Free-Spirited Acts #15-20; Strange day indeed

This has been a strange, strange day. It started with the Olympic torch relay, which as noted in my previous post, was very strange. What I didn't mention was on the way home from the relay I was crossing the street (J-walking I admit but that's not illegal here in London) and there was a car backing up in the street. I made eye contact with the driver and thought that she realized that I was going to walk in front of her car . That would work in San Francisco where pedestrians have the right of way, but not in London where pedestrians are unfortunate bumps in the road. She drove forward. I was furious and smacked the passenger window. Not very British of me. (free-spirited?) The driver's boyfriend got out and started yelling profanities at me, so, I said that I had made eye contact and yet she almost drove over my foot. "But she f$%#*ing didn't did she!" was his response. I just walked away.

Later in the day I was heading home from taking a London Walks tour. It was a fantastic tour of Little Venice which is one of the canals I love so much. As I smiled to myself thinking about how good the tour had been, I passed four children who seemed to be between the ages of 8 and 10. As we passed each other they screamed at me at the top of their lungs. Yes, screamed at me. I was so shocked (and a bit caffeinated from a Venti Chai Latte) that I said, "F-off! That was not OK." to them. This made them laugh and then say that I was a f-ing bitch and that everyone else thought it was funny. I looked into their eyes, which were covered with metallic green eyeliner and said again that that was not OK. As they walked away I said that some day that would happen to them and they wouldn't think it was funny. They kept pretending that they couldn't hear me as they giggled and inched forward - holding their ears like I was making no sense. Finally we were face to face. I looked at them good and hard and said it again. Of course they laughed and called me a c-nt. The whole experience left me shaky. Was this harassment? Bullying? Are these kids the future? (Read my recent post on bullying on my other blog Career Goals: Take the Lead).

I share these two scenarios because I have to wonder - is there some kind of different vibe I'm giving off lately? To balance these situations out I've also had many pleasant interactions today, more talking with strangers and making eye contact than my entire stay in London thus far. Perhaps I'm making myself more accessible? Maybe I'm preparing for my return to the States in May and am becoming more American in my behavior? Is it that I'm starting to become extremely free-spirited? Probably a combination of all.

Free-spirited acts 15-20

15. Danced around the flat when I saw the snow this morning.
16. Went to the Olympic torch relay and took photos.
17. Smiled and chatted to people at the event (again, not-British behavior).
18. Waved at the relay participants despite the overwhelming police presence and the fact that everyone else was waving protest banners.
19. Spontaneously participated in a walking tour of Little Venice canal.
20. Chatted with the tour guide and other participants and even learned some people's names (un-British to the extreme).

What I've realized in doing these 20 free-spirited acts is that I am already a very free-spirited person and everything I've done since Thursday are things that I would normally do anyway. However, I've become more aware of them and at times even a bit uncomfortable with my free-spiritedness. I'm certain this discomfort is magnified being here in Britain. In San Francisco I would just blend in with the street furniture.

Everybody needs a good whinge partner

Whinge isn't a word that I heard before moving to the UK. It basically means whining and complaining, but it is one of those British terms that goes that extra mile, I mean kilometer, to provide the perfect description. Whinging is ageless while whining is something you would use more to describe kids.

By the way whinge is pronounced windj as in wind with a j sound at the end. (This reminds me of how my great uncle Syd use to spell Kweskin "we skin with a k").

I believe a good whinge requires a witness, someone who is there to fully receive your whinging. That was the role I played today for one of my work associates who we will call Mr. Whinge. Mr. Whinge doesn't like change and unfortunately he is facing it head-on with a web-based program that has recently been modified to present information in a different format from what he is used to. Instead of brushing him off as he whinged about the program, I decided instead to sit next to Mr. Whinge and fully witness, encourage and embrace his whinging.

