Strangers in Paradise

  

  When anybody asks me what it feels like to be a Brit in America, I immediately think of a simple one word reply.....WELCOME. Joy and I have been living in the USA for 43 years and, even to this day, when meeting new people and they realize we are from Britain, (I wonder how they know?), they seem to go out of their way to make us feel welcome. This has to be the most welcoming country in the world.

  In August of 1966, the company that I worked for in England sent me to work at the parent company on Long Island, New York for four months. I brought Joy with me and we lived in a motel on the north shore at Bayville. That was one of the best times of our lives. The fun and experiences we had on that trip would be the making of a full novel. During the trip, we both came to the same conclusion "you know, this is a really nice place despite what Hollywood shows us." In some ways, this sums up the whole experience.
  About the same time as this trip, the airplane industry in Great Britain took an economic nosedive which continued for quite a while. At the same time, the "brain drain" of engineers from Europe to the USA had started and I was hired by Boeing to come to Seattle to work. So, in January 1968, we came to the Seattle area to live and start a whole new life. That was the best decision of our lives.

  Well, what was it like coming to the USA? 
  When we first arrived in Seattle, we learned that a dock strike on the east coast had kidnapped our furniture coming from England. Thirteen weeks later, it finally arrived on the west coast. We found a furnished flat (Oops - apartment) to live in near Kent and moved in there in the interim. Several other families from the UK were there also. We are still friendly with all of them except one, but they were in Group One (explanation anon). The second evening in the Pacific Northwest, we went out looking at cars and we bought a new Ford Torino GT, a beautiful lime-gold fastback which was sheer luxury compared with the Ford Cortina I drove in England. It cost $3340!
  We were both wine lovers and drank wine whenever we could afford it. Probably once a week in the UK. But here, we could drink it every day. We weren't too fussy about the wine for casual drinking, so we bought it in these huge 55 gallon jugs. (Well, actually, they were only 1 gallon!) from wineries like Eleven Cellars or Italian Swiss Colony. These huge jugs didn't go far though while we were all drinking around a big, log fire when camping.
  We found a new house in Kirkland in an area called High Woodlands. We had a large house in England but this one was nearly twice the size. It had three bedrooms. If we needed to pee in the night, we could just walk into the bathroom without negotiating any hallways. We had a whole extra room called a family room. What did we need two living rooms for? Who cares, we'll take it!We had a 2 1/2 car garage, but we weren't planning on buying half a car.
  We could eat beef every day if we wanted to. We found we had great neighbors who taught Joy how to do Mexican and Japanese cooking. It was a great life.
  We had indeed arrived. We were living in paradise.


  So, what's it like to be a Briton living in America?
  Let me think about that. In the first few years we were in this country, we would frequently discuss this topic with fellow expatriates at Boeing and it transpired that there were three different groups of people who came to this country at that time for different reasons. Group One is difficult to understand. I really don't know why they came in the first place. They always seemed ready to complain about anything and they typically only stayed in the USA for about 18 months, then went back to the UK.
  The Group Two people sometimes would say openly that they came here to save some money, then go home to the UK and buy a nice house and have some cash on hand. You could tell these people by the old clunkers they drove and the fact that they ate only hamburgers. They generally were here up to six years but some started to go home after about two to three years.
   Group Three is by far the largest group. You would not normally hear them complaining about something they could not change anyway. They used to say that, if you are here beyond six years, you are here for life. Virtually all of Group Three are now US citizens.

  As many expatriates from this era have realized, you seem to go through several stages during your first years in the USA. However, these stages may take many years to pass, depending on the individual. The end product of these stages is that you make the decision to stay in the USA permanently and thus you become an American citizen.

  Do I feel more British or American now? 
  For many years, I thought of myself as having been born and brought up in Britain, but living in America. This transitioned to --  originally from Britain, now an American citizen and then, quite simply to  -- American. I am an American. Quite when this transition happened, I really have no idea. But, its here to stay. I can honestly say, I am proud to be an American. However, do I still love Britain? Yes, of course I do. I am still human.

