Soul Gardening

Ready For Anything

Update:  I should have packed the hats and scarves. It got down to 42 degrees on the first night we camped and even the down comforter, heavy duty sleeping bag and 6 (seriously) other woolen blankets were not enough to keep us warm. 

Luckily the second night was much warmer and we survived. 

Lesson learned; when camping in northwest England, even in high summer, pack the heavy duty insulated gear. 

 

Camping in northwest England is not for wimps. And by wimps I mean people like me who are cold if the temperature falls below 70 degrees. 

We'll be in a tent for the next few days at Myles' annual school camp out and summer fair. Highest high will be 69 degrees with lows around 45 and average temps around 60. That's what they call summer here. In my opinion this is a cruel joke. Hopefully, there will be sun although I'll settle for overcast with no rain.

I'm still no good at dressing for the changeable weather here. I usually end up wearing several different outfits and pairs of shoes throughout the day which makes for a crap ton of laundry. For this weekend I've packed wool sweaters and flannel pants, wool socks, jeans, sweatshirts, rain gear, boots, shorts t-shirts and sandals. Chances are we'll use most of it.

I hope I get to wear my sunglasses. I hope Jeff and I get some good relaxation time. I hope Myles has a blast running around with all his friends. 

Maybe I should pack hats and scarves, just to be safe. 

Half-Life

I'm 40 today.  It's strange to be 40 and to be all the things I never thought I would be at this age... a wife, a mother, an ex-patriot, alive. 

My mother was 40 when she died and for the last 23 years, more than half of my life, I have somehow thought that perhaps I would be dead at 40 too. This is the kind of magical thinking that takes over the mind of a young girl who loses her mother too soon. And I've never been able to shake it, really. 

The truth is I am healthy and while not as physically fit or strong as I would like, generally in pretty good shape I guess. And when you get right down to it, I don't spend my days worrying about my early demise. But today as I go about my life - have coffee with my friends, take Myles to school and a playdate, have dinner with Jeff - it's on my mind. 

It's just a feeling, familiar, almost cozy and maybe after today, it will finally be laid to rest. 

I am 40 today. I am a wife, a mother, a sister, an aunt, a friend a teacher, an ex-patriot. Alive. 

 

Year One

We've had a pretty mild autumn so far and I am so thankful. This time last year, we had just moved and it literally rained almost all day every day in the month of November as well as being dark and gray and cold. It's been rainy since we've been back from our trip to Italy. But it mostly just showers an hour or three a day. We've even had some sun. The temperature has been a tolerable high fifties too. All in all, pretty good weather for northwest Cheshire.

I was out walking today and I took a route that I don't normally take into our village. I used to walk about a mile each way on this street three days a week when I ferried Myles to and from nursery. Since mid July though, he hasn't been at that school, having started five mornings a week at a primary school a few blocks from our house.

Today I found myself thinking about the walks Myles and I used to take along this road. I remembered all the fun things we used to point out that I haven't thought about in months.

There's the fountain in a townhouse courtyard that used to be turned on at nine each day. It was never on when we were on our way to school but always on for the return trip. Then there was the classic English cottage with the high retaining wall. The owners had planted lavender and mint along the wall. In the spring and summer the plants hung down at just the right height for me to run through them pushing Myles in his stroller and showering him with fragrant herbal blossoms."Run through the purple flowers!" he would say ever time we passed them.

I passed the area of the old, windy, two lane road where there is only enough room for sidewalk on one side and remembered our conversation about why there was only one sidewalk and why the road was so narrow and what would the people on the other side of the road do.

I walked past the spot near your school where I told him every morning to be the good boy I know he is and to talk nicely to the other children and not to hit or scratch and to share and to do an art project and have a really good time.

Then I realized; you won't have memories of any of this.

Oh, that makes me sad Myles because we had so much fun on those walks. And I know that it's going to make a great story for me to tell you when you're older, how we explored every inch of that road from here to there.

We do that every day don't we?  I so hope we always will and that even though you may not remember, I can remind you that your first year in the UK was filled with adventures and new things to learn about and new experiences and castles and beaches and medieval villages and immense bonfires. You have enjoyed every minute of it, except for the cold last winter that made your hands hurt.

Oh my god, it's been amazing to watch you soak up every bit of this incredible opportunity we have and I can't wait to see what this next year brings.