Mr. Whinge went on and on about how the new presentation format just didn't work for him. He had to hit this button and that key and request this document until he finally got to what he needed (whinge, whinge, whinge). Unfortunately while I was sitting there coaching him through the whinge session he actually found a solution to his problem. This nearly disrupted his whinge but being a professional whinger he expertly obsessed over how prior to this new discovery the presentation format didn't work for him.

Mr. Whinge: It is so annoying. Why did they change it? I can't find what I need (whinge, whinge, whinge.)

Amy: Look, you just figured out a way to make it work for you. (annoyingly chipper, solution-focused American)

Mr. Whinge: But it didn't work before and that is so annoying. (whinge, whinge, whinge)

Amy: You figured it out. That's great.

Mr. Whinge: But now I have to remember how to make it work. (whinge, whinge, whinge)

Amy: How about we check-in next week and you can tell me how it's working for you?

Mr. Whinge: There will be little bits of shredded paper all over the floor and pieces of the computer embedded in the wall by then. (whinge, whinge, whinge)

Amy: Fantastic, I look forward to viewing the mess. (chipper American)

It was quite amusing for me, and I think even for Mr. Whinge, that I fully indulged his whinging. After all, he really just wanted some attention and I didn't need to provide any solutions. It was a rather therapeutic session. I highly recommend getting a whinge partner.

Thanksgiving Across the Pond

Stephen and I made a spectacular Thanksgiving in London last night. We invited over a friend from my work and his partner. Adam is half American, half English and Tabitha is all English so we had a two and a half British and one and a half Americans. Pretty much the current exchange rate.

Even though there was no rush here for shopping I felt the same got-to-get-to-the-store anxiety that you get in the States when preparing the menu. It must just be part of Thanksgiving. We rarely entertain so I had to pick up some essentials such as napkins, placemats, a Pyrex dish and even some water glasses. Thanks to Woolworths it was no great expense.

Here's our menu:

Rack of Lamb - Stephen prepared
Quinoa stuffing - made with quinoa bread, everyone thought it was cornbread! (photo on right)
Roasted butternut squash and sweet potatoes with dried fruit and maple syrup - yum
Minted peas - a bit of a British twist on the meal
Cranberry sauce - for colour
Smashed potatoes - my first attempt
Gravy - from a mix, I admit
Baked apples - studded with cloves and spiked with a Cinnamon stick, sweetened with honey - yum
Chocolate truffles - thanks to our guests

The best part of the meal was how excited Adam and Tabitha were to celebrate their first Thanksgiving. Plus, they kept saying how fantastic everything tasted. Guests like these are always welcome again.

Are You Speaking My Language?

Have you ever had the experience of you're words being translated during a conversation? An interpreter seems to be obligated to interpret everything and suddenly you see you're words coming to life. More than that, you see you're speech nuances in all their idiosyncratic forms.

That's what happened today when I met with a woman who works for the Royal National Institute for the Deaf. My work associate and I invited her to meet with us to discuss our training courses, which she had recently attended, to determine if we could make them more accessible for people with specialised learning requirements. Next week we meet with the Royal National Institute for the Blind about our books.

Coordinating the meeting was easy enough over email. That immediately broke down a latent fear I must have been holding of not being able to understand someone who is deaf. Her emails were casual and fun.

For the meeting she came to our offices and brought along an interpreter. Another fear broken down - she looked like someone I would hang out with - a potential friend. Even her high energy was something I could relate to.

We started our meeting and that's when I had the most difficulty. Although I was talking to her she had to look at the interpreter. Then I started to talk to the interpreter instead of her. But she could speak her response clearly so it was like a three way conversation with my work associate looking on in wonderment.

Suddenly my casual meeting-banter was being translated and I began to stumble, pause, repeat myself. I found myself saying "proactively" a lot. Then I pointed it out and the translater translated it, with all my facial expressions. Luckily it was an easy-going conversation and it seemed that she got my humour - or at least was polite enough to giggle along with me. Yes, I think she got it.

