In the afternoon we gate-crashed a barbecue party in Henry Hudson Park. At least, we were invited along unofficially by the Man's colleague. We were made to feel very welcome by the members of the Babysitting Cooperative (our hosts), and enjoyed the riverside setting and sharing lively conversation and large quantities of chips (crisps). For the children it was pure joy, running free and being with other kids after several days cooped up with only their parents for company.
Among the people we met were a local politician (of course Democrat - this is New York State), an entomologist and a writer involved with the local health-food cooperative. I'd always secretly known that Linton doesn't have a monopoly on interesting and amusing people, but it was heartening to have solid evidence of this so soon into our adventure. Sorry then, Linton friends. Missed ya for a few minutes there, but now we're fine. Cheerio!
I don't mean that.
I'd also known that we'd find the scale of things different here. I mean, our Linton house is not small, yet already looking back it seems positively pokey. When I get up in the morning here I have to pack a small rucksack with essentials before setting off on the long trek to the bedroom door: not only is the distance daunting, but there's an ever-present danger of opening the wrong door altogether and ending up in one of the innumerable closets which in themselves are large enough to comfortably house a small family. And as for the fridge...
Dear me, what we have to suffer.
Monday, up early again. I went downstairs at 5am to read Mark Haddon's 'A Spot of Bother'. A good read - but then I came to Chapter 60 and had to have a little lie down on the carpet because I Don't Do Blood.
This afternoon we visited our British friends (the Man's colleague and family), and after a cup of tea abandoned the children there and went off to do some necessary chores. This included opening a bank account. At one point during this process we were handed a form to sign. The Man, who is a stickler for this sort of thing, read the baffling tax form through and realised that strictly speaking he would be perjuring himself if he signed it. You see, we are currently in a state of limbo - no longer residents of the UK, but since we do not have social security numbers we do not officially exist in the US either. This causes all kinds of confusion. Anyway, Chuck, the bank's representative had clearly never actually read the form in question himself, so we all sat in companionable silence for a while, reading and re-reading the form and wondering what to do next. After about five minutes of this Chuck quietly took the form back, flipped it over and tucked it away. I have a feeling that American life might be filled with scarily important looking documents that actually don't mean much at all.
A surreal moment at the park yesterday: the other kids had all left, so the Girl was playing with a couple of imaginary friends - Heather, a trouble maker only too well known to me, and Annie who apparently is a calming influence. The Girl explained 'I don't usually talk to Annie. But sometimes I pretend that I'm HER imaginary friend, and then her parents tell her off for talking to someone who isn't there.'
There's no logic like a child's logic :-D
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