A History Lesson: Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night

If you're like me, you love any opportunity to learn about the customs, traditions, and holidays of another culture. Now, American and English cultures may not hold as many differences as other cultures - we have the same language (nearly), most of the same Hollywood entertainment, most of the same music and similar clothing styles, but there are still a lot of major differences. I won't get into these differences today, but I do want to talk about a British Holiday that you're probably not too familiar with.

Bonfire Night, also called Guy Fawkes Night, is one of the smaller British Holidays. It is celebrated on different scales - small backyard gatherings all the way up to large organised events which take place at castles, village greens, or county showgrounds. Bonfire Night recognises the night that Guy Fawkes and his group of political activists attempted to blow up Parliament with barrels of gunpowder back in 1605.

You may be thinking of the popular movie V: For Vendetta. I did see this movie, but I don't remember anything apart from Natalie Portman shaving her head. But if I remember correctly, it wasn't about the events of 1605, and instead recreated a similar situation in the not-so-distant future. It was good for one thing though, because you're probably aware of this poem, which is a nursery rhyme about the activities of Guy Fawkes on November 5th, 1605.

Remember, remember!
    The fifth of November,
    The Gunpowder treason and plot;
    I know of no reason
    Why the Gunpowder treason
    Should ever be forgot!
    

Guy Fawkes and his companions
    Did the scheme contrive,
    To blow the King and Parliament
    All up alive.
   

 Threescore barrels, laid below,
    To prove old England's overthrow.
    But, by God's providence, him they catch,
    With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
 

   A stick and a stake
    For King James's sake!
    If you won't give me one,
    I'll take two,
    The better for me,
    And the worse for you.
   

 A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
    A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,
    A pint of beer to wash it down,
    And a jolly good fire to burn him.
   

 Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!
    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

There are various versions of the poem, so feel free to do some research on this website, (where I've found information to embellish the bits I already know of the story ) if you're interested. But if you just want the gist, I'll give you an overview. After the death of protestant Queen Elizabeth I, English Catholics who still remained even after the Reformation of Elizabeth's father, Henry VIII, were hoping that her successor and the new King, James I, would be more tolerant of the Catholic religion. It turned out that he wasn't, and an opposition decided that violent action was necessary. They came up with their plot to blow up Parliament by placing dozens of barrels of gun powder in the cellar so that they would kill the King, hopefully his heir, and other important members of the government. They hoped to then restore a Catholic monarchy.

But there's always a snitch. A member of this group wrote a letter to his friend, a member of Parliament, warning him to stay away from the famous building on this night. 

(courtesy of google images)

The plan was foiled as a result of this letter, and on the designated night, Guy Fawkes was found in the basement surrounded by 36 barrels of gun powder. As the news spread across the country on that very night, bonfires were lit to celebrate the safety of the King. Over the next few months, Fawkes was interrogated, tortured, and eventually hung for his crimes. 

Over 400 years later, the night is still recognised, and even still, every time Parliament and the Queen meet, guards traditionally search the cellar of the building. People observe the holiday with fireworks and a giant bonfire, burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes.

(image courtesy of http://www.hercampus.com)

 We normally attend Bonfire Night celebrations, and in past years we have gone to our old local village green (before we moved when we bought the new house) to watch fireworks and the bonfire. Another year we went to a larger organised event at a local family-day-out venue type place with some friends. There are usually some carnival rides and games if you go to large events, but the more local ones typically just have a bar for the grown ups, a couple games for the kids, and a booth selling warm sugar donuts for everyone, fried right before your eyes. Since I moved here, warm, freshly made sugar donuts have become synonymous with this time of year for me.

This year we didn't make any Bonfire Night plans, which is just as well, considering the awful wet weather. Oh, England.

Hope you learned something. xo

England VS America: Autumn

I haven't done a post like this for several years, but when I first moved to England, you guys loved when I did the comparison entries, such as "Out of the Mouths of Brits, Volumes I and II." When I wrote these posts, I had only been a resident of England for mere weeks. Now, it's been over four years, so I've had a lot of time to make more interesting observations. In some ways, I hands down prefer the way the English do things, and other things are *facepalm* worthy and make me miss home more than I can express.