Your first snow. You were decidedly unimpressed.

Black volcanic beach in the Canary Islands - you loved all the volcanoes.

By the second snow you figured it out.

Conwy Castle, north Wales - our first but not our last!

Riding the steam train at the Manchester Museum of Science and Industry

Exploring a Bronze Age cave in England's Peak District.

Neuchatel, Switzerland

Driving the cars at Tatton Park never gets old for you.

On the beach in Blackpool, England. It was chilly and windy but you had a blast playing in the tide pools.

Our first English festival. We all had a blast and you loved camping as much as ever.

At the Roman ruins - You said they looked like a puzzle that needed to be put back together.

Your first Halloween costume party. You loved having your face painted and looking at the costumes and decorations.

 

For Poorer or Richer

I read this post from Jonna a few days ago and it really struck me in that sort of way that finds me mulling things over, chewing on them to figure out exactly how I feel. I needed time to organize my thoughts after reading what she wrote as well as all the amazing comments. It's totally worth reading through all of them. I was going to leave a comment there but as it turns out, I have a lot to say about this subject.

Forgive me if I'm a little rusty, It's been awhile.

I grew up in the very low of lower middle class. My father was in the Navy and my mom was a teacher at a Christian school. In addition to not having much money, or maybe because of it, my family also belonged to a rigidly fundamental Christian church which is another story in and of itself.

We didn't take family vacations beyond visiting other family for holidays. Most of my clothes until high school came from thrift stores and we often ate cheap food like chicken liver and gizzards, canned salmon and sloppy joes. For dinner. I never owned a real barbie doll, just the cheap knock offs and I used to sew most of their clothes and make furniture for them out of shoe boxes.

I've been on my own financially and literally since I was 17.  I put myself through college and grad school and came away with student loans it took me almost 10 years to pay off. After seven years of alternatetly going to school full time, working full time and skipping semesters, finishing my bachelor's degree is still one of my greatest accomplishments.

There was a dark time in college when worked two jobs and lived off of peanut butter sandwiches, generic cereal and baked potatoes. I once got evicted from a trailer that had been cut in half so it was like a trailer duplex. And it wasn't even a double wide.

All of that to say, I come from generations of not having many of the extras and now, I guess you could say I'm "rich". It's shocking to me that our family is in the top 1% for income here in the UK. Most days, I still feel and act like that girl who had to use shoe polish on horribly worn out shoes because they still fit.

I buy most of our clothes here at the UK version of thrift stores, called Charity Shops. To be fair, we live in a rented apartment in one of the wealthiest parts of England. We could never afford to buy a home here, even if we didn't still own our house in Florida, Jonna I know you feel my pain. Anyway, my point is, the things people give away here are utterly astounding and there are amazing bargains to be had in thrift stores where we live.

When the toothpaste or any other item in a tube is empty in our house, I cut it open and scrape out what's left. I used to clip coupons when we lived in the US. They don't really have coupons here but I'm still a super bargain conscious grocery shopper. I know what costs how much at what store and I try to go to the least expensive place to get what we need.

I don't do these things because I'm stingy, it's more because I know what's it's like to do with less. Because of the way I grew up, I can't stand to waste anything.

Please don't get me wrong, there are luxuries I enjoy and I am thankful every day that I have them. I get to stay at home with Myles, of course now that we're in England, I couldn't work anyway, but I am so glad we are financially able to afford for me to be home with him. We are also able to travel because of Jeff's salary and vacation time and have taken full advantage of being so close to Europe.

Additionally, I believe that quality matters when it comes to bras and shoes. I'm not talking about extravagant designer styles or unjustifiable amounts, just having a few of each that are comfortable and supportive. Having the money to spend on good shoes and bras truly makes my life better. I buy more organic food than not and we have a house cleaner a few times a month as well. I know these are extras that so many people can't even consider.

When it comes to how I relate to other people who I perceive as having money, It's a mixed bag. On one hand, I really, really hate ostentatious shows of wealth like McMansions and Hummers and designer handbags. I simply cannot understand paying three times as much for anything just because you can.

But there's something else. I often feel inferior to people I consider "rich". I think the biggest part of all of that for me is that people who've been raised with money just seem so much more at ease in the world than I ever will. It's only natural that if you're exposed to a wider variety of things from a young age, your mindset is so expanded as is your self confidence. I guess that I've just always just felt provincial compared to most "rich people". I do know this is my issue and not theirs.

