For Eli...

This is a difficult one to write. Difficult for many reasons which will more than likely become apparent, but I will continue.
Perfect Husband has an uncle called Bob- I know, brilliant isn't it? Bob really IS his uncle!! Bob and Perfect Husband are only 3 years apart in age and grew up together like brothers. Although Bob now lives in Arizona and they don't see each other much, they are still close. Me and Perfect Husband had a holiday early this year and went to Las Vegas, then drove to Phoenix to stay with Bob and his partner, Eli. As Perfect Husband had never met Eli and I had never met both of them, we didn't really know what to expect, but we had an amazing holiday.
Eli is from South Africa, and we hit it off straight away; weirdly enough British people seem to have more in common with South Africans than with Americans.....something no doubt to do with the old British Empire etc. So while Perfect Husband and Bob reminisced about the old days, me and Eli sat by the pool and talked long into the night about ex-boyfriends, shoes, sequins, and the merits of being bitchy and a little bit devious and how much fun that could be. Eli told me how in love with his dog he was; as he had no children his dog, a large and incredibly ugly although at the same time very sweet Boxer, was his one love in the world, besides Bob of course, and Eli's mother. Eli was a promising opera singer and upon hearing this I immediately requested that he sing to me which he obligingly did, filling the hot night air with the rich tones of his deep voice, singing to me in Italian and making me clap my hands with delight. During those few short days Eli and myself became BFFs, so much so that Perfect Husband actually began to feel jealous, despite me reminding him that as Eli was in a gay relationship with his own uncle his fears really had no basis in fact!!
At the end of our holiday we all hugged and thanked Bob and Eli for such a fab time and discussed our plans to move to Arizona-oh the shopping trips we would take! The bargains me and Eli could hunt for! The bars he would take us to! The good times we would all have! I had seen a green leather jacket but had not seen the point in buying it because it's always so bloody cold here, so Eli had promised that when we moved there the first thing he would do was to take me straight to that shop so we could buy that jacket "it was MADE for you" he said.

Eli was killed on Tuesday evening, on that very same motorbike he had taken me on for a ride around their neighbourhood.

I don't know the exact circumstances of the accident, nor do I need to; it won't bring him back.

I found out that something was amiss on Wednesday morning when Bob changed his Facebook profile picture to one of him and Eli together in their motorbike gear. I commented that they looked like trouble and thought no more of it. Soon however comments like "so sorry Bob" and "you are in our thoughts" started joining my flippant jokey comment, and I watched with a growing sense of dread. I messaged people, rang and texted; desperately trying to find out what was going on, until finally Bob himself replied and confirmed my fears: that Eli had been killed and Bob was at an utter loss. I looked down at my shaking hands through a veil of tears that dripped on to my desk. I shook my head when a co-worker asked if I was ok, and went to the toilet where I spent the next few minutes crying, looking at texts Eli had sent me, washing my face, crying again, feeling as if I was going to throw up, trying to make sense of the situation, trying so hard to compose myself so I could go back to my desk and get on with my job, but failing miserably.

Since then I have written a post on Facebook which was a nod to Eli and the impact he had on me in the short time we spent together during that holiday. It got several "likes" and oddly enough, some were from friends of mine who had no idea who Eli was, and I find this strangely comforting. I believe people are basically good, despite the odd monster here and there, and people DO care about each other. When they see something sad, they will reach out to each other, either physically or virtually, and offer comfort, love and understanding. People that know me but didn't know Eli still share a sadness that he died suddenly and tragically, leaving many with a sense of loss and hurt that they can't see past, and everyone can understand that, because everyone has lost someone at some point in their lives, and we all know how raw and painful and confusing that feels.

So I thought I would share this with you. We all have that connection; love and loss, and that searing pain that goes alongside it. We all feel for each other, we all share, and this is where our comfort and our peace is to be found.

This is me and Eli on a scorching hot day in June, and this is how I remember him. This large man with huge muscles, tight t shirts and a booming voice, a man who knew a bargain when he saw one, who loved his man, who was looking forward to taking his mother shopping when she came over for Christmas, who made such hilarious bitchy comments about people who had crossed him, and who told me that to his ears the sweetest sound in the world was the sound of his dog snoring.

So goodbye Eli, thank you for those few days, and the next time I see a green leather jacket, I'm just going to buy it anyway, even if I have to wear it under my parka until the Summer.

Murderers at the bus stop! It must be Monday again....

Ok so it's Monday again...after a weekend where it snowed constantly, to the point that every time the dogs needed to be let out for a pee we had to clear a space for them in which to do it!! Whiny dog's pretty much ok in the snow; she's taller and has plenty of body fat and a thicker coat, but poor Bindi the rescue Chihuahua does NOT cope well in freezing temperatures and snow up to her shoulders. She has a large wardrobe of padded coats of assorted thickness (mostly pink) but even with one of these on she has learnt to do her business as fast as possible and head back into the warmth of the house.
Needless to say I was not looking forward to this morning's journey into work, and sure enough it was -17c and pretty bracing. The snow on the roads had been cleared which makes life a little easier, but elsewhere the show was at the top of my snow boots.
As I approached the bus stop I could hear loud voices and see that there were 3 men standing there. Something about their manner and the way they were swaying ever so slightly told me they were all drunk, so I turned down my music so I could hear their conversation. I figured it would be pretty interesting, and it was.
The main speaker was telling the other two how he was going to go to Bear View that night and cause some trouble. Here's how that conversation went:
Drunk Number 1: Yep, tonight I'm going to Bear View and I'm gonna cause mayhem, oh yeah I'm gonna cause some trouble. I'm gonna whack someone. Somebody's gonna get whacked.
Drunk Number 2: Can I help?
Drunk Number 1: No. You just watch and laugh. If someone says to you "Hey what are you laughing at?" and then I whack him, you can say "That's what I was laughing at"
Comedy genius, there.
Then Drunk Number 1 proceeded to say how he was the nicest man in the room and how we're all on this planet and in this life together, but if you get on his blacklist that's it-you're gonna get whacked.
You might think I was a bit scared and intimidated by this, especially as this is America where people shoot each other randomly on a regular basis, but the truth is, I wasn't.
I'm four feet eleven inches tall and with my pink children-sized snow boots and my full length parka with the hood up so only my eyes were showing, they probably thought I was waiting for a school bus and therefore not worth bothering with. Actually, the state they were in, drunk and all, they probably thought I was twins or even a small group of school children.....
I figured the bus driver wouldn't let them on the bus anyway, but didn't get the chance to find out as they ambled off together, still talking about their plans for the evening.
I have to say I personally wouldn't plan on drinking so early in the day (except Christmas Day when it's perfectly acceptable to start on the alcohol as soon as you're awake) but in view of the fact that the sun doesn't rise here until after 10am in the middle of Winter I can understand it; the dark and cold can really get to you. I usually cure my Winter Blues by purchasing something incredibly sparkly off the internet; it's amazing how a bit of glitter and glamour can perk oneself up.....
So, back to what Drunk Number 1 was saying: I actually agree with the "We're all in it together part" we're all sharing the same planet, we're all part of the same Earth family and should respect each other and treat each other, and our fab little planet with care and love; however, I don't agree with the whacking people part.
So I would say that you have to be fairly careful which parts of a drunk's philosophy on life you choose to follow.
All in all it was an interesting start to my week, and I also sat near someone on the bus who I think may be actual Santa......

The Elephant Man is back........!!

