There is no denying the toll the pandemic has taken on our lives, our mental health. I cannot imagine how “aware” I have become of myself, how I do my work, how I pale in comparison to others knowledge and results. And second guessing how real are the things other people post about themselves — is it possible? could it be? Am I that far behind? And the worst part of it is my conscious refusal to complain about it, knowing how others have taken it even harder : the people who have lost family, loved ones, friends. Those who have closed businesses. Those forced to face the anger of the staff they let go. Those who suddenly have to deal with the unknowns of paying for a house, a car, and feeding their children. Those who have gone through the torture of the Virus. Those who had lost jobs. Those who cannot see beyond tomorrow. Those who suffer illness but have to avoid seeing doctors in a virus-infested hospital. Those forced to endure the attacks of a violent spouse in the house. I cannot fairly moan when I have a home to go to, work I can do remotely, family who can stay safe in house. And yet, I have developed this unexplained nervousness and restlessness that is overwhelming; oftentimes bordering on Dread. What will all be like, really, when we get out the other end? I think the lockdown is a period that allowed so much of our fears, anger, insecurities to incubate. And when we pop the lid off of, imagine the loud boom.
Category: Life
Bird Observation Notes
Whoever thought to use “bird brain” as a derogatory? One of my favorite things about living in the UK is the birds. It’s not that we do not have birds in Chicago — we do, lots of sparrows, the occasional American robin (longer, more like a thrush, and a less robust-colored orange breast), and that is about it. Well, that is life in a concrete jungle. In the UK, I don’t live in a high-rise but in a house with a garden. I love that my kitchen sink is nooked in between 3 sides of windows — good cross-ventilation when I need it, and affords me a wide view out to the garden while doing the dishes. The best part of course being that I get to see what the birds outside are up to. I can tell you — Bird brains are something to aspire to. My observations:
- Garden birds watch out for each other. They frantically call out when perceived danger is around — which most of the time means Yours Truly. Whenever I come around with their daily food rations (I am very generous), they would all scamper off. And inevitably one bird will be sounding the alarm to warn others not to land yet while I am still doing the task. I’ve seen other bird enthusiasts who’ve managed to get birds to land on their hands and feed — I wonder if I can ever do that successfully. I am slowly beginning to think this is all a matter of trust, as it is with most things. I have noticed more and more that the birds are less fearful or wary of me now. Sometimes, while I am in one part of the garden, the birds would begin feeding on the other part. They used to not even come close.
- Foodwise, they know what they want, and they are consistent. We get most of our bird feed from Wilko — they really do it right with bird feed: quality, taste that birds seem to like, and the right price. Let’s start with the suet/fat balls, literally balled-up suets. Once we started buying the “premium” ones (more seeds and grains rather than plain suet), the birds never bothered with the plain. Wilko once ran out and we had to buy the regular ones — the birds wouldn’t touch them anymore. We even tried a source from Scotland which had good reviews on eBay — nope, the birds weren’t having them. Another, if you get the mixed seeds, they peck on everything and leave the little corn. They will come to them when there is nothing else. So when they get peck-picky, I trick them back by not refilling the feeding stations so they are forced to finish off the corn. Works every time.
- They have quite solid social bonds. This is shown by little social bubbles and turfs they have in their activities, which is best displayed when they feed. The blue-tits in our garden seem to hog the coconut suets although they do share with other small birds. The bigger birds like starlings, blackbirds, jays, magpies and pigeons commune at a makeshift bird table that we roughly made but is now a gathering hotspot. Tghe southeast corner of our garden is inevitably the “Sparrow Corner” because that truly is a busy hub of all sorts of sparrows. They congregate on the fence, take turns on the feeding stations or the ground, — the cacophony of chirps are music to my ears. And then there are the Long-Tailed Tits, those mousy little cuties, when they come they do not in single spies but in battalions — not quite but they come in groups. They do so so adorably. One comes in, then another, then another until the next thing you know, the suet feeders are nice surrounded by their pointy little tails. My aim this year is to take a nice shot of them in the formation — they’d probably make a beautiful Christmas card this year.
