When It Rains

Despite what you might think, it isn't just us British who are obsessed with the weather.  These Californians can be pretty intense about it too.  I never thought I'd be sat in California blogging about the weather - or at least not wet weather - but strangely enough, since we arrived here Los Angeles has had one of its wettest years on record, and this week we've had an almost unheard of seven continuous days of rain. Those palm trees and mountains don't look so good when they are shrouded in grey. It does nothing for my depression - last winter's episode of extreme jigsaw puzzling is not something I ever want to have to go through again.  I think in the UK we're just so geared up for the wet weather we just get on with it - it rarely makes a difference to our day.  When it rains here in LA all hell is let loose.  A little bit of drizzle is fine - even Californians can cope with that, okay maybe the roads get a bit slippy and people don't drive too well, but they don't drive too well at the best of times.  But when it pours with rain as it has done this year, then the whole nature of the place changes.  Imagine Noah and his ark and the rising tide.  That's LA.

These are not people who have grown up driving on a wet surface or who are even used to putting their windscreen wipers on.  Houses here are not designed to cope with rain water,  older homes don't even have gutters and drain pipes, streets do not have regular drains every 25 yards.  Buildings that do have  downpipes will  leave them draining to soakaways which are not always necessarily immediately below the end of the pipe.  Imagine a heavy downpour onto a very dry surface.  It doesn't soak away.  It stays.

Our first house had three soakaways sunk into the middle of the patio - small metal grills over a hole no more than 3" diameter.  All the downpipes from the house emptied straight out onto the patio, but strategically placed plastic trays directed the flow towards the soakaways.  This worked fine on most days - a bit of light drizzle and the water would just trickle out of the end of the pipe and would almost have evaporated before it reached the soakaway.  Absolutely useless in a deluge.

There were a couple of days earlier in the year when I honestly thought the house was about to flood.  The pool water was rising - we were within millimeters of having our own infinity pool, the patio was completely underwater and the soakaways were blocked.  Water was gushing down the street in a raging river towards the one large storm drain at the end of the road.  At the entrance to the drain, a huge lake was being created with the sheer volume of water.

I'm afraid it was another of those "why do they do that?" moments - why build roads without adequate drainage? Why build a house without proper drain pipes? Is that just me? Do they really like sloshing about in all this water?  Perhaps it's like the UK with the "snow thing" - a couple of inches of snow and everything grinds to a halt - why hasn't every local council invested in a fleet of snowploughs to unblock all the roads? Well in the UK you can wait 10 years between snow flurries.  Every year here it will rain at some stage - this isn't the Sahara Desert. Up in the foothills of the mountains, not too far from us, mudslides occur.  A series of forest fires has stripped the vegetation from the mountainside so there is nothing to keep the soil back, and when it rains, the water carries everything downstream with it - mud, gravel, rocks.  Whole houses are destroyed. But it happens every year.

On the plus side of course all this rain did wonders for the ski resorts up in the mountains where the colder air transforms the wet stuff into snow.  It was a bumper year for winter sports and presumably umbrella, raincoat and wellington boot sales.  Think of the increase in sales tax the state will have made - they could put that to improving drainage on the roads, ready for next year's downpour.....

The Power Walk

This is one American habit that I have really taken on board.  The art of power walking.  Of course if I was a really serious power walker I would be out at 5.00 am every morning, baseball cap on head, earphones in, pedometer taped in place.  I'd be setting off at a vast rate of knots, measuring the number of calories burned and my heart rate.  Alas, I am not a serious power walker.  I'm a nosey power walker, so I have to go a bit slower than everyone else, otherwise I might miss something.  I have discovered power walking presents an excellent opportunity to study the architecture, horticulture, and general charm of the American front yard.  I love it!

When we lived in the suburbs I just walked out of my front door and headed off around the surrounding streets.  Being an affluent area the scenery was delightful - lush grassy front lawns; a huge variety of exotic plants - cacti, fragrant roses, palms, ferns, citrus trees, birds of paradise, bougainvillea, all lovingly tendered by an assortment of Mexican gardeners.The houses were all similar in age and style to our "ranch" and it was rather noticeable how many of them were being "re-modelled".  One day the house would be there, the next it would be bulldozed to the ground apart from a couple of stud walls, and then a few days later the building would re-emerge around the two walls left standing (presumably this has something to do with American planning permission laws).  Either way the end result was always twice as big as the original property.