The net outcome (how's that for biz speak?) was that we came up with some good ideas for making our programmes (how's that for British spelling?) more accessible, proactively. I was so inspired that I took the moment beyond the meeting and was able to get the title sponsor for our next event to hire a sign language interpreter.

Later I was thinking about how difficult it must be to make friends if you can't verbally communicate. Yes, there are other ways of communicating but for me hanging out and chit-chatting is really important. Maybe I can learn sign language - then the next question is American or British?

Above Image from Sign Language Interpreter Services in Glasgow.

Catering American Style

Americans know how to cater a party. At least that’s what me and David, our American intern at work, proved yesterday at a reception for our organisation. Of course, being a non-profit, we had a very limited food budget (drinks were already covered). What can you get for 100 pounds ($200 +/-) to cover 60+ guests at an evening reception during the dinner hour? Leave it to me and David.

We hiked up to our local Sainsbury’s, with a side trip to show David the nearby canal, of course, and did a whirlwind shopping spree an hour before the event. Prior to our departure our work associates daftly advised us, “don’t do it American style with lots of sweets, only savouries.” Taking this as guidance and not an insult we kept their words in mind as we dutifully wandered the isles of this grocery superstore.

Finding the most economical veggie, dip, cheese, olive and crackers (aka biscuits) options, we took bets on the tally. I was certain we were over budget but David kept on insisting we didn’t have enough and were definitely under budget. He’s a finance person so I think he had a clue.

As we shopped we threw all British etiquette to the wind and wandered the isles, loudly commenting on prices, randomly asking staff for help and generally being menaces. Did you know that toothpicks are called something else in the UK? I think they're cocktail stabs or something. Now that I think about it toothpick is not an inviting term.

As I gesticulated with a staff person trying to explain toothpicks David had gone all California on the “ghetto style” grocery cart (his words not mine) for which we had to pay a 1 pound deposit. He cleverly tinkered with the coin holder and got his coin out.

College Advisor: David, what did you learn on your UK internship?

David: How to finagle my deposit money out of a ghetto style shopping trolley.

College Advisor: Good man, you’ve made our country proud.

David: Oh yeah, and how to cater a party on a shoestring budget

College Advisor: I see a future for you in non-profits.

We get to the checkout and boldly inform the checker that we’ve taken bets on the total. At first she is not amused but as we cheered each item as she rang them up I think she felt the power of positive thinking. By the end she too was taking bets. Grand total: 51 pounds. Great news, we’ll go back for more. And so we went back into the bush to scavenge more grub. We finally topped out at 81 pounds. That's the American spirit.

Preparing the spread and placing it on the buffet table, for now it was a buffet in our minds and not some simple finger food gathering, our associates were impressed. Of course we had the one plate of cookies aka biscuits (why are both sweet and savory biscuits called the same thing and not cookies and crackers which makes so much more sense?)

All night the guests commented on the quality of the catering. We had only one black mark against our spread, no butter for the biscuits. Well, frankly, that’s plain weird. So with that one criticism aside we felt very satisfied with ourselves. Even the little pickles were munched up and that was our one risk item.

I will admit that the only plate that was full at the end was the sweet biscuits selection.

Hanging with my peeps at the Cambridge Oxford Rowing Race

Friends and family are sending me Peep related websites, recipes and videos which is a good thing since London is peep-less. I did get a cupcake with a fuzzy little bird on top. I put the bird on my baseball cap so that I could be hanging with my peep. British people didn't get it. I got a few odd looks on the Tube. Odd, meaning that people actually took a moment to look at me sideways.

Here I am with my two peeps - Stephen and the fuzzy bird - while watching the annual Cambridge-Oxford rowing race along the Thames yesterday. Stephen is giving me an air kiss as I take the photo. Peep is on my head.

Photo of the race...

Also photo of the British Navy moving dangerous water obstructions such as logs.

Plus a photo of a lady who was using her dog as a pillow and it caught my eye.