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Pronouncing Preferences

5/30/2014

As a newly minted American citizen, I now have the right to vote, and since I got a pamphlet in the mail a few weeks ago saying a primary election was coming up, with instructions on how to register to vote, I went online and did just that.

The process was easy enough, but I was thrown by the fact that I had to declare my political preference in order to be officially registered. Why on earth does that matter? I mean, I do know why it matters, because here in the US we like to measure "registered" this, that and the other, but it bothered me, because although I do have opinions on issues, they are opinions on issues, rather than political parties. In fact, I actually read the entire pamphlet that came in the mail, (have you ever done that?) which describes the various political parties' Statements Of Purpose. This is honestly fascinating. The party choices are, in the order they appear in this pamphlet:

Green Party
American Independent Party
Peace and Freedom Party
Libertarian Party
Americans Elect Party (which had no Statement Of Purpose at all)
Republican Party
Democratic Party

If you read carefully, you'll find yourself agreeing with some of every party's philosophy, which is why it's so interesting that you have to self-declare up front when registering to vote. This doesn't happen in Europe. Political preferences are between you and the ballot box.

I guess this probably explains the popularity of bumper stickers. Once you've declared your political party in order to vote, it's out there, so why not put a bumper sticker on it too? We love to proclaim our preferences in public through stickers on cars - not just political, but anything else we love (or hate) can gain prime real estate space. Stick figure families, honor roll students, radio stations, TV stations, marathon runs, vacation spots, universities, religions, countries... you name it and you'll be able to find a sticker for it. In some cases, you can be behind a vehicle and figure out the entire lives and loves of its occupants.

Again, this rarely happens in Europe. Has anyone ever seen an "I HEART Angela Merkel" sticker? Nope, didn't think so. While passing the local Catholic church in Laguna Beach a few weeks ago, I spotted three cars, parked side by side, each with at least two stickers on their rear ends proclaiming hatred for Obama and Obamacare. Which tells you a lot about organized religion and tolerance, but that's a completely different subject...

My own car isn't exempt from telling a story, I have to admit. For a start, it's a Mini, which is British, (yes, I know, Mini is owned by BMW, but in my mind, the brand will always be British, in the same way that Land Rover, Jaguar, Lotus, Rolls Royce, Aston Martin and Bentley are British, despite the fact that every single one of them is under foreign ownership.) Then there's the fact that I have "blackjacks" on my door mirrors: monochromatic versions of the British flag. My tag number is a variation of the zip code for Laguna Beach, the tag itself is a "Spay and Neuter" design, featuring artwork by Pierce Brosnan, and money raised to pay for the tag helps to spay and neuter shelter animals. Finally, there's a Best Friends Animal Society sticker on the rear window. So I guess I'm nailed: a Brit in Laguna who loves animals.

And that's all correct and fine by me. Now I'm off to vote next week...

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10 Things People Don't Tell You About Long Hair

9/23/2013

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Time for a little levity on a Monday. No earth shattering revelations, political ponderings or Emmy show rantings, rather a less polarizing subject - hair length.

Most American women have long hair and keep it long their entire lives. I've met women in their 40s and 50s who tell me their hair is the same as it was in high school. This is incredible to me for two reasons. a) I admire their ability to love something for that long, and b) don't they ever get bored?

I chopped all my hair off short when I was 18, and it remained short and various hues of blonde for the next 25 years, when I suddenly decided to grow it and go brunette. Four years later, I've been changing my mind constantly, and a delve through photos on my computer and Facebook proves that I'm definitely schizophrenic when it comes to deciding what to do with my hair. The photo above is kind of where I am right now, except a maybe a little longer and a little blonder.

About two or three years ago, this is what it looked like. Still brunette but chopped short.

Having lived through many hair iterations, here are 10 things to know about long hair - good and bad.

