Mail call. . . .

February 08, 2010

Awaiting a package from my family back in the States, I was mildly suprised to see a rather large bulky item sticking out of my rather small mailbox. I know what my parents have sent inclusive of the peanut butter cups, peanut butter M&Ms and a few other pieces generally not seen in this country very often. The normal result is the small note from the postman saying "Sorry to miss you. Your package has now been moved to the farthest possible point we could get it to and still stay within the United Kingdom." You laugh, but we have a central warehouse a five minute walk from our apartment. Instead, they transport it to a warehouse four miles away. Good to know USPS and Royal Mail share the same sense of humor and timing.
Anyway, the package is jammed into our communal mailbox with the free leaflets of Golden Wok oriental cuisine and Red Rocket Pizza with free delivery. Wrapped in protective celophane, I can see from a distance the blue writing of 10 on it and a picture of the Flag and the Constituion peeking from the mail slot of our poor little black mail box. Don't ask why the mail man can't put it in the box, I don't know.
You know a package from home is always exciting. Thinking it might be from my Alumni of SJU or maybe something as exciting. Like a small child with the silly grin, I cover the four steps up to our main entrance with a bound. This is actually a good effort as I am carrying grocceries for dinner plus some plates for the kitchen. No, I don't order from Golden Wok ever.
Giddy with excitement, I lift the package out of the mail slot collecting a piece of junk mail at the same time. Unfolding the magazine, I remember the sensation I felt even when I was living back in the States.
Yup, the IRS 1040 forms & instructions for overseas filers. All the forms everybody in the US enjoy, plus a few more thrown in with their instructions. Only a few hundred pages.
Well, thankfully, I will have something to put me to sleep tonight. If it falls off the table, it will knock me unconscious.
Hey, I still haven't gotten my peanut butter cups. . . . .

Jewelery Box

February 07, 2010

A picture of Ania's jewelery box lid for one of her gifts I have carved for her. Six inches from pine.

Crystal Butterflies pt 2

February 06, 2010

A small taster from another chapter of Crystal Butterflies. . . .


Scooger feels the cold seeping into his body as he lies motionless against the concrete of the street. Being motionless for an unknown amount of time starts to mess with even the strongest of minds as the temperature drops. Most of the pack lay hidden amongst the rubble and debris strewn from the day’s earlier battle. Included with the debris are the bodies of the slain. Since the running fight and the coming of night, no one dared to collect the bodies. So, in their death, they provided the perfect cover for Scooger and his warriors as long as everyone held their nerve and didn’t move at the wrong time. A slip from one of the pack would tip the enemy and it would be a quick bloody fight for Scooger’s pack as they started from a prone position surrounded by enemies.
Scooger watches as the first of the enemy scouts quietly slips by. The enemy is careful of their footing, hoping to get close enough to finish the scouting and then attack the barricade unaware. A foot passes a hair’s breathe from Scooger’s face. The sound of Scooger’s breathe and heart pound in his ears surely loud enough to be heard by the scout. The foot lifts and moves forward. Scooger waits to feel the sharp stab of iron in his back meaning the end, but moments pass without it.
The barricade is behind Scooger. So it comes as a surprise when the first shouts of alarm are raised by Samuel. The enemy scouts had gotten a little to close and the defenders now knew they were there. The enemy scouts raised a cry of their own. Scooger resists the temptation to turn his head. If anyone noticed supposed corpses turning and moving, it would blow the ambush.
Suddenly, a full pack of the enemy begin running down the street towards the barricade. A second pack turns round the corner followed by a third pack. Not a simple raid, the 3083 is intent on capturing the building. Scooger can only watch as hundreds of people run screaming by. They avoid the bodies strewn in the street. A small sigh of relief floods into Scoogers body for small miracles. Scooger’s pack of scouts numbering a hundred with Samuel’s detachment were now outnumbered almost four to one. Scooger watched the last of the enemy packs stream by him towards the barricade.