  What are some of the observations I have about these crazy Americans?
  When we first came to live in the USA, we formulated thoughts about our new neighbors. People seemed very interested in the new strangers in their midst. Americans are extremely friendly and they asked lots of questions and wanted to know the details of how we lived in our previous home. It seemed that Americans were more frequent churchgoers and talked about religion much more than we did in England.  Almost everyone seemed to ask "what do you like most about the USA?". Have you ever considered what a hard question that is to answer?  One thing we could say was definitely better here was the phone system. At that time in Britain, with the exception of the city of Hull, the phone system was run by Her Majesty's Post Office! Can you imagine if the phone system in this country was run by USPS? Come on now, be real!
  One thing was very noticeable. To an outsider, Americans are people who like to talk about all the freedoms they have and how they value them as a product of the greatest country in the world. I think this is a very healthy attitude. By contrast, I think the British take freedom for granted and thus do not talk about it much. I believe they take it for granted because it has been earned over so many centuries.

   What do I see as the differences between the Brits and the Americans?
  The longer I spend in the USA, the fewer the differences become. There is one obvious difference for which I cannot explain the reason but, nonetheless, it exists. That is that the British and the Americans each have a very different sense of humor. ( I wonder why the Americans just love to take the "U" out of things?).
  So, what is the difference in the British and American sense of humor? It is not that one is any better than the other but they definitely are different. I believe the difference stems from the fact that the American sense of humor is generally based on direct humor, whereas the British base theirs on both direct and indirect humor. Compare, for example, two TV comedy shows, Seinfeld and the Benny Hill show. On Seinfeld, something may be said or done which is immediately funny. So, you laugh at it. These things typically come fast and furious. In a Benny Hill show, a similar thing may be said or done, is also immediately funny, so you laugh at it. Then, if you are British, either your own brain or a look in Benny's eye will tell you that there is something else in there too, so you think about it and then laugh at that too. All of this happens in a flash. Some British comedy is based almost entirely on indirect humor. 
  I was brought up in England in a family in which almost everyone had a keen sense of humor. I am eternally grateful for this fact. Some of the family members, notably my father, had a somewhat outrageous sense of humor. I think, because of this, my mind works in such a fashion as to rearrange the thoughts I am about to express in as nonsensical a manner as possible without totally destroying the intended meaning. I think this too is a characteristic of the British sense of humor.
  I sincerely hope that what I have said in the last few paragraphs will confuse everyone as much as it has me!

  Do I think that "you" treat us differently because of our accent?  
  Definitely not. You see, since I was born and brought up in Britain, I am not the one with an accent, I have a dialect. Oops!!  I think I may have said enough.

Stock Pot

Chicken Callaloo
  The name of this soup originated in the Carribean. In Jamaica and in Trinidad and Tobago, the amaranth plant is also known as callaloo. It is a leafy vegetable plant that is very tasty when cooked.  Since it is not readily available in most of the USA, any rich green leaf can be substituted, such as spinach, kale, collard greens, napa cabbage, bok choi, etc. Using a mixture of two or more of these will give a stronger flavor.
INGREDIENTS 1/2 lb Thick Cut Bacon 2 Chicken Breasts                                             Ground black pepper,
2 cups Onion - chopped                                    garlic powder, thyme
1 cup Green Pepper- chopped                          leaves, salt, paprika.
1 cup Celery - chopped                                    Half portion each:-
6 cloves Garlic - chopped or pressed               Ground white pepper,
1/2 lb Okra or use canned                                cayenne pepper,
1 14oz can Italian Style Tomatoes
2 qts Chicken Stock
1 cup Dry white Wine
1 lb Assorted Greens
1 Carrot cut into 1 inch lengths and julienned
1 Leek cut into 1 inch lengths and julienned

Worcester Sauce - to taste
Louisiana Hot Sauce - to taste
1 tsp Salt
1 tsp Ground Black Pepper