1. It falls out - all the time, everywhere. I can be sitting at my computer, and a hair will float out onto the floor. I can be sitting at a cafe, and a random hair will appear on the table. I can put my glasses on or take them off, and a few hairs will fall out. I think this happens with short hair too, but you don't notice it as much, and I'm constantly picking up my hair and Fiona's hair as well as dog hair. Sounds gross, but it's true.

2. It gets stuck in clothing. You'd think that when clothes come out of the dryer after being washed, that they're completely pristine and ready to wear, but it never fails that there's some niggly thing poking me somewhere, and I find a hair stuck in the fabric of my T-shirt that I have to pull out. This was something I never expected.

3. It gets stuck in glasses and sunglasses. Maybe this is just me, but whenever I take glasses off, (which for me is often, because I wear them for reading and working on the computer), there's a jolt of pain as a hair that managed to wedge itself in the hinges of the glasses gets pulled out. This doesn't happen with short hair. There's nothting there to get stuck.

4. It gets in your eyes and your mouth, especially when it's windy, or the window of the car is open. It can actually be quite painful to have hair whipping round your face too - which is why I tend to put my hair up a lot.

5. It clogs the drains. This one's a biggie. You absolutely must use a hair catcher in the shower, otherwise your plumbing bills will be high.

6. It takes forever to dry. I guess I'm lucky in one way. I have a lot of thick hair, but boy, does that mean a long time with the hairdryer. You have to plan this into your morning routine.

7. On a hot day, it's really hot to have a curtain of hair around you. Again, I'd never considered this. When hair is short, the breeze caresses your neck and keeps you cooler in hot weather. With long, dark hair, you really get hot around the collar (literally.)

8. No matter what your hairdresser says, it's impossible not to wash your hair every day if you exercise. With short hair, the hairdresser never tells you to leave it for a day or two before washing. When your hair is long, you do get nagged to let it be, and just put it in a ponytail or something. While this is laudable for the health of longer hair, if you exercise outdoors in the mornings as I do, and especially when the weather is hot, you sweat. And you sweat around your hairline too. I feel gross if I don't wash my hair, so I do - daily. It just makes me feel better.

9. It's much lower maintenance in the morning. This one surprised me and is the flipside to the point above. With shorter hair, when you wake up in the morning, there's more of a tendency for your hair to be sticking up in lots of different directions and to have a lovely bald patch on one side where you've slept for a while. With long hair that tends not to happen, and it's possible to wake up in the morning, looking almost like you did when you went to bed the night before. Give it a brush, put it in a ponytail and voila, you're done.

10. You go to the hairdresser less often. This one also surprised me. When I had short hair, I frequented the salon much more, to get trims, to keep the shape, to touch up the color. When hair is long, you can go months without setting foot in the salon, and I do. I'm also not as concerned about the smattering of grey hairs that are now visible. Right now my hair resembles a geological dig, with the newer "real" hair color showing at the roots, followed by more of a darker brown, that fades to lighter brown as it goes down, as the blonde from previous colorings shows through. I actually don't mind that, but it's less money for the hairdresser.

So there you have it. One person's unscientific look at the comparison between long and short hair. I'm going to keep it longer for now, but who knows. One day I may wake up and decide just to chop it all off and go blonde. It's happened before, and it will happen again.

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Teenage Zingers

8/27/2013

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After I wrote my last post three days ago, about the care and maintenance of teenage girls, I had a few responses to the zingers that they know how to throw with Katniss Everdeen precision, designed to kill, not merely to maim. Some people were horrified, others hooted with laughter, having been through it themselves. It made me realize that there are probably a heck of a lot of stories out there from parents, about what their teen said to them - either recently, or, back in the day.

Yesterday, for example, I was writing, and took a break to check Facebook (yes, this happens more than a few times a day.) As I scrolled down my news feed, a photo of a tiny donkey caught my eye, and I giggled. With the sharp ears of a teen who never hears what they are supposed to hear, but is poised to listen to anything that's not meant for them, Fiona, downstairs in the living room, called out.