Taxes from heaven

February 05, 2010

Well, the great snow storms of 2009 have passed into the repository of history for England. The complications and lessons continue to be learned from the ability of English way of doing things. Most people will remember the rallying cry of the American colonies during the Revolution. This should be remembered as freedom from the English way of doing things. Well, who can forget the catchy slogan of no taxation without representation. It is not for me to complain abot the Chancellor being able to adjust taxes for the entire country on a whim. How about we raise the tax on everything because we can't manage to run our expenses in Parliament and we have a shortfall in our budget. I won't claim to understand how they can have a national sales tax of 17.5% and everybody accepts this as ok. Actually, the Chancellor lowered it to 15% for a few months to help get the economy started again, but since Jan 1, it is back to 17.5%.
Nope, here is what I can not simply understand. The local councils have now come out saying they are going to have to raise the council (property) tax in order to pay for the snow removal which occurred. There is no appeal as they will simply hike the tax rate up by 3% to pay for this extrodinary circumstance.
Wait, weren't these the councils who failed to have enough salt and sand to actually keep roads open? Or were these the councils who had only a few trucks actually in operation to even attempt to keep the main streets clear. Perhaps these are the councils who state in the newspapers they have millions in surplus, but they can not dip into those reserves in case of emergency. I seem to be slightly confused by the response.
It makes one wonder why America strove for its independence a couple hundred years ago with a simple rally cry.

Bar etiquette . . .

February 04, 2010

Working in the hospitality industry, I always have plenty of stories to tell about funny circumstances which happen. It seems if you work in this business long enough, you will see all sorts of normal people behaving in ways they generally would never consider when they are at home. At most points, alcohol has a large influence upon their actions.
How many times have you ever seen a thirty-five year old woman pick up a small storm drain cover about four inches square and throw it through an eight inch window trying to get into the building at three am because she thought she left her purse inside. Yes, she actually tried to get in through the eight inch window. Did she make it? Nope. Only a leg and part of her arm. The purse? She had set it down in her room then left to find it leading to the drain cover in hand instead. We compare many of the do you remember or did you hear about stories. Yes, us human beings who are sober and are working do see you when you try to hang from the lights and tear them out of the ceiling. Pretending it magically fell down doesn't work either and no, I don't care if it is your birthday. Yup, watched it happen.
English seem to take the ideas of revelry to new lows in bars. They are notorious for being huge binge drinkers who's sole purpose at a bar is to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It starts in the early years and I see it continue through until they are damn near crawling into their grave. It is considered by most as the in thing to do. Imagine a country full of people who behave as though their are twenty one at university. Yikes is all I can say.
The funny thing about it is, English people love to stand in lines and crowd around. If there is a line of three people, other English will join the line. Here they call it "queueing." So two English guys or gals (in this sex doesn't matter) are standing at a bar ordering a drink. A few more will come in and stand next to the first few. Soon, as the bar gets busier, they will form into a pack at the bar. Having their drinks in hand, they will stay with the others because there is now a line and to leave the line is an unforgivable and un-English. As the twenty people with drinks stand at the bar, the twenty behind who can't actually get to the bar grumble about slow service. The barman meanwhile has nothing to do because everybody has been served who is next to the bar. If someone has to leave to go to the bathroom, it will open a small hole into the next person will crowd, of course not moving once their drink has been ordered. Thankfully, a few innocent souls actually order and do leave the bar on an infrequent basis.
I walked into one of my bars a few nights ago. The room is forty feet by thirty feet with a twenty foot bar including the service hatch. Note: Service hatch is where the servers come and go from the bar. Stay out of the way, they are most likely trying to get you drinks at some point. Huge leather sofa, squishy arm chairs again in leather tables galor are all arranged in the room neatly. Sixty plus English occupied a three foot space in front of the bar crammed like sardines. Luckily, it was only a half an hour before they wanted to sit down for dinner. Just in time for the next group of "normal adults" to come in for their pre-dinner drinks.