Yays!! The Elephant Man is back on the bus!
Actually to be more precise, Elephant Man is actually Elephant Man Lady. I know this because I have actually seen under that voluminous hood, one day in the Summer when she was only wearing two coats instead of her usual four, and the hood was down.
Elephant Man Lady is another regular on the bus, although I hadn't seen her for a while, so I was pleased to see her again. It's reassuring to see the usual characters; you could say we are like a sort of large dysfunctional family now. A family of mutants and oddbods who mutter to ourselves and sometimes each other, and shuffle onto and off the bus in our giant snowboots and thick coats, trying not to knock each other over on the way.
Elephant Man Lady sits on the bus in her four coats, pulls that voluminous hood right over her entire face and shoves her phone underneath it. Maybe she is secretly reading saucy texts or 50 Shades of Grey or something and doesn't want any of her fellow commuters to see. She normally spreads herself and her bags across two seats, probably in a "keep away" kind of fashion, but I sat next to her the other day just to see if anything would happen. It didn't, although I got the feeling there was a certain amount of bristling annoyance under the hood caused by me invading her personal space.
Today there was a new person on the bus whom I shall call Yoga Man. Yoga Man looks a bit like Robert Carlyle the Scottish actor, and was dressed in the way of the person who would like to cycle to work but remembers that this is Alaska and therefore Freezing At All Times (except for about 9 days in the Summer when the snow finally disappears and the mosquitoes appear in herds) and so they put their bicycle onto the front of the bus, ride most of the way to work on the bus, then cycle the last 100 yards or so, arriving at work pink cheeked and out of breath, to the admiration of their coworkers who presumably think they have cycled the entire way.
Yoga Man had trousers with lots of zips on, drawn in at the bottom with shiny, light-reflective cycle clips. He had the usual huge backpack with drink bottle attached, which seems to be the norm here- although not for me of course, I carry my Harrods Union Jack bag to work proudly.
Several minutes into this morning's bus journey, Yoga Man earned his new name by suddenly beginning a series of increasingly strenuous arm exercises. He started off by clenching and unclenching his fists, looking very much like a baby trying to wave. He then moved on to clasping his hands together and making a lot of weird undulating arm movements which I'm sure I've seen in the video to Madonna's Vogue. Just when I felt he was going to hit someone, he stopped, piled on a few extra items of warm clothing and got off the bus with his bike. Ah, I thought, so he was merely warming up his muscles for the bike ride, although I couldn't understand why he'd only warmed up his arm muscles and not his legs. I soon found out.
As I got off the bus at the next stop and was waiting on the corner for the lights to change he almost ran me down as he whizzed past me on what looked like a push bike but sounded like a moped- no leg muscles needed!! Kinda reminds me of the time I was in the bike shop in Anchorage getting a new tyre for the pink child's bike Eskimo husband had bought me at a garage sale (size was perfect and colour matched my nail polish!) and I overheard a man asking the sales assistant how much it would cost to have an engine fitted on to a bicycle because "my wife doesn't like to pedal"........!! Way to go, America!! However, as that sounds like I'm being a bit negative I will finish with a quote from the original Elephant Man himself: "I sometimes think my head is so large because it is so full of dreams....."

Oh no, now what do I do?

Oh no, it happened.
After surviving Thanksgiving; four scrumptious days off work, eating and drinking nice things that Perfect Husband concocted and put in front of me, a spot of shopping in the sales (Body Shop you complete me...) and a trip to the cinema to see the second in the series of the Hunger Games films (v.excellent, although it almost undid me for a while; first I felt tearful, then I felt sick, then back to tears again, and also most envious of her fabulous dresses- who knew Lenny Kravitz was so adept at designing clothes?) then alas, it was all over and work beckoned.
I don't mind being at work; it's a pleasant little office and the one colleague who really does my head in is on holiday until tomorrow so even better, I just hate the getting out of my nice cosy bed part.
The temperature was a ferocious -15c this morning, and my walk to the bus stop in the dark was not made any better by the fact that I saw that moose and her two (now huge) babies again yesterday, just around the corner from our house.
Thankfully this morning they were nowhere to be seen so I yet live, which is always a good thing.
So there's me getting on the bus feeling all smug that I hadn't got frostbite or a hoofprint on my forehead, when a voice said "Oh I still haven't given you that shirt"....... and there she was, buried under several layers of hats, coats, gloves and carrying a huge stick. One of my crazy lady acquaintances, whom I now know goes by the name of Shirley.
Shirley befriended me on the bus one day, and I chatted back out of politeness, because I don't like to be rude, although really that just encouraged her more. She was telling me about her earrings and I remarked that they were nice (I once had an English teacher who was so old and lined she resembled a used teabag; she was tiny but ferocious, a bit like an old version of myself, and she loathed the word 'nice' because of its mediocrity in the face of so many better and more descriptive words-I still feel a sense of guilt when I describe something as merely "nice") and before I could stop her, she pulled them out of her ears and gave them to me! Sweet and generous gesture though this was....ick! No thanks. Previously she had mentioned that she had a shirt for me and she just knew it was perfect and I'd love it because it had my flag on, and she made me take her phone number so I could call her and we could meet up so she could give me the shirt. Needless to say I didn't quite get around to making that call, so today she wrote down her name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to me.
Now what do I do? It's too bloody cold to walk to work so I am on that bus regardless, and it's only a matter of time before I see her again.
Maybe I should just take my chance with that moose........

Thanksgiving...

Just a brief word about Thanksgiving.
If you were not already aware, here are some facts:
I am British.
I currently live in Alaska.
Alaska is part of the United States.
The United States celebrate Thanksgiving each year.
The British do not.
This does not mean the British are not thankful for what we have, I just mean that this is an American holiday and not a British one, although the original pilgrims who started off this whole thing were people who had left the UK to start a new life in America.....so I suppose in a weird way this is a British holiday? The pilgrims were in a new land, but they had brought their old ways and traditions with them, in much the same way that I have introduced Perfect Husband (who is American) to some of my British ways, ie mint sauce with roast lamb, wearing a poppy on Armistice Day, enjoying a lovely cup of tea with milk and two sugars, learning the finer points of Dr Who, watching the rugby and so on.
Anyway, in Britain Thanksgiving is not celebrated; so if American people would stop asking me that at work, that would be cool.
Even though this is not one of "my" holidays, I still get the day off work, so I'm jolly pleased about that. I shall spend the next four days at home with Perfect Husband, eating, drinking, watching tv and maybe a spot of sale shopping. I shall have Tiny Dog on my lap for as much of these four days as possible, and I shall be very Thankful.
I hope everybody who has something to be thankful for (and that is most of us in the "developed" world, let's face it, despite our constant whingeing about our Iphones not updating properly, and that thing we really wanted being snapped up on Ebay by somebody who beat our highest bid etc) will stop and think about how truly lucky they are this holiday. I hope everyone will donate more, recycle more, want less, and love and look after each other more.
I hope my hopes spread and multiply like the flame from a torch that is picked up and shared around the world.
I also hope Tiny Dog will never be sick in our bed again, like she was last Friday night. She did appear a tiny bit sorry, so I shall be Thankful for that.
However, the thing I am most Thankful for in this life is the two amazing young women that I gave birth to. They light up my life in a way that nobody else can. They are beautiful, kind, funny, fiery young women who make me proud every single day. I would like to say that neither one of them has ever been sick in my bed, unlike Tiny Dog, but this would be a lie. However, as I am busy being Thankful, I won't hold it against them.

A very Happy Anniversary...

Today is the 66th Wedding Anniversary of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. 66 years is no mean feat for any couple, although it does seem that people of the older generation stay married a lot longer than today's crowd, and there are probably many reasons for that. Maybe people today rush to get married because it seems like a good excuse for a new piece of jewellery and a party? Or maybe a lot of the older generation would have got divorced if it had been more accepted back in the day, instead of the "you've made your bed now you must lie in it" attitude that was more prevalent.
Either way, the Queen and her husband are an inspiration to us all in many ways. Yes they have staff to cook and clean for them and more besides, and they certainly don't have the financial worries that most of the rest of us do, but they also have the world watching them, so they have had more pressures than many. Despite this, and despite the ups and downs of their life together, they appear a happy and strong couple. The Queen has done her best to ensure that her husband didn't feel like just an appendage, and he in turn has been a constant support and source of strength to her.
They are both remarkably down to earth people, and don't buy each other extravagant gifts (what could you buy someone who already has a crown anyway?) although I remember when I used to work at Buckingham Palace and my then boyfriend who was a footman had gone to the side door of the palace to collect a bouquet of flowers that had been delivered there. The bouquet was a gift from the Duke of Edinburgh to the Queen and consisted of 100 perfect, beautiful, white roses, and the entire bouquet was about 4 feet in length! I cannot remember now if this was a gift for the Queen's birthday or their Wedding Anniversary, but no matter-How utterly romantic......
They remind me of my own grandparents-they met when my Grandad was 13 and my Gran was 14 and they lived next door to each other. They married during the Second World War and after the war ended, they were only parted when my Grandad died, after 69 years together. "Indian Summer" was their song, and every year on their Wedding Anniversary my Grandad would make my Gran breakfast and bring it to her in bed, and play this beautiful song. For their Golden Anniversary he bought her a beautiful gold bangle and had "Indian Summer" engraved in it.
After he died, I and my mother had gone to stay with my Gran and help her with the arrangements for his funeral. She was choosing music she wanted to be played at the funeral, and of course this song was a must. We found her cd and played it to make sure it worked, and I will never forget hearing this song play for the first time in the cosy flat they had shared together. I was prepared for my Gran's tears, but none came. I looked at her to make sure she was ok, but she was no longer in that room with me. Her physical self was of course, tiny and familiar, the buttons on her blouse done up askew because her vision and her hands are not what they were, but her eyes had a faraway look in them, and I know that in her mind she was in another time and place, in the arms of the man who had loved and looked after her for so many years. Some people never, ever get to experience this kind of love, companionship and support, so those that do should be envied and admired.