Fiona: What are you laughing at?
Me: Oh, nothing, just a funny picture.
Fiona: What is it?
Me: A miniature donkey - it's really tiny!
Fiona: Can you send it to me?
Me: I'll post it to your Facebook wall.
Fiona: NO! DON'T DO THAT! THAT'S SO EMBARRASSING!
Me: Posting a photo of a tiny donkey to your wall is embarrassing?
Fiona: YES MOM! PLEEAAASE DON'T! AND NEVER, EVER POST ANYTHING ON MY WALL!
Me: Well, OK, then.

I guess this one falls into the category of "Just By Being Alive You're Embarrassing Me."

Then, this morning, my friend and I went for a hike. This is the friend I mentioned in the last post, with the teenage daughter who told her that the only reason she still lives at home is because she wants to inherit the money when her parents die. This time, it was something that falls into the category of "Whatever You Do You're Wrong, Even If You Do The Actual Thing Your Teen Tells You To Do."

The teen had told her mother that she was really boring, that she never went out anywhere with her friends and that she never wore fashionable clothes. My friend duly took this in her stride, admitting that yes, her clothing may not be the latest and greatest and yes, she didn't go out that much. So, last weekend, she decided to go out and have a little fun, and headed out with a couple of her girlfriends to a local Music in the Park event in Laguna, where there was an 80s tribute band playing, and everyone was "dancing, laughing, drinking, loving." (Well, OK, maybe not, but surely someone out there recognized the Soft Cell line from Bedsitter? Just me, huh...) Anyway, I digress. My friend got home at the end of the evening, happy, excited and generally in a great mood.

She was greeted by a reproachful teenage girl who reprimanded her that all she ever did was go out and have a good time, while her Dad (my friend's husband,) was out there working all the time.

I almost collapsed laughing at this one. It is just so typical of the "damned if you do, damned if you don't" attitude that teens have.

So, I have a question for all of you out there with current or past teens. What are some of the zingers they've thrown at you? What hit so far below the belt it really hurt? What was so contradictory it was just funny? I know there's a lot out there and I can't wait to hear.

Maybe I'll post a couple on Fiona's Facebook wall, just to embarrass her :-)

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The Care and Maintenance of Teenage Girls

8/24/2013

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We're entering yet another transition phase as Fiona starts high school in just over a week, and as a mother who was once a teenage girl, albeit rather a long time ago, it's hard not to compare and contrast the differences a generation (and a different country) bring.

For instance, at 14, I was pretty low maintenance when it came to personal stuff. Nail salons didn't really exist in England back then; if you wanted eyebrows to look OK, you plucked them; legs got shaved, not waxed, and I didn't enter a hair salon until, I guess 17, which is also the time I got contact lenses.

It's all a little different now. When Fiona announced at age 12 that she needed (not wanted, needed) her eyebrows waxed, my own eyebrows raised so high they almost left my head. Contact lenses arrived at 13, as did the refusal to have her hair cut at any of those places you can just walk in for a trim for ten bucks. Thankfully she's pretty self-sufficient with her nails, and she does shave her legs, but only because the thought of waxing them is just too painful (which is completely true.)

Where I'm truly surprised is the whole personal hygiene thing. I heard all the stories about teenage girls being in the bathroom for hours, doing their hair and make-up and agonizing about what clothes to wear. What I didn't expect was a girl who still has to be badgered into taking a shower, who wears a dab of makeup, but nothing to write home about, (and who looks completely stunning without it,) and who gravitates to her regular daily "uniform" of skinny jeans, Converse, tank tops and T-shirts. She has one bra that is the only one she will wear, even though she has several, and I have to literally pry it from her hands to throw it in the washing machine whenever I can. Same with the clothes that she wears again and again, that I have to steal away to wash when she's not looking.