Today, I want to talk about Autumn. I have so many wonderful memories growing up in California and Arizona surrounding this time of year. Autumn isn't a hugely recognizable season in the desert, what with the lack of trees and all, but it's still identifiable. And in Southern California, it's a bit more obvious. Blood red leaves, bright orange with crimson tips. Chilly, foggy mornings with that smokey, homey scent that hangs in the air and cool, clear afternoons. The buzz of life and work starts to slow down, and social gatherings multiply. I have pictures of myself as a tiny Aindrea sitting on pumpkins at the pumpkin patch seeking out that perfect jack-o-lantern. I have vivid memories of hay rides, pumpkin carving, trick-or-treating, fall festivals and my mom's autumn decorations. I remember her terracotta pumpkins, the wooden cutout of pilgrims, the fake leaves in various shades of orange, and the paper turkey that came out at Thanksgiving. Oh, Thanksgiving. The amazing food, the parades, the football, and the family. All of these things have added up to make me what I am - a girl who simply lives for Autumn.

So how much luckier could a girl like me get, moving to England; a country with breathtaking Autumns? It actually gets COLD here, and I get to wear things like scarves and boots and leather jackets. The thousands of trees are covered in brilliant colored leaves that start to turn as early as August, and a few even manage to stay on the trees into early December. Autumn here is slow, drawn out and palpable, giving you time to really take it in and feel the transition of time. Another year coming to a brilliant end.

"Autumn is the final trick in nature's year-long magic show: 

It masks death with a spectacular display of beauty."

-Keith Hansen

But the sad truth of it? English people don't give a crap about this magical time of year. I'll be damned if I can find a single Autumn decoration, and the only reason I'm able to decorate at all is due to my mom sending me boxes of decorations most years. Halloween is only just starting to gain momentum here. So many people I know say that they find it odd, allowing their children to march up to complete strangers' houses and demand candy simply because they threw on a mask. I can't comprehend this, because I grew up with it. Everyone DID Halloween. I've witnessed five Halloweens here, and Saturday was the first time I actually saw a bonafide Trick-or-Treater. Halloween parties are becoming much more popular and this year, there were even a couple pumpkin patches springing up around the countryside. I support this like a fanatic - it's about time these people take Halloween seriously. The other day at work, I complained that the pumpkins in the grocery stores were all beat up and scraped, misshapen and obviously thrown unceremoniously into the back of a truck. One of my colleagues chuckled at me and said "this really bothers you doesn't it?" I didn't hesitate for a second before answering, "Yes! You've got to take pride in your pumpkins!"

And, let's face it, Thanksgiving will never be a thing here. For the last five Thanksgivings, it's just been another Thursday for me. I get up, go to work, and sit at my desk, turkeyless. At my lunch break I check my phone and all my loved ones stateside are posting pictures of pies baking, tables set with cornucopia centerpieces, and family photos. I go home after work and make a normal dinner, plop down in front of normal, everyday TV and let myself feel glum. Stupid England.
However, on the weekend immediately after Thanksgiving, we have a little ritual. I either invite friends/family around and throw my own little Thanksgiving, or at least make sure I make myself and Mick a nice turkey breast, stuffing, mashed potatoes and some pie. Then I take down all my autumn decorations, and put up the tree and all my Christmas nik-naks. After that, Mick and I sit down in front of the TV with another helping of pie, and watch "Jingle All the Way."

In so many ways, I mourn the loss of my favourite family traditions, but at the same time, I get to make new ones with my husband, and every year I look forward to the taking down of autumn decor and transitioning into Christmas, and of course, watching his favourite Christmas film.

This year, however, I get the best of both. For the first time since I left home, I'm flying back for Thanksgiving, and I'm going solo. REAL Thanksgiving food with my friends and family, and even some bonus sunshine, because I definitely won't be seeing much of that in England for the next 5 months or so. In early December I'll fly back to my husband and my pug, and together we can play our parts in our little tradition.