So, a very Happy Wedding Anniversary to the Queen and her Duke, and much, much love and admiration for my lovely beautiful Gran, and her clever and handsome husband, my Grandad, much missed by all.

Summer, you old Indian Summer
you're the tear that comes after June times laughter
You see so many dreams that don't come true
Dreams we fashioned when summertime was new
You are here to watch over
Some heart that is broken
By a word that somebody left unspoken
you're the ghost of a romance in June
Going astray, fading too soon...
that's why I say,
"Farewell to you, Indian Summer!"

Walkies!!

So, if I had somehow neglected to tell you already-Alaska is Bloody Cold!!! The cold is horrid; it bites your skin and tries to persuade you against being out in it for longer than ooooh, shall we say 30 seconds at a time?
However, when the sun shines and the sky is blue it's very hard to stay cooped up indoors for the entire weekend. So, on Sunday I decided to take Bindi for a little walk. She enjoys being outside, however she too hates the cold. We both donned our well padded coats and set off. She was doing very well until we reached the corner of our road, approx. 200 yards from the house, and that was more than enough for her tiny Chihuahua feet. We actually have some tiny dog shoes for her, but they seem a contradiction in point because whenever I try putting them on her she either falls over, sticks her back leg out at a 90 degree angle, or refuses point blank to move anywhere, so barefoot she must stay....
Although it was cold, the sunshine and clear sky was making me feel like it would be nice to walk a little further than 200 yards so I decided to have a compromise with my poor tiny freezing dog. I picked her up and stuffed her gently inside my coat, with my arm across my front to support her weight. This seemed to work for both of us, we kept each other warm and both enjoyed being outside in the fresh air.
We were only going around the block, and I was wandering along thinking about what I would do if a moose decided to attack. I was thinking maybe running into someone's driveway and hiding behind their car would probably be a good idea if this happened. Suddenly I heard a noise to my left, and there standing in the trees a little way up the snowy bank was a moose! Oh sh*t sh*t sh*t!!! What if it was in a murderous stomping mood? Dory was in my head singing "just keep swimming, just keep swimming..." although of course I just kept walking as swimming would not have aided me in any way at that moment.
Luckily Bindi was too busy looking the other way to notice the moose, or we may have had problems; she has the typical "small dog syndrome" in that she thinks she can take anything on, and I know she would have tried her best to cartwheel herself free of my coat and most likely annoy the moose enough with her yapping to provoke a fit of stomping.
We moved on, me casting nervous backward glances at the moose, but it decided it preferred eating trees to people at that particular moment, so all was well. We finished our walk and arrived home rosy cheeked and buzzing. Glorious.

Uncharacteristic soppiness!!

I am British. We don't do soppiness, mushiness, or any other kind of emotion. Apart from complaining. We do rather like that one.
However today I am going to get all soppy for a few minutes, then I'll get over myself and retreat into my shell of cool, aloof Britishness, devoid of emotion once more.
The thing is this; I am on my third husband (I'm not actually on him right now, I'm on my chair at work pretending I am working) and so I am more than a little cynical when it comes down to thinking about the future and if you've picked the right one this time etc. As a matter of fact, Perfect Husband asked me once if I thought we'd still be married and in love when we were both old and I replied that I had no idea. He got hurt, but I just meant that nobody can foresee the future so I couldn't possibly answer that question; it wasn't my intention to hurt his feelings but if someone asks me a question I answer it honestly. So poor old Perfect Husband is saddled with a small, eccentric, opinionated, fiery tempered, often grumpy British wife who wears short skirts and far too much makeup. I don't cook but I do clean, and I torture him mentally on a daily basis because I don't tell him what I'm thinking very much and I probably don't tell him I love him enough either, but I do tell him when he spends too much money.
He in return does all the cooking, carries things which are too heavy, picks up all the dog poo in the garden, makes fabulous cocktails, ensures I can listen to British radio stations and finds British tv programmes on youtube (he's now a massive fan of Celebrity Juice, Never Mind the Buzzcocks, The Inbetweeners etc) and generally does all he can to make sure I am happy, cared for, loved, and not too homesick.
Obviously he annoys me intensely too; but I feel that when two people live together this cannot be avoided. We don't agree on everything, we have some pretty heated debates; we both have been known to do the whole "my country's better than your country" thing, although I generally win this one with the mere phrase "Britain has free healthcare so shut up, I win!".......
But I digress. The point is this: yesterday Perfect Husband told me something that made me love him even more, although I probably won't tell him and he doesn't read this blog so he won't know but....
He was at work delivering beer and wine and he was in a cluttered and messy storeroom. He picked up an empty keg to take it back to the warehouse with him, when he noticed something stuck to it. It was one of those horrible sticky mousetrap things, and stuck firmly to it by the last half inch of his tail was a very tiny, very terrified mouse. Perfect husband managed to dislodge the trap and the mouse from the keg, which he then put in his truck. But he couldn't stop thinking about that poor terrified mouse, stuck fast and doomed to die a long and slow death. He went back and spent the next few minutes trying to free it, wondering if it would be simpler to just cut its tail off and hope it wouldn't miss it. However, after a few minutes he found an old trowel in the storeroom and finally managed to scrape the mouse and his whole tail off the sticky trap. The mouse skittered off without a backward glance at his benefactor.
There's a lovely photo here; it's not mine but I think it's very touching and I hope you like it.
And as for you, Perfect Husband.....you are the sweetest, kindest man and I love you for it. But I'm not going to tell you that out loud.

British Bulldog!!

Sadly there are no photos to go with this story- I was simply too far away to get a good one. I could try one of my fabulous drawings but I fear it would not do the story justice. It happened like this:
A couple of weeks ago I was walking home from the bus stop, before the recent snowfall. It was before the clocks went back, dry, still light, a pleasant temperature and the thought of a nice warm house and a glass of wine added to my general good mood. About a hundred yards ahead of me a British Bulldog appeared from a house on the right. You know British Bulldogs; they are those really substantial looking dogs that resemble an end table; solidly built with a short leg at each corner. Anyway, despite the fact that this dog must have weighed more than me it was very nimble (must have been the thought of freedom) and it literally skipped across the road looking very happy. Don't worry, this isn't another dog being hit by a car story; there's no through traffic on this road.
A worried looking teenage boy appeared from the same house and caught up with the dog and tried his best to persuade it back across the road and home safe. Unmoved, both physically and mentally, the dog sat and stared at the boy. The boy grasped the dog by the scruff of the neck, gently but firmly, and started to tug, presumably to encourage the dog to move in the direction of the house. The dog's folds of skin now started to move, although the dog did not, giving it the appearance of someone having their hoodie pulled over their head. The dog remained resolute, wishing to enjoy a few more moments of freedom. As I passed by I gave the teenager an encouraging smile- he had the worried look of someone who was looking after a dog that didn't belong to him, and although it was a gloriously funny sight, I did feel sorry for his predicament. At last the dog got up and moved a few steps across the road; it would return home, but it wasn't going to make it easy.
As I got further away I took one final look back up the road to see that the dog and the boy had now crossed the road and reached the slight grassy bank near the gate of the house-almost home! However the dog, in a final fit of pique, had thrown itself dramatically to the ground, and the poor harassed teenager was now dragging him, slowly but surely up the bank and towards the house by one of its back legs. This did not seem to hurt or bother the dog in the slightest, and as I rounded the corner, giggling to myself and wishing for a zoom lens with which to share this moment with you all, I made eye contact with that dog, and I swear it winked at me!
Okay, after Fabulous Daughter Number One's request, I did a drawing......