More Bird Notes & observations next time.
Everyone likes birds. What wild creatures is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird? ~ David Attenborough, British broadcaster and naturalist
Green Thumb Potential
It has become a strange, self-imposed tradition that I buy amaryllis plants every Christmas in England — something festive, alive and full of color to watch for when everything is drab and cold outside. I usually get them from M&S (formerly Marks & Spencer), or Sainsburys when we do our Christmas food shopping (grocery). When they are “On Offer” (Britspeak for sale or discount) you can get 3 for £10 instead of £5 each. We usually give 1, sometimes 2, to Hubby’s parents. Last December, being Covid December, we couldn’t and didn’t manage to buy any. The one we had from the previous winter (a “double dragon” variety if I remember right) was dried and dead — like a burnt onion bulb. Hubby didn’t even store it correctly for a re-plant. But with all that happened in 2020, I really couldn’t be too disappointed. Still, I could be experimental — because what do I have to lose? So I took what looked like the deadest amaryllis and gave it a serious “hair cut” — meaning, I trimmed off everything I could, and peeled off the dry parts of the bulb. In the end, I was down to what looked like a possibility, but not much. I put the plant by the window and for the next week or so…. nothing happened, despite daily watering. The water seemed only to collect, the compost wouldn’t even drink. To force-dry the damn thing, I decided to bring the plant into the bathroom, and put it by the radiator. The bottom of the radiator is at the right height to dry the compost quickly, and in the next couple of days I saw promise — a thin line of green at the top of the cut bulb. Finally some sign of life. Needless to say the Bathroom was the perfect hothouse/greenhouse for the amaryllis. I never even had to water it because it was humid enough with our daily baths and nonstop hand washing. Today, I am happy to say the first two bright red buds are out of the shell. And I’ve put it by the window when the sun is shining. Whaddyaknow….I have somehow managed to have my amaryllis this winter, with almost nothing to start with, a little luck and no pressure to succeed. :)
Anything will give up its secrets if you love it enough.
– George Washington Carver, botanist.
Random Thought About Growing Old
We often think hair grows gradually. I found out, it grows in spurts.
We often think we would grow old gradually. Not so. We grow old overnight. The day I turned 40 was the day I realized I had to take my glasses off to read, that I had a paunch that runneth over the top of my jeans, that my jawline has lost the cutlass definition that it used to have. It gets worse — now add to the list back aches. Weak ankles. Knees that are not as bending. Memory that can’t be summoned. Thoughts that refuse to be censored. And to think, I am young-old, and not yet old-old. What’s it going to be like when I am really old. Hmmmm….
Age has taught me that what other people think of me is none of my business.
― The Happy Endings Book Club
The Bird Watching Diary
They are coming more often now to the backyard. My part in that being dotting more food stations and water around, and replenishing them more often. They also seem to be moving more in pairs, showing off in a dance sashaying their wings, and singing in unintended chorus that make mornings so much more beautiful. I will miss this when I go back soon. But not to worry, hubby is putting cameras inside the bird houses (we have 2) and I will be able to see how they are growing their families. If I often gripe about how Technology has alienated people from one another, I marvel at how close it has brought us to our animal friends. :) Note: Magpies, I learn now, are not just black and white. They have that electric blue stripe from the edge of wings to tail. As if they could get prettier.