Can't hardly wait. xo

A Slightly Hyper Post

Today I worked from 10am-6pm with a slew of families swinging in and out the door. The comfy, worn in couches scattered about the warm pub were filled with laughter and chit-chat, and my hands were satisfied and sticky from pulling lots and lots of pints. Two o'clock rolled around and my boss said I could take my break. I donned my wool coat and scarf (never thought I'd say that!) and walked across the square to the supermarket to buy a sandwich and a drink. My selections in hand (chicken salad sandwich, strawberry flavored water and sour coke bottles), I paid and exited the store. To my immense puzzlement, as I walked through the sliding doors, I was accosted (ok, not really, I just never pass up an opportunity to use that word. Accosted. Accosted! I love it) by charity collectors holding their plastic coin cup things and wearing... wait for it!.... GIANT DOG COSTUMES. We're not just talking a painted face and ears, people. We're talking the hole getup- a full on furry costume with giant head and everything. Actually, it was probably pretty warm, now that I think about it. Anyway, there was Christmas music blaring from mysteriously placed speakers and booths and things set up. In a daze, I grabbed a few coins from my pocket and chucked them in the cup. The Giant Dog I deposited my money to waved with his big, fake, awkward hands. Character costumes like that have always freaked me out a bit. I don't know, it might be the vow of silence the people who wear them seem to take. It's just weird, okay?!
Anyways, I retreated to the safety of my designated lunch spot- a tree planter with a large base to sit on. I munched on my sandwich and watched the way the light played on the pavers, the sides of brick buildings, and shone around the corner, bursting through a narrow walkway. I fell in love with winter light today. And as I snapped pictures, a children's choir at the charity thing began to sing "Good King Wenceslas," which always reminds me of that scene in the end of Love Actually where Hugh Grant is desperately searching an entire street of houses, asking for the girl he loves, tryyying to find out if she lives there because she only gave him the name of the street she lived on and not the house number. And three little girls open the door and don't realize Hugh Grant is the Prime Minister, because they're like, seven. So they ask if he's a Carol Singer and he starts to sing to humor them. And his driver, who is standing behind him, busts out in this really sexy bass voice, and Hugh Grant does this surprised little face and turns around and looks at the driver. (I tried to find a clip on youtube to no avail). It always makes me smile, as does anything to do with Hugh Grant, and particularly Love Actually. I smiled and snapped pictures until my hands started to go numb, at which point I decided it was probably time to go back to work.

My lunch spot. I love how the concrete and wood eat up the light and hold it tight.

Pavers also enjoy eating the light. Also- I much prefer the footwear of bartending to the footwear of teaching. Vans to work? Yes, please!

This picture literally stops my breath. The way the light bends around the building and down this little walkway. Be still, my heart!

Have a fantastic Saturday, you!

Finding Winter

I've never experienced a real winter, having grown up in Southern California and Arizona. I remember one particularly cold "winter" in Arizona, I was walking to class one morning at the college. I walked across the grass and was a bit bemused when it started to crunch beneath my feet. Frost?! That is something we're seeing more of these days, now that I'm in England.

Such amazing patterns to be found in ice and frost. Little trails, mountains, rivers and valleys to explore with the eye. I found myself hoping this morning, when I woke and heard someone coughing and rattling objects in what should have been an empty house. I could tell the cough belonged to my mother in law. At first I assumed illness, but then quickly replaced that idea with a hope of snowy roads and no way for her to get to work. A glance out the window erased this dream, and an explanation of car trouble answered my question.

This approaching winter not only brings the normal things for me - my mother and sister's birthdays, Christmas, warm fires and time spent together, keeping warm on the inside, hot drinks and snuggles. This year, winter holds more for me; an exploration of a new season, new elements and a whole world of winter wonderland to discover. Mick and I hope to make it up to London before Christmas for some shopping in Camden and Greenwich Markets, perhaps catching a musical at a theatre in the West End. This winter will be a walkway into my new life, in this new place, with my new husband. What an adventure! 