Poppy Day.

So this is a serious blog. Today, November 11th is Poppy Day. This is what it's commonly known as in the UK, and the Commonwealth, although it's also called Armistice Day, or Remembrance Day. The first Armistice Day was held in Buckingham Palace in 1919. This is a day to remember all those who fell in World War 1, although these days we think about all those who have fallen in any conflict; sadly the list grows, by the minute it seems. Many other countries have their own version; America calls it Veterans' Day.
We wear a paper poppy to symbolize our support; these poppies were the first flowers to bloom across some of the worst battlefields of Flanders in World War 1, and their bright colour adds a poignant note as we think about all the blood spilt during conflict. These poppies are made and distributed by the Royal British Legion who use all funds raised to support current and former British Military personnel.
The poem "In Flanders Fields", written by a Canadian soldier John McCrae, who had witnessed the death of a friend the day before, and after performing the burial himself, noticed how quickly poppies grew over the fresh graves. He says:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

So I just want to say that today I am wearing my poppy, and I am thinking with emotion and humility of all those that have given their lives so that others may live free. It feels like this world is constantly at war; there is always a fight going on somewhere, precious money being spent on war while others starve and only know poverty.
I am probably not alone in hoping that one day, perhaps tomorrow, the people of this world will just learn to live together. In the meantime I will continue to wear my poppy.

Open your eyes!!

Ok, this is a fairly short one, but seriously WTF?? For those who read yesterday's blog, you will know that Perfect Husband has the rest of the week off work, so instead of my usual bus journey, I have the luxury of being chauffeured to work.
Yesterday, we were waiting at the traffic lights, and I noticed the car in front had a small screen in the back showing cartoons. You may think this is amazing and fantastic-what a gadget!! But it just made me feel sad. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of telly, but I feel so sad for these children that get ferried to school and back each day in vehicles equipped with these screens. In my day (back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth) we looked out of the windows, read books, played I Spy, or fought with each other in the back of the car. This was our favourite, because it was one of the rare occasions when me and my sister actually agreed on something and were united in our desire to wind our parents up-such fun.
These kids will never know that joy; cocooned in the back of the car, in the darkness, lit only by a cartoon-no conversation with their parents or each other, and for me what was the saddest thing of all, was that all they had to do was tear their eyes away from the screen and look to their right, and they would have seen the sun creeping over the tops of the snow covered mountains, filling the sky with a soft pink and gold glow.

Feeling the Call of Duty....!!!

So it's that time again. For those unaware of that magical gadget called X Box, there is a game called Call of Duty which, in a thrilling and successful feat of marketing genius, gets released each year on a certain date at midnight. Devotees of all shapes, sizes and genders find themselves irresistibly drawn to their nearest stockiest, like zombies drawn to the bloated carcass of a dead cow. My own Perfect Husband is one such devotee. He gives hours of his life to this game. He swears it is a fabulous hobby, but to hear him swearing in a completely different way on a weekend morning, headphones perched atop his head, sweat on his furrowed brow, frustration evident in every syllable, I fail to see this as a satisfactory and enjoyable pastime. Even the dogs escape to the bedroom when he's playing, fearing that the aggression and frustration could somehow be their fault, and if they stay in the same room another minute they will surely ruin their chances of a biscuit later.
Don't get me wrong, it's good to have a hobby and Perfect Husband surely doesn't understand my obsession with perusing the internet in search of sparkly things any more than I understand his obsession with shooting people in a pretend world online with a load of people he's never met. Anyhoo, he had reserved his copy of the precious game, paid in full and even booked the rest of the week off work in order to devote as much time as possible to his new treat. He sadly couldn't complete his purchase at midnight as he was working out of town and knew better than to ask me to stand in for him (too many jokes here about the rest of the Nerds in the queue not knowing what a woman is because they've never seen one....although I do actually believe women play these games too-weird) but he still recalls with pride that one year when he was actually third in line.......
The following day I was pre-warned of the impending disaster when he posted on Facebook about how the edition he had preordered and paid for hadn't come in, how Best Buy had apologized profusely and had given him a $50 gift card as an apology, and how in return he had sulked for the rest of the morning. Whilst I am sure that Perfect Husband kept his fury under control with the skills honed from many years' gaming in realistic Life or Death situations, I had to stifle a giggle and feel so sorry for the beleaguered shop assistants trying to stem the tide of angry Nerds. Let's face it, frustrating though this is, it's hardly akin to starvation or poverty as something that can REALLY ruin your day.
As luck would have it, Perfect Husband called the shop later to see if any copies had miraculously appeared, AND THEY HAD!! Hooray!! The world as he knew it had been restored, plus (result!) he still had the gift card-methinks he will be purchasing a Call of Duty t shirt in the very near future.......
So, that evening me and the dogs escaped to the bedroom to watch a movie while Rebel (or whatever his gaming moniker is) saved the world, once again.
My poor tired soldier climbed into bed in the early hours of the morning, to grab a few hour's hard earned rest before breakfasting on an energy drink, dropping me off at work and starting the fight anew. I have to admit that he did take breaks in order to do the laundry (unless he somehow trained the dogs to do it, but I'm pretty sure neither one of them could reach the controls on the top of the washing machine) and he did refrain from playing that evening. He was forced to have an early night due to his late one the night before, so yet again I was Queen of the Remote Control (sadly I wasted this rare and golden opportunity by watching crap). This morning's breakfast was another energy drink (I am alarmed to see that there are several cans of this poison in the fridge) and as I type this (when I should actually be working, but it's pretty quiet at the moment) he is no doubt deep in battle with an unseen ten year old somewhere across the world......Ladies and Gentlemen, normal service is resumed.

Aphrodite with a hangover....!!!

Hello and Happy Hallowe'en to you all! And (Yay!!) Mad Lady was on the bus again today, and this time she was in costume! Well, she had a lace tablecloth draped over her head which was a jolly good effort. She rather reminded me of a dove, all in white, looking out of the window and cooing to herself while rocking backwards and forwards. As usual I turned my music off (all the better to hear you with, my dear) to see if I could catch some of her wisdom to share with you all, but she is pretty softly spoken for a Mad person, alas. Also, a man was busy asking me if I was from England, on account of the Union Jack "Harrods" bag I use for work. He was so enthusiastically welcoming me to Anchorage and telling me what an asset I was that I didn't have the heart to ask him to be quiet.
Sadly, all I managed to hear was Mad Lady accusing Aphrodite of having a hangover, then adding that she (Mad Lady) would like to punish Aphrodite for her recklessness. She also said to nobody in particular "Excuse me, it's Hallowe'en. I'm in costume, I'm in character" then she began to coo again, and cluck softly like a hen.
I must admit, I'm rather fond of Mad Lady, just as long as she doesn't make eye contact with me as I haven't got a plan in place if this should ever happen. I'm thinking I could possibly just look away and pretend I haven't noticed, in that way that possibly only the British have. For example, a few years ago I worked with a very nice man named Martin. Martin had some kind of complicated medical condition which meant he had very poor eyesight and hearing, and in addition to that he actually had no ears. The good old NHS had provided Martin with contact lenses to help him see, and  hearing aids; they had also rather thoughtfully provided him with a pair of very fetching rubber ears. These ears were actually pretty good; you only noticed that they weren't real in the Summer, when Martin's face acquired a lovely tan and his ears didn't. Anyway, one day Martin was on his coffee break, with another coworker named Robbie. Somehow, Martin accidentally knocked one of his ears off. It bounced off the kerb into the gutter, and poor Martin had to run after it before it rolled down the drain. When Robbie was recounting this story to the rest of us later, we all asked him how he had reacted. Robbie, in that so typically English way, said "oh I just pretended I hadn't noticed......" !!!
Just as I pretended I didn't notice that Lady Bus Driver last night was brushing her teeth while she drove......no, none of these things are weird or out of the ordinary when you share a planet with over 7 billion others, and that's just the humans-you just have to love diversity.....