I'm sure high school will bring more changes, but anyone who has a teenage girl knows how different they are from boys. And a heck of a lot more expensive too. I look around at friends with boys and, yes, they have to buy clothes, get haircuts and go to orthodontist appointments, but the ongoing maintenance expenses just aren't there. Here's what parents of girls pay for that doesn't even register to parents of boys, starting from the top of the head. Haircuts at salons - with washing, tinting/color and copious amounts of blow drying, eyebrow waxing, makeup, face cream, bras, manicures, tampons, pads, razors and shaving cream for legs, (yes, I'm aware that boys start shaving their faces at some stage,) and pedicures.

Add all that up over the course of a year, and it comes to a lot. And the icing on the cake is that it all comes with a hefty dose of teenage girl attitude. You know exactly what I mean if you're the Mom of one. Dads get off a little easier, but being the mother of a teenage girl means donning a bullet proof vest each day to soak up the impact of the zingers, the eye rolling, the being embarrassing just by being alive, and the insults that are designed specifically for each of us. Girls instinctively know what's going to hurt the most.

For example, a friend of mine who also has a 14-year old, said that her daughter once threw at her that the only reason she still lived at home is that she knew she'd inherit all the money when her mother died. Ouch. Fiona knows that this one would never work on me, since I have no money, and would just laugh. Her weapon of choice therefore, is one she knows will pierce my heart. "You need to get a real job! All you ever do is give up jobs! And this book you're doing? It's not exactly The Twilight Saga. No one will read it!" Ouch, ouch and ouch again. What was that old saying about sticks and stones? Boys use the sticks and the stones. Girls use words, and I tell you, they can hurt.

Still, what goes around comes around, right? I was pretty horrible to my mother when I was 14, and if she was still alive I'm sure she'd be nodding her head right now, only too willing to give me some choice examples.

This too will pass... but at least Fiona's eyebrows look great.

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When Road Trips Go Wrong

8/20/2013

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"Give it a few days and then you'll laugh about it," advised a friend of mine. Hmm. Maybe I haven't left it long enough, but it's been over a week now...

On the face of it, this was a brilliant idea. Fiona goes to camp in Wyoming for a month each year. This was the fourth summer, and every prior year, I've flown into Jackson Hole then driven to Dubois which is another two hours. It takes a full day even when you fly, so why not save some money, enjoy the scenery, take an extra day there and back, and drive in my own car! It's just over 1,000 miles from Laguna Beach to Dubois, and a lot of that is on I-15 all the way through Utah, but there's a lot of spectacular mountain scenery too. Let's go!

Day 1 was long. And I got a speeding ticket, thank you very much. It's kind of sad when you're going 80 miles an hour and you're the slowest thing on the road, including semi trucks and fully laden car carriers. Then it got worse. While driving on a two-lane road and admiring the view, things that only happen to females once a month started to happen. On a two-lane road. In the middle of nowhere. With no gas station in sight. Without being graphic, let's just say I'm glad I was wearing black and that I found a rest room after about 30 minutes, which was obviously 30 minutes too late... The only good news after 10 hours of solid driving was that I used my newly-acquired AARP card to get a 10% discount at a Hampton Inn in Provo, UT.

Day 2 started off well, but took a very, very long time. Driving along those great roads means getting stuck behind a lot of RVs and trucks and passing through small towns where the speed limit plummets to 25mph and the police are just watching and waiting for schmucks like me. Another speeding ticket. At least this one is from a different state, but no option of online driving school... Seven hours later, I collapsed into my hotel room by The Tetons, just thankful to be there.