DIRECTIONS
  Put stock and tomatoes in a large saucepan and bring to a boil and then simmer. Heat a large skillet, cut bacon into bite sized pieces and cook in skillet. Remove bacon from skillet and reserve on paper towel. Cover the chicken breasts with the seasoning mix and rub in. Add chicken breasts to skillet. Brown chicken breasts on both sides, then remove to a bowl and cut into bite sized pieces. Add onion and garlic to the skillet. When onion becomes transparent, add pepper and celery. Cook, stirring until the vegetables are soft. Pour a lable of  the hot stock into the skillet. Stir to scrape up all the brown bits off the bottom, and then pour the contents of the skillet into the stock. Add the chicken including all the accumulated juices, and the carrots, leeks and thyme. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Add the wine and the Worcester sauce to taste. Cook, covered for another 20 minutes. Add the assorted greens and cook for another 5 minutes. Add the Louisiana hot sauce to taste.
  When serving, sprinkle the bacon bits over the surface. Enjoy.
 

Hedges

  I grew up about 20 miles west of London, England and, for six of my childhood years, World War 2 was being waged. Apart from the air raids and bombing, we suffered from shortages of food and NO TOYS. All the toy factories were producing parts for tanks or Spitfires. But, in northern Europe,we also had the greatest toys known to boykind ( or girlkind I suppose). We had HEDGES. Every little field was surrounded with them, our gardens were separated by them. And, the number of uses for a hedge just about boggles the inventive young mind.
  In those days , we had our usual crew. There was Michael Williams, Stephen Farr, John Phillipson and myself. When we let the girls join in, there was Jackie Warren (Oh! She was soooo gorgeous), Hannah Bruun and Wendy Nextdoor (never could remember her last name. Come to think of it, after all these years, I'm not too sure about the first either!). In the big house at the end of the street lived the Mobbs. They had a problem, they had money, lots of it. They also had three sons. For all I knew, they could have had some more hiding in the bushes. They were automatically the enemy in anything we did. 

  Across the street from Michael's house was the most beautiful hedge. Absolute class A. It was about 200 yards long, anywhere from 4 to 8 feet tall and about 15 to 20 feet thick from front to back. It also had blackberries so, at certain times of year, we were self sustaining. It bordered a field which was actually part of a golf course.
  Hedges are so versatile. This one could be a B17 flying on a bombing mission over Nazi Germany, and the cows in the adjacent field would then become German ME109 fighters. Like the B17, the hedge had many gun turrets from which we could shoot at the enemy. Later in the day, the hedge could become a fort on the edge of the Sahara desert and we would be Foreign Legionnaires defending it from the Arabs on camels (cows). Later still, the hedge would be the bridge of HMS Ark Royal, and the cows would be Italian destroyers, as we fought courageously in the Mediterranean Sea. That hedge certainly was the finest toy any young lad could ever ask for.
  Now, Western Washington has some very fine hedges. There is one in particular in Gig Harbor along the edge of the airport near the Narrows Bridge which has caught my eye. I am sure it could be equally versatile. But, the trouble is that the kids have not been taught to respect and use hedges properly. Maybe I should talk to the local education hierarchy to see if I could give some lectures to kids on the proper care and use of hedges as an educational medium.
  I feel extremely sorry for the hundreds of thousands of kids in the Midwest and Southwest who have grown right through their formative years without ever seeing a hedge. Such a terrible shame!
  The other great thing about hedges is that you don't outgrow them like you do Fisher-Price or Lego. It didn't take long after the war was over for me to find out how much fun a girl can be in a hedge! But, that's another story.

What's a Blog?

