Sometimes it takes a village

(We’re flashing forward to the present. I’m giving up on trying to catch this blog up with all that we’ve experienced since arriving two months ago...Past is past. Carpe diem and all that...)

This may seem strange but living here to me has been like coming home. I love it and could easily live out the rest of my days here. It’s been peaceful at a time when I desperately needed some peace. To have a still mind. I feel like I’ve found that here. The air always smells fresh and clean, and I wake up each morning looking out to a field of green dotted with sheep and horses, or sometimes just endless green. It’s truly idyllic.  

This may sound surprising for those who know me, having grown up in the fast-paced life of southern California, but I’ve found that I absolutely love living in our small village. Some say we’re not even big enough to be called a village but rather maybe a hamlet. Either way, it is a small society of people who can depend upon one another not just for borrowing corn starch (or rather cornflour as it’s called here) and vinegar (I was trying to introduce our friends to sweet potato fries), but for keeping company and passing time during the long, dark and cold days of winter. 

There have been several  times a group of us have gotten together on a sunny day for a hike through the woods. We’ve spent many afternoons and evenings at each others homes enjoying tea or dinner, which I’ve learned can sometimes mean the same thing (i.e. being asked to come for tea = come for dinner at least with respect to the children). We were invited last month to go with two other families and our combined 7 children to see a movie at a local cinema. It was like heaven for our kids who walked in to discover that one entire wall of the cinema lobby was covered in candy dispensers. The children spent much time deliberating on what candy they wanted before putting it in a bag to be weighed at the concessions counter. It was a bit chaotic as we carried candy bags, drinks, popcorn and attempted to herd the children to the theatre. As we got to our assigned seats, my friend E and I spent a minute juggling candy and drinks trying to sort out what belonged to who. After we had united each person with their drinks and goodies, she thanked me for helping to which I replied, “Sometimes it takes a village... Oh wait! We are a village.” The irony had us giggling.  :)

We’ve also hosted several evenings since we moved in. One was an Indian food take-out night where one neighbor spontaneously dropped in for a glass of wine (wine visits are quite common in our village especially with one neighbor in particular who makes it a weekly event) and soon others began to arrive. We ended up ordering food which included a lesson in eating authentic Indian, and talking until late at night. Another was a game night where we introduced our British friends to the game Apples to Apples....an instant hit. (Thank you, Mary!) We also had a vegetarian dinner night in honor of two of our neighbors who don’t eat meat and invited other village families to join us. 

One village neighbor had a huge keg of ale in his garage and ran home frequently to refill his pitcher for our table. 

It’s been fun and interesting getting to know our English neighbors who all have had incredible life experiences and have traveled extensively around the world, putting us to shame. One used to be a music producer/musician, another a psychotherapist, one is an amazing photographer, two have their own companies, and to top it all, next door is a mountaineer who is currently attempting to summit the highest mountain in South America. He is my husband’s hero. :) The women here all work, some from home.  I’ve noticed everyone has a strong work ethic and I’ve never heard anyone complain. They are polite but also hilarious to the nth degree. 


What has been the most important (and touching) thing to me is how welcoming everyone has been to our family. We have truly been blessed to have this opportunity to live here, but our village has been the icing on the cake, making each day even better.  

November 19, 2010

Yesterday was an exciting day for Steve. It was the day he’s been waiting for all week.  He was to finally take possession of his new (or rather, new to him) car. 

It’s an older Saab but in fantastic condition. We found it through a local classifieds advertisement. It’s owned by a vivaciously, pinkish-red haired somewhat older British lesbian woman who is an avid horsewoman. “Sue”, as I’ll call her, has only owned the car for less than a year but found it wasn’t the best of choices for hauling horse feed and needed something more practical. Earlier this week we arranged to meet so Steve could take it for a test drive. While Sue and I waited for Steve to return I freed my children from their car seats and told them to race each other back and forth down the road, hoping to burn off some of their endless energy.  Shivering and jumping from foot to foot while keeping an eye on the children, Sue shared with me an incredible story. 

