Nelsonesque

First things first. From this day forward John shall be known as John esquire because he passed the Georgia bar!!! (We haven't heard from Tennessee yet.)

I took another trip to Thetford today to observe what they do for "Ancient House Alive" days. I've observed a few different events since moving here but this was by far the most fun. I stood drinking tea amongst women in Roman and Iceni costumes talking about everything from Roman Briton to what the locals think of Thomas Paine. I really enjoyed being around the other volunteers and seeing what they do. They each designed their own station. There was Roman food in the kitchen, an olive tree, pipe cleaner torc bracelets, and paper mosaics. I'm looking forward to participating in the coming months and designing my own station! They also have some knitting events that I might go to so I can learn a few things.

As I walked from Ancient House to the train station it started hailing.

After lunch John wanted to go into town to buy some warm clothes and get an iphone. We had a very productive trip. On our way back to the flat we stopped at the co-op to get some candy. I put a pumpkin picture in the window so kids would know we were participating in Halloween. It was worth it because we did get one trick-or-treater. He had on a shirt with skeletons and a witches hat with stars. Not sure what he was other than cute. I think John and I will find a use for the left over candy.

Oh, and I'm wearing the spiderweb tights today with my black dress. Not quite a costume, but Halloweeny.

Happy Halloween

I went out of the house three times today! I've actually been pretty good about running because the cold doesn't bother me so much when I'm overheated. I had to switch from the baseball cap to the knit hat today though.

But, later in the day I covered my every possible inch and rode into town to buy a few things we have been living without. Then I had to go out again to get dinner groceries.















Here I'm just modeling the Halloween shirt that was in the care package.



















And here is a Halloween story for you:

Wedding Pictures!

John and I got a care package from Mumsie today and it had our wedding pictures in it!



















































There was also a towel. Thank goodness. Now I won't be hitchhiking across the universe unprepared.

Guilt Culture

My mother gave me a series of classical mythology lectures on CD for Christmas. The myth lectures were actually my listening material when I first started running. It was once I finished them that I started looking for audio books to listen to.

In one of these lectures, the instructor, who happens to be British, was talking about the "shame culture" of ancient Greece and Rome. When you do something wrong it is very public. You are punished by other people. I can personally attest to Italy's current shame culture. When I was visiting Rome, Antonella (the lovely woman who cooked dinner for us) would shake her finger at anyone who did something they shouldn't have and call them "shamo." This shame culture is a result of the Mediterranean climate. People spend so much time outside that their wrongdoings will inevitably be public.

The instructor compared this to England's "guilt culture." England does not have a Mediterranean climate, so people spend most of their time inside. If you do something wrong here you are punished by yourself. You sit alone in your room watching the rain pour down the window, being devoured by your own guilt.

I haven't been suffering from shame or guilt since moving here, but I am starting to see how the weather could influence an entire culture. It's still only fall but when I open the door and feel the wind, I tend to want to stay indoors. I tried to prepare myself for this last winter and learned that most of my problems with cold weather come from not really wearing the right clothes. So as it gets colder I will be buying some warmer things to wear. And then I can get back to public humiliation. My Italian roots wouldn't have it any other way.

On Guitaring

I started taking piano lessons when I was 7 years old. As I recall I had started trying to teach myself with a "teach yourself piano" book I found around the house and a roughly two and a half octave keyboard. My determination to learn impressed my parents enough that they bought a piano and lessons for me, Amanda, and my father. In all the time that I took piano lessons I only wanted to quit once. I now have the mental capacity to articulate that the reason I wanted to quit was because my piano teacher intimidated me, not because I didn't want to learn to play. But I'm glad my parents didn't let me quit and that my piano teacher eventually moved to Florida leaving a void that was filled by much more delightful teachers.

At 24 I have no guitar teacher other than myself, the same determination, and a head already full of musical knowledge. An example: I picked out the tune to the song "Mama Don't Allow" (which happens to be part of Thatcher Hurd's book by the same name). Then I figured out the chords.

But when I try to play it....well it's not so good.

Kind of frustrating when your head knows how to do it, but your fingers don't.

Just a note: I've added John as an author. The time change post is his. If you look at the bottom of each post you can see who the author is. He has also said he will tag his posts with "guest author" and "the hubs."

Turning off lights saves energy

At 6:30 AM the first alarm went off. The watch's light flashed as I reached to turn it off. I do not remember either the 7 or 7:30 AM alarm. What I do remember is holding the watch in my hand and at around 8:30 and thinking "So much for the 'early to rise' plan."

Clothes on, check email, clothes off, into the shower. Out of shower, brush teeth, find clean clothes, grab wallet. Find bike, find helmet, find keys, out the door. All by 9:15.

A professor left reading material outside his office. My class with him is tomorrow. I also had to deposit money into our UK bank account today. So off I went.

Up the street, around the corner, across a crosswalk, into the park, and out onto another street. Down the street, to the t-intersection, across to the bike trail, and ride, ride, ride up the hill until I met the tree-trimmer.

In Britain, shrubbery and tree-scapes are maintained be dedicated crews. Dedicated so that nothing will stand in their way. This includes morning rush hour traffic and those pesky American student bicyclists who want to avoid cycling up hills in morning rush hour traffic while on the road.