This is Sargeant *** call off your dogs!!

Yes, the title is a direct quote from a conversation I overheard on the bus last night. I, unlike the perpetrator, have left out the name involved.
There was a bearded man in camouflage trousers on the bus, and he proceeded to have three conversations on his mobile phone, right there on public transport, at full volume (can we use our indoor voices on the bus please......). It would appear that he was in the Military and was trying to sort out some kind of problem,regarding somebody who was supposed to go to a support and counseling type of appointment, relating to their recent return from deployment, and they hadn't turned up and there was a great deal of trouble as a result. This man was trying to find out what had happened, using the "I can't help you, unless you help me" method. And yes, he actually finished with the above sentence; I'm assuming it was in a figurative sense, and that having dogs set upon you is not an actual punishment for missing an appointment.
Now, as interesting as this was, to me and my fellow bus companions, I can't help thinking it might help if people waited until they were somewhere private before they made calls of this nature. Although some of my funniest moments have been spent listening in to the personal conversations of random strangers, only hearing one side of the discussion, and trying to imagine what the other party was saying to garner such responses, do we REALLY need to make that call right there and at that minute? Can it not wait? Don't get me wrong, I love my smartphone; after all I couldn't take sneaky photos of all those strangely dressed Walmartians, or weird people/situations/sights that greet me frequently on my daily commute if I didn't have my trusty Iphone, but I don't feel the need to make phone calls in public unless it's some kind of emergency. I prefer it if nobody but me knows my own personal business (bit tricky, this, when you are a Brit in the US on a Visa with Immigration breathing down your neck and asking all manner of personal questions, but that's another story) and there's NO WAY I need an audience of strangers.
Then again, I suppose it would be a dull and boring journey home if there wasn't at least one commuter shouting juicy tidbits of gossip into that tiny slim box we all seem to have become so dependant on.
So, if you ARE one of those millions who insist on making calls in a loud voice in public, can you at least use this modern technological marvel to say something other than "Hi it's me, I'm on the bus."
I and my humble Blog are forever in your debt...

Blackfish......

It would seem I'm always angry or frustrated about something; trying to change the world every day, one campaign at a time. I sign online petitions, I donate money to worthy causes, I sponsor a little boy in Africa, I recycle, I try and limit my use of plastics, I shall certainly never take part in any balloon releases, and so on. I try and share my passion for these campaigns with others, but at the same time I try not to bore people with my opinions. If just one of my friends or family adds their name or their cash I would feel thrilled, but it has to be the individual's choice.
Last night I sat down and watched "Blackfish". I do not usually choose or dictate what is watched in our house; Perfect Husband is almost always the Master of the Remote Control and I am perfectly fine with this (unless he tries to make me watch "Battleship" again....) but last night I was resolute. Perfect Husband sat down and played with his phone for a while; I could tell that he wasn't really wanting to watch this documentary about captive Orcas. Perfect Husband was most likely thinking "why are we watching this? Why don't we just go to SeaWorld and see the real thing? What moral outrage is my wife going on about this time?" Indeed he had mentioned going to SeaWorld one day, telling me how amazing it is, and how he had enjoyed visiting. I had flatly refused; I do not believe in animals performing for humans as a form of entertainment. I have no problem eating animals, indeed most of them taste delicious, and we humans are omnivores; I just don't believe in exploitation of any kind.
Anyway, "Blackfish" focuses mainly on Tilikum, a 32 year old male Orca who was captured off the coast of Iceland when he was just approx. 3 years of age. Over the last 3 decades he has been in several facilities where he has been made to live with other Orcas which bullied him, his sperm has been used for breeding over 20 offspring, and he has been made to perform to thousands of people, raising a huge amount of money for his "owners." However, during that time he has been bullied by his fellow Orcas; in the wild Orcas live in close family groups and the male babies stay with their mothers for life. In captivity you cannot simply put 3 random, traumatised Orcas together and expect them to get along. Tilikum has also performed breathtaking routines, but the reality is that these Orcas have food withheld as part of their training, leaving them very little alternative but to perform, plus the fact that they get very little stimulation at any other time. When they are not performing they are kept in tanks that are far too small, with nothing to do. Is it any wonder then, that having been torn away from his mother, put in with strangers, bullied, exploited and traumatised, and in no way leading anything that bears any resemblance to the life he should have led as a free Orca, does it come as a surprise to any that Tilikum has killed 3 people in the last 22 years? You may not be aware, as these shocking tragedies have been subjected to every kind of cover up possible. To me, you only have to look at Tilikum, and others that share his fate, to see how wrong this is, to subject these amazing, intelligent miracles of nature to this sad and pathetic life. If this was a human child, kidnapped, bullied, exploited for money, there would be a huge outcry. Take a look at this photo. The dorsal fin is "flopped over" isn't it? This is extremely rare in the wild, usually caused by captivity, stress, swimming in circles due to being kept in tanks that are too small, too much time spent at the surface (performing) so that the fin has no water support etc. To me, this poor, sad, collapsed fin is a symbol of everything that is wrong with keeping something captive.
"Blackfish" is an intelligent, informed documentary. After is was over, Perfect Husband turned to me and said "this is so wrong; these animals need to be free. I am never going to go to SeaWorld again."
And this is how the world will change. One enlightened individual at a time.

Feeling warm and fuzzy.......

Aww. She's beautiful, he's handsome, and the baby is downright adorable! Yes, I have that warm and fuzzy feeling today. I am of course talking about the Royal Christening of cute little Prince George, resplendent in a replica of his Great-Great-Great-Great Grandmother's Christening gown, waving his plump little fists and looking every inch the perfect baby.
And yes I am gushing a little, but I am a big fan of the British Royal Family (having worked as a Housemaid at Buckingham Palace in the 1980's; in fact when I was there William and Harry were toddlers, and just look at them now! Fine young men who do both of their parents and their country proud, but I digress.....) and I love occasions like this. I do not begrudge them their privileged lifestyle, because the money, fabulous jewellery and wardrobe goes hand in hand with responsibilities, pressures and lack of privacy which I am glad not to have. If I put a foot wrong in public very few people will know or care, unlike the high profile Royal Family, whose every move, comment or outfit is reported by journalists worldwide.
I also feel that they bring in a lot of income, through trade and tourism, plus raising awareness about various causes and charities, so I feel they are extremely good value for money, and the Queen especially has served her country unfalteringly for over 60 years.
So how lovely to see photos and share in the joy of a special occasion. Plus it's a fabulous excuse to have a celebratory glass of wine this evening after work!

Has the world gone barking mad???