After one day on the ground in Wyoming, attending Fiona's final rodeo and packing all her stuff into my Mini, I set off again in the car, leaving Fiona to fly home with her Dad, stepmom and baby sister, since she had declined to drive with me (smart girl). To say I was not looking forward to the trek home was an understatement. The scenery was still spectactular but my feet and body were wishing I had a large automatic car, rather than my tiny, manual Mini. I was the smallest thing on the road for four days, other than one Fiat 500 and another Mini. And that's the scary thing. People ignore small Minis, or don't even see them, in the same way that they don't see motorcycles. I had two very near misses with people merging and just swerving into my path. After two speeding tickets I wasn't taking any chances, and when you're the slowest thing on the freeway and you're going over 80, that's no fun at all.

When I pulled onto the toll road heading to Laguna, the tension finally started to dissipate, and when I drove down the canyon road and up the hill home, I almost cried with relief. I'm so thankful not to be going anywhere soon, and the lesson here is that maybe a road trip like that is worth it... if you're going to spend more than 24 hours in the place you're going to... if you have someone else in the car to lighten things up, as well as maybe share the driving... and if you have a car that is more suited to the open road than its normal urban life.

Me and my Mini are staying put in Laguna Beach for a long while to come... and that's just the way we like it. And yes, now I can smile.

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Men Behaving Badly

8/3/2013

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There has been such a slew of bad behavior committed by men recently that I started to ponder the nature of such acts, both in the present day and over time, and why society puts up with them.

Let's start with the "merely" sexual - no one gets physically hurt but the perpetrators are just plain stupid. I'm talking about Anthony Wiener, Mark Sanford, Tiger Woods, Jesse James, Bill Clinton, Silvio Berlusconi, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Eliot Spitzer and every other man in the public eye (or not,) who has had dalliances and transgressions that are now all too easy to document with the preponderance of social media. What's incredible about these is the lack of memory the public seems to display. Without fail, all these men get back to their lives after a period of time, and carry on with their careers with absolutely no repercussions. Can you imagine if Hillary Clinton or Diane Feinstein had been caught texting nude pictures of themselves to someone? I can guarantee you their political careers would be over. Or how about Venus Williams having sex with 36 men or more? And she's not even married with children. Again, the public would vilify her, and her tennis (and endorsement) career would be done.

Then there are the murderers and assaulters. There are actors and athletes (and yes, Silvio Berlusconi,) who have been convicted of heinous crimes, yet who still managed to get back to making millions of dollars a year in their chosen careers, and their advertising endorsements came back. Hello - Michael Vick? I am truly disgusted by this, since the message we send is that it really doesn't matter what you did. Your prowess and sniveling public apology will see you through. Let's see what happens with Oscar Pistorius. Imagine if Maria Sharapova was caught running an illegal dog fighting ring. Really - what do you think would happen?

How about the drug takers? Any baseball player, any cyclist, and probably many other athletes you can think of. Some go down and others come up smelling like a rose. Let's just see what happens to Lance Armstrong in the long run. My bet is that at some stage he will "redeem" himself and be back.

I'll turn now to the areas of no redemption and no sympathy but which are 100% populated by men. I'm talking about rapists, child abusers, kidnappers, terrorists, mass murderers, school shooters, movie theater shooters, and corrupt political leaders. Saddam Hussein, Adolf Hitler, Pol Pot, Osama bin Ladin, Ariel Castro, Jerry Sandusky, Charles Manson, Dylan Klebold, Eric Harris, Adam Lanza. I could go on. Every single one of them male. Name one female that went on a shooting spree in the past one hundred years. That's right. Zero.

It would be interesting to look at all the statistics and extrapolate how much damage the male species has done to fellow humans, animals and the planet in general, and compare the results to statistics in scientific endeavors and the medical world. If you have a tumor that's malignant, you cut it out. If you have a disease or organism that is 100% likely to cause harm and even kill, what do you do?

This isn't a rant about feminism, rather a statistical look at where all the trauma, all the death, all the hurt comes from. Yes, there have been some devious and nasty women in history: Lucretia Borgia, Margaret Thatcher, Salome and Cercei Lannister (OK, she's fictional,) and yes, there are some really not very nice femakebut really, they are few and far between.