The anti-shrubbery machine's shrubbing arm reached across the bike path while the body of the machine lay in the left lane -- blocking all traffic going my way. Seeing a lone bicyclist coming, the body of the machine promptly left the rode so he might block the bike path more efficiently.

He was foiled. I was a mere diversionary tactic, and now the line of cars behind me and around the bend no longer were blocked by the machine. Unfortunately, as is the case for most diversionary tactics, this helped me, the diversion, very little.

So off the bike path, onto the road, ride, ride, ride, hard, hard, hard, up the hill and finally into a bus stop lane and once again onto the path, into the campus, and onto broad pedestrian/cyclist only lanes.

Ride, ride, ride through the campus, slow, slow, slower until I reached the law school and my paper. Into the door, up the stairs, up the second flight of stairs, down a hall, back the other way, lost, found, lost again, then finally, with paper in hand, back down the stairs, through a hall, down the second stairs, and in front of the instant coffee machine.

50p later (50 pence, half a pound) a flimsy plastic cup held instant coffee grounds that were being dissolved as hot water flowed over them. Stirring straw in hand, I went to the main hall to rest and read a bit of my paper.

Read, read, read, but not too fast. Sip, sip, sip, but not too slow. Coffee gone, paper packed in my backpack, out the door and off I went once again on the cycle. Surprisingly, my bike was the only one at the school, which seemed odd. Usually there are another 20 or so.

Ride, ride, ride through campus. In the park a dog in the distance, running, ignoring his owner, sees me and comes my way. Ride some more, reach the sidewalk, stop and wait. Dog comes up, looks at me, decides I am not a squirrel, stops ignoring the owner and runs back. Ride, ride, ride down to the student commons and the bank. Park the bike, chain to the post, and off on foot I went.

Walk, walk, walk to the bank. It's now 10:08, and I reach to open the door. Nothing. Locked. Sign on the door says the bank is open at 9:30. Check watch, 10:09. Perhaps it is a bank holiday, perhaps they open later? Workers are inside, so I will get more coffee. I walk two doors down to Dolce Vita, a coffee shop.

It is important here to note that something like this has happened before. Earlier in the year I tried to go into Dolce Vita. It was morning. Around 9 or 10. The door did not open. People were inside drinking coffee. People were outside at their tables drinking coffee. People were placing orders at the counter. The door would not open. No one came to open it. I felt like a fool, but worse was the idea that these people were so incompetent as to lock out potential customers during open hours. Dolce Vita is not so much dolce, and sometimes I think their employees have little in the way of vita.

But, today, the door opened. In I went, coffee I ordered, outside I sat, my law paper I read.

I saw someone go into the bank, so I figured they finally opened. I hurried my coffee drinking, possibly burning my mouth. Paper packed, bike helmet in hand, coffee cup in the trash, I went to the bank door. It was 10:25. Nothing. Locked. Still. One of the employers held up five fingers. Must be open at 10:30 then, so I went to wander the student commons area looking at posters.

Bus complaints, parking complaints, upcoming bands, gun ownership statistics and why that's bad, statistics on poverty and the wealth divide, Dashboard Confessionals in December, so many posters, apparently so much time.

10:30, the three people waiting outside was let in. I walk over. Something, finally -- the door opens. By now the pattern has become apparent. I ask the employee near the door: "Let me guess -- it's 9:30?" Yes, he says. "Ah, time change," I say.

It is possible to fall forward, but not advisable. And, apparently the British fall back earlier. At least Republicans will be happy to know the British understand turning off lights saves energy.

Really, They are Called Wheelie Bins

Several weeks ago I heard a bunch of commotion and rolling on the street. When I looked outside I saw that sanitation had brought everyone new wheelie bins for our trash. They didn't take our old trash can which was made of thick metal and roughly resembled Oscar the Grouch's house. We moved it to the back yard for outside trash.

Last week we got some information in the mail saying that everyone would be getting new wheelie bins for the recycling. On the appointed day lots of light blue wheelie bins showed up all over the sidewalks. When I came back from my run I went to claim our wheelie bin and discovered that there wasn't one outside our flat! There were four outside the next flat so I was going to take one of those, but saw that house numbers had been scrawled on the side of each bin. Next door were the wheelie bins for 23, 23A, 25, and 25A.

Oh, I see what the problem is. The numbering on our street is strange, and my wheelie bin had probably been put outside 21A even though 21A is not particularly near 21. I walked down to 21A where I saw the resident, an older woman, leaning out her front window putting out her trash. I thought I would just look inconspicuous until she went back inside then snoop around her property for my wheelie bin. But she saw me. "Are you okay?"
"Um, I'm looking for my wheelie bin."
"You could take one of those." Indicating the four next to my flat.
"They all have numbers on them that aren't mine."
"Have I got the right one?"
I looked, she did.
Then I saw one next to the road. 21! "Found it!"

A Phi Kappa alumnus named Will tells the most amazing stories. It is always a treat when he shows up to a meeting. One of the best things about his stories is the part where he tells you what Katie (his best friend and another Phi Kappan) said when he told her the story.

So here's what happened when I told Amanda the wheelie bin story. She asked me if the woman in 21A even knew what I was talking about when I told her I couldn't find my "wheelie bin." See, Amanda thought I made that name up. Nope. That's what the Brits call them.