Ok now seriously people, stop being careless with your pets. In the last 4 days I have witnessed no less than 3 incidences of pet owners being careless, stupid and just downright WEIRD with their dogs and I would just like to bring this to everyone's attention.
On Saturday Perfect Husband and myself had just finished our food shopping expedition at Walmart, and I was leaving with mixed feelings because I had spotted a woman who was the absolute spitting image of Beth (wife of Dog the Bounty Hunter) and hadn't been able to snap a photo because she had spotted me lurking behind the macaroni, staring at her backcombed blonde curls, drawn on eyebrows and 3 inch fake nails. As we drove through the carpark we suddenly saw a small black dog in a blue jacket that was hurtling towards us from our right. Chasing behind him was an old lady who had obviously not been quick enough to prevent her beloved pet from making a break for freedom. Perfect Husband screeched to a halt and we watched in horror as the little dog kept on running, straight into the path of an oncoming car which hadn't seen it. The car made contact with the unfortunate little fellow, apparently clipping its back leg. Perfect Husband leapt out of our car as the small dog got up and limped towards its owner. He explained that it had been hit (our car was blocking her view) and she MUST get it checked. We were both in shock as we drove away, I really hope the lady took that poor little dog to the vet, and I hope it's just bruised and nothing more.
Then last night I had to call Animal Control about the Wolf Dog that belongs to the people who live two doors away from us. I say 'belongs to' and not 'lives with' because the poor thing never seems to be in the house with them, but either roaming the streets unattended (sometimes our garden) or sitting on top of a boat they have in their driveway, looking thoroughly fed up. In the last 2 months I have seen this dog wandering loose in the neighbourhood 4 times, either in our garden, in other people's gardens, or following me down the road. Much as I love my own little dog, I don't generally like dogs I don't know, especially big dogs, and when it followed me down the road last night that was enough for me. So, a warning will be sent to the owners and we shall see what effect it has. Personally I would like to see this dog taken away from them and given to someone who will actually love it and let it into their house; I don't see the point of having a pet and then making it live outside all the time. I'll let you know what, if anything happens.
Meanwhile, the final piece of pet madness was seeing the lady on the bus with her tiny black dog again; it was sitting on her lap, snoozing happily with its eyes half closed when she suddenly produced a black drawstring bag (the kind we used to put our PE kit in at school) popped the little dog in it, drew it closed and got off the bus with the dog completely enclosed in it, not even its head poking out of the top. I don't know if she was off to the cinema and just didn't want to buy two tickets, or if she was trying to sneak it into somewhere else it shouldn't have been, but I don't feel putting a dog in a bag is exactly a comfortable way for it to travel.
So please people, if you're going to share your life with a dog, or in fact an animal of any kind, please be good and kind to that animal, and treat it with love, care and respect.
Dogs should not be running round the streets unattended, under cars, or in bags.
I will leave you with a collage of my own delightful Bindi, making herself a nice cosy nest......

What the Puck...??

I went to my very first Ice Hockey game on Friday. I had mentioned that I would like to go a while back, and Perfect Husband (who always mentally files every thing I say for future use) decided we should go for a meal after work on Friday, then on to the Ice Hockey game.
So we went to "Romano's" first, which is an Italian restaurant in Anchorage. Perfect Husband chose this particular place because a: It is near where I work and b: When he used to deliver there the kitchens were spotless and c:The first three letters in the name were no longer lit up and he thought it would be funny to eat at a restaurant that proudly called itself "ano's"......... This is possibly why we get on so well.
Now I have two complaints about eating out in America: firstly the size of the portions is absolutely ridiculous-NOBODY needs that much food in one sitting and this certainly goes a long way towards explaining why obesity is such a problem here. People feel obliged to eat what's put in front of them, nobody likes to see food wasted, and even though they offer you boxes here to take your leftovers home I'm pretty sure people eat more than they are comfortable doing. Funny, I don't ever remember being offered a leftover box back in the UK, but the portions are a lot more sensibly sized there.
I also hate the fact that you are rarely left alone for more than five minutes to eat in peace here. I am all for a polite enquiry into how the food is, but here in America there always seems to be someone hovering around the table asking if you're "still doing ok?" or even worse asking if you're "still doing ok hon?" Yes I'm fine, no I'm most certainly NOT your hon, and would you please go away and leave me alone to eat my dinner and talk to my husband, or instead of that 10% you insist on, I shall write in the space on the bill marked "TIP" 'The best tip I can give you is to advise you to stop harassing your customers and interrupting their dinner conversation if you ever wish to see a cash figure written here'. I appreciate good service and enthusiasm in one's work but I also appreciate my own space.
So, after fielding a barrage of enquiries into how we were doing, and after shoveling roughly 80% of my chicken fettuccine or whatever it was into a large box (which me and Perfect Husband ate the next day for lunch meaning that the American idea of a "portion" is actually three meal's worth of food) we set off for the game.
After paying to park at the venue (what's that about? We'd already paid plenty for the tickets) we found our seats. My overall impression of the game was a very positive one: it was a little bit stop and start-y, with the team members being substituted almost constantly, plus they only played about 20 seconds of each song almost as a narration of the game, so just as you were getting into Queen's "We Will Rock You" they would play something else........ but it was still exciting to watch the players hurling themselves (and sometimes each other) around the ice.
Apart from when the Home Team scored a goal, the loudest sounds of the night were when a fight broke out amongst the players of course! I don't believe there was any real pain caused, they wear far too much padding for any of the blows to actually hurt, I think this is just the adrenaline and the emotion of the moment, and the crowd loved it, myself included! Even the Referees stood back and let them get on with it, no harm done. If we cannot watch people fight each other to the death in Colosseums any more (I'm really glad about that!) at least we can watch some Hockey players have a quick tussle on the ice to quench our thirst for excitement.
During each break in play two men fired balled up tshirts into the crowd from what can only be described as a huge sandwich (definitely more than a foot long...) Personally I did not wish to risk either my eyesight, balance or dignity to catch a tshirt bearing advertising for yet MORE food products, but there were plenty who did, jumping up and down and screaming with excitement. And that's what it's all about, fun and excitement. So, yes, I shall be going back for more.......

I am Magneto...!!!

Ok so because I was 45 recently and am therefore Old and Past My Youth, I decided I had jolly well better start taking some vitamins. Also they were on special offer.
So for the last couple of months I have been taking an assortment of pills with my breakfast in a bewildering array of shapes, sizes and colours. They range from a pill not much bigger than your average mouse poo to something that even a horse would struggle to swallow, but swallow them I have, with the help of a cup of coffee. I feel very grown up and sensible.
I have to say apart from the daily exercise involved in opening all the various bottles and jars, I haven't really noticed any benefits. I have however noticed one very big drawback, with regards to the Iron tablets........
Iron is something the human body needs to help transport oxygen throughout the bloodstream. If you don't get enough oxygen this can affect how your body and brain functions. Women of course need a higher intake of Iron than men because of that delightful gift Mother Nature gave us, so I figured all this extra Iron would be beneficial.
Not so.
It would appear that when you take Iron, it fools your body into thinking it's your friend by making you feel all powerful and full of energy. But Iron is evil, and has an ulterior motive. This devious plan, probably because Iron is magnetic, is to slowly but surely attract everything in your body that isn't tied down. These things then settle firmly into your intestines, and take on the approximate size and shape of an anvil. I have spent the last few days turning into Magneto; not the all-powerful X-Men type superhero, more like his younger, illegitimate half brother with a crippling pain in his abdomen and a longing for the old days when I could visit the toilet with gay abandon and cheerfully do a poo that wasn't black in colour and the weight of a housebrick. I swear it even felt as though metallic objects in the house and office were attracted to me; I felt quite sure that I would get up from my desk at work only to find myself covered in staples and paperclips, clinging to my waistline like a bullet belt.
I appreciate that this isn't terribly ladylike, and could be filed neatly under the heading of "too much information" but I feel it's my public duty to warn you all against the perils of iron supplements.
Needless to say I have cast the remainder of the tablets into the bin, and I am much relieved.

Don't be driven to distraction, people!

This morning the Mad Lady was on my bus again. This isn't the mad lady who befriended me and bought me a shirt with my flag on it (which I still don't have as I haven't seen her for a while and although she made me take down her phone number I have to admit I haven't used it!) no, this is the mad lady who burst into my office a few weeks ago, ranted for a few minutes then bid us all a good day and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the entire wall. This lady is on my bus occasionally, and thankfully has never recognized me from that morning. This pleases me as I'm not really into awkward confrontations with people of doubtful mental health.
So this morning she is sitting on the bus with her back to everyone, her back hunched over as she stared out of the window and muttered to herself. She was making lots of cooing sounds too, like an owl, progressively getting louder and louder, not quite to the level of an emergency vehicle but not too far off. There was a man sitting near her who I recognize from his habit of hanging out at traffic lights begging from drivers and sitting on a crate (which he carries with him) when he gets tired. He must make a fairly decent living at it; his trainers were spotless and new looking, he was wearing clean clothes, can obviously afford to ride the bus, and his build is, how do I say this; well nourished! Anyway, this guy isn't quite the full ticket either, and even he was looking at the mad lady with a wary and bemused expression...(probably hoping she wouldn't compete with him at his favourite traffic light!).
I turned my music down so that I could hear her better in case she said anything entertaining or profound, and the only phrase I caught clearly was "People, don't be driven to distraction."
Actually, for a mad lady's rantings, I did think this made a surprising amount of sense.
How many of us get so caught up in our daily lives, working, paying bills, doing chores, that we do indeed get too distracted to appreciate what we have? How many of us are too impatient to wait 30 seconds for a video clip to load on Facebook or Youtube, so that we never see the tiny elephant, the smiling dog, the heartwarming act of kindness, the advert for an oh so important cause? How many of us don't listen to the partner or child who is trying to tell us about their day? How many of us fail to make an effort with something because we are too distracted by something else? How many of us fail to look at the stars because we are too distracted by TV? How many of us don't sign that petition online or donate money because we are too distracted by the advert for shoes next to it? Modern daily life is enough to drive most people to distraction, and yet at the same time we can all make the effort to simplify our lives and our surroundings so that we can find the time and the energy to appreciate our loved ones, our life, our planet.....
So today, I seriously think we should all take the advice of a Mad Lady: don't get driven to distraction people.