Moving into town made power walking harder because you can't walk for more than 50 yards in the center of Pasadena without having to stop at a crosswalk, and of course you daren't cross if the sign says not too! So a 40 minute walk becomes a 20 minute walk and a 20 minute wait at the traffic signals. Yes I could walk on the spot whilst I wait at a crossing, but I prefer not to.  Instead I take advantage of having to get up early and do the school run, and park up just around the corner from the High School.  This is a very pleasant neighbourhood in the foothills of the mountains - the terrain is a bit steep but good for the calf muscles and the scenery is lovely! There are the usual suburban hazards of yapping dogs and water sprinklers - Americans are obsessed with keeping the concrete moist and it really isn't necessary, but if I time my walk just right, I can normally avoid getting too wet.

My new pounding ground presents an eclectic mix of house styles, age and sizes - there really is everything here - Colonial, Spanish, palatial! Traditional log cabins nestle besides mansions; old and new juxtaposed. One house I particularly love is a single storey uber modernist property, totally out of sync with its surroundings - flat roof, lots of glass, Scandanavian wood cladding - just like something out of Grand Designs.  In fact everytime I walk past it I can picture Kevin McCloud in his hard hat, standing in the shell of the building during the construction phase, speculating on the improbability that it will ever get finished on time. Across the road from this is fine example of 21st century modernism is a an old timber bungalow surrounded by white picket fencing with a large pig living in its front garden..and I mean a real pig. Of course most of the houses don't have live animals in their front yard - but there is a huge array of stone  and bronze imitations - ducks, squirrels, birds, deer, racehorses - yes racehorses (I'm serious here!)

The great thing about these homes is that they nearly all have a larger front garden than back which means all the pretty stuff is out front.  This really is the land of the rocking chair on the front porch, the swing seat on the veranda, all manner of garden furniture, table, chairs, sunloungers, BBQ's, plant pots, ornaments, all out on public view.  These things wouldn't last five minutes back home unless they were firmly chained and nailed down....

Americans are so honest! And so patriotic. Flags, now that's another thing they have in abundance outside their homes, and not just the Stars and Stripes, there are flags for everything - college flags; Thanksgiving flags; holiday flags; St Patrick Day flags; Easter bunny flags, and of course, now, Halloween flags....You think we've gone a bit over the over the top with Trick or Treating in the UK, trust me, that's nothing!  Pumpkin lantern on your doorstep positively tasteful: whole house dressed from top to toe in fake spider web, complete with several very large fake spiders, ghosties and ghoulies emerging from mock graves on the front lawn; skeletons on the porch; scarecrows, black cats, witches - they're all here! We even drive past a house on  the way to school that has a very realistic looking corpse hanging from a tree in their front garden....well at least I assume it's just there for Halloween.....

So, the power walk is not so much a quest for health and fitness, it's a source of inspiration - I have so many ideas now about what I can do when I return back home.  Okay the wicker chairs and brightly coloured cushions might not weather quite so well back in England - a layer of mould and mildew might lessen their appeal, but with a little imagination, I can take a  bit of California back home with me. And the most impressive house on my walk? The "eco" house - this environmentally friendly homeowner has seen the light and has just ripped up his high maintenance front lawn and replaced it with a collection of succulents and native drought resistant plants.  But the most exciting thing about this home?  Over the side gate I have caught a glimpse of rotary clothes dryer in the back yard - that's almost unheard of over here!  We just need a few more million Americans to follow suit and there might be hope for the planet yet!!

A Charmed Life

So, how do I fill my day? Well some days I simply don't; it's quite surprising how time flies when you have all day to do things, and how easy it is to while a way a day doing nothing.  Life is no longer a mad, frenetic rush, running errands on my way home from work, spending my days off catching up on housework and frantically fitting in family commitments, a social life and getting all the chores done at the weekend before another working week starts all over again. 

I can take my time.  I can easily turn what was planned to be a 15 minute trip to the supermarket to pick up a few groceries into an hour's expedition around town.  I still have major issues with American supermarkets, knowing what to buy and how to cook it, and because all the stores are comparatively smaller and their range of stock is less than back home, I sometimes end up visiting two or three different stores just to find everything on my list.  Whilst supermarkets here are tend to be far less busy than their British counterparts, if there is a queue at the checkout, it can be amazingly slow.  Americans do not pack their own shopping; their patience at standing in line whilst the cashier slowly puts the shopping into numerous plastic bags never ceases to amaze me.  These are the same people who honk their horns at you if so much as wait for one second before moving away at a green traffic light, yet here they stand, calmly waiting as docile as lambs. I'm the one that's chomping on the bit ready to go - why don't you just pack it yourself? Yet what's my rush? I've got nowhere else to be, or a schedule to meet.  I'm the lady of leisure.