N.H.S. = No Hope Specialists pt 1

Having watched the debate about the "new" initiative on health care n the United States make its burdened way through the House and stalling in the Senate, I can say without a doubt, no matter how bad, American's have it nice compared to the socialized medicine of the N.H.S. You might ask how a bloated system of over-priced procedures, expensive drugs and having to pay through the nose for basic coverage can be better than free medicine for all with low cost drugs. Simple answer is at least you stand a chance of actually seeing a real doctor who might actually get the diagnosis right back in the U.S.
One of the people who I consider a friend stepped wrong while at work. He felt something pop in his ankle. Of course you know the story. Ankle swells up like a balloon. He thinks he has sprained it, so tries to make an appointment at the local clinic. Answer he gets is simply can't fit you in today, you will have to come back tomorrow. You would think you could try the emergency room right? Well, the A&E (accident and emergency) is only for major injuries. Besides, who is going to sit for four hours just to be sent home.
He makes an appointment and is seen by the local G.P. who calmly tells him he has sprained the ankle. The G.P. does however decide they should x-ray the offending ankle a few weeks later when the ankle has not healed at all.
Telling my friend they could find nothing wrong with the inside of his ankle, they are baffled. Wait did I forget to mention, it was the outside of the ankle which was swollen. The G.P. decides to refer my friend to a specialist. The wait time is only a month or three.
The specialist promptly run an MRI on the troublesome ankle now six plus months later since the original injury. Verdict. . . He has torn one ligament and the second one has ruptured completely. Result, he will have to go in for surgery. Yup, he is placed on the waiting list for another few months until they can fit him in. Surgery one results in being in a cast and sidelined for two months.
Returning to the specialist, the ankle has still not healed. They decide to give plastic inserts to put in the shoes in the hope it will straighten his ankle out. Come back in a few months to see.
Ta-dum. Problem solved! Oops, wait. The first surgery didn't correct the problem at all. It seems they should have fused several of the small bones together to actually correct the problem. Fine, put him on the waiting list again.
It is now I think over eighteen months since his first visit to the G.P. for a sprained ankle and next week, he goes in the second surgery. He figures he will be out for only about three months this time.
Watch out for anything which may cause you damage in this country. They might get around to fixing you shortly before they bury you. . . .

Great Scots, they're English

February 02, 2010

Coming from the backwoods of Minnesota near the very wide open (read flat as a pancake) spaces of North Dakota and Iowa, distance seems a concept easily defined. It seems no great enterprise to jump in your car and travel three hours to see someone, spend the afternoon and return home in the same day. It wouldn't be polite to impose upon anybody by actually asking to stay at their place. Heaven forbid if the drive is less than six hours you even think of staying in a hotel. Distance and travel here seems to be a slightly slippery idea which I fail to grasp. Talking to a people is part and parcel of what I do for a living. Discovering where people are from, why they are here and where they are going while making small talk also comes from growing up a mid-western kid.
Most people travel by car here on road systems designed for horse travel in the early 1500's. You might think I jest in this, but I do not. English roads are classified as M for motorway, A roads which are the primary roads, B roads being the secondary roads and unclassified roads. Now an American's take on their classification system is simple. The motorways which should be equivalent to our interstates are more like highways. The A roads are what I would classify as our county roads and heaven forbid you travel on a B road which have blind corners single lanes and all sorts of other bits of fun. The unclassified roads are normally single lane (8 - 10 feet wide) with areas every so often where a car can pull into the ditch to allow the oncoming car to get around. Did I mention they like to drive somewhat fast on these roads. Now you understand why I normally take the train. Although, now I am digressing.
It seems to most English, the idea of a long drive is construed as slightly more than about one hour. Anything beyond this distance may require rest breaks or overnight stays. Of course, much like LA because of the road system English measure their drives not in miles or kilometers but time it takes to get somewhere in "normal" driving conditions.
One of the staff asked for a few days off to go and visit their relatives. They calmly explained they would need at least four days. If they could get five, they would be happy. I gave them their days off on the schedule. Asking the question, "Where are you going?" The response I got was they were traveling to Scotland. They figured a day to travel there and they would be exhausted by the drive. Three days to visit and the final day to return back.
"Where are you going in Scotland? Way up into the Highlands?"
"Oh no. But the drive will take about four or five hours." They seriously didn't know if they could make the drive in a single day.
I was told by a friend, it takes about eight hours to drive from the south shore of England to the north of Scotland. I think back and remember I could just make it to either the northern or southern border of Minnesota from my home in that same amount of time.