Dust Bunny

Today I cleaned my office. It was accumulating clutter and dust. I took some pictures but I can't upload them right now. I'm going to blame it on the fact that John is using the Internet to watch the UGA game.

All the books are now on the book shelves and more than half of them come from the library. The Millennium Library only allows patrons to check out 15 books at one time and I am very near my limit between WWII books, guitar books, and the YA novel I'm reading. The one I'm going to have to buy my own copy of: Where Have All the Flowers Gone, a Singer's Stories, Songs, Seeds, Robberies by Pete Seeger.

I also vacuumed. At first I wasn't convinced it had made much of a difference. But when I emptied the tray a dust bunny the size of an actual bunny jumped out.

John did some cleaning today too, in the kitchen. But mostly he was saving the World....of Warcraft.

Americans in East Anglia During WWII the Trivia Game

What does "GI" stand for?

The "cockerel" crows in Britain. What is he called in the US?

Name one type of of high flying bomber.

What does Dr. Who's space ship look like from the outside?



This is another one of my ideas for possible school visits. Games are usually pretty popular. I'm thinking that if we talk a little bit about World War II and Americans first they should be able to answer the questions. Dr. Who? I like to include a "fun" category.

John Can Cook!

One night, a week or two ago, while I was cooking dinner, John was being very bossy. I can't remember what about, but he was trying to tell me how to prepare part of the meal and I felt like I already knew how to do it. My solution to said bossiness was to tell him that he would be cooking dinner the next night.

I have known John to not put a lot of effort into every day meals. He likes making nice meals for dinner parties, but on an average weeknight he is likely to eat pesto pasta (something I got tired of eating shortly after we started dating). I was pretty sure my plan of rewarding his bossiness with cooking duty was going to backfire on me and I would end up eating something I didn't really want to.

But John surprised me by getting stir fry ingredients from the co-op. We did have to take a taxi to Asda that night to buy a wok since the stir fry would not fit in any of our pans. But we finally had delicious food. Since then we have gotten a lot of use out of the wok and John's stir fry just gets fancier. He has learned how to make fried rice and lightly breaded chicken!

Now we share cooking duties. But John is still bossy. Especially when he is cooking. If I am anywhere near the kitchen I get put to work chopping peppers or tossing things into the wok. Ending up with a good meal makes it kind of hard to complain though.

The Squadron

These are some of the paper airplanes I made today trying to find the design that looks the most like a WWII bomber.
































This one is called a bomber in the paper airplane book. And it is much harder to make than it looks. Took me probably an hour to figure out one of the steps.




















I created this design trying to make a plane with more defined wings.

Aeroplanes

I've had a busy couple of weeks but after yesterday's interview I don't have any more appointments this week. So that means getting down to business on planning programs to take to the schools with the Second Air Division Memorial Library.

I have read most of The Friendly Invasion and in the process have learned a great deal, gotten lots of ideas, and had a good time. My favorite passage so far:

Lt Jack Bryant recalls how very basic was the first pub he visited near his Sadbury base. "After partaking of various beverages over the course of the evening it was necessary to make use of a facility euphemistically called a "water closet". A closet it certainly was not. It was outside in the back of the building and consisted of a partially enclosed slate wall with a diagonal through at the base. There was no lighting because of blackout requirements and overcast clouds limited any natural light. It was not quite pitch black, but it was close to it. Two or three local customers were occupying the available space, facing the wall while I waited my turn. Then one of the Englishmen spoke to another beside him, showing a forbearance impossible for an American. What he said was, 'Pardon me old chap but you're urinating on my leg'." (pg 42-43)

One of my ideas is to talk about the bombers and escort planes used by the Americans flying from East Anglia and then have the kids make paper airplanes in a few different styles to represent the different types of planes. I visited the library to get some books on World War II planes and paper airplanes. It's a lot of work, but pretty fun so far.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Today was my Build-a-Bear group interview. I found out that someone will call by Friday to tell me if I get to come in for an individual interview.

Of the people being interviewed I was the oldest and, not surprisingly, the only American.

Highlights:

We each had to choose one of the stuffed animals and make it introduce itself to someone else's stuffed animal. I chose a ginger cat because he reminded me of Socrates, except that he was covered with pumpkins.

When introducing ourselves we had to name the most famous person we had ever met. I saw lots of famous people when I visited Jess last spring, but the only famous person I've come face to face with was Bruce Campbell at a book signing. Yeah, I had to explain who he was. B-grade actor? Army of Darkness? Um, he was in the last Spiderman movie...

At the end we were paired up and had to find out two things about the other person to share with the rest of the group. I was paired with the only guy in the interview. After finding out my two things I tried to make conversation with him by asking him what kind of fun stuff there is to do in Norwich. He told me that he had just turned 18 so he didn't know about the fun stuff yet. Apparently there is nothing fun to do if you are under 18 (which is the drinking age here). I told him I had to wait until I was 21 to have fun.

Norwich Castle

When I was at Ancient House on Thursday I learned that the Norwich Castle has a Boudicea display so I asked John if we could visit the castle this weekend. We rode our bikes into the city where we had lunch before walking to the castle. In addition to the multiple collections that make up their museum they have battlements and dungeon tours. I wanted to see the dungeon and John wanted to see the battlements, so we did both.

From the roof of the castle keep we looked out over Norwich. We learned that what is now the roof of the Castle Mall was a field where people stood to watch hangings, and the weathervane cock on the top of the cathedral is the size of a cow.