Think of a world where anyone involved in politics, movies, sports, looking after our children, was, for the most part, "good". Easy to achieve in my mind. And if the shoe was on the other foot, don't you think men would have done something by now?

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Why You Want Me to win the Lottery

7/21/2013

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Playing the lottery is one of those things that when you have a steady income and a career, you don't really think about, and when you do, you imagine people on minimum wage in a 7/11 or at a gas station, hoping like heck that their day has come and they can finally get out of their daily grind.

Since I'm now not officially "employed," rather I work on a freelance basis, I do play the lottery, and when I go to my local grocery store, I buy a $5 ticket once a week. I've actually won a couple of times too. Now, by "win" I don't mean millions, but I have won $1 here and $2 there, and on one momentous occasion I actually won $1,000, which was exciting until the government sent me a 1099 and I had to pay taxes on it.

Then you see the shows that follow people who have won millions, which tell us what they've done and what they now have to show for it. Sadly, in most circumstances, most people have frittered away many millions of dollars on cars (usually Corvettes), personalized pool tables, diamond-encrusted cowboy boots and all the other essentials of life.

Which is why you want me to win millions, if not tens of millions in the lottery. That's right: me. Why? Because I know what I'd do with the money and most of it would go to other people and charities, and I'd therefore take a burden off taxpayers.

Let's start with how much. Winning say $5 million in this day and age, especially when you live in southern California, won't go very far. It's certainly not something you can retire on unless you leave California and go live somewhere where the cost of living is much lower and educating a child at college doesn't cost an arm and a leg. $10 million allows you to breathe a little easier. Pay off debts, stash money for college, top up the retirement account and quit worrying quite so much about health care costs and old age. And yes, I recognize that all these are "first world problems."

Anything above $10 million is total gravy, and no, this isn't a scientific, mathematical process I've been through to come up with that amount, just a lot of thinking about needs and wants. First of all, I have to assess the tax I'll need to pay, since the federal government, state government and heaven knows who else, will take their cut. The next thing is to think of which charities I want to donate to. I have a few favorites and I guess we all do. They need help, so they'll get it. Next I have family and friends who I know need support, and finally, there are the debts, housing costs, college funds, healthcare funds, retirement funds and other necessities that need to be considered for the next 50 years or so (yes, I'm assuming I'll live to be 100). After that, you'll find me writing, adopting dogs and volunteering for causes I love.

Anything left over? Well, maybe there's a Lotus with my name on it and definitely a trip on Virgin Galactic, but I'll leave anything diamond-encrusted to those with less imagination.

So, what would you do with your winnings?

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Lost In Translation - Summer

6/19/2013

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"Summer." Such an innocuous word, but one which engenders strong feelings depending upon the audience.

To kids and students, summer means two months of freedom from classrooms and school books: "Yippee! We're done!" To working adults with no kids, it means: "Great. Let's plan a week or two of vacation to get away." For working Fathers, it's a shrug: "Whatever, I'll still be working. Maybe I can fit in a week away with the family." For stay-at-home Moms with husbands at work, it's: "Great. No more school runs, packing lunches, after-school activities and early mornings. Off to Europe for a month." (Where I live, this is actually a normal conversation.)

For working Mothers though, it's a death knell. Carefully honed logistics while the kids are in school fall apart in tatters. "What on earth are the kids going to do for two whole months while I'm at work? Who's going to take care of them? I need daycare/ a nanny/ a camp/ all of the above and I need them NOW."

If you're a single working mother it's even more difficult. "How can I find the extra money to pay for all this? Maybe the dog sitter can help? What if I hire someone to look after the kids AND the dog? But then I'd lose my dog sitter because she'd be pissed off, and what do I do after summer...?"