While riding her horse on a local country road a few months ago, an American woman came driving down the road talking on her cell phone (illegal to use in England while driving) and going too fast. English driving law advises that cars stop when coming upon a horse and rider until the rider signals that he/she has the horse under control, then you can slowly drive past. This woman didn’t stop nor slow down and ran directly into Sue’s horse. The horse made a mad dash forward and ran into an oncoming car which catapulted Sue off the horse and directly into the car’s open sunroof. (Really--what are the chances she’d land directly IN the sunroof? She said a polite hello to the driver while hanging upside down.) The American woman just sat there staring while local passerby tried to catch the  horse who was bleeding profusely. The horse eventually recovered and Sue spent the next two months healing the broken hip she received when she was thrown into the car. 

I thought this an incredible story and made note to always watch for horses. Sue said she had only recently returned to normal mobility and was happy to finally be able to ride again. At this point, Steve returned and told Sue we would buy the car. They set a date for the following Friday to transfer ownership and payment. 

Fast forward to Friday. Steve is beyond excited. I’m excited to turn in our tiny rental car that started out cute but had quickly progressed to cramped. We drive out to the stables where Sue wanted us to meet her. It’s a foggy and damp morning. We pulled in and saw Sue’s (soon to be Steve’s) car, but there was no sign of Sue. We got out and walked around but all was quiet except for the enormous black horse in the stable behind us who was making soft nickering noises. I finally went and knocked on the door of a nearby house and asked if they knew  where we could find Sue. The two boys who answered said that Sue had just been taken by ambulance to the hospital five minutes earlier. Apparently she had fallen in the barn when leading her horse inside and broken her leg. The luck of this poor woman! We were shocked. 

Sue got in touch with us the next day. We decided it would be best if I took over the negotiations and arrangements for the car to maintain Sue’s modesty since the process would have to happen in Sue’s hospital room where she lay in traction. So barely a week in the UK, and we’re navigating our way to the local hospital to pay Sue a visit. 

This was my first experience with a British National Health Service (NHS) hospital. As an American, I’m used to expensive health care plans but beautiful hospitals with private rooms and a Starbucks in the lobby. This hospital came as somewhat of a surprise. It was a large system of buildings, not unlike most hospitals in the U.S. but this was where all similarities ended. Inside was like stepping into a scary movie where a group of young busty and unintelligent co-eds are trapped in an old, psychiatric hospital with green walls, flickering, dim fluorescent lighting, the inevitable demented spirits and the smell of decay. Obviously I have a bit of an imagination, and I couldn’t help being somewhat creeped out as I navigated the miles of mostly deserted hallways and floors to find Sue’s room. Not that hospitals are supposed to always be overly joyous places, but this one just seemed exceedingly grim.

Eventually, I found her, in a room as depressing as the rest of the hospital. Sue was sharing it with six other women which I learned was fairly standard. Everyone just lay there staring at one another.  Sue looked so happy to see me I immediately felt my original mission change (from quickly signing the paperwork, giving her the payment, grabbing the keys, and running like crazy for the nearest exit), to slowing down and taking the time to sit and have a chat with her, fetching her some snacks and beverages, and taking down a list of anything else she needed from the outside world. I could tell she was feeling horribly downtrodden after having just recovered from two months of bed rest for her hip, then having to repeat the whole experience so soon for her broken leg. 

I eventually did emerge from the hospital the owner of Sue’s old car, but the experience was humbling. I know our U.S. health care policy has many problems but next time I’m in an American hospital I think I’ll be a great deal more appreciative. We kept in touch with Sue and continued to bring her magazines and treats. We also helped feed and care for her giant horse, which was also quite an experience. He can be a bit cheeky (can you tell I’m picking up the local slang?) and has a tendency to bite first and ask questions later. Thankfully we all survived with fingers and skin intact. :)

Our first week in England, we’re still living in a hotel, but we’ve made a friend and have bought a car. The adventure has begun.