladies!

Election Day

It was our first election today since we were sworn in as British citizens and became eligible to register to vote. I have such fond memories of voting as a child. Voting machines were exciting and a treat—like going to the video arcade—because they made great noises and you could fiddle with knobs. I loved going to vote with my folks. When I was small I was allowed into the voting machine with them. You have to pull this enormous lever that requires a lot of strength—the kind you see on Dr Who these days that people have to strain to move during ensuing chaos because they have to close the portal or rip a hole in time—you pull the giant lever and KE-CHUNK! The drab coloured industrial strength fabric curtains magically close behind you with a dramatic swish. All people can see are your legs—it was like being a magician’s assistant and getting sawn in half—you weren’t really sawn in half it just looked like it to the audience. Then you get to flick the tiny levers beside the candidates or amendments you are voting for (or un-flick if you changed your mind) then when you are sure you have done the right thing, pull the magic lever again and ZING! The curtains magically fly open, the top half of your body is reunited with the lower half and your vote is registered. It was so much fun. I recall being allowed to pull down the levers as my mum pointed to them reminding me not to say out loud what we were voting for as it was nobody’s business but ours. I even recall once a family hike to the Pop Holland Scout Hut to vote followed by a picnic lunch then a hike home. Good times.

Well Spiderman and I went to vote first thing this morning at 7:00am when the polling station opened. I think we were their first customers. But listen to this—there were no big machines. We were given 2 paper ballots and told to stand in a cubby hole and put a big cross (X) in pencil by the ones you wanted, then fold up the paper and put it in a box with a slit in the top. Someone would then count all the paper votes later in the day and give the results. My Pilates teacher said her daughter’s high school was helping count the votes. Is that funny or what? It was so lo-tech and old fashioned. Like voting for prom Queen. But this is how they do it here.

I never thought I’d say this being someone who is noticeably technologically disinterested but I miss the machines. I liked the KE-CHUNK and the boring curtains and the joy of flicking the levers. How strange is that?  

What does it mean to be British?

Does this mean I can form an orderly queue or complain about the weather? Will we eat nothing but cucumber sandwiches and play croquet on the lawn? Do we get to have high tea with the Queen? (I have actually been asked that question.) On a more sinister side will we become football hooligans, join the BNP, binge drink and get an ASBO? Can you even get an ASBO these days?  You certainly can still join the BNP. I saw them canvassing voters in Market Square only a few weeks ago. What does it mean to be British?

In 1990, when we arrived in London as fresh faced exchange students, Britain seemed to be the magical world we were waiting our whole lives to discover. History went back thousands, not hundreds, of years. So many of the beautiful paintings that we adored and had only seen in books could be found in Britain’s numerous (and largely free) museums. There were hundreds of different plays on every night in London. There was always something to learn. It was amazing to see so many different races and religions living and working together without much fuss. Yes, there were problems, but they were being worked through. It was so different from Louisiana.

I never thought very much about being an American citizen. I suppose something you are born with just seems like a given right whereas something you have to earn means more. I know hundreds of people who would proudly declare, “I’m proud to be an American” which might, if I’m honest, actually be translated as, “I’m proud to be a white, Christian American.” I never felt much national pride growing up. There were so many things that I felt our state and country did wrong  that I often felt ashamed for how we treated people of other races and religions. Louisiana schools were ordered by law to integrate “with all deliberate haste” in 1954 and some parishes (counties) still have not managed to achieve this goal. Because we have had to earn the right to be British I feel that I value it more. I feel a swelling of pride for the country I love, the country that has always felt more like home than home. The country that is now my home.

We arrived at the Old Courthouse in Hatfield and were there with 34 other fellow citizens, including several families, about to embark on this journey. There were many different races and nationalities and styles of dress from saris and headscarves to a kimono to my Quaker hat and apron. But we all had something in common--we all desperately wanted to be a part of this nation. And we had all had to pass a very difficult exam and pay a huge processing fee.  We were given a choice of swearing an oath before God or saying an affirmation. Quakers tend to say an affirmation because otherwise it looks like you are only honest and truthful before God and the rest of the time you are free to lie your head off. We chose the affirmation which read:

I (your name) do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that on becoming a British citizen, I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, her Heirs and Successors, according to law.

It is to be noted that the letter that was sent to us stated that if you were swearing an oath you could feel free to bring a “Holy Book” of your choosing to swear upon. That really made me smile because I know the Louisiana reaction would be, “A Holy Book? Don’t they mean the Holy Book? There is only one.”

