Thursday, January 31, 2008
Cold day
Nothing much to report. The Man and I both have stinky colds and really we're just hanging on until the children go to bed before we turn in ourselves. It's as much as we can do to read bedtime stories, never mind write a blog, so I'll leave it at this and hope to resume normal service again tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Canute's mission
There we were, the Man and I, all set to turn back the tide of global recession with the mother of all spending sprees. On the shopping list lots of big consumer durables: fridge, telly, sofa, bed, dining table...
How did we fare on our day-long trip to the shops? Did we achieve our goals?
Did we heck. We bought a computer microphone for $20. Oh, and we spent $7.83 on two cappuccinos and a croissant. Enough to jump-start the stalled US economy? I fear not.
But I have come up with my own self-help book suggestion (I've really been enjoying yours, by the way): PRO-crastination. How you too can save shedloads of money by never buying today what you could safely put off buying indefinitely.
I'll start writing it tomorrow.
How did we fare on our day-long trip to the shops? Did we achieve our goals?
Did we heck. We bought a computer microphone for $20. Oh, and we spent $7.83 on two cappuccinos and a croissant. Enough to jump-start the stalled US economy? I fear not.
But I have come up with my own self-help book suggestion (I've really been enjoying yours, by the way): PRO-crastination. How you too can save shedloads of money by never buying today what you could safely put off buying indefinitely.
I'll start writing it tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Help me out
I started the day up at Albany Airport visiting the Customs and Border Protection office to have our passports corrected (as I mentioned in a previous rant, sorry blog entry, when we arrived in the US the customs official stamped them with the wrong date. To avoid future bureaucratic confusion and delay I thought I'd better get that seen to). The CBP officer hemmed and hawed a bit, but made the alterations and it was all surprisingly painless.
I completed a few more jobs around town, including finally getting my hair cut. Having fretted for months about where to go, I ended up in a cheapo mall salon. The hairdresser was frankly a bit scary looking, but I showed her a photo of my hair as it used to be and she managed to replicate it, so I came away happy and a good deal less poor than I usually did after a haircut back home (though as a student I once had a really cheap cut - 50p! Bargain! Too bad it left me looking like a convict...).
I met up with British friend S for lunch, and that was enjoyable. Her 8-month-old displayed impeccable manners throughout the meal - very impressive.
At some point in the day I found myself back in Barnes & Noble, where I was pleased to note that the buyers have been paying attention to this blog and have restocked their Garrison Keillor section (though still no copies of Pontoon - perhaps sold out on the basis of my mention?).
Anyway, I came across a book called A Perfect Mess, displayed alongside a load of 'declutter your life' books. It takes the opposite thesis, that mess and clutter never hurt anyone and in fact are rather good for you. I have a grudging respect for the authors for taking a common failing (untidiness) and recasting it as a virtue - and for making a buck or two out of the concept. What a gratifying self-help book, telling me I'm perfect just the way I am!
So, it has inspired a new challenge to readers: a self-help book proposal. Pick one of your less admirable habits and give it a positive spin, in fact persuade us this character flaw is downright desirable. I'd like a title and a brief explanatory paragraph, please.
I completed a few more jobs around town, including finally getting my hair cut. Having fretted for months about where to go, I ended up in a cheapo mall salon. The hairdresser was frankly a bit scary looking, but I showed her a photo of my hair as it used to be and she managed to replicate it, so I came away happy and a good deal less poor than I usually did after a haircut back home (though as a student I once had a really cheap cut - 50p! Bargain! Too bad it left me looking like a convict...).
I met up with British friend S for lunch, and that was enjoyable. Her 8-month-old displayed impeccable manners throughout the meal - very impressive.
At some point in the day I found myself back in Barnes & Noble, where I was pleased to note that the buyers have been paying attention to this blog and have restocked their Garrison Keillor section (though still no copies of Pontoon - perhaps sold out on the basis of my mention?).
Anyway, I came across a book called A Perfect Mess, displayed alongside a load of 'declutter your life' books. It takes the opposite thesis, that mess and clutter never hurt anyone and in fact are rather good for you. I have a grudging respect for the authors for taking a common failing (untidiness) and recasting it as a virtue - and for making a buck or two out of the concept. What a gratifying self-help book, telling me I'm perfect just the way I am!
So, it has inspired a new challenge to readers: a self-help book proposal. Pick one of your less admirable habits and give it a positive spin, in fact persuade us this character flaw is downright desirable. I'd like a title and a brief explanatory paragraph, please.
Monday, January 28, 2008
One fine day
On the way home from the park yesterday we called in at our local library. The kids made their choices and we staggered, arms full, over to the desk. The librarian broke it to me gently that the children already had at least forty books out between them, most of them overdue. Even at just a dime per item per day the accumulated fines came to an eye-watering sum. I knew this limitless borrowing deal was never going to work for us.