“The early bird catches the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” ~ Willie Nelson
Bird Watching
When I tell friends in the US about the “British things” I like or do when in the UK, I get reactions like eyes widening (or rolling) or raised eyebrows. Drives home the reality that my lives on either side of the pond are VERY different, and this oftentimes makes my interests on one side of the pond sound quite incredulous to people on the other. But I always say “vive de difference” as it is always difference, diversity, even incongruence, in life that makes things inviting and fun. The latest thing I have developed is (get ready for this) BIRDWATCHING. In Chicago, I don’t get the chance to see the variety of birds that i can when in our little village in the UK. I can tell you though that at any one time when I look up the sky in the Windy City, I can see at least 3 planes flying northwestward over Lake Michigan, en route to Ohare International. Mechanized flying things that roar, not quite as graceful as birds and their songs. And so I started noticing these feathered friends from those daily look-outs from the window by the kitchen sink here in England, and hearing their tweets and calls. What a refreshing treat. Not long after my father-in-law gave us a colored poster of common birds (pull out from a Sunday paper) which piqued my curiosity even more. Add on a day at Caernarfon Castle with the RSPB (Royal Society of the Protection of Birds) selling (and me buying) lapel pins of a host of bird species to raise funds, and the serendipitous £1 find I got from a charity shop (RSPB Pocket Guide to British Birds by Simon Harrap) the very next day, and there we have the perfect storm of the birth of a new hobby.
Over Christmas, Hubby bought me a pair of binoculars, specifically, a NIKON PROSTAFF 7s 10×42. They are not the typical small little things that birdwatchers can thrust into the pockets. More the type you hang on your neck while you move around. They feel “substantial” — which I like, because they have more the feel that you’re holding a piece of equipment rather than a toy. The best part of it is that it is lightweight, for all the power it packs in. 
I keep on the window sill the RSPB pocket guide, and a more expansive “Birds of Britain and Europe” by Rob Hume. I like that both books either describe the bird voice/sounds or illustrate their flight pattern. Both books also provide a cross reference to confusion species or similar species. I also have a small notebook where I have begun to note down the birds I have seen and where. For now, I think the most special one I have on the list is the Great-Spotted Woodpecker which honored us with its presence when it came for the bird-feed pellets we have just put out. With his bold black wings decorated with little white dots, and a bright red crown and under tail — what a beauty. We now have 3 feeders in the backyard, and we like to think it has become Blue Tits Central in this little neighborhood. They fly together, and oftentimes we have finches, blackbirds, chaffinches, robins, starlings, chubby wood pigeons and even the odd pheasants joining in there party. I am so looking forward to more of these glorious feathered creatures, in number and types, coming over in the spring and summer.
“…I keep looking for one more teacher, only to find that fish learn from the water and birds learn from the sky.” ~ Mark Nepo (author, in “Facing The Lion, Being The Lion, Finding Inner Courage Where It Lives”)
Lost In Translation, Yet Again
Once in a while the strangest blonde moment creeps up — no offense to the blondes, just using it as a cliche — that truly embarrasses me. We were driving along the dusty backroads of the French countryside (Normandie!) when the Hubby looks skywards sharply, points a finger, and says “Hawk!”.
Me (puzzled and looking up): PORK? (I swear I heard him say “Pawk”, as in the British pronunciation for “Pork”)
Hubby (even more puzzled): HAWK! Big bird. Hawk!
Me (realizing the absurdity of a high-flying piece of meat, and trying to be cool about the sudden drop of IQ): Oh, HAWK, right. ok.
Hubby: Pork? Why would I say “Pork”? I was pointing at the sky….
Me: I don’t know. That’s what I thought I heard. But hey, you never know. You know what they say — “when pigs fly….”
Nonstop shaking of head and laughing between us. You’d think by now these lost-in-translation moments would long have banished. Oy vey.
Snippet on Adjusting to Life in the UK
I realize that I haven’t posted in a while; and I am a little half-hearted about jump-starting it with a grumble. In particular, it will be about (the virtually non-existent) customer service in the UK…. again. It’s the one thing about UK life I can’t quite get my head around, just because it’s a puzzle that in a country where everything is about civility, politeness and niceties, very few stores (or “shops”) seem to be able to get it right.