    So, this young lady sends me an Email and she says "Just had a thought while driving. You need to do a blog". Well, naturally I was surprised. I hadn't a clue what a blog was. She is a very nice young lady and I am sure she doesn't use bad language so, I am certain that blog is an OK word. But, what does it mean?  I mean, I couldn't really call her and ask her, it would make me look stupid. I'm sure if I knew what a blog was, I could do a blog. But, for all I know and, especially at my age, if I was seen doing a blog in public, I might even get arrested.
   So, I ask myself, "What's a blog?"
   I'll just have to ask somebody who I know really well. Maybe I should ask my wife. But then, although Joy and I have been married for 48 years, she is really still just a sweet Irish girl at heart and they may not have blogs in Ireland. Over there, you ask the Parish Priest if you don't really know who to ask. He is supposed to know everything. If you were to walk up to the Parish Priest and say "I need to do a blog",  he'd probably have you saying Hail Mary's for the next seven or eight weeks. No, not a good idea at all. 
   So, I decided to use the good old Oxford English Dictionary. I mean, you can't lose there. Well, I went on the computer and logged onto Google and then, when I was sure nobody was watching, I went to the Oxford and typed in B, L, O, G and clicked on search. It came back and said "see weblog". So, I saw weblog and,for weblog it said "an alternative to blog"!!......  Is Oxford still in England?
   Well, I can't waste any more time on this, I've got a blog to write, so I'll come back to this lat....oh! that's what.......oh!... Now I feel such a fool!

Joytoyou41

   Many of you know that my wife, Joy, makes beautiful jewelry. She sells it on a shop at http://www.etsy.com/. The shop is called Joytoyou41, (yes, all one word).
   She is just about to introduce a new type of bracelet which is really gorgeous. She has made the first one and, when I have taken some photos of it, I shall put it on the blog. It is not yet on Etsy but will be shortly. In the meantime, why not take a look at the over 200 items she has on the shop. Just click on http://www.etsy.com/shop/joytoyou41.

My Saying of the Day

I am now old enough to recognize that nonsense is an extremely valuable commodity

Kid's Stuff

   My daughter Vanessa says she likes to hear stories about my childhood days in England. Well, my memory is not what it used to be so, nowadays, I take things on the fly so to speak. So, let me tell you a bit about my model sailboat.

   When I was thirteen, I had an utterly stupid self inflicted accident which ended up with me virtually cutting my left ear off. Our family doctor came to the house and stitched it back on, on the couch in the living room ---- without anaesthetic!!!!!! I can still feel every one of the 26 needles going through my ear. The only relevance in this part of the story is that, I suppose to soften the blow of the accident, a friend of my father's, Ralph West, gave me his beloved model sailboat.
   This sailboat was built by Lines Brothers in London circa 1925 as far as I can tell. She was kept in a well made wooden box specially designed for her. Until a few months ago, she probably had not been out of that box for 40 years. I took her out around Christmas and she was not in too good a shape. The hull is made from some sort of wood and still has the original paint. The keel and rudder appear to be steel and have heavy weights embedded which help to provide the rather crude automatic steering. The deck is a beautiful piece of  mahogany. The sails are linen and have discolored with age. I dared not use bleach on them, but soaking in cold water has cleaned them up a bit. The rigging had totally rotted over the years, so I had to replace all of it -- a slow, fiddly job. I gave the deck a coat of poly-urethane to bring back the brilliance and repainted the blue color around the edge of the deck where it was chipped from bumping into things over many days of sailing. So, now she looks pretty good again and she sits proudly on show in Vanessa and Doug's house in Gig Harbor. I gave her to my grandson Danny and he is seen with her in the photo.
   There are quite a few stories that could be told about this boat but, one that comes to mind happened some time in the late 1940's when I was sailing her with my cousin Michael on the River Thames on a fairly wide stretch near Shiplake. As I said, the boat has automatic steering so, if the sails are adjusted correctly, she will tack to follow a given direction. The problem comes if she hits something in the water, she can then be misdirected. We had been sailing her across the river and back, missing boats that were passing, when she hit something floating in the water and became pointed straight down the river towards Shiplake Lock. She is a very fast little boat even in a light wind. Michael and I were chasing her in a canoe and she was gaining on us. In the distance, the lock gates opened and out came a Salters steamer. These are fairly large boats for the river and carry 200 or so sightseers. Well, the two boats were on a collision course, so I said goodbye to my brave little boat. Then, a miracle. The captain of the steamer actually gave way to sail and virtually stopped his boat while we retrieved the little one. So she got to sail another day. Naturally, I have had the greatest respect for her, and that captain, ever since. Now that she is looking beautiful again, maybe Doug can teach Danny how to sail her. But, Danny, watch out for the ferries!