Bringing Thanksgiving to the Redcoats

What a great, full weekend we had here- visiting friends, attending parties, and for me, lots of cooking! Saturday night I began my cooking for our little belated Thanksgiving which we would hold on Sunday. It's hard to do Thanksgiving on Thursday here, because nobody has time off, obviously, since it isn't celebrated here. But that wasn't going to stop me- we pushed it to Sunday.
I did my two casseroles (sweet potato as well as twice baked potato), put them in the fridge to bake the following day, and left the turkey out to defrost.
When we woke up Sunday morning, hubby and I walked to the store for some last minute ingredients and came back to the house so I could get started on the pumpkin pie. I had ordered pie filling from amazon (not available here!) and got my store-bought crust out of the refrigerator to place in the pie dish. It was square instead of round, so I had to knead it and roll it out to make it fit the pie dish. Took care of it, placed it in the dish- looking good! Pop it in the oven to flash bake. Cool. I decided to check on it after a minute or two only to discover that the crust was slipping down the edges and settling in a pathetic puddle at the bottom of the dish. I freaked out, shouted for Mick, and got all teary. I'm not sure that it was really the crust that got me so upset. More likely it was the fact that I didn't get to have Thanksgiving with my family, didn't want to ruin the pie because it's my favourite part of Thanksgiving, and it was just a hectic morning. Back we went to the store to get more pasty ( 4!) and another pie dish, because the one at the house was shaped weird (straight edges instead of angles), which I thought added to the problem. We rushed home and I started over. It started to do the same thing, but only on one little edge of the crust, so I pulled it out of the oven and patched up the spot with extra pastry (which had been frozen and had to be thawed! Ugh!). Back in the oven to finishing flash bake and out in a few minutes. It looked pretty compromised, but it was holding together. In went the pumpkin mixture to finish baking. It all turned out fine, and tasted just like it should!
This was the only mishap of the day, apart from the store-bought apple pie that didn't want to bake. But that was okay, because we just did our dessert in two stages. Most of my Brits had never had pumpkin pie before, and they all seemed to like it. Even Mick, who had been more skeptical than the rest, said he really enjoyed it. And he is one picky man!
So thanks to my wonderful husband, his mom and step-dad, my sister in law and her boyfriend, I was able to have a Thanksgiving. And they helped make it special.
Hope you all had a wonderful weekend with your families and friends!

Centerpiece

My mom's side of the family always had gherkins and olives out on Thanksgiving. It wouldn't have felt legit without them!

My pie didn't look all that great, but it tasted perfect :)

I think I did Mama proud!

Pretty table

I know this is an awkward picture, but I swear- my husband does know what a camera is. He just hates them.

The turkey!