According to the rules, our borrowing rights should have been revoked, but the librarian looked at our five-year-old Boy and said 'I'm not going to do that to him' - but I had to promise to return all the previously borrowed books first thing in the morning, before his supervisor found out.
As I emptied my purse and handed over the fine I consoled myself that I was just doing my bit to support the library service (a line I regularly trotted out in Linton, too, now I come to think of it) and the librarian noted the irony that while library services are offered free in the States ('As long as you do it right,' he added), medical services certainly aren't. With a wry smile he said,'We let them read, but heaven forbid that Americans should be healthy.'
Quietly subversive lot, these librarians.
According to the rules, our borrowing rights should have been revoked, but the librarian looked at our five-year-old Boy and said 'I'm not going to do that to him' - but I had to promise to return all the previously borrowed books first thing in the morning, before his supervisor found out.
As I emptied my purse and handed over the fine I consoled myself that I was just doing my bit to support the library service (a line I regularly trotted out in Linton, too, now I come to think of it) and the librarian noted the irony that while library services are offered free in the States ('As long as you do it right,' he added), medical services certainly aren't. With a wry smile he said,'We let them read, but heaven forbid that Americans should be healthy.'
Quietly subversive lot, these librarians.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Bard behaviour
I promised to write about last Thursday's all-school Shakespeare Night. What an amazing feat it was. An actor came to the school for nine days and in that time coached all the classes, from the big 8th graders down to the tiny pre-schoolers, so that EVERY child could take part in the show.
The different acts have been neatly summarised in the Exile's blog, so I'll refer you there for the programme. It was by no means the slickest school production I've seen, but given the timeframe and the range of ages and abilities involved it was a real tour de force, and a very joyful occasion.
As to my kids' role in proceedings: the Boy joined in with gusto, and though he fluffed his only line he exuded a certain stage presence (well, I thought so) sporting a paper necktie held on with string and his trousers rolled above his knees - a costume of his own devising. The Girl has no board-treading ambitions. She 'volunteered' (ie insisted) on working backstage. But she looked lovely in stage-hand black and waved a decapitated head on a stick very proficiently.
Today we made a foray into Washington Park in downtown Albany. We found some good play equipment there. The children were joined on a roundabout by a group of local kids and went whirling round at alarming speed, whooping with delight and shouting 'I'm not dizzy yet!' It was a different story when they finally got off to head for the swings - for some reason the park wouldn't stop spinning.
The different acts have been neatly summarised in the Exile's blog, so I'll refer you there for the programme. It was by no means the slickest school production I've seen, but given the timeframe and the range of ages and abilities involved it was a real tour de force, and a very joyful occasion.
As to my kids' role in proceedings: the Boy joined in with gusto, and though he fluffed his only line he exuded a certain stage presence (well, I thought so) sporting a paper necktie held on with string and his trousers rolled above his knees - a costume of his own devising. The Girl has no board-treading ambitions. She 'volunteered' (ie insisted) on working backstage. But she looked lovely in stage-hand black and waved a decapitated head on a stick very proficiently.
Today we made a foray into Washington Park in downtown Albany. We found some good play equipment there. The children were joined on a roundabout by a group of local kids and went whirling round at alarming speed, whooping with delight and shouting 'I'm not dizzy yet!' It was a different story when they finally got off to head for the swings - for some reason the park wouldn't stop spinning.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
On thick ice
With a couple of the Exiles we made a return visit to Grafton Lakes, scene of summer hiking, swimming and boating fun.
Not many opportunities to boat or swim today - except for a few crazies who volunteered for the 'Polar Plunge' (a dip in an icy pool cut into the frozen lake). But there was sledding down a fairly terrifying slope, snowcastle building on the beach, and of course skating (or in our case, slip-sliding around) on the lake.
The ice was at least seven inches thick (the Man and the Exile both stuck their bare hands into an ice-hole to confirm this, which begged another obvious thickness-related question). There were other attractions and activities too because it was Winter Festival Day, but most of all there was the chill beauty of the wintry setting.
Not many opportunities to boat or swim today - except for a few crazies who volunteered for the 'Polar Plunge' (a dip in an icy pool cut into the frozen lake). But there was sledding down a fairly terrifying slope, snowcastle building on the beach, and of course skating (or in our case, slip-sliding around) on the lake.
The ice was at least seven inches thick (the Man and the Exile both stuck their bare hands into an ice-hole to confirm this, which begged another obvious thickness-related question). There were other attractions and activities too because it was Winter Festival Day, but most of all there was the chill beauty of the wintry setting.
Friday, January 25, 2008
To be or not to be: 2
I should be writing about the excellent Shakespeare Night we attended yesterday at school, but it’ll have to wait because at the moment I’m too preoccupied with the drama (rapidly turning into a mini-series) of US bureaucracy…
So this morning I’m back at the DMV with my six points of ID and my letter of Social Security number ineligibility.
