Star turns

Today there was a special assembly to celebrate the man for whom the kids' school is named. For purposes of this blog I'll just call him Bob. He died rather young, but lived his short life well and is regarded as an inspiring figure in our little community.

Every child in the school, from Pre-K to (through) 8th Grade, appeared on stage at some point or another, in small groups or as part of whole-class extavaganzas. Music, artwork, poetry and drama all featured. Bob had a wide range of interests and everything got a mention: a couple of acts craftily managed to incorporate his love both of Shakespeare and soccer, which was pretty good going. There was a jazz homage, worthy of any I've listened to endlessly of a Saturday night on the local Public Radio station. There was a short interpretive dance by the three year-olds representing wind blowing leaves. There was even an acrostic rap - not heard one of those before.

Far and away the star of the show, though, was young Exile #4 - but I'll leave it to her proud Dad to describe her moments of glory.

Funny bunny

I've spent much too long on the computer today, getting buggle-eyed trying to design T-shirt order forms, researching other school fundraisers and the like. I had a happy break in the afternoon - a cup of tea with Exile #2. And when the kids got home from school we did a bit of crafty stuff. Otherwise I've just been staring at a screen.

So I'm going to stop now, and tomorrow I will try to do something more blogworthy.

The Man adds...

When we took off from Albany at dawn on Monday the Captain gave me a hint of what was ahead. "If you're going to Chicago it's 50 degrees," he said. "Las Vegas: 55 degrees, Burbank: 46 degrees. And if you're going to Oakland...get yourself a new travel agent."

Guess where I was going?

I was allowed to leave the plane for five minutes in Las Vegas - it's astonishing to see the Gates full of slot machines - but otherwise it was ten hours, one plane, three stops, no entertainment or proper food, until the flight assistant cheerfully announced: "To those of you who have made the journey all the way from Albany you've finally arrived!...Welcome to Lima, Peru."

In fact, only 2 of us made the full journey. After this I was looking forward to some good nights' sleep but as luck would have it, there was a fire in the hotel. We spent an hour standing in the car park at 2am while the fire fighters put it out, but my floor still smelt heavily of smoke the next morning.

However, it must be said that Berkeley is a very appealing town, with lots of bustle and unusual shops and restaurants. The weather - sunny and 80s - has been perfect and the view from my workplace - the Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory - across the Bay to San Francisco, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge, is beyond description - or the limited abilities of a camera phone.

Tufty strikes again

A sad farewell to Mum and Dad at midday as they set off towards Boston then back to England. It has been great having them to stay and we'll miss them.

Meanwhile the Girl and Boy were already at school, and having their photos taken. The Girl, hair groomed and glossy, was a self-styled 'vision in purple'. The Boy was dressed in his best shirt and least holey trousers, but later reported that he had pulled a face for the camera (his favourite, the 'ugly pug') so we'll look forward to seeing that when it's developed. Sigh.

A week or so ago I entered the seasonal spirit and decorated our front steps with mums (floral kind), carved pumpkins and assorted gourds. Quite pretty. But over the last few days the gourds have been going missing, in part or sometimes entirely. Something has been munching on them. I thought it might have been deer (they like to wander through people's yards in search of decorative shrubs etc), but then yesterday we saw a shifty looking cat hanging about round the steps - could he be the phantom nibbler?

But no, I spotted the real culprit this afternoon - a squirrel, hopping about in the backyard with half a mini-pumpkin in his thieving paws. Darn those pesky critters!

All part of the service?

The weather has been a bit bleak for Mum and Dad's last full day here, making a final walk in the woods or the hills a not very attractive prospect. We went into Albany and they did some last minute shopping instead.

The Girl tells me that the new bus driver has offered to give her a gift if she'll keep her hair brushed 'til the end of the week. I'm getting to like this lady! The Girl is somewhat disappointed with me that I'm prepared to hand over a parental responsibilty such as her hair care to the bus driver, but says she will give it a go until Friday in order to see what the gift is.

The bus driver has also promised a reward to the Boy if he'll stop sucking his thumb (he just can't kick the habit), but he reckons that it'll most likely be something to do with Power Rangers so he's not going to bother.

Rakish behaviour

A painfully early start this morning - up at 5am, because the Man had to catch a flight to California. I left him at Albany airport and some hours later heard that he'd got as far as Las Vegas. Whether he then flew on, or decided to stop and gamble away all our savings I shall no doubt find out eventually.

My Dad has spent the last few days labouring in the yard, raking up leaves. The weather has turned considerably colder recently, and the leaves keep falling almost as fast as he can clear them. Still, he has raked up an impressive pile by the side of the road and now we're waiting for the municipal Noo-noo to come along and scooch them up.

We all like sheep...

'...except me!' announced the Girl, which was a shame because we had just arrived at the New York State Sheep and Wool Festival in Rhinebeck.

There was more wool/yarn/fleece/felt than you could shake a stick at - barnloads of the stuff. And then more barns. It was all a bit overwhelming (or should that be 'overwoolming'?).

And there were barnloads of actual sheep, too, all nicely washed and groomed for show.

Luckily for those in our party not mad keen on sheep or wool, there were also a few other diversions. Frisbee-catching canines for example. And the children were particuarly tickled by this guy and his dummy act - awesomely funny, if toilet humour is your thing.

All in all it wasn't quite the event we'd hoped for - so often 'less is more', and there was just too much at this festival. Still, it was a day out, and it gave me the opportunity to resist buying a book called 'Knitting with Dog Hair' (can you imagine loving your dog so much that you'd want to wear it?). And Dad bought me a pair of alpaca double thickness mittens which should help my freezy fingers survive the winter - thank you Dad!

Can anyone identify the classical/Biblical misquote in today's title?

Can't say Fairer than that

As I was arranging the tombola table last night a small girl came up, pointed to a painting of a ballerina and said 'I've got that picture in my room!'. 'Not any more you don't, kiddo!' I nearly replied, but thought better of it.

I'll admit to having had some last minute qualms about how the whole tombola experience would go down in my host country. For a start, what, if anything, would be donated?

I needn't have worried. There was a plentiful supply of 'regifted' items, most of rather higher quality, frankly, than you'd find at your average British village hall event. But the milk-and-sugar servers shaped like Friesian cows were spot on.

Now, what makes a tombola so popular back home is, I think, that it so neatly encapsulates the experience of being British. By no means is everyone a winner. You take a chance, you get your hopes up, and more often than not you're disappointed. And even if you do win something, usually that's quite disappointing, too. How was I going to sell this set-yourself-up-to-fail concept to Americans?

After a slow start, I definitely won a receptive audience. In fact I fear I have sealed the fate of at least five kids who will now certainly go on to become hardened gamblers - they couldn't get enough of it! And towards the end, as the prizes dwindled, there was a rush of teenagers vying unaccountably to win a can of tomatoes. I was cleaned out by 2 o'clock, a good hour before the rest of the Fair ended. Result!

Though of course, it won't be until we run it again next year that I'll find out if the tombola has truly been embraced. When that Friesian milk-and-sugar combo makes a reappearance, then I'll be satisfied that my work here is done.