Happy Thanksgiving

Someone I know made a blog post the other day about the things for which she is thankful. As I read the post I was shocked to find the things that have happened in her life. Shocked and proud. And yet a little ashamed of myself, too. I'm not afraid to admit that, with the holidays fast approaching, my family and friends somewhere beyond the sea, and a nearly empty bank account dictating that I can't buy lavish gifts for them this year to compensate for the 5,000+ miles that I willingly put between us... I've been feeling pretty sorry for myself.
I knew when I made the decision to move to England that there would be bad days. Sad days and hard days. But I didn't really think about the fact that there would be, without doubt, days where I wanted nothing more than my people and my things. Because while my husband's people and things are truly wonderful... they're not mine. Not yet. I didn't spend 25 years developing bonds with them, and it's not, and probably never will be the same. It can be great, but different. In time.
I stop and think about the fact that I've been here, in the Queen's country, for five months now. Five whole months, and not much has happened. I only just got my visa, we still don’t have our own place. I still feel a pang in my chest and a knot in my throat 8/10 times I speak to my family and friends back home. I still feel the hurt when I hang up Skype and feel unfulfilled with crackly conversations. I feel guilty for leaving when there was still so much to learn about people, so much more love to give them, so much more deepening of relationships possible. And I start to panic: was I too hasty? Should I have given this more thought before I gushed about moving off to another country and marrying a guy with a sexy accent? I mean its every girl's dream! Five months and it still doesn't feel like home.
But then I stop and think about how in life, five months is really nothing. Let's say the average person lives 80 years. That's 960 months. Nearly 1000 months to live!!! That makes 5 months roughly .52% of your life. Less than one percent! It's when I realize things like this that I have to shake off and take a step back. It is not reasonable or fair to get frustrated with myself because I haven't gotten an entire restart to life figured out in .52% of my time here on this earth. It is ok to feel like I don't have my ducks in a row. Only .52% . It's ok to feel like this isn't home yet, especially when I spent another 31% building a life somewhere else. Half of a percent of my life. I will not let half of a percent of my life dictate what the next 657 months of my life will be like. Actually, that’s silly to say. No matter what I want, think or feel… it simply won’t dictate the rest of my life. This is a hiccup, a rut, a funk, a waiting room before I can get the rest of my life going. Things will get better, and in time, Mick and I will be able to do things and make adjustments that will make England a home. We haven’t been able to do many of these things, just because of the whole visa situation- the waiting room.
Everyone has always said the first year of moving far, far away is the hardest time. So is the first year of marriage. And, just because I never like to do things the easy way, I did it all at once, guaranteeing an emotional rollercoaster. And, oh boy, has it been just that.
So while there are things that will never change (I will probably always feel empty after I hang up the phone with certain people, I will probably always feel a little bit guilty, and there will most definitely always be days when I want to crawl into my old bedroom at my parents house, lay on the floor and think of all the fantastic memories), there are the things that will, and that’s what I need to focus on right now. I need to focus on the times Mick and I will have, searching the housing section of the paper for our first flat, a place to put the bed-sheets-pillows-plates-vases-chairs-tables-sofasfor which we’ll spend hours searching hand in hand. A safe, happy place to raise our children and fall in love with them. A place to put our life, not so much the things, but a place to put the things that represent our time together, and our love.

Now, let’s get on with that very Thanksgiving-y bit of this post - the things and people for which I am grateful.

My own strength
I think I’ve seen myself as a very weak person most of my life. As a little girl, I literally had panic attacks every single morning at the thought of going to school and being separated from my mother. It’s taken a lot of therapy, a lot of medication, a lot of feelings of worthlessness and insecurities to realize that I was quite the opposite. I may not have achieved greatness, but I have achieved goodness. I am a fierce friend, a loving daughter, granddaughter, sister and aunt, and a passionate wife. None of my shortcomings, though they be many, take away from my strong points. In fact, I think the fact that I’ve overcome (i.e. learned to accept and live with) those shortcomings has added to my strong points. My weakness has made me stronger. So much so that I’ve been able to do this very big thing without popping a single Xanax in almost a year.

A sense of adventure
It surprises even me that somehow, in that terrified little girl, stirred a soul wanting to break out and see the world. The one everybody thought would stick very close to home wanted adventure enough to go out and find it.

My mother
Where do I even begin? I am beyond grateful for a mother who pushed me, and still does to this day. I am so, so blessed to have a mom who was able to stay at home and raise me, not only for the typical benefits of such a thing, but because I got to know her extremely well. My mom is not just my mom, but she is my best friend, and no matter where I live, she always will be. I went into pretty deep detail in a previous post about all the things my mom has done for me, how she’s gone above and beyond the call of duty, even though there are no boundaries to a mother’s love. I think the most important gift my mom has given me is the hunger to have my own children someday, so that I can love them the way she loves me. I am grateful to have been raised by a woman who doesn’t hesitate for one second before going out and buying Christmas decorations for her daughter and son-in-law’s first Christmas tree after being told that we can’t quite work them into the budget this year. Something about that really tugged at my heartstrings – I think basically the knowledge that she is still there to take care of me. But I think, above all things, I am grateful for the fact that even though a twelve hour flight separates us, I still feel as close to her as I did when she was one bedroom away.