On the dungeon tour we learned that nagging was once considered a crime (in America too!), and apparently one only women could commit. They were punished with a device that went around the head and held a piece of metal over the tongue.

There we so many displays in the museum that we couldn't see them all today, but we did look in on Boudicea. I love the torcs. I will have to get one if I end up putting together a Boudicea costume.

On the Bus

Bus Driver: Are you getting off at the next stop?
Woman: (carrying three shopping bags full of toys) Actually, I was going to be a bit cheeky and ask if you could let me off at this intersection, if it won't get you in trouble.
Bus Driver: I could get in trouble, you know.
Woman: I understand. It's just that I'm afraid I'll get hit by a car while I'm trying to cross the street with all these bags.
(The light at the intersection turns red and the bus driver stops and opens the door for the woman)
Woman: Thanks. You're a legend!
(The bus doors close)
Bus Driver: I am a legend.

What do Boudicea, Thomas Paine, and Duleep Singh Have in Common?

Thetford.




















Today I traveled to another city. By myself. Using only public transportation.















I had an interview with Ancient House.



















I have been terrified of this interview. It involved travel and I wasn't really sure what to expect. But it turns out that Ancient House uses storytelling and other people-interactive-type-stuff with their exhibits frequently. And they think what I do is pretty neat. And they are focusing on their Roman collection this year. Really things turned out exactly as I wanted them to. I'll get to do classical storytelling at events that are already planned and it won't be so frequently that the distance will be prohibitive.

*Sigh of relief*

Boudicea Tells Rome "Up Yours!"

I did a little research today about British hand gestures because I have noticed on TV that a particular gesture that is entirely friendly in the U.S. is not so in England. The V. Yes, what means "victory," "peace," or "two" to Americans, can mean "something rude" to the Brits, you know, depending on which way your hand is facing. Going on context I thought it was their version of The Finger, but it turns out they've got that as well. I also learned that you shouldn't give Greeks an air five or put horns on an Italian.

In other news, in the hopes of doing some Romano-British storytelling while I am here I have created a story about Boudicea. Turning the work of a historian (Tacitus) into compelling storytelling is not at all easy. I usually prefer to tell in third person, but after weeks of struggle I decided Boudicea had better do the talking herself. I also took great liberties with Caesar's Gallic Wars. What fun!

Hitting my Stride

More and more I feel like I really live here.

I went for a run this morning for the first time since our move. Thanks to all the exercise I get as a consequence of not having a car I haven't gotten too out of shape. I was actually able to run for a full half hour, just like when I was in Athens. I even discovered that there are free pod casts on itunes, so I'm going to try those out for a while since all the audio books at the library are on playaways.

When I was stretching I noticed how dirty the rugs are. Our flat has all wooden floors, but there are lots of rugs covering most of them up. Since I was feeling especially motivated I decided to ride in to town and try to find a vacuum sweeper type thing. I went in two malls and one department store (without getting lost!) before deciding that I was not going to be able to find the one sweeper that seems to exist in all of England for any cheaper no matter how many places I looked. So I got that one and will hopefully have cleaner rugs tomorrow.

I have almost completed the beginners guitar book that I purchased at the same time as the guitar. Well, that is to say that I can play all the songs, but the interspersed chord lessons are not coming along quite as well. I have been forcing myself to spend most of my practice time on chords for the past few days and I am improving, but I also miss being able to feel my fingertips.

Possibly the best thing that happened today was that I was called about interviewing at Build-a-Bear. There is certainly no guarantee I will get the job, but it is a start. It wasn't until I applied that I remembered I applied to work for Build-a-Bear once before. When I was in high school and first started looking for a job I applied to work in their store in the Mall of Georgia (I think?). Anyway, Jeff had applied there not long before and been offered a job. He told me that in the interview they asked him if he ever lied. He said that he did. Everybody lies. They asked me the same question in my interview and I told them that I do not lie (I certainly try not to). I did not get hired. Perhaps this time it will be different.

Thinking Pants

I remember back when I first started hanging out with John at Miller's apartment he was always pushing his pants up above his knees. I noticed and thought it was kind of weird, but obviously it didn't deter me from dating him.

This past Christmas my Long Island cousins were in town and we had a little party in Athens. We taught them how to play 1000 blank white cards. During the game, Amanda's room mate Katy noted that John was wearing his "thinking pants" (had his pants pushed up) and even created a card instructing everyone to wear "thinking pants." Thus, John's pant fashion is now referred to in these terms.

At the University of East Anglia's Law School there are international students from all over the world. One woman, from Tunisia, noticed John's "thinking pants" one day. "Do all people in the United States wear their pants like this?"
John told her, "No, I'm the only one."
"Why don't you wear those...not pants? Shorts."
John answered, "Then I would be cold when I'm outside."
"Are you sure all Americans don't do this?"

I thought you would like to know how John is representing our country. And I'm seriously considering buying him some of those parachute pants that unzip at the knee.

E-N-C-Y-C-L-O-P-E-D-I-A

I remember my mother singing me Jiminy Cricket's "Encyclopedia" song when I was a kid often enough that I learned it. I can only assume this was because I asked a lot of questions and she was encouraging me to look up the answers so I would really learn something. But the most useful thing I got from the song was learning how to spell "encyclopedia." I am a very poor speller but that was one word I always knew how to spell. Not only that, but it was a very big and difficult word, so the fact that I could spell it impressed my peers for many years. It was one of two childhood parlor tricks, the other being able to say the alphabet backwords, which still sometimes impresses people.