 

Bleugh!

I'm lucky enough to be pretty healthy, which is a bloody good job as I currently live in the US where a visit to a Doctor can cost you a pretty penny, hence I refuse to set foot anywhere near a clinic or hospital.
The only exceptions to my rule are if I have been involved in a plane crash or have been attacked by a shark or something, and simply MUST get medical attention or I may die, only then would I subject myself to the thousands of tests and appointments they smilingly insist you have (more than likely because the Doctor in question would very much like a new speedboat and wishes you to pay for it....).
However, my usual good health did take a bit of a pasting late last Sunday, and for the next couple of days I felt as rough as a badger's arse. Needless to say I actually stayed away from work for 2 whole days, can't remember the last time I did that apart from going on holiday (unlike a co-worker who shall remain nameless who has been off work because her dog died last Friday and in her own words she "is simply unable to cope with the grief". I'm in no way belittling her feelings of loss over a beloved pet, I just feel that she is overdoing the drama somewhat, and should be a damn sight more professional as she is actually Management Level and we have an Audit taking place at work at the moment. We all have different ways of coping with our own various problems, I just prefer to be a little more British.....stiff upper lip and all that.....).
So I have been at home for 2 whole days; no make up, no jewellery, no flowers in my hair, clad only in my pyjamas, mainly running back and forth between the bathroom and my bed. The dogs have been mightily confused, wondering who this unkempt puking creature is. Tiny Dog crept onto my lap, her big brown eyes full of confusion and concern, no doubt wondering why her Mistress had been replaced by this barfing Demon, while Whiney Dog was no doubt wondering if I would let her eat my puke as she thoroughly enjoys eating her own and had run out, having munched her way through what she had deposited on the lawn 5 minutes earlier. (The answer was an emphatic "No").
Today I am back at work, getting myself up to speed with the things I missed, and of course, finding a few minutes for a quick Blog. It would seem that the main excitement I missed was one of my colleagues sitting at my desk, kicking away the cardboard box I keep under there (that is actually my footrest as I am 4 foot 11 inches and cannot reach the floor with my feet) and promptly knocking the wires out of my computer with said box and causing everything to need rebooting.....
It's good to be back.
Today's photo is Tiny Dog Bindi, being so confused by me being home when I am normally at work that she put herself in her kennel (I normally put her in here while I am at work so she is not tempted to poo on the carpet; for some reason she will poo on the carpet when left unattended, but she will never poo in her kennel.)

Uphill every step of the way...

I give up.
No, actually, I don't. I'll just have to keep trying harder, that's all. What am I talking about? My uphill struggle to educate my fellow Americans about the value and absolute necessity of caring for their environment.
I'm not saying that the UK is perfect, far from it, but Americans are quite frankly HUGE consumers and TERRIBLE at recycling. I can only speak of my own personal experience since I've lived here, but it shocks me on an almost constant basis how little thought most people here give to how many things they use once then throw away. They have little thought to where it all ends up, and at what cost to the environment.
To me it is unthinkable to throw a can, plastic bottle or paper cup into the bin, knowing it will add to the already rapidly filling landfill, when it could just as easily be recycled. Yet this is exactly what most people here do. I've seen people at work use a paper plate for their lunch and throw it away, repeating the process every day. I've seen people at parties using plastic plates and cutlery, then throwing it away when they could have washed and reused it for the next party.
When I first got this job, couriers would regularly deliver 30 or more flyers advertising property for sale. A flyer would be put into each agent's mailbox in the office, the rest would be thrown away. Most of the agents would then glance at the flyer and this too would then be thrown away. So I emailed the source of each flyer and asked them to send them to me by email so that I could forward them on to all our agents, saving them time and money, and saving paper and ink. Nobody objected, everyone agreed this was a brilliant idea, yet nobody else had come up with it before.
I also brought in a box for staff members to put recyclables in. We have a recycling bin at home, and as there are only two of us and it's a huge bin, there is usually room for more. So on a Friday I take home the recycling from work and put it in our recycling bin. Again, not much effort required, but it makes me feel better.
So last week when me and Perfect Husband were doing our shopping in Walmart, I took a break from my usual hobby of snapping pictures of weirdly dressed people and posting them on Facebook, and bought a 12 piece Dinner Set. It cost $12 and consists of 4 each of bowls, small and large plates. I brought it into work this morning, for everyone here to use, in an attempt to wean them off their use once and throw away habit.
One of my colleagues told the boss that I had brought it in to stop people using paper plates; his comment was "oh do we need to buy a dishwasher then?" to which I replied "no, we each just wash what we use."
This was what I believe the younger generation would call a Facepalm moment- I mean, really?? I despair of these bloody stupid, thoughtless people, I really do! Why am I bothering? Because our planet needs me to that's why. And there are millions more like me, and hopefully we will eventually educate everyone else to think more and be more careful.
And, in the words of that wise and eminent sage, Miley Cyrus "We can't stop....and we won't stop....."

I have the remote control!!

So in our house, Perfect Husband is normally in charge of the TV remote control when he is at home. I'm sure this is the case for the majority of households- gadgets are a man-thing, as is impatience.....
Last night we were settling down to watch TV after dinner, showers and chores were done; a bit of down time before bed. Perfect Husband was skipping through the channels as usual, while playing with his new Iphone (who says men can't multi-task?) when he settled on a programme which was about motorhomes and was already halfway through. After a few minutes he gave me the remote with the generous comment that I could choose what I wanted as he wasn't really watching this, and went back to his Iphone.
Now I have a different strategy for selecting something to watch. Quaint though it may be, I simply start at channel one and work my way through, reading the information as I go; this way I don't miss anything and I usually find something I am interested in. This weird and unacceptable behavior on my part was enough to drag his attention away from the Iphone; he "suggested" I check the movie channels. I carried on what I was doing, to which he helpfully told me that if I held the button down it would skip through the channels faster.
I gave him the look of Absolute Power, held the precious remote to my breast and informed him quite regally that I had the remote and therefore I was in charge, and if he had wanted to look for things his way he should have done it when HE had the remote.
I feel like there's a Life Lesson here of sorts: don't try and insist that others do things the way you want them done, if you've passed up the chance to do it yourself. Too many people try and control others; be it trying to force their opinions on them at a meeting or party, trying to control how they dress, what they think. We're all our own people and we need to respect each other, and even though squabbling over what to watch on the TV is a minor and stupid thing, it's the principal involved. Suggestions are fine, as is constructive criticism, but outright bossiness is not.
As it was, I settled on a reality show about a vet and even Perfect Husband enjoyed it in the end, although I did close my eyes when the vet was sawing the head off a dead calf that was stuck inside its unfortunate mother. Luckily the pieces of bloated calf were removed and the poor exhausted mother was saved. This was a happy ending of sorts, but I didn't necessarily want to see such detail straight after my dinner.

And so it begins...

