I’ve literally worked 20 hours this weekend–ten each on Saturday and Sunday–and knocked off an insane number of things that needed to be done. I never understand what makes it such that I can wake up on Friday morning and feel uncreative and unproductive and generally useless, but I can then work all weekend long in a quite happy state of mind. The strange beast that is creativity somehow doesn’t act very productive when I am feeling duress, as when the politics at work have taken over. And although perhaps some people working at home are not as productive, I sometimes find that I am more-so.
Today I have a Brit news round-up, of things that amused me in the local press when I checked it over my coffee twelve hours ago:
Any one of these could make me speechless. (Speachless for Malia!)
I had another expat shock today when I decided that, craving pancakes, I needed to make them. Part of my recent obsession with baking. I opened up my Better Homes and Gardens cookbook from the states (a wedding shower gift more than 13 years ago and more convenient than the Joy of Cooking due to its ring binder-lay flat-ness)and realized that I had never seen buttermilk in the UK. Add this to my list of things that are not here, including half-and-half for coffee and American cheeses. I can buy single cream, double cream and even, now that it’s near Christmas, brandy-flavored cream, but there are other things that I can’t get here and would use if I could.
It’s amazing that I enjoy blogging, given that I spend so much of my time writing. The last two days have been very long days of technical writing, trying to finish a technical book, a book chapter, and other monographs prior to Christmas. The sad truth of technical careers is that you only get to do the technical stuff full-time when you’re a student (or maybe a post-doc) while the “real job” consists mostly of writing. I have found that I have to bribe myself with something in order to really work on the hardest parts of this, the boring editing and sorting out references and things. Today it has been DVDs of “The Secret Life of Us“. I’ve gotten two book chapters for two different books completely done in ten hours of writing today with the DVDs playing in the background (and I’ve seen most of these before, so it’s the perfect brainless background “music”). But it does strike me as funny that at the end of ten hours of writing I’d start to write on this blog.
In other news, it is truly turning towards Christmas here in England. I ran out to the store tonight and the floutist who busks on my corner was playing Greensleeves.
I sat in my office last night as the time approached 7 pm, not sure if I had the energy to venture out to another town for the expat Thanksgiving gathering. Fortunately I had arranged to cab-share with another American colleague, and so although we were both stuck working late (and in the end arrived at the dinner almost an hour later than planned) we did manage to drag ourselves there. We had a small (7) gathering of Americans and a few other non-Brits gathered around a table. It was Chinese takeout that ended up being the dinner, preceded by some lovely cheese and crackers and all accompanied by nice wine. I ate way too much (nothing unusual for Thanksgiving there!) and had to reject the offers of an apple tart with ice cream for dessert. In the end, I was so glad to have gone, had a great time, and felt as though we definitely captured the spirit of the day. Home late and to bed, and up again this morning to work instead of to hang ornaments on a tree–what I would most certainly be doing in the states. The thing about Thanksgiving in a foreign country is that the meal is in the evening instead of afternoon, there is no Cowboys or Lions game on the telly, and certainly there’s not the chance for a massive lie-in the following day.
My Thanksgiving fortune cookie (what? you didn’t have one?) had an interesting message.
How to succeed? Try hard enough.
It could just be the poor grammar that sometimes is found in fortune cookies, or it could be that the message is trying to tell me something. “Try hard enough” implies “but not too hard” for my read of it–I’ve certainly had a tendency to suffer burn-out at my job here when I’m trying to do too much. At the moment I’ve been juggling trying to finish a book I’m editing with everything else, and it’s been clear that I am not superhuman and I can’t actually work non-stop. I need to learn to “try hard enough” by not taking on so much in the first place–my bad tendency is to only notice it when it’s too late, when I’m overloaded and I implode. I’m learning and I’ll be working on this as we head towards 2009. Work should never be so hard that you consider skipping Thanksgiving dinner with the best friends you’ve got in a foreign land.
This was the sight that greeted me when I left my flat to head for work this morning:
I have seen these guys before, they play music and try to sell CDs on the streetcorner. Normally I just shake my head and wonder if the locals are puzzled by the Native American garb, but this morning, in honor of Pilgrims and Indians, it just seemed perfect. Now if only I could get my hands on a tofurkey… we gave up on a traditional meal and the Americans in my inner circle have agreed to congregate and order either pizza or Chinese.
I have gobbled up the books on living in the UK for American expats, and the latest was no exception. My only beef with these books is why did I not find them BEFORE I moved here and did the trial by fire thing instead!
“Rules, Britannia” is a very good book in terms of information. There is a great deal of detail here that I have learned in two years of UK existence but that I could have learned from the book. It is encyclopedic in nature, being mostly bulleted lists instead of narrative prose, so it forms the ideal reference text to any person facing this sort of challenge in terms of moving. The book has a very different appeal than “Watching the English” which is one of my other bibles for life in Britain, but I’m glad to add “Rules, Britannia” to my recommendation list.
Today I had my administrative staff in stitches (again, after the “pants with pockets” debacle of a while back). I ran up to their office to get some thumbtacks to post some posters on a cork-board. I asked for thumbtacks, and got a blank look. “Thumbtacks?” I said again. I pointed at the board hanging above the desk with colorful pushpins. Laughter. Apparently there is no such word as “thumbtacks” in Brit-speak, and it was thought that I was celebrating the new VAT reduction by requesting a tax on their thumbs.
Earlier by about two hours, I had a young Scottish student in my office asking why there was no “tick mark” in Microsoft Office’s clip art. I thought for a second, and realized, well, Microsoft is an American company, and thus would have them down as “check” marks. Sure enough, a search on “check” brought up what was needed. Imagine my surprise on arriving home tonight to find that Brit’ Gal had posted “Tick” as her British word of the day!