I should have picked up on how the use of rhythm helped me remember how to spell things. My mother used a little cheer to teach me and Amanda how to spell "Mazzaferro," and I never forgot how to spell that either. EM AY ZEE-ZEE-AY EF EE ARR-ARR-OH Maaaaaaaazzaferro! (think: short, short, fast, fast, fast, short, short, fast, fast, fast, long) In later life I discovered that the letters in my yahoo address, sbmazzaferro, could be sung to the tune of "Old MacDonald" and heard the song in my head ever after when I signed in.

But I digress. The Wikipedia song that accompanies "The Ballad of John's LLM" is meant to be in the style of Jiminy Cricket's "Encyclopedia" song. I've tried to change it up a bit, but I think the resemblance is still there.





Perhaps you have guessed that not much has happened in the Nelson household this weekend. My bike stopped working yesterday when the chain jumped the track and could not be coaxed back on to any of the gears because the bolt holding the rack on was in the way. This morning I undid the bolt and revered its direction, so hopefully it will not be able to trap the chain again. For now, the bike is again roadworthy.

Pavement Rage

There was a story on the news here recently about "Pavement Rage." The rage is mostly directed at individuals or groups that stand still in the middle of the sidewalk. As a frequent pedestrian I wouldn't say that I experience rage, since I rarely walk in very crowded areas. But there are the occasional frustrations. Most of the sidewalks are only large enough for two people to stand next to each other. When John and I walk together we are constantly shifting positions to let other people by. But other couples and groups are not so accommodating. I have watched couples walk straight at me and not leave me any room on the sidewalk. I personally handle this situation by moving towards the wall side so that they are forced to go around me and can't make me walk in the road. Don't worry, all they have to do is stop walking RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER and they can also pass without walking in the road.

But the worst pedestrian experience I have ever had hasn't been here in England or even in the cruel halls of high school. It was in Athens. I was living at the Faulkner Street apartment with Tessa. John Miller had made a really big deal about people tailgating for the football game so I had asked Tessa to give me a ride to campus for the tailgate. I showed up on North Campus and sat in front of Phi Kappa Hall expectantly. John Miller did not show up. No one showed up. I didn't have tickets for the game and didn't have a ride so I tried to call Tessa to ask her to pick me up. But she had fallen asleep and is a very deep sleeper. Eventually I decided to walk back to the apartment (about 5 miles). The quickest path across campus took me by the stadium. As I walked by I saw a large group of what looked like football players (obviously not the ones playing in the game). There were so many of them and they took up so much room on the sidewalk and road that I really couldn't get out of the way. I finally stopped in my tracks to let them just go around me. One of these guys was walking in a direct path to where I was standing. When he was in front of me he said, "Naw, man" took me by the arms and moved me out of his way. I finally made it through the crowd and back to the apartment where I woke up Tessa and we went out for Taco Bell.

I had almost completely blocked the incident out of my mind until this talk of "Pavement Rage" came up. But I feel like I'm finally far enough away from it to think that it is funny.

Pirate Party

So obviously this picture wasn't taken at the actual party. John took it for me at home and it is the only picture in which I'm not making a weird face. And you can see one of the purple boots I bought for this outfit.

The pirate party consisted of three pirate books and lots of rhymes. Most of the rhymes were adapted for the occasion. i.e. "Old MacDonald" became "Old MacPirate." After story time the kids got to color and make pirate hats. I was mostly an observer again, but I did get to help hand out pirate stickers.

The small amount of interaction I had with the children reminded me that when I was working at the Athens library my favorite part of story time was at the very end when the children were handing back in their crayons after coloring. It wasn't my favorite part because story time was over (usually), but because that was the time when the kids could talk to me if they wanted to. It was one thing to entertain them for half an hour, but something else to build a relationship with them and be a meaningful adult in their lives. I miss that.

My mother got me started on bar jokes this morning, so might as well:

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel sticking out of his pants. The bartender says to him, "Do you know that you have a steering wheel sticking out of your pants?" The pirate says, "Arrr, it's driving me nuts!"

Wikipedia

I had another meeting with the librarian in the Second Air Division Memorial Library and now understand what my projects for the year will be! I am going to see about teaming up with the children's library to do some special story times, possibly based around holidays or on the weekend so that older children can attend. And the big project will be coming up with activities to take to schools (or that school groups could come to the library for) relating to the American presence in Norwich during World War II. This will be great experience for me, but history has never been my strongest subject, so I've checked out some more books: The Americans in Norfolk during World War Two, Over Here by Steve Snelling and The Friendly Invasion by Roger A. Freeman.

While I was at the library I met the first person who has thought to ask me how I discovered them. I gave him the short answer: Wikipedia. But, I'll give you the long one. The Ballad of John's LLM, in all it's glory.

It all started a few months ago when I decided to look up "Norwich, England" on Wikipedia. Being from all over highway 316, Georgia, USA I did not know much about Norwich, England and since my husband wanted to go study there for a year at the University of East Anglia I thought I ought to learn something about the place before we moved. Now, I know that people like to disparage Wikipedia as an unreliable source of information and I know that being a librarian I ought to know of all kinds of ways to learn about Norwich, England. And the truth is...I do. I chose Wikipedia.