As for people who are in considerably more dire financial circumstances than me, I get it. I know what it's like to bust your ass and not be able to get ahead. I get having to prioritize having necessary dental work or getting your car fixed. It sucks and all you want is one break.

I've found that while being financially comfortable doesn't solve all my problems, it really really helps. Not worrying about the day to day things like food and rent and car repairs, man that's awesome. And it's a lot easier to put the things I do worry about into perspective. Most of all, I am so happy that Myles will be exposed to so many of the things that I wanted and didn't have, like travel and art and music. This is what it's all about to me.

Talking about money and our feelings about it is so tricky. I still find myself feeling I don't measure up in some essential way. On the other hand, when I was writing this I found myself feeling the need to explain or justify my current situation.

What it comes down to is this:  I believe with all of my heart that the money doesn't matter as much as the person. There are assholes in every tax bracket and good hearted people are good no matter how much money they make.

 

Be Better

"Be better." - It's what I say over and over to myself like a mantra so many nights just before I go to sleep. Two little words that mean so many things.

It's a way to remind myself that tomorrow is another day and another chance to rise above the myriad little daily moments of motherhood in which I fail to be the graceful, calm, patient, loving, patient, everlastingly patient mother and role model than I want to be. Holy shit it's hard to be that person all the time.

Saying these words to myself at night is a reminder that nothing is static, that I can, in fact, be better at this motherhood thing if I stay mindful and keep my wits about me just a bit more when things get rough. Like when I've uttered the same request five times in a metered and calm voice and my sweet, busy, oblivious almost three year old continues to ignore me. Or when we are still sitting over a cold meal 45 minutes in with only 1/3 of the food in my son's (my tiny boy who weighs only 24 pounds, god, I worry so much about him and it makes me more than a little crazy at meal time) stomach. And there are the times when I have to remind Myles not to do something, wipe his mouth/nose with his sleeve for example, for what I am sure is the gazillionth time.

When we're shopping and Myles continues to touch every. single. thing. in the store, I find myself walking behind him trying desperately to just get what's on my list and get out while mindlessly repeating "don't touch, don't touch" like some kind of insane mom robot. Side note: shopping in small local stores in England where aisles are narrow, shelves are overcrowded and there are no handy shopping carts to corral your child is best left to experts with several more years of experience than I have.

"Be better." These two little words help me to remember how fortunate I am that even though we have our struggles with Celiac disease and eating and gaining weight, I have a beautiful, healthy, smart, funny little boy who in spite of my worst parenting moments is generally well adjusted, loving, sweet and kind.

When it comes to discipline, thus far we haven't had to do too much. A time-out here or there usually gets the point across in the moment. That's not saying we don't have to take time out again for the same offense another day, but hey I'm 38 and I can't remember what I had for breakfast this morning. Do I really expect a two year old to get the message after hearing it once or twice? The thing is, I often do. I am much too fast to forget that Myles is just a baby. I expect way too much of him and I get angry when he doesn't deliver.

I came from a family environment of corporal punishment which was delivered much too freely and often in anger. It was awful and it made me afraid and ashamed and secretive and rebellious and I promised myself that I would never ever hit my child and I never will. But I have reacted to Myles in anger. I have spoken to him in an ugly, loud, scary (I imagine to a two year old) way and I can't tell you how horrible this makes me feel. I'm sometimes snappy and impatient and mean and and I feel like a monster and I remind myself of my father and I hate it.

Every day there are moments that I wish I could rewind, take back. These are the moments that I hope Myles won't remember someday. I know that no one is perfect. I'm really not expecting myself to be, but I do want to be better. And I will.

Because every morning is a chance to start fresh. And I'm greeted every day by an amazingly happy, chipper little guy who doesn't care if my breath stinks and my hair is a mess. He forgives me every single thing that I agonize over at night after he's gone to bed, promising myself and him that tomorrow will be different.

I never expected motherhood to bring back so much of my own childhood and not always the good things. I find myself remembering little moments when I was frightened or sick or scared, times when I needed love and affirmation and comfort and how I felt when I got it or when I didn't. These are the things that make me want to do the right thing for Myles. These are the things that someday I want him to remember and know without a doubt he was loved and cared for and cherished, the things that ultimately make me want to be, no matter what,  better every day than I was the day before.