Today I headed into town to run a few errands at the bank and the post office. Too early for the return train — and yes, I DO have to rush back home as I have a conference call to Chicago by 9:30 Central Time — I decided to go to Debenhams to use up an expiring gift card. The gift card had a 24-month lifetime, and we got it as a wedding gift 2 years ago. Hence the urgency to use it before its expiration. I got a few small things at the home section, and headed up to pay. Here goes the convo at the till:
Cashier : Hi, you alright?
Me : Hi, yes, I’m good how are you (waited for her to scan the 2 items, tell me the total, and then I handed over the gift card)
Cashier : (peering from the top of her bifocals for some time and swiping it) — Do you know how much money you have on the card?
Me : (slightly surprised why it was up to me to tell her how much was left on the card — she could swipe to find out couldn’t she? — and trying to remember how much I had left on the card). Hmmmmm…. I’m not too sure. I think I might have around £120-something on it….
Cashier : (looking back at me) So, in other words, — you do not know…..
Yup, those were her words — “so in other words, you do not know….”
I am only slightly amused, but mostly annoyed at myself, for being thrown off by comments like these, especially when they come with an accent and a nose in the air (literally, as it tried to hold up her bifocals). I am not too sure whether to react the “American way” of always being right as customer; or to tread the polite line of putting sales staff softly in their place by a slight change in my intonation, the right choice of words, or the just-enough raise of my right eyebrow. It really is tricky to make that split-second decision to either dare to be yourself and risk awkward attention; or to live as the Romans when in Rome and tone everything way way down. I just know that each time I come over to the UK, I do not stay long enough to get out of the mode of being the visitor or the outsider, and to know how to deal with situations the way locals do. But because that is my choice and this is my life, for now all I can do is sigh. Until I get it right, if they don’t.
Year in Perspective
MMXI is due in 3 hours. Hubby and I still hem and haw whether or not to hop on the bus (it’s free anyway) to Navy Pier to watch the midnight fireworks. We’re hearing the 8:15 fireworks (the “family bash” session) from our apartment and can see little flashes towards the east of our mainly south view directly at the city. Another bigger display is due at midnight. Meanwhile, I cannot let the month and year past without a last post so here, a quick look back at the year that was.
1. The year started with the passing away of my father– and this means that from here on, Life is changed in a significant way and it will just never be totally complete. But it is true how when the rug is pulled from under your feet you realize who your true friends are: classmates from high school and university many long lost and suddenly rediscovered, colleagues, former assistants who made themselves on call for errands, cousins who are almost our siblings. And most importantly, it has made me treasure my mother even more, as I know I have much to catch up with her.
2. Adjusting to Life in the UK is ongoing, slowly but surely. I’ve long been able to move around on public transport on my own. I am doing my share to put our new home together. I am meeting C’s friends and carrying on longer conversations with them, with sharper ears now keener to their accents. I have favorite restaurants and favorite shops now. And I have met my first friend on my own, a wonderful American expat who is uber-smart, funny, and fun to hang around with. I have yet to get that driver’s license (but let me get over “the big switch” from the wrong side of the road to the right and proper one ;p), and take time to sit for the England & Wales Bar Exam. But the hope is that this year I will not use the transitoriness of my stays on either side of the pond as excuse not to get things done.
3. I visited Paris for the first time in my life. :) In celebration of our first year of marriage. E-tickets for our paper anniversary.
4. I’ve joined a group of 4 other enthusiasts to put up a daily photoblog. I’m learning to tinker more with the camera, often taking long solitary drives to the strangest places for a photo op. And the hubby has been supportive by supplying me, unasked, with gadgetry and accessories to go with the camera (haha). More than that, when I suggest to him that I want to take a picture in this or that place, he almost always goes along with my crazy ideas, drives me to the destination, and helps me set up the camera. It’s only when he starts to direct me how to do the picture (he being a former photography enthusiast) that the battle of wills between us rears its head. Did I ever tell you of that time we tried to catch the August moon? Good that I didn’t. Let me just say that I was told in no uncertain terms to read the manual first next time we set out on a cold, dark night for a photo shoot.