Now Wikipedia told me all kinds of fun and interesting things about Norwich, England. For instance, East Anglia was the home of Boudica, my favorite barbarian. I suppose the British people don't like for their ancient queens to be referred to as barbarians, but I'm just speaking from a Roman perspective. Anyway, Wikipedia also said that the 2nd Air Division Memorial Library located in Norwich, England has a collection of American books, and seeing as how I am an American, and a librarian, and was soon to be a resident of Norwich, England, I decided to contact them.

I asked this Memorial Library if they might have me as a volunteer.

I won't go into the entire letter I got back, but it went something like this: You seem awesome. But please prove you are not a criminal. We hope it isn't too much trouble. Kind regards.

Trouble? How much trouble could it be? I figured I could just Google "Certificate of Good Conduct" and I'd be on my way to documenting my lack of a criminal history.

Friends, my search had an inauspicious beginning. Google thought I wanted to know how to get paroled. But being a trained information professional I knew exactly how to handle this situation and I handled the situation by typing in "Certificate of Good Conduct -parole" and a few results down I found a US dot gov link.

This is where the trusty US government tells citizens like me what I have to do to prove to foreign countries that I am not a criminal.

On the instructions of the US government, I visited my local police station to get a copy of my criminal history. Now, I knew that the Athens-Clarke County Police Department probably didn't tell other countries that Americans aren't criminals every day. I didn't have any unrealistic expectations of their helpfulness. I knew I'd probably have to explain things slowly and carefully.

So I asked for my criminal history. I said it was because I wanted to volunteer in Norwich, England. They said $12 please. You'll get it in the mail.

And a few days later, in the mail, I received a mostly blank piece of paper that documented my criminal history and was mostly blank because I don't have one.

Then a day or two after that I set forth to get a special seal put on my criminal history. See, that dot gov website explained that just because something is recognized to be official in America, doesn't mean that other countries consider it official. A whole bunch of the countries talked about what to do about this in that Hague convention a while back and the countries that signed the convention agreed that documents would only need one additional seal to be valid. It's got this funny French name "Apostille" because everything sounds more official in French.

The US and the UK both signed the convention so I was feeling pretty confident when I walked into the Secretary of State's Office down in Atlanta. It was that dot gov website that told me the Secretary of State's Office could give me an Apostille. Actually there were two locations listed, but the website for the other place didn't work so I didn't trust them and the Secretary of State's Office website did work and it also said that they could give Apostilles so I figured that I was going to the right place.

My visit to the Secretary of State's Office began inauspiciously. I walked into the suite on the third floor, started telling them my story and they said, "Hold it right there. Ninth floor." So I walked into a different suite on the ninth floor. Started telling them my story and the woman said, "Hold it right there. We don't do Apostilles. That other state office does Apostilles.

"And you need a certified criminal history.

"AND you don't really want an Apostille."

This time I told her to "Hold it." I knew this one. I do want an Apostille. I looked it up.

That woman whipped the list of countries who had signed the Hague Convention out from under her desk like she was taking a gun out of a holster. She folded it up into a paper airplane, threw it, it sailed by my ear, around the room three times, landed on the desk where she slapped it down and pointed with her three inch bejeweled finger nail. "England isn't on the list!"

I picked up the list, folded it into a cootie catcher, popped it back and forth while I said the alphabet through U, the lifted the flap to reveal, "United Kingdom." The UK is on the list. I do need an Apostille.

Now, I could understand looking up England and not the UK. Anyone could make that mistake. But friends, there is no excuse for what next transpired. She made this rewinding sound like she was playing back through "The Ballad of John's LLM" then waved that finger nail in my face and said, "Honey, you said you were going to England."

And perhaps I would have let her live in her ignorant bliss, but then she made a Chinese lantern out of the directions to the state department that does issue Apostilles, and right after she puffed into it so it would unfold into a ball, and laid the delicate paper on her fierce hand, she whispered to me. "When you talk to them. Just remember where you said you were going."

I pulled a scarf out of my mouth with the words written on it so she wouldn't forget: England is IN the United Kingdom. I tied the end of the scarf to the fan so it would billow in the breeze, and I walked out the door.

The next day I went back to the Athens-Clarke County Police Department and told the girl behind the glass that I needed a certified copy of my criminal history. A what? So I told her the whole story of John's LLM and a big question mark floated up above her head. She pointed to the phone on the wall. The voice on the other end gave me the number for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.

I called up the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. No one answered. Later that day I tried again. A woman picked up and I told her that I needed a certified copy of my criminal history. A what? So I told her the whole story of John's LLM and she put another woman on the phone and that woman's voice sparkled at me as she said. "I can help you. I need $15 and two sets of fingerprints."

I sparkled back at her. "Where do I get fingerprinted?"

"At your friendly neighborhood police department."

Ruts were beginning to form in the road between my apartment and the Athens-Clarke County Police Department. I walked in for the second time that day and this time I said to the woman behind the glass, "I need finger prints."

Without looking up at me she said, "Cards please."

What?

"The cards for the fingerprints. The department requesting fingerprints usually provides specific cards."