My father
My hero, my superman. My father is that strong, deep rooted tree. Never changing, always reliable, and always, always, always, beautiful in his dedication to the things he feels are most important: working hard to provide for the people he loves, being more of a listener than a speaker, and giving sound advice when he does. I am grateful for the things my dad has instilled in me, including a solid work ethic, an appreciation for my ancestry, a love of history, and a deep and abiding dedication to doing the right thing. I love hearing the stories from his childhood, which differs greatly from mine – stories of getting into trouble on a farm and riding motorcycles with his friends. I think I ache the most over being away from my dad, because there have just always been so many things I wanted to say to him, but never seemed to find the right words. Maybe I can find them now, and I hope my mom shows him this (he’s not the most tech savvy person): I am grateful for my dad because he is the person I want to be. I still want to be just like daddy.

My Grandma Flo
Though Grandma Flo died when I was 16, she taught me that if I have only two pennies to my name, I still have one to give away. I am so grateful to have been shown so much generosity by this beautiful woman, and miss her every day. Her lesson has stuck with me, because even though my savings account is dwindling away, I have that urge to give and share.

My dad’s parents
Your traditional down home, Irish Catholic cow folk family. I am grateful to see what love looks like sixty years down the road. My grandparents met when they were five, began dating in high school and never loved anyone else. I am grateful to see such an example of love and loyalty.

My brother
Time changes a lot of things, but one thing it will never change is that I still want to follow my big brother around. I really don’t think that any little sister in the world was as lucky as me. Gone are the days of playing Ninja Turtles and Matchbox cars together. Gone are the days of watching him play video games and watching out for bad guys with him. No more pretend WWF, him on his knees and one arm behind his back to make it more fair to his six year old sister. No more Mambas and Cactus Cooler brought home to me from his biking adventures with his friends. But now we have other things- a shared love for sushi, hiking, the same lame but fantastic sense of humor, numerous instances where we’ve both walked away from a funny situation with sore cheeks and a stitch in our side from laughing so hard. I am grateful to have a big brother who never made me feel like I was anything but the coolest little kid around, and like he was as lucky to have me as I was to have him.

My sister
My sister is a decade older than me, and by the time I was nine she had already moved out, but I’m often surprised to find out how much we have in common. This year she has achieved so much in her career, and my pride has driven me to tears at least once. She is so much like my dad- hardworking and dedicated and so, so driven. She is an amazing mother, a fantastic story teller, with a snappy, witty sense of humor and one of the most efficient women on the planet. I’ve often wished that we were closer in age so that we could have been closer growing up, but now I find myself feeling really lucky to have someone who has experienced so much more than me. I am grateful for the chance to watch her be the mother, wife, and driven amazing women I hope I can be, too. I am grateful that I get to learn from her and love her the way only sisters can.

My niece
That same amazing sister of mine gave our family a beautiful gift almost exactly four years ago (with the help of her lovely husband, Fes, who I am also grateful for and love like he’s been a part of this family since before I was born). Little Ella was born with a slate blue eyes and a soul wrapped beneath layers of blankets that we would all swoon over. This little blonde haired, blue eyed angel has cast her spell on our family and nobody can remember what it was like before she was born. She is scary smart, gentle, kind, generous, hilarious, full of pure, unbridled joy and wonder, and if you looked up the word “magic” in the dictionary, you’d see her face as the definition. I am grateful that I have such an amazing little person to bestow with cuddles and kisses and toys and candy.

My friends
I have far too many special friends to dedicate a section to each of them, so I’m going to focus on the two who have been the biggest influences in my life.

I met Tabatha when I was two years old, and therefore don’t remember a time in my life when she didn’t exist. We grew up across the street from each other until that fateful day in 1996 when my dad, mom and I moved to Arizona. All along the way, I have loved this girl and she has loved me back. She comforted me during those daily panic attacks on the way to school, taught me how much fun it can be to get into just a little bit of trouble, and shared her beautiful imagination with me. I’ve seen her struggle, but most other people would have no idea that there was anything other than candy and rainbows in this woman’s life. There is never anything but a smile on her face and a silly remark on her lips. She is the most happy-go-lucky person I have ever met and makes the best out of every situation. I am grateful to have a friend who has seen me through crayons, nail polish, training bras, funerals, weddings and birthday parties, and that I’ve been able to be there for her as many times as she’s been there for me.