A Few Things

I feel I need to write about a life changing experience I had this week.

I got a professional bra fitting because after three and a half years of pregnancy, breast feeding, weight gain and loss, I had no idea what size I should be wearing and I was tired of looking at the drawer filled with ill fitting bras.

The last size I bought (that I've been wearing for over a year) was 36C. Turns out I'm actually in a 32DD. No wonder the girls were hanging a bit low and wobbly. Professional bra fitting = highly recommended. 

Anyway, here are a few more things that have been on my mind lately.

Things that are not so great about living in a fully furnished rental home:

White sofa and beige chair in living room + almost three year old child. Nuff said.

Other people's artwork can be very, very scary. Funny story about this, with photos, coming soon.

lf you don't know where you are going to live before you pack all your belongings to move, you may end up with extras of a great many things, most of which you probably only need one of to begin with. Kitchen tongs anyone?  How about coffee (or to be culturally correct, tea) mugs? I have 32.

Afore mentioned almost three year old (who thus far had lived in a ranch style home) and two flights of stairs, one of which with no handrails and a sheer open drop to a limestone floor on one side.

Mattresses already on all the beds, some not so comfortable. 

Strange appliances a bit hard to get used to. For example our dryer is not vented. It works by removing (sucking out?) the water from the clothes and storing it and then we have to dump the receptacle after each load.

Things that are awesome about living in a fully furnished rental home:

Being surrounded by amazing, beautiful antiques and imports.

Getting to choose the best between their stuff and what we brought. It's like shopping without having to pay.

A room that was already set up with bunk beds, bookshelves and a desk, perfect for Myles. 

Weird things about watching the Golden Globe coverage in England:

The British are way, way too excited about Ricky Gervais hosting this year. It's like he invented the Golden Globes.

Red carpet coverage is just not the same. The biggest channel in the country had a spot on the red carpet, but they really only interviewed the actors from the UK and B-C list American stars. Chace Crawford anyone? No, seriously, who is this guy?

Great things about watching Golden Globe coverage in England:

You just get the highlights. You don't have to listen to every single winner thank the Hollywood Foreign Press and blah, blah, blah, puke.

No Joan and Melissa Rivers.

No musical numbers. 

Yay for Michael C Hall. Man, I miss Dexter. And GLEE, and Mad Men, True Blood, Big Love. Sigh. At least we can get second run episodes of 30 Rock and the Office -American version,  strangely the British version isn't even on here.

And some things apropo of nothing:

Cashmere is worth every penny. It is the warmest and softest fabric. Ever. 

I invented an amazing (truly, it's that good) rice pilaf with root vegetables and English Stilton. If anyone wants the recipe, shoot me an e-mail.

Italian wine is great. I am still intimidated by French wine however.

Myles is picking up a little English accent. Mostly on new words, not words he already has in his lexicon. 

I still have to watch carefully when I'm cleaning out my pockets and bags to make sure I don't throw away paper British money as scrap.

And dude, what the hell is happening at NBC late night? These are the times that I actually miss crap TV like Entertainment Tonight. Is Conan really getting replaced or is this whole thing just some ratings grab for NBC?

Statuary

The alternative title of this post is "Rock Hard Penises", but somehow I couldn't bring myself to put that at the top. Must be my new English sensibilities. I'm not that far gone though, I still inwardly snicker at the word teabag, which is used more often here than in Florida. Anyway, I promise that after reading this, you will have a small glimpse into the inner workings of my mind, or the lack thereof. 

I don't have a conscious memory of when I saw my first real, live penis. I'm sure I saw them in stolen glimpses of the Encyclopedia Britannica volumes or medical books on my parents living room shelves but I must have been eight or nine before I saw the real thing, probably on a baby having his diaper changed. 

Because of my strict fundamentalist upbringing, all  things having to do with the body, its form and function, were not openly discussed. At that age I'm not entirely sure I knew the all the proper names of either gender's genitalia, but I was definitely curious.

There was no health class or sex education at my right-wing Christian school, so, over the next eight years, until I had an opportunity to see (mostly) full grown male genitalia live in all its glory, I sneaked glimpses whenever I could, looking at images of Greek gods and Roman statues in museums and libraries.