After that it was a bit like a graduation, we had special places to sit and then went up to receive our certificate and shake the hand of the Councillor wearing his huge gold chain. If you were a child then you also got a small teddy bear wearing a woolly jumper bearing the Union Jack. I desperately wanted to be a small child at that moment. Then we had to sign our names in a beautiful calligraphy register of all new citizens.  Lastly we had to stand, in respect, as the national anthem God Save the Queen was played--which is coincidently the same tune as My Country T'is of Thee and let me just say ya’ll stole that from us because we were here first. The grandmotherly lady in her full sari and head scarf next to me, proudly clutching her certificate, could be heard humming along. That is what it means to be British.

I’d like to thank so many of our friends who remembered us on this special day with calls, emails and notes. We thank you for your support. The fact that you remembered that it was today and celebrated with us in spirit (even though you couldn’t be there in person) means the world to us.

And so I sign off for now. Tootle-pip!

The Riddle of the Sphinx

A four syllable word is the answer you seek,
Playfully written by Heather the geek.

Thomas in his usual Eeyore-ish form
Takes no credit at all for this dreadful poem.

The first syllable is in city
Minus the y.
Stop looking so bored dear,
Please do not sigh.

The second is in bin but not in bun.
Stop rolling your eyes dear,
This is meant to be fun.

The third comes before the art of motorcycle maintenance.
I know it doesn’t scan,
But at least it makes sense.

The fourth is a boat
With a Union Jack sail.
Now can you guess what
Arrived in the mail?

The answer for viewers at home is:

Cit-i-zen-ship!

That’s right, folks! Yesterday we received a certified letter from the Home Office. I was worried as we had already had one and it was kind of a disaster. Well I was the disaster. About a week ago we received a certified letter from the Home Office. It included all the documents we sent (current passports and marriage licence) plus a letter. I TRIED to read the letter, dear reader, really I did. But the letters squirmed on the page like snakes and reconfigured themselves into some other words--the words of my greatest fears and I read it all wrong. Or really just made shit up that wasn’t there. I implied a lot of subtext that was not there. I phoned Spiderman at work all in a panic--which made him panic--and brought to him the offending letter. When he read the letter-which somehow stayed a letter and didn’t reconfigure itself into lies--he gave me the stink eye for days because what I said it said and what it actually said were 2 separate things entirely. All they really were saying was “here are these documents, we don’t need them anymore. Could we have your expired passports and proof that you were born where you say you were (birth certificates)” Yeah, I didn’t get that meaning at all.

Luckily Spiderman was home to take this letter and open it and read it first because Lord knows what I would have made it say. But suffice it to say this one included our documents and had the glorious words:

I am pleased to say that the application has been successful and you will shortly receive a letter inviting you to attend a citizenship ceremony. When you attend a ceremony you will be presented with a certificate of British citizenship.

I would like to think that even I could not have misinterpreted the meaning of that. But let’s not hold our breath, shall we?

We are more thrilled than you can imagine and extremely relieved. It happened so quickly--we were told it would take between 4-6 months to process the paperwork and they did it all within a month. Hooray!

This all stems from being spoiled in 1990. As exchange students from sheltered Louisiana we were thrust into London headfirst and we were given an unquenchable desire--a thirst for more. More art, history, theatre, lectures--intellectual stimulation that Louisiana could not provide. In London there is always something going on. Sure, we tried to recapture that feeling back in Louisiana when our exchange semester was over. We drove to New Orleans, Texas, Mississippi to see art exhibitions. We attended as many local plays as we could. But it wasn’t enough. We needed more. If you wait until you are older, more financially secure, retired or whatever--it may be too late to live your dream. My dad had so many plans for travel and adventure after his retirement  and died at the age of 56--having only managed a few of the journeys he dreamed of. We did not want that to happen to us.

Yesterday, we took the train into London and went to the British Library to see a small, but very beautiful display about Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner which included original handwritten manuscripts and several different illustrated versions of the text. We also took in an interesting exhibit about how the English language developed and saw a Middle English manuscript which is the first written recorded use of the word fart. Can you beat that?

 Then we strolled, nipping into bookshops and occasional cafes until we came to the Courtauld Gallery. We weren’t even planning on going there, but we saw a poster advertising an exhibit called Life, Legend and Landscape: Victorian Drawings and Watercolours  and we thought “Why not?” so we popped in to see it as well as their permanent collection. Very nice--the exhibit had a Millais, Rossetti and a Landseer just to name a few of our favourite artists.

Then we ambled our way to the National Theatre for a lecture on the history of Frankenstein from Mary Shelley’s book through all the film variations and how they differ. Fascinating stuff. 

Then it was back home by train and we were home and snug in our beds by 10:00pm.

This is why we are here. Thank you LC/MC Overseas program for awakening in us the desire, thank you Home Office for granting us citizenship and most of all--thank you God for all the blessings that you bestow on us.