I can tell you from fourteen years of experience that all this and a heck of a lot more, goes through the mind of a working mother every single year. It's always a juggling act to get everyone through the summer intact. Vacation? Yeah, maybe you can fit that in somewhere. But by the time you've scheduled all the camps and the day trips and the sports and maybe a couple of educational things in there for the kids, you've spent thousands of dollars already.

I've been through this both from an office worker point of view and a work-at-home point of view, and I can tell you that the latter is definitely easier. Getting coverage from 7:15am to 6:30pm when you work in an office (stand down the business travel when you're not even there,) is tough. Could someone please tell me where the concept of "9am to 5pm" even exists any more? Not in my world.

Working at home gives you more flexibility, but you still have emails, conference calls, meetings, deadlines and actual work that needs to be done. I've carefully honed my breezy response to the question: "So, are you going anywhere this summer?" such that it comes out very well now. Living in Laguna Beach I can truthfully answer that since I live in a place where others come on vacation, I will be trying to do a little of that myself here and there.

I met a lady once when I was walking my dogs whose child attends one of the private schools in Laguna so I didn't know her (and yes, our town is so small that you do end up at least recognizing most parents.) She told me about the time her husband was working in Dubai and every summer when school ended, all the kids and the Moms in the expat community would literally leave together on a two month world tour, leaving the Dads working. When I expressed surprise and asked her how the working mothers were able to do that, she looked at me like I was from a different planet. "Well none of the mothers work of course," Of course. Silly me.

The last time I truly looked forward to a summer of ease and relaxation was probably after I graduated from university before I started work, when I was 21 years old. During my pre-child adult years there was still that sense of liberation that came with sunny days, but one year, I would absolutely love to live like a child again during summer: two months of fun, activity, exploration, relaxation and freedom. Until then, I'll be tapping away on the computer, sneaking off for a stroll on the beach or a latte in a cafe when I get the chance. And the dogs get to stay with me too.

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Lost In Translation: Graduation and Other Ramblings

6/5/2013

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It's that time of year again: the month where children of all ages seem to graduate every five seconds from whatever grade they happen to be in. Congratulations! Your child has graduated from pre-school!

It's a strange custom this one. In Britain, we graduate once and only once: from University (College, Polytechnic, whatever,) and then we shrug and get on with working life. Here in the US it's very different. Fiona, at the tender age of 14, has already "graduated" twice, and we're about to do it all again.

At age 5, she "graduated" from Kindergarten, together with a paper mortar board and rolled up "scroll." At age 11 she "graduated" from 5th grade, which heralds the end of elementary school and the start of middle school, although this event was a little more informal: flowery dresses and leis. At 14, she's about to "graduate" from middle school and will enter High School in the Fall. We get to do it all over again four years from now at age 18 when she graduates High School, along with a proper mortar board and diploma. If she makes it to University (College/Polytechnic, whatever,) we'll have what we British consider the "real" graduation.

Phew! Thankfully we didn't have a pre-school graduation like some do, but if you count that, by the time your child gets to age 21 or 22 in the US, they will have "graduated" five times! I mean, really? I have all sorts of conspiracy theories regarding the need and desire to shower praise on children no matter what they do, and I also have another theory, which is that all these events are designed to make working mothers feel even more guilty than they already do. Who has the time to attend and plan for all these things when they have a job to do too?

I also find it hard to keep track of what's required in the US education system, since it's so completely different from what I went through in Britain, and the plethora of schools is just one of the differences. I know that people here have no clue about the education system over in Britain either, and in fact, I've found an incredibly useful tool for those of us living over here, who are trying to explain to our American friends what happens over there: Harry Potter.

Most people have read the books, or at least seen the movies, so they're familiar with the construct. Harry goes to Hogwarts in his first year at age 11, and there are seven total years, meaning kids leave Hogwarts at age 18. Simple enough, right? That's the basis of the British education system (muggle or wizard). Senior school is seven years long, then you go to University (College/Polytechnic, whatever.)