5. In March, on the very day I was driving back to Chicago from CowTown having concluded my work with a major client, I learn that the file room and accounting office burned down (about 40% of the office space). What to do but to make a U-turn and head back? My own office was water-damaged. There was no power for the duration of the restoration. Operations were done in the big conference room, public-library style. My laptop did its bit with a big-time sympathy crash (blue screen of death) and I had to delay return to the UK for quite a bit until things were put together, records reconstituted as best as able, systems put back in place and the life of the company can go on as normally as possible. As with most major trials, everyone pulled together and worked doubly hard with the most limited resources. All this during a peak busy period. Today, the stitches don’t even seem to show.
6. Health is alright. The eyesight has reached that interesting stage where I have to take my glasses off when I read. Meanwhile, hubby and I are contemplating whether adoption is something for us (the social worker will not be very impressed with our travelling lifestyle though). On matters like this, I often wish there was some wise sage who can just tell me what the correct answer is. Just tell me, I’ll do it. This is one of those tough essay questions Life has hurled at us; and it’s constantly whirling in my mind on those long drives, or when I wake up in the middle of the night and cannot go back to sleep. I shampooed my hair thrice in the shower once, lost in thought over this, and that’s when I decided that maybe it would be a good idea to set reflecting aside for a while. Result that day: dry Medusa hair.
7. Career is alright. I now have contract work with an American firm in London, in addition to my busy little independent practice in the US. Hubby is busier than ever working in power plants. I still cannot answer for sure when people ask me what EXACTLY he does. It’s too narrow and specialized a field to describe. Most of the time it’s just easier to say he works in a power plant much like Homer Simpson.
8. Relationship with hubby is wonderful and edifying. Our families are safe and well. If just for these, I already cannot be thankful enough. And thus bittersweet as the year has been I will say 2010 has been good.
“I’m A Celebrity. Get Me Out of Your Camera”
Ever had one of those panic-filled, embarassing moments when you wished you could instantaneously burrow a hole into the ground and hide in it? Happened to me right on my recent birthday. And it involved a “celebrity” of sorts. So read on.
To celebrate the day, C and I decided to cap it with dinner at a Japanese restaurant. C picked Sapporo Teppanyaki at the Castlefield Centre (Manchester). He had been to the one on Duke Street in Liverpool a year ago and had raved about some of the “tenderest beef” he has ever tasted. We arrived around 7. The place was sparsely filled, with only one group seating full.* We sat next to a newly dating, couple,** them to my left, and C to my right. We had the spicy tuna for starters, and I ordered the lobster teppanyaki and C got the beef fillet in teriyaki sauce.***
While into our starters, another couple came in and were seated next to us. The woman sat next to Craig while her husband (hereinafter referred to as “Mystery Man“) was further over to her other side. They pored over the menu for a while and the woman occasionally turned to C with polite conversation (e.g., have we ever been to this place before, were we celebrating something, pointers how/what to order, etc..). Later, C quietly turned to me and whispered that he thought Mystery Man looked familiar and that he might be in some program on TV. He couldn’t remember his name though and said he had a funny feeling it was “Nick Something“. In attempt to quench his curiosity though, C took out his spankin’-new Android phone (which he hates) and began his Google-sleuthing, angling the phone away from the woman beside to avoid detection. Every now and then, we turned back to polite chit-chat with our seat-mates and “oooohed” and “aaaahed” along at the chef’s knife- and flame-throwing maneuvers.**** After some time though, C frustratingly complained that the dang Android phone wasn’t coming up with answers. In the tone of a mastermind to his accomplice, C told me to “look closely at the guy, and remember what he looks like. When we get home, we can google again and see if he is who I think he is.” Hmmmm…. The thing is, I really am not very good at this. C had given me a similar assignment a couple of months earlier. We were visiting Fountains Abbey when he told me that one of the women in our group might be an actress in a daytime soap, whose name he could not recall. He had then told me to “memorize her face” so that we can do our google- and wiki-research when we got home. The problem is, I had not quite developed “English eyes” yet (still haven’t) : i.e., Every platinum haired, skinny, put-together English, stylish, middle-aged woman looked like Helen Mirren to me. So when we got home then, the Google “identify-the-mystery-person” project failed largely because none of the possible results matched the image in my head — which was … Helen Mirren, and of course, we weren’t looking for Helen Mirren.