I'm absolutely sure I never consciously concluded what I am about to tell you. Strangely, up until a few weeks ago, I never even realized that I had come to this conclusion, but here it is. Bear with me as I provide a little background information

The house we are living in came mostly furnished, which worked out great for us since what was left of our furniture after garage sales and trips to goodwill was left in a storage unit back in Florida. At any rate the house also came with artwork and nick-knacks, most of which we took down and packed away in favor of our own stuff. In the master bath however, right next to the tub, was a marble bust about 18 inches tall of a nude male - not something I would normally have as part of my decor, but I decided to leave it because I didn't have anything else for that spot and it fit well.

So it's a few weeks ago and I'm relaxing in a steamy bath. I started contemplating the statue which is really quite a beautiful representation of a male physique. And then it hit me, a moment of epiphany unlike any I have had in my 38 years. The statue depicts a man with an uncircumcised penis.

THEY ALL DO. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind I always thought the statues were old and therefore broken which was why the genitalia always seemed small and sort of misshapen in authentic Greek and Roman statuary. I don't know why it never occurred to me that they probably weren't ALL broken. And why would they all be broken in the same place anyway?

It's one of those truths that I've held as self evident pretty much since I was eight or nine, without even knowing I was doing it. And suddenly at thirty-eight years old a light has dawned. I felt simultaneously  incredibly stupid for having made such an assumption my whole life and amazingly brilliant for figuring out my mistake.

I also have a theory about why the penises always look smaller in sculpture, but we'll save that bit of social anthropology for another day.

It's Hot, Brown and Wet...

and that is where any resemblance to actual ground and brewed coffee ends.

Apparently the majority of people in Great Britain will drink freeze dried coffee flakes and call it a morning. It took me almost two weeks to find the right equipment and materials to brew a cup of fresh, or even not so fresh but at least real, ground coffee, but I've done it!

We're here. We're basically settled and now that I'm getting decent coffee every morning, things are looking better all the time.

After five weeks, we are still without internet. As it turns out. Things move at a much different pace here and have to be completed in a very specific order. We have finally gotten our home phone hooked up as of today so our broadband connection should be only another week away. I'm using a borrowed wireless card from Jeff's work just to get online and reconnect, check the mountain of e-mail for the first in time over a month and basically let friends and family know we are in fact alive. But I expect to be back online on a more regular basis in a week or so.

So, things are really good. Aside from the connectivity issue and the glaring lack of good java we are really settling in nicely. We found an amazing place to live, better than I could ever have hoped and I'm not really missing having a car at all, except on really cold or wet days. I've actually lost 8 pounds and I'm getting really good at reading bus and train schedules.

There were a few minor hiccups at the beginning trying to figure out British electronics. At one point on our second day, I mistook a two-hole punch for a satellite receiver. I'm getting used to the way things work here and I don't feel like I'm going to be mowed down every time I cross the street anymore. In fact, I'm going to start driving short distances in Jeff's car in the next few weeks.

Myles is doing incredibly well. He's taken every single change we've thrown at him in stride with room to spare, including the five hour time change, the switch from crib to bed, starting nursery school and being left with a babysitter for the first time in his life so Jeff and I could have a much needed break to see Snow Patrol last weekend. They were amazing.

We've already had a few encounters with the NHS due to Myles' Celiac disease and the special fortified milk he drinks. While we bought it over the counter in the states (at $10.00 a six pack which was roughly $80.00/month) here it can only be gotten by prescription. I was worried this was going to be a problem. As it turns out, there is no charge and they actually deliver it to our house when we need it. There was also no charge at all for Myle's first doctor visit and in the future, they will come to our house to check on his health and development. Yeah, socialized medicine really sucks.

I've already met some really wonderful, welcoming and friendly people and we've actually hooked up with a fairly large American expat group that gets together a few times a month.

Things are really, really good. There is lots of great French and Spanish, wine, nudity on network TV and everyone swears a lot. What's not to like?

More to come as soon as we get proper internet next week. (HA I said proper. See, I'm getting a British accent already.)

Odyssey

So, it turns out moving an entire household, two adults a toddler and two cats across an ocean is difficult and complicated. Who knew?

It feels like I've been moving for years and we're not there yet. In the past six months our lives have been been a series of jerky stops and starts, a roller coaster of ups and downs. We've had bouts of amazing success and good luck followed by crushing disappointments. It's like regular life on steroids.