It snowed yesterday. Yep, I kid you not. This is life in Alaska, when you are pretty much guaranteed snow before Hallowe'en and it's usually all gone by the end of May. If you're lucky. Why did I move here you ask? The simple answer is because I am stupid, and I made a huge mistake. Much as I don't believe in regrets; they are pretty much a waste of energy and don't really achieve anything, still I will probably always regret this one. But, the trick is to try and make the best of everything, and see it as a doorway to something else, so although I am dreading another Winter here, I cheer myself up with the knowledge that it will be my last in the Frozen North. Next year, Perfect Husband and myself are planning an escape to a much sunnier home, so watch this space to see how it all pans out.
But for now, we are here and must deal with it. So, out came The Big Coat; this will now be my Best Friend and Life Preserver until next May. Travelling by bus means a ten minute walk to my bus stop, then a ten minute wait, in temperatures that can get as low as -24 C; NOT funny at all. Add to that the fact that the City will ensure that the roads are plowed, but the pavement? Not a priority (few people here actually walk anywhere) so in a fresh snowfall you can literally be struggling through over a foot of snow. I can't leave the house any later as the bus will drive straight past the stop if nobody is there waiting, even if the bus is actually early!! So my full Winter attire consists of Big Coat, at least one pair of gloves, legwarmers and snow boots and a reflective armband, as in the depths of Winter it stays dark until about 10am. On especially cold days I wear an extra cardigan under my coat too.
But for now the Big Coat will suffice, and luckily, after yesterday's thoroughly miserable weather, today is bright, clear and sunny, although still cold. The snow, while being a warning of what's to come, didn't settle-yet.
When I got on my bus yesterday I sat opposite a woman holding a small black dog, with huge pointy ears, a Chihuahua maybe? I'm not sure, but so cute I couldn't help but smile at it, the way you would smile at a young child sitting on the bus with its parent. Dogs aren't actually allowed on the bus, unless they are a Service Dog, and I have no idea what service a Chihuahua would provide, apart from being cute. Maybe the woman told the bus driver it was her adopted child or something, or maybe she just pretended it was a handbag.
Anyway, as I have previously mentioned, it was, as we Brits say Bloody Freezing Out, and this poor tiny dog didn't have a coat on (I noticed the owner did) and when it came time to get off the warm and toasty bus the tiny dog planted its feet firmly on the floor and had to be practically dragged off the bus into the cold. So, pet owners, please wrap your pets up warmly when it's cold.....frostbite is no fun for anyone.

Anchors Aweigh!!

So Saturday night was the night of the charity Pirate Pub Crawl in Anchorage. The charity that benefits is the Blood Bank so I'm almost thinking that a Vampire Pub crawl would have been more apt, but it's all for a good cause and besides; Pirates are so damned cool!!
Of course me and Perfect Husband were going to be there! We love being pirates so much we actually had a Pirate Wedding, so there's no way we were gonna miss out!
We arrived at the Town Square just before 7pm, as that was when the group photograph was going to be taken. You could not move for pirates- so many people of all varying ages, (drinking age of course!) and everyone had made so much effort with costumes- we knew we were in for a good evening.
The Treasure Map we were given had the names of all the participating pubs and a place for each one to put their stamp; we were on a mission to get them all. And we were off!! The evening was a blur of drinking shots, taking photos of each other, saying "yarrrggghh" at every opportunity (many sore throats the next morning), admiring people's costumes, more drinking, making donations (Perfect Husband had got a roll of Dollar coins from the bank, as these are gold we thought they made rather good treasure to put in the donation boxes), more drinking, parrot tossing (not real I hasten to add) and a bit of dancing too! In one of the bars, aptly in the Captain Cook Hotel we overheard a couple talking. Nothing unusual in that, except they had BRITISH ACCENTS!! Oh great joy, as I sometimes feel like I'm the only Brit in town, even though I'm probably not. So I insisted we had a group hug to which they obligingly and cheerfully agreed, and we were all friends. Big Up to Mandy and Mick from the Cotswolds, I think we made each other's night!! At last, as we made our merry way down the road in search of a taxi to take us home, we saw a rather plump and jolly pirate heading our way. Clutching a pewter tankard in his hand, he nodded his head in the direction of the bar we had just left and simply said "Be there Rum this way....?" Naturally we replied in unison "Yarrrgghhhhh!!"

Just another normal day...

We started off with a passed out Eskimo on the bus, but fortunately he wasn't making any trouble for anyone except his own brain cells so that was ok. I figured I'd be off the bus and in my office before he came to. Then a small and rather cheerful lady in a very fetching hat with a flower on it got on and immediately greeted me like an old friend, saying she hadn't seen me for ages and wondered if I had moved. I realized that this was the same lady that chatted to me whenever she saw me and tried to make arrangements to go to the State Fair with me last year, so in that respect we are "friends" of a sort....
Today she insisted I take down her phone number because she had bought a shirt especially for me; it's pink and apparently has my flag on and she wants me to call her so she can arrange to get the shirt to me.
I took down the number for fear of offending her, chatted politely and waved when I got off my bus stop a minute later. I don't want to offend anyone, and she is friendly and means no harm.....I'm just not entirely comfortable with all these strangers insisting that they are my best friends.....it's not how we do things in Britain! You kind of have to be nice to everyone here though for your own protection- you never know who is armed and who isn't!! ( I personally don't think it's a very clever idea to sell guns in the supermarket......)
I got to my office and had just taken my seat when a tall lady marched in and quite frankly spoke nonsense for about 5 minutes-something about trying to establish the whereabouts of herself and being placed in a company and not having an address.....lots of long words spoken with the kind of conviction only the unhinged can truly muster..... eventually when she paused for breath I asked her how I could help her (call the guys with the straitjackets?) whereupon she fixed me with a steely glare and said I could NOT help her, she was merely here to talk about my origins.....the boss came out and asked what she wanted and she said she had no address or bank. When he explained that we were not a bank she said "whatever made you think I am a bank? Do I look like a bank? I can assure you that I am not and I bid you Good Day" then she slammed the door hard enough to make the entire wall rattle and was gone! Bizarre.
I kept thinking I had seen her somewhere before...and then it came to me. Of course. I've seen her on my bus once or twice. Once she was listening intently to her music, slapping her thighs and shaking her head to the beat, really getting into it, then I looked at her again and realized: she had no earphones on. The voices in her head must have been singing up a storm that day.
I have no photos of mad ladies, so I will post a lovely photo of my dog instead.

I am an embarrassing parent!!

I have long held a sneaking suspicion and now it has been confirmed: I am an embarrassing parent. The most recent bout of humiliation I put my daughters through is when Fabulous Daughter Number Two was made Head Girl at her school and I posted the picture from the school website on my Facebook page for all to see. My post garnered lots of likes from friends of mine who are parents themselves and are thrilled at my daughter's achievement in the same way that I am thrilled when their offspring do something equally noteworthy. However, friends of my daughter saw and liked this post to her utter horror, resulting in her commenting "WTF mum?" on said post. I had mixed feelings about this comment, I was partly amused that she had written it, her reason being that "I look retarded in that photo!!". (May I just say that I do realize this isn't particularly politically correct, but it is the way that our young people speak, and it is a direct quote and not my own opinion. My own opinion is that neither this child, nor my other one come to think of it has ever looked anything other than perfect and beautiful in any photo ever taken of them since they were in my womb-yes even the scan photos were good ones!! This is because they are both perfect and beautiful young women and the camera never lies.) Anyway, as I said, I was a little amused by her remark and obvious embarrassment, but I was also worried too, and I apologized for any upset I had caused; I was simply bragging to friends, co-workers and family about her achievement. I do this a lot because I love my daughters fiercely and completely, and I have a lot to brag about. They are beautiful, bright, wise and thoughtful young women, and I'm extremely proud of them both, always have been. And yes, there are a few occasions that spring to mind that have been somewhat trying for them both (I had a rather heated debate with a miserable woman running a carousel ride that upset my daughters by shouting at them a few years ago, I kissed them both in public constantly, I hugged their friends, I volunteered at the Youth Club, I turned up at every single school event, I have argued with bus drivers, teachers and anyone who I felt was treating them unreasonably, I have drunk dialled them and shouted sage advice when they are dating, and so on) but they have dealt with it all pretty well over the years, Fabulous Daughter Number One even going so far as to say "This is why I love you. You insult everyone who offends me in the slightest, and make me feel better. Plus the whole giving me life thing."
So, embarrassing parent I may be, but I am proud of it and I'll never change.
And you can put that on Facebook.