The lady on the desk looks at the letter. She shakes her head, ‘Nope, you need an SSN card.’
My inner voice says, ‘This isn’t happening! This is not what you said yesterday! You've already made me have my passport analysed by a bona fide supermarket assistant - WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME???’
My actual voice said, ‘Honestly, I think this is OK. Look I’ve brought my own bodyweight in ID…’ (I empty out my handbag on the counter).
She seems to be relenting on the SSN thing. She looks at my passport and studies the immigration stamp. ‘So, when did you arrive in the US?’
‘August.’
‘Says here you came in on July 16th.’
‘I know. It’s strange. I don’t know why they stamped it with that.’
‘Hmm. And when are you leaving? There should be a document to say when you have to leave.’
‘Should there? I don’t know. They didn’t give me one of those…’
My inner voice has stopped talking and turned into a silent scream.
But the desk lady has got bored with me. She waves me into the next line.
So now I’m standing behind a lady aged 102. I assume she is here for a non-driver ID card rather than a driver license. She hands over her birth certificate, which is inscribed on papyrus. Uh-oh! The man on the desk says, ‘It says here your name is Mary and you just told me you’re called Maria. I have to go check with my supervisor.’
Oh, jeez. We wait until Mary/Maria has turned 103. Then the man comes back and without further explanation says ‘You’re all set!’
My turn. The guy double-checks all my ID. I have my photo taken. They manage to angle the camera so that I look like a psychopath – or maybe that’s just how I’m looking by now. I’m given a ticket with a number.
Things then speed up considerably. I’m called to the test room. The guy there checks my ID again, in case I’ve swapped places with someone whilst crossing the office. The test takes 90 seconds. Luckily they miss out that tricky ‘Which side of the road are you meant to drive on?’ question, and I get 20 out of 20 (so did the Man, he’ll be wanting you to know).
At the kids’ school they get told ‘Good jaaaab!! You’re AWESOME!’ if they manage to spell their names right, so I was disappointed when the guy didn't give me so much as a grunt of approval. Instead he charged me $55 and sent me on my way.
Of course, this is just the start of the process. The five-hour driving theory lesson and the road test are yet to come.
Honestly, it was so much easier getting a missionary visa (long story) in Burma. You turned up at the office with a brown envelope stuffed with money paper-clipped to your application - job done! I’m thinking there’s something to be said for good old-fashioned bribery and corruption.
So this morning I’m back at the DMV with my six points of ID and my letter of Social Security number ineligibility.
The lady on the desk looks at the letter. She shakes her head, ‘Nope, you need an SSN card.’
My inner voice says, ‘This isn’t happening! This is not what you said yesterday! You've already made me have my passport analysed by a bona fide supermarket assistant - WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME???’
My actual voice said, ‘Honestly, I think this is OK. Look I’ve brought my own bodyweight in ID…’ (I empty out my handbag on the counter).
She seems to be relenting on the SSN thing. She looks at my passport and studies the immigration stamp. ‘So, when did you arrive in the US?’
‘August.’
‘Says here you came in on July 16th.’
‘I know. It’s strange. I don’t know why they stamped it with that.’
‘Hmm. And when are you leaving? There should be a document to say when you have to leave.’
‘Should there? I don’t know. They didn’t give me one of those…’
My inner voice has stopped talking and turned into a silent scream.
But the desk lady has got bored with me. She waves me into the next line.
So now I’m standing behind a lady aged 102. I assume she is here for a non-driver ID card rather than a driver license. She hands over her birth certificate, which is inscribed on papyrus. Uh-oh! The man on the desk says, ‘It says here your name is Mary and you just told me you’re called Maria. I have to go check with my supervisor.’
Oh, jeez. We wait until Mary/Maria has turned 103. Then the man comes back and without further explanation says ‘You’re all set!’
My turn. The guy double-checks all my ID. I have my photo taken. They manage to angle the camera so that I look like a psychopath – or maybe that’s just how I’m looking by now. I’m given a ticket with a number.
Things then speed up considerably. I’m called to the test room. The guy there checks my ID again, in case I’ve swapped places with someone whilst crossing the office. The test takes 90 seconds. Luckily they miss out that tricky ‘Which side of the road are you meant to drive on?’ question, and I get 20 out of 20 (so did the Man, he’ll be wanting you to know).
At the kids’ school they get told ‘Good jaaaab!! You’re AWESOME!’ if they manage to spell their names right, so I was disappointed when the guy didn't give me so much as a grunt of approval. Instead he charged me $55 and sent me on my way.
Of course, this is just the start of the process. The five-hour driving theory lesson and the road test are yet to come.
Honestly, it was so much easier getting a missionary visa (long story) in Burma. You turned up at the office with a brown envelope stuffed with money paper-clipped to your application - job done! I’m thinking there’s something to be said for good old-fashioned bribery and corruption.
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