Look. The art appreciation class I took in college doesn’t make me an expert museum-goer. I enjoy looking at art. I enjoy discovering art I like. I’ll choose to spend my time at museums or galleries when I travel alone. But I wouldn’t call myself “passionate” about any of it. At least not enough to… Continue reading London’s National Gallery with Kids
For all your questions about picking apples from a royal orchard.
I can’t help but mumble “Sorry” when I’m inconveniencing someone in any way, say, by entering their peripheral view at the grocery store. If you hold the door for me, I’ll probably say “sorry” and “thank you.” It became such a habit, uttering “sorry” upon any human contact, after three years in England. At least… Continue reading Englishican
There’s a road – yes, one – that connects my town to my husband’s base. Americans aren’t allowed to pass other drivers on this road, unless the driver is a farmer in a tractor driving slower than 30 mph. (In the fall, you want to pass them so you can avoid being pelted with… Continue reading Motoring Down A1101
I wanted to post about this after my trip to Brussels, because it was such a mind-blowing experience. If you’re up on your geography, you’re well aware of the fact that England (plus Scotland) is an island. It’s really close to Europe, but they don’t touch…except by a remarkable tunnel under the English Channel. The Euro Tunnel shuttles… Continue reading Taking the Euro Tunnel
I guess I’m not technically IN the countryside, despite the fields and farms I see from one of my bedroom windows. The other windows of our house reveal the crush of neighbors, their tiny efficient cars wedged together in front of the squeezed and stacked homes of these suburban English developments. (And that’s “spacious” compared to the residences… Continue reading Ramblings from the English Countryside
Around Christmas a panel of our green 8-foot-tall fence blew over. We’d call it a privacy fence in America. It’s just a garden wall here in England. The apple tree (shrub?) caught it. I called the letting agent to report it, whereupon they scoffed at the idea that someone would be able to do anything… Continue reading The English Fence