Because the real estate market in southwest Florida is further in the toilet than Jon and Kate's dignity, we decided to rent our house rather than try and sell it. After a short time on the market, we found amazing renters. Seriously, these people could not be any more perfect and we feel totally confident leaving our house and some of our furniture with them for the foreseeable future. Score!

After much preparation and organization, a huge yard sale, several craigslist and eBay encounters, countless trips to various charity organizations, we sold or donated a huge quantity of our belongings including our cars. It was actually kind of freeing and looking back on it now I wish we would have done more.

We moved out of our house a month ago, sending about a third of our remaining stuff - clothes, kitchen goods, family photos etc., across the Atlantic in a 20 foot cargo container. It arrived on the eastern shores of the UK yesterday as far as we know. Another third of our stuff - furniture, tools, yard items, was left in our house for the renters. The rest of it was packed up and sent to a local storage unit presumably not to be seen again for several years. Doing all of this with a two year old was a herculean effort.

We've been living with Jeff's parents for the last month. These are incredibly kind, generous and accommodating people. In fact, after we leave here in two weeks, they will be keeping our cats until they are clear to come over to England on December 10th. The cats should have been able to travel with us, but due to a snafu with our veterinarian and some tests that were not done properly we have to make a separate trip to pick them up and ferry them over, but that is another story entirely. An interesting point of fact for anyone planning to move out of the country with domestic animals: it's a huge pain in the ass. Colossal. 

Anyway, as I was saying, we are living with Jeff's folks in a beautiful house on the Caloosahatchee River and they are lovely. Luckily we will be leaving just in time as familiarity can indeed breed contempt after six weeks.

So, we have our Visas, our house is rented, our belongings have arrived in England, we have a plan for the cats. There is just one more small detail to be worked out. We don't have a place to live.

Fucking hell.

Everything was moving along perfectly. I've made two house hunting  trips to England in the past four months and between Jeff and I have looked at close to 75 properties. The rental market in the areas we are hoping to live is completely insane. Rentals come on the market and get taken within days, sometimes hours. As you can imagine it's difficult to coordinate remotely with time differences and us not wanting to rent something we've only seen on line. On our last trip over, we had chosen a place that was beyond amazing and we were set to move in on October 14.

I can't talk about it too much because I'm still a little in shock but we lost it at the very last minute. Literally two weeks before we were scheduled to leave, because of something completely out of our control, our contract fell through and we don't have a place to live.

Our interim solution is going to be an apartment that is furnished and outfitted with everything we'll need for a month or two while we find a place to rent more long term. We won't have access to any of our stuff, so we'll have to make do with a week's worth of clothes and that's pretty much it. No bed for Myles, none of his books or toys - blah, blah blah. 

Everything will work out eventually. Hopefully by mid January we will be in our more permanent residence with our belongings unpacked and our cats cozily ensconced. In the meantime, we're flying over on October 25, for better or worse and I'm getting a lot better at dealing with uncertainty. I've been reading Anne Frank's diary, a book I've never read. It's helping me keep things in perspective. What an amazing girl. It's staggering and heartbreaking to think what she would have done with her life and what she managed to do with it, without even trying.

Myles is two and a half now. He's a sweet, good, even tempered, funny little boy and smarter than I ever imagined a kid his age could be. I suppose we're getting a break now considering how hard the first year and a half of his life was for all of us. We finally figured out what was wrong with him - gluten intolerance. He's been gluten free for four months and the change in his health was almost immediate and absolutely shocking. We've been working through the rest of the eating issues that come along with two years worth of getting sick every time you eat and he's making leaps and bounds toward eating like a normal kid.

We're stressed and we still have so much work ahead. I'm trying not to feel like my life is on hold and to enjoy our last weeks here in Florida. There are still so many things I want to do. But we're managing to have fun.

A lot in fact.

 

Thanks for asking, Schmutzie.

Goodbye Pinot Noir

I've got five months to enjoy my favorite California reds. We're moving to the UK in September, for a few years anyway.

This possibility has been swirling around us since last fall. Now we know for sure. Jeff got an incredible promotion to go work in his company's home office in Manchester, England.

Things are crazy at the moment. I'm thrilled, excited, scared. Did I mention thrilled?

I'm hoping my online friends who have spent time as expats will offer lots of good advice.

More to come soon when I've had a chance to settle in with all of this.

Things are about to get interesting.