I met Brittany when we were both in college, studying to become teachers. We instantly became good friends, rounding up our long, uneventful night classes with Hamburger Helper and Harry Potter movies at her house. Brittany and I have watched each other grow from college students to full time working teachers. We’ve shared shattered relationships, and the joy of creating new, life changing ones. I’ve listened to her frustrations with motherhood, and she held my hand through a devastating, 3 month long emotional breakdown. I fell in love with this girl- with her ability to adapt to any situation and fight tooth and nail to get what she wants out of this life. I am grateful to have a friend who is willing to drop her very full list of obligations to help those she loves.

My in laws
Mick’s mom and stepdad asked no questions when we got engaged. It was understood and accepted happily that we would live with them until we got on our feet. They have really helped us out and made it possible for us to be together. They also helped a lot with the wedding, and so did his dad. The financial and moral support from his family during this time has made all the difference. I’m also really glad Mick has a sister- it’s like a built in friend, and she’s really cool. I’m grateful to have been welcomed into a family like this.

My Husband
Ah, here we are. You might think that this one would be the easiest, but in fact, I find it quite difficult to put just how grateful I am for Mick into words. I think that there are a lot of people in the world that you can be happy with, and then there is that one person who encompasses everything you need and love. Mick is my best friend, my family, my partner in crime, my alter ego, and the love of my life. I always knew (mostly because my mother reminded me of it during those difficult teenage years where I probably made her extremely frustrated on a daily basis) that it would take a special kind of guy to love me. Well, Mick is certainly special. He has his days, but most of the time he is incredibly patient with me. He lets me be sad when I miss my family and reminds me that it will get better. He shares in my joy (when I am sad, I’m very sad, but oh, when I’m happy, it’s euphoric). I wouldn’t want to spend my life loving or arguing with anyone else. And isn’t that exactly how marriage should be?

This Blog
I am really grateful to this blog, and to the people who read it. Writing in here during the engagement, wedding plans, after the honeymoon and through visa applications has really helped me. I’ve always loved writing, and have always been better at expressing myself with my fingers than with my lips. I really think that coming here a few times a week has helped me with this transition. Sometimes I sit down to write a little something and the thoughts that come really help clear my head. Thank you for sharing this journey with me, and I hope you stick around for the rest of the ride.

Wishing you and yours a very peaceful Thanksgiving, full of cheer, love, and good food. May we know, each and every day, how truly blessed we are. I ask that when you sit down at your table tonight, you remember those who are far away and want nothing more than to be sitting next to you. Including me. God bless.

Christmas Swagger

It seems to me that even the creepy crawly creatures are getting ready for Christmas.
Even the spiders are puttin' up their swag this year.

Phriday Photo Phrenzy

My husband's body has been taken over by a Modern Warfaring demon.

I made stuffed peppers for dinner earlier in the week.

Santa is on my coke can. Christmas is nigh!

Cuddles during movie time. "What Lies Beneath" was our movie choice.

Very, very mean bug bite :(

Somebody (daddy) left the treat cup on the floor and left the room... both bunnies took advantage, but here is Harley being naughty :p

Christmas comes fast in England, because they don't have Thanksgiving to break up the time between Halloween and Christmas. I like this and I don't at the same time. I'm hoping to do a little Thanksgiving for us here next Sunday (it's just not practical to do it on a Thursday- nobody gets the day off!), but it will be low-key, because it's my first time cooking all that kind of stuff.
My mother-in-law got us a little 3ft tree to put in our lounge. I'm so excited- I think it would be a nice size to put on the window sill. Because I haven't gotten a job yet and savings are dwindling, I'm going to make pretty paper snowflakes for our ornaments this year with this tutorial. I'll get some glitter pens and make them kind of sparkly. I think it'll be fun.

Hubby's friend is arriving this afternoon for the weekend. Should be a good time.

Happy Friday- have a great weekend!

Oh and ps- I had my national insurance interview yesterday- all went well and my number should arrive in two weeks. In the meantime, I can start looking for work :)