The Map Game

We played the Map Game today.

First Lena asked, "If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

Livia: Mexico

Lena: Fiji

Ariel: Thailand

Me: Over there (pointing out the window)



Next, "Where would you send your enemies?"

Livia: Libya

Me: Antarctica

Ariel: Somalia

Lena: Bangladesh ... just before the rainy season ... in 1998



Finally, "If you could own a country, which one and why?"

Livia: Mexico because it's big and filled with people who I could make do things for me, but I would let them be free.

Lena: Hungary, because it makes me feel hungry (and later) because it makes me think of Atilla

Me: Italy or New Zealand

Ariel: China because China owns the U.S.



Geography and social studies at their finest.

Spring into Easter

Easter came early this year, but it still fell after the Vernal Equinox, so this was technically spring. Easter also marked our best snow of the year. Which had nearly all melted by the time it was time for church and photos.

Lena escaped at full speed after pictures were taken.

Who's your daddy?

In the last post, it was very obvious that Lena is my child. This past week, I took a series of photos of the girls, and there was no denying to whom Livia belonged.

What do you think?

In other news, we had a surreal experience on the last day of school. Ariel and I went to pick up Lena, and the headmaster came up to inform us that our daughter had won the Singing Cup (it itself does not sing). I had to ask, "Which daughter?" It turns out that Lena won the award this term for her amazing singing. I'm still a little bewildered by this. She must get extra credit for enthusiasm. At the end of the summer term we have to give it back, but Lena's name and the year will be permenantly engraved on the base with the previous winners. The cup was first awarded in 1958 to S.J. Drabble. I have all of his albums. Even the Christmas album.

In church each Sunday, we get comments about the girls' singing. You see, we sit near the front, therefore facing very few people; and yet, the whole of the congregation can hear them -- for every hymn. It's worse on days like today when they happen to be sitting next to each other as then they try to out-sing each other. By the end, they are louder than the whole assembly and the piano. The Bishop is visibly laughing at the front, and I'm blushing furiously. It's best (worst) during the Sacrament Hymn, as we prepare to take the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. This is always a solemn and contemplative hymn, and yet it is belted out by the dueling mezzo-sopranos. Our only consolation is that by the end, at their loudest, the words have taken a triumphant turn, and their volume connotes the choirs of angels. Legions of angels.

But this one looks a little devilish. Just like her Daddy.

Glorious Titian Mane

The title of this post comes from a comment from another mother at the school pick-up the other day. Since my hair is more auburn than red, I demurred that "titian" was a little inaccurate. But I'll take "Glorious" any day. Pictured is a Sunday shot that I made Ariel take when my hair worked out perfectly with no combing or further primping. I then promptly cut it.

In England, red-heads are called "Gingers" and there is actually a great deal of discrimination against Gingers in this country. I am also not really a ginger, but our chicken of the same name is.


Every Friday, Lena's class has Assembly. It's a lot like show-and-tell, but it's taken to the next level. It's a presentation with 10 minutes set aside for the assigned child, and last term when Lena's turn came up, she tried to convince me that it was okay to bring in a live animal for her Assembly -- the Thursday night before. This time, we had lots of notice, and I was able to talk to her teacher about the logistics. I brought the three girls (2 human and 1 avian) to school and sat in the back of the class as Lena made her presentation. It's nice to see the kids at school. The little hellions that have come over for sleepovers turn out to be well-mannered and pleasant people. The daughter that bounces off the walls and makes up crazy stories so ridiculous that she can't tell them for laughing so hard turns out to be focused and well-prepared. She stood confidently at the front holding Ginger securely but gently while she taught her classmates about the joys of having hens. She resisted the goofy questions, called on only the people who were raising their hands (even to the point of ignoring unruly friends), and generally proved that she knew her stuff. I was (and still am) terribly proud of her. My only regret is that I got so caught up in watching her that I forgot to take a picture.

Finally, despite a mild winter, we've been oppressed by Mother Nature on all sides here. In late February, we had an earthquake, epicentered in Lincolnshire (in the north). In true form, while everyone around us experienced it, we managed to sleep through it. It wasn't long before someone managed to trigger one of my favourite pet peeves: seeing anything catastrophic as a sign of the End of the World. Sure enough, Sunday morning, someone mentioned it and Matthew 24:7 (earthquakes in diverse places), and Ariel and I just had to smile since England has had earthquakes of similar magnitude about once every decade for the last couple of centuries. But the epicenters have been in diverse places around the island, so prophecy should not be discounted quite yet.
Ariel and I had a meeting at his office building on a glorious, sunny day and in the 15 minutes that we were inside, the clouds moved in and dumped a thick layer of sleet all over the place, then cleared away as if nothing had happened. This went on a few more times (stealthy sleeting) and at home, it fell straight down the chimney (where we have no flue) and knocked creosote all over the white carpet that's in our living room. This was actually better than the swallows that are building a nest at the top of the chimney which keep dropping their twigs and crap down into the living room (and once flew straight into the room, much to everyone's surprise).
We've had horrific flooding and winds so fierce that I had to go collect the compost bins which were being thrown against the house. The day was the kind you stay inside for, and I used the time to finish a cloud-study painting I was doing. The funny part is that you can tell how windy the day is because everything in the picture is slanted as if being blown from left to right. There's even more visual weight on the right as if it's all been pushed there by the force of the gales. Otherwise, it's trite, but I enjoyed how much reality influenced my little exercise.
But none of this weather has made me want to flee the country. Last Thursday, I was thankful that I had a friend over when I received a terrible call: our flight is booked for Heathrow to Dulles, July 28th. We're officially going home. Or leaving home. However you want to look at it. Even the cat is booked.