The fire coming from my mouth melted the glass between us. "I'm taking time off work and sitting here in the police department. I mean I'm just sitting here in the Athens-Clarke County Police Department trying to get my fingerprints taken so I can get a certified criminal history from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. And you come at me with this cop jargon about cards. You've got a lot of nerve to act like I got cards from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. You just saw me this morning. You can't really think I drove all the way to Decatur and back today."

The ice from her breath formed a frozen sheet that replaced the melted glass. "I just don't want you to waste your money."

I called the Georgia Bureau of Investigation back up. I asked for that woman with the sparkley voice. She wasn't there anymore, I had to talk to the woman who answered so I told her the whole story of John's LLM and finally got around to how I had to get fingerprinted but didn't have any cards. She told me I could use the cards at the police department and I told her I was much obliged and returned to the woman behind the ice.

The police department cards are fine.

She built the ice wall a little higher as she exhaled the words, "The fingerprint guy is out to lunch."

By the time I got back there was frost all over the counter. She handed me two Athens-Clarke County Police Department Cards and told me to fill them out. But didn't give me a pen. I filled them out with my pen. The fingerprint guy was a mustachioed Minnesotan who took one look at my cards, shuffled them, cut them, then popped them like he was playing 52 card pick-up minus 50 cards. Do it again. In black ink. He let me borrow his pen.

He recited "this little piggie" as he mashed my fingers one by one onto the scanner. Then he told me not to commit any crimes with my left littlest piggie because it had a really strong print. The words sifted through his mustache like fine flour.

I sent off the cards and the money and to tell you the truth, there's not much of a story after that. Sparkles came through for me with the certified criminal history and that other state department came through with the seal. No more hassle. I'm a bona-fide, Apostille carrying, not-a-criminal.

Friends, I think there are a couple things we could take away from this story. But the most important thing we can take from this story is that Wikipedia is a more reliable source of information than dot gov websites. They don't teach you that in library school. Or at the University of East Anglia.

Wikipedia, people say,
Is unreliable, lead you astray,
But if you're wondering, then hear me
This is what you do for information needs
Don't ask dot gov
They can't help you out
Don't ask dot gov
They will make you shout
If you want to know the answer Wiki-pee-dee-ai-ay
Wiki-pee-dee-ai-ay

Rhyme Time

In the wee hours of the morning I awoke to yelling and banging. My first thought was "Someone in a neighboring flat has fallen down the stairs." As I rolled over in bed I realized John wasn't there. So my next thought was "John has fallen down the stairs." I lay there waking up and trying to decide what to do because if John wasn't seriously hurt he would probably rather I ignore his fall. Then I remembered why John wasn't in bed. He was staying up to watch the presidential debate. 9pm Eastern standard time. 2am our time. I asked myself for a moment if anything else could cause yelling and banging. Myself answered yes. I decided, while lying in the dark of the bedroom upstairs, that John was trying to keep himself occupied until the debate started by playing Mario Kart. And he was losing. I opened the bedroom door and came down the stairs where I did not find John in a pitiful pile of arms and legs. I opened the door to the living room to find John playing Mario Kart with the television volume down very low. I told him I had come to turn the radiators down. Oh and also, his Mario Kart exclamations had made me think he had fallen down the stairs. I didn't hear him again.

This afternoon I went to a Tiny Tots Rhyme Time in the children's area of the Millennium Library. I just observed today but I will be helping out with some Rhyme Times in the future. The children in attendance were infants and toddlers. So, some of them said the rhymes and did the actions along with the librarians, and some bounced on mum's knee while she helped them out. The program was all rhymes with one board book of the Incey Wincey Spider. The librarians handed out some rattles and other noise making devices at the beginning and also handed puppets and stuffed animals to the children after they were done using them during the program. When it was over they collected everything. Rhyme Time started with quieter finger play rhymes and progressed to marching and wiggly jiggly rhymes. I recognized about half of them, but even of the ones I knew there were usually some differences.

I like horsey rhymes, so I'll transcribe for you the one we did today (new to me):

Horsey Horsey, don't you stop
Just let your feet go clipperty clop
Your tail goes swish
And the wheels go round
Giddy up, we're homeward bound

Horsey Horsey, on your way
You've made the journey many a day
Your tail goes swish
And the wheels go round
Giddy up, we're homeward bound

On Friday I am going to pirate party to celebrate National Bookstart Day. The National Bookstart program provides free books to children, and they have just added a new package for preschool age children that looks like a treasure chest.

While I was at the library I was also able to check out my first books (since my library card finally arrived in the mail this week). I got Just Henry by Michelle Magorian. (Expect a review of this book in my other blog.) Just Henry is on a reading list for a young adult reading group I will be attending in November. I discovered that the Millennium Library has a huge music collection so I also checked out a guitar book, just to mix things up with my regular practice.

Cool Club

Today I went to a reading group for visually impaired children at the local primary school.

Of course this wouldn't be a proper Sarah-Beth-goes-to-a-new-place story if it didn't include me getting lost. Which I did. Since I am obviously aware of my directional problems you would think that I would have scoped out the route ahead of time. I did. I still got lost today.