But back from the tangent, back to earth, back to Sapporo Teppanyaki. I groaned back to the Godfather : “Not again! I can’t do this! I don’t know who he is. I can’t tell him from Adam, and I don’t think I can remember his face”. The guy, FYI, looked the typical pale, slim, British nerdy/geeky cute, — which is every third or fourth male person you see on the street. But still, wanting to be helpful, I thought of the next best thing. I pulled out my ol’ reliable iPhone, and pretended to be taking pictures of C, when in fact, the camera was trained beyond him…. right onto Mystery Man. And so while a commotion was going on as the Chef danced on the next table, I clicked and clicked on Mystery Man. Now how’s that for “documentation”? Pat on the back, Miss Chicago. Well done.
Towards the end of the meal, at that the uneasy lull between wrapping up the main courses and the dessert menu came chit-chat again. C feebly toyed with his Android phone, and we decided to snap a picture of ourselves. But the Android was new, and C fumbled through the menus to get to the camera. So I, being the fabulous techie that I am, puledl out my iPhone and clumsily tried to take shots from the front facing camera. And this is where the drama/action begins. Suddenly, Mystery Man gallantly comes to the rescue… when he volunteers to take the pictures for us. UH-OH. Anyone with an iPhone would know that the camera always displays at the bottom left corner, the last picture taken. And in this case, it would precisely be that one of MR. MYSTERY MAN himself. Once he held the iPhone, he would see that I had surreptitiously taken shots of him! Flustered, I tried to “clue” the hubby into the situation we were in. He was, of course, blissfully clueless. At this point, I tried to take any — any — random shot with the camera just to block the last shot recorded and jabbered something about setting the camera up (as delaying tactic). But I fumbled and failed. Mystery Man assured us not to worry — “I am familiar with this, ” says he, “I know how to work it.” Wow, ok. Off from my hands and into Mystery Man’s…. the camera with Mystery Man’s own picture as the last shot. I’ll never know if Mystery Man caught the photo that I took. Most likely he did. But he was nonchalant enough, or polite enough, to not say nothing of it. When he left to go to the rest rooms, C finally asked the wife point if he was the host of some regional (Northwest) TV show. She said yes, but clarified that he worked for national television. He was with the BBC Breakfast show. Apparently, the BBC is relocating some of his studios out of London and into Salford (in the case of the Breakfast Show). And thus Mr. and Mrs. ________’s look-see into Manchester. Below is the picture. Can you guess who he is? (Clue: No, his first name is not Nick. But it has one syllable.)
Final Notes: The food was excellent. The couples on either side of us were very nice. The day was perfect. Happy, funny, birthday to me.
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FOOTNOTES:
*Usual Japanese teppnayaki style : 4 long tables connected on the ends to form a big square. One-sided bar-style seating, with the chef(s) performing in the middle in front of a modern gas-powered teppanyaki griddle.
** Of course, I knew they were newly dating. Women can “sense” these things. And sometimes we overhear conversations. Accidentally, of course. :)
*** Wow, did I really just list down what we ordered/ate? Can’t believe I did that.
****Ok, so I am slightly more blase in general but let it not be said that I could not feign enthusiasm enthusiastically.
POST POSTSCRIPT: 04/21/2011. Mr. Turnbull will be staying on with the BBC Breakfast show and will be making the move up north. Go Manchestah! http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-12920382
miss chicago 