living overseas
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Vertigo
Two weeks ago, I was in Switzerland, gifted (literally) with a retreat for the women in our organization. Even as a writer, it’s hard to find words to sum up the time. Stunning comes the closest to describe the experience on all fronts: physically, relationally, spiritually. One morning I walked to Burgruine Unspunen, old castle ruins from 1232 situated not far from our accommodation: I was there alone and gleefully poked around the various ‘rooms’, all the while marveling at the surrounding alps, the gentle jangle of the cowbells ringing out over all. And then I saw this: A well, I assume. Such a foreboding sight in an otherwise uplifting…
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Fighting Foxes
There are foxes in London. Shortly after we moved here, when I first glimpsed one slinking down the street, I actually cooed, like we all do over a puppy. I know, I know… All of my London friends are shaking their heads at this silly Yankee but in my defense, although plenty of deer visited our house in Wisconsin, including an eight-pointer that engaged me in a staring contest (and won), I was not as familiar with foxes. So, I was a bit intrigued by the cunning little faces that often appeared at dusk. During that same settling into London time when emotions were raw, one of the songs I…
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10 Cultural London Surprises
Ten Cultural London Surprises (from an American Midwesterner’s point of view) My Love. For a city known for its aloofness, strangers sure can come on strong. Don’t take it seriously when the Tesco bloke (grocery delivery) or cashier at Wilko (a wannabe baby Target) refers to you as My love. Your love? I hardly know you! You alright? Americans only ask, “Are you alright?” when someone is obviously not alright. If one has tripped or is crying or throwing up. When something bad has happened, that’s the time to ask, “You alright?” So you can understand my alarm when, a couple months after moving here, not one, not two, but…
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Just an American in England on the 4th of July
4th of July, 2019. It’s strange to be here in lovely London. Today will not include fireworks or sparklers or hotdogs or star-shaped, red Jell-O jigglers or parades or flags waving or freedom from school. It will include watermelon and corn on the cob corn salad and celebrating with American friends. It’s just past eight in the morning and the hubs and I have already sung along to Proud to be an American and John Mellencamps’s Pink Houses (aka Ain’t that America). Undoubtedly the words Oh say can you see will escape my lips at some point today; it can’t be helped. And once you start in on that bravado…
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What Remains
If you would have told the me in this picture, the me of 4 days ago, that Notre Dame would go up in flames, I wouldn’t have believed you. Having walked the city for thirteen miles the previous day, we were tired, on the last leg of our 36-hour jaunt in the city before returning to our friends’ house on the outskirts of Paris. “You at least have to see Notre Dame,” I told my fourteen-year-old. “You can’t go to Paris and not see Notre Dame.” Three days later, back in London, watching the cathedral engulfed in flame on BBC News, I wondered if this statement would be tragically and…
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A Pilgrim in Progress
Since the world outside of the U.S. doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, here in London this past Thursday was, in many ways just another ordinary day. Except that it wasn’t. It was Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. So Doug and I traveled into the city on a jammed packed rush hour train to attend “Thanksgiving Day Service for the American Community in London” at St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was grand and gorgeous. We sang Come Ye Thankful People Come and America the Beautiful (sniffle, sniffle) accompanied by a thousand other Americans living in the UK, and a hearty pipe organ. Yet if I could have blinked and transported across the ocean, to my…