But getting lost wasn't nearly as big of a problem as not being able to get into the school. I walked up to the gate at the front entrance to find it closed and locked. There was a sign saying that they didn't want people walking through the playground (which is at the front of the school) so pedestrians needed to walk around to the other entrance. I walked around to another entrance. There was another gate, but this one was open. I walked up to the school. All the doors into the school had children sitting in front of them. They all appeared to be classrooms. I was not about to just walk into a classroom. I was getting rather frantic at this point. I walked back outside the gate to regroup. I noticed a sign with the school name and phone number on it. So, I called up the school, told them who I was, why I was there, and that I couldn't figure out how to get in. Once the woman on the phone realized which entrance I was talking about she told me to walk back through the gate so she could see me on the security camera. Then so told me to walk up to one of the doors and push the buzzer, she would let me in. The children on the inside held the door for me and giggled. I apologized to the teacher and quickly left the room. The receptionist met me in the hallway and took me to where the reading group was meeting.

The group was made up of five girls who all appeared to be about 10 or 11 years old. Three of them talked about books they had read: The Mum Mystery and The Making of May by Gwyneth Rees, and Fruit and Nutcase by Jean Ure. Of those three, two of the girls gave quite good short summaries and opinions of their books. The third had written up a several page summary in her journal. If in the coming years she has a middle school teacher anything like the one I had in 6th grade she is off to a great start!

After talking about the books they had read, they all started working on letters to Jacqueline Wilson. She is their favorite author and they had asked to her come visit them, but unfortunately she has recently suffered a heart attack and isn't feeling up for a visit.

These girls have named themselves the "Cool Club." They meet about once a month to talk about the books they read and in addition to loving Jacqueline Wilson, they all love horses. They just made themselves t-shirts. They all have a slightly different design, but each one has the names of all the group members and a picture of a horse.

When I left the school I exited through the front door and discovered that I could get off the grounds through the car park. But from the car park I could not get to the road the front entrance is on, so you guessed it, I got lost again. Yet, you can see that I did find my way home.

The Pigeon Mafia

John and I took a day trip to London yesterday. We didn't really have the time or money to stay overnight but we wanted to see some of the sights. We focused on the Westminster area so we could see the statues of Boudicea and Admiral Nelson.



When I was in middle school I used to watch the Animaniacs on television right before going out to catch the bus every morning. In addition to the antics of Wakko, Yakko, and Dot, the show had shorts like Pinkey and the Brain (which later became its own show) and Goodfeathers. Now that I live around so many pigeons, I can see the truth in the latter short cartoon (the truth being that there is a pigeon mafia).

On Saturday John and I were walking down a new route we have found to get into town. I looked back at John and saw that a bird had pooped on his jacket without him even noticing. Then, in London on Sunday a very large pigeon with a double chin approached us. He said, "What happened to you yesterday, my friend, that was a shame. I certainly wouldn't want anything like that to happen again. My associates and I, we can offer you protection. It only costs you a few bread crumbs. What is a few bread crumbs to keep your jacket looking nice?"

Guess where we went!

Lappy

Some people are mystified by computers. When their computer malfunctions they imagine that the machine has turned against them. I can't claim to exactly be computer savvy, but I know that everything happens for a reason. And I knew that when Lappy refused to let me past the log in screen yesterday, it was probably my fault.

Yesterday morning, while eating my daily bowl of cereal, I was checking my e-mail. The updates icon started jumping and instead of clicking on "remind me later" as I have been doing for months, I said, "What the heck." But about five minutes into the update process I changed my mind. I really wanted to read my e-mail right then. And the updates were taking a long time. I clicked the red x. Nothing happened. I tried alt, open-apple, esc. Nothing happened. I pushed the power button. Lappy turned off. Good, now I was back on track for checking e-mails. But when Lappy came back on and I tried to sign in, the screen changed like I was going to get in to my computer and then....no, back to the log in screen. John says one of the updates probably affected the log in and I didn't let it finish updating, so it got stuck.

I drew myself some pictures of what firewire cable endings look like and rode into town by myself. (John was too sore to ride his bike anymore and I didn't want to walk.) I actually managed to buy all the correct things and kept them from flying out of my basket with the bungee cords John got for me the other day!

Today, Lappy is still not better, but I have high hopes. John is a computer genius man. And I....I am gaining proficiency the hard way.

Don't Eat That!

On the day that John graduated from law school we grabbed some food at a sandwich shop with Heath and Kelly. We were sitting outside. John had ordered some kind of pie and eaten most of it. The last bite of pie was just sitting there on his plate while we kept talking. I thought he was full and wasn't going to eat it. So when a fluffy fuzz ball floated by on the breeze and landed on his pie, I didn't say anything at first. But then, without warning, John scooped up the pie on his fork. I said, "There's a fuzzy thing..." Too late, he ate it. He ate it and was wondering what kind of fuzzy thing he had also eaten. He told me that in the future I needed to start my warning with "Don't eat that!"

Tonight while John and I were eating cookies, I thought a crumb from the cookie I was eating fell on the floor. I reached to the floor and picked up a large crumb but it wasn't from the cookie I was eating so I determined that it had been on the floor for more than a day. I set it on the table. Not a minute later, John picked up the crumb off the table and said, "You missed this." It was moving towards his mouth. I quickly shouted, "Don't eat that! It was on the floor." This time it worked.

But let's talk about food that is edible. This week I have cooked chicken masala (my favorite so far), Mexican pizza for which I had to make my own refried beans, and spaghetti with chicken (I didn't have to look that one up).