Exams are similarly simple to explain. At Hogwarts, in year five the students take O.W.L. (Ordinary Wizarding Level) exams, then in year seven they take N.E.W.Ts (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests). In Britain, we muggles have "O" (Ordinary) levels in year five and "A" (Advanced) levels in year seven - although I think they're now called GCSE's, (General Certificate of Secondary Education, but the concept is still the same. And there you have it. Amazingly enough, I get a lot of head nodding once I explain it this way. Go figure.

On a related note (well not really, but it's just fun), there's the tough concept of explaining to Americans where you come from in England if you don't actually come from a place everyone knows - like London. If one more person asks me where in London I'm from, my plastered-on smile will begin to severely slide. This is where Game of Thrones is an absolute godsend.

Everyone who watches G.O.T. knows of the rivalry and hatred between the Starks and the Lannisters. Everyone with ears can hear that the accents of the two clans are very different. Everyone who watches the opening credits can see the handy little map showing exactly where Kings Landing is, in the South, versus Winterfell, in the North; and that, my friends, is where I'm from. Yes, if I were in G.O.T. I would be a full-blooded Stark, (or maybe a bastard one, who knows,) living in Winterfell, or even a little further North closer to The Wall. Sadly, I would also be one of the last Starks to be living too, but that's a completely different story.

Anyway, time to prepare for graduation in just over a week. My middle schooler is now a fledgling high school student and I have to figure out all these high school courses and credits and honors classes and sports activities and community service activities and... I'm exhausted. Bring on the OWLs and the NEWTs.

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Five Shades of Fifty

5/29/2013

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As the month of May draws to a close, my liver is begging for a respite from the beating I've given it. It's interesting how a birth day can turn into a birth month with a little coaxing, and turning 50 is a pretty good excuse to keep celebrating for a month.

So, a birthday that started with a G-rated dinner with teenagers and a fake baby, spawned five more events, each different in nature but with the same theme: lots of great friends, lots of laughter, great food, and of course, lots of alcohol.

The first get-together was just me and a close friend, with her baby, bottles of champagne, appetizers and a constant flow of chatter about everything under the sun. A lot of fun and something we both needed, since we hadn't had time to ourselves since her baby was born nine months ago.

That was followed by the second event, which involved a group of close girlfriends who have become my surrogate family in California. Ranging in age from mid-20s to mid-60s, all our gatherings are filled with laughter, interesting dishes, dogs everywhere and oodles of champagne, and this one was no exception.

The third gathering was a lovely summer evening in a beach cottage with a group of my writer friends, who are a very talented bunch: two published authors and one about to be published. Again, lots of fun, lots of great food, more wine and tons of excellent writing encouragement.

The fourth event was a complete surprise. We had a plan for dinner: just me and two couples, at a local restaurant. When I showed up at their house that evening though, they'd hatched something completely different. A surprise party. And yes, it was a complete surprise. I'm so naive that I totally believed the story of the "baby shower" that was being set up for the next day on the outdoor patio and courtyard area. And even when a few people just showed up, I didn't think too much about it. I think after the third group arrived and then Fiona entered, I realized something was going on and became a blubbering fool. OK, guys, you really got me on this one! I was completely overwhelmed, completely emotional and exceedingly grateful. It was one of those really cool nights that could have gone on forever.

As if all of this wasn't enough, I'm lucky enough to live in an awesome neighborhood with great people on the street and our block organized a block party on Memorial Day. This was yet another excuse to celebrate, especially since another of my totally cool neighbors also turned 50, one turned 40 and there were two teenage birthdays as well.

So, thank you to all the wonderful people who made my 50th birth month such a memorable one. I couldn't have wished for anything better than to spend time with the people I love. Oh, and I know that a few more of my friends have "zero" birthdays coming up this year - you know who you are - and I'm looking forward to celebrating with you too. In the meantime, time to detox...

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Lost In Translation: Graduation and Other Ramblings

Five Shades of Fifty

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