And I am at leisure - I'm on quality "me" time.  I'm a lady who lunches - I have enough friends and acquaintances here now who I can regularly meet with for lunch;  I can stroll around town, sit in a pavement cafe, watch the world go by.  And then of course, once a week I go  to "work", to my gardening.  It's great having a job that is only one day a week.  As I make my way through the Arboretum to the Rose Garden, passing a couple of peacocks roaming across the lawn, or some Canada geese paddling across the lake, I marvel at my good fortune.  How far removed is this from that past life I had, driving to work every morning, in the cold, through the rain, to my  local government office in the middle of a dreary housing estate, where the phone didn't stop ringing, paperwork piled up, deadlines had to met, people had to be appeased....Look at me now! Here I am doing something I love, where did I always go whenever I had five minutes to spare, or needed to de-stress? Out to my garden, and I thought I was pretty fortunate to have one third of an acre to play around in; here there's 127 acres.  How lucky am I?

It really is a charmed life and I can please myself! I've tried exercising but the gym bores me; I'd rather be out walking in the fresh air and I do try and walk for at least half an hour every day, most days more (but that's a whole new blog!)  I swim as much as I can, I read - I've found a second hand bookshop and I've even started to read all those classics I thought I'd never get round to in an effort to self improve. I did have intentions of further self-improvement through watercolour painting, sketching, sculpture...but  when can I fit it in?  Then of course there is e-mailing and skyping; keeping in touch with everyone back home, and holidays and travel to plan and investigate, and now there's blogging to fit in too - so time consuming! And what about that novel I was always going to write? Then there is still the dusting and the cleaning, all that boring housewifey stuff - shirts still need ironing, beds still need changing, even in California unfortunately!!

And yet amongst all this luck and good fortune I do sometimes, stupidly, feel guilty that I am not doing something more constructive. Shouldn't I really be tending to the sick and the poor rather than a few plants? After all there's plenty of them here in LA. Why do I still have this feeling that I am "wasting time" when I sit down to take a proper lunch or take half an hour out to read a book, shouldn't I be up and about, doing something else? Is having "me" time shallow and self-indulgent? How useless do I feel - unemployed, unable to make a contribution. I'm not part of  something anymore. I'm on my own, it's just Team Me!

Well go Team Me! It wont last forever, I'll be back in England before I know it and back to that working week again, and then I'll wish I had made better use of my time -  I'll wish I had read more books or written more books (or at least one), why didn't I do a whole year's course in water colour painting or hand craft an entire range of garden ornaments?  That's the trouble you see, when you do have time, you waste it.  Like now you see,  too busy blogging, and what time is it? Time for the school run again, and I haven't even thought about the evening meal, let alone bought the ingredients, sorted the laundry or taken out the trash......Takeaway tonight anyone?

Moving On

We had been in America for 8 months and the lease on the house was nearly up.  It was time to move on.  The house had originally been chosen because it fulfilled the criteria of being in walking distance of a school and a grocery store.  But I was fed up of living in the dark and gloom, isolated in suburbia.  Now that daughter No 2 had passed her entrance exam to attend private high school, and I was confident enough to drive further afield, the world - or at least the world within a 15 minute drive of the new school - was our oyster!

One of Neil's English colleagues and his wife had an apartment in the centre of Pasadena and I loved it.  It was modern, light and airy, everything our house wasn't.  Neil had always been adamant he didn't want to live in an apartment, but we had had a whole string of problems with our "ranch". Yes it was lovely to have our own pool and our own outside space, but having to deal with an absent landlord who was always overseas was proving very difficult.  In addition the house was built like a garden shed - wooden frame, sheets of chipboard and a bit of cladding on top.  It had no insulation; it wasn't double glazed, and yes, although winter days are pretty mild here, winter nights are not.  The patio doors in our bedroom didn't quite meet in the middle and the house got cold.  Very cold.  Two duvets, long sleeved PJ's, bedsocks....wasn't quite how I had planned to spend my nights in LA!!

The house was also too big for the three of us - there were rooms we didn't use, and knowing that our stay was always going to be temporary, we had only purchased the minimum of furniture, which looked rather lost in the vast space. All that dark wood attracted the dust; I was constantly sweeping and mopping, the house never felt clean.  The appliances were old and inefficient; the cooker was either on or off - there didn't appear to be any temperature control; the washing machine was noisy and would trundle merrily across the laundry room every time it was used, having to be manhandled back into position at the end of every day.  The whole place needed "re-modelling" as they call it here (I call it knocking down and starting again).

We started having trouble with the plumbing on Christmas Day - something had gone wrong with the cistern in the family bathroom and it overflowed.  Without access to the usual array of tools that he would have had in the garage back home, Neil improvised with a paperclip, which surprisingly did the trick! When Mr Soon, our designated Chinese maintenance man appeared a few days later he was very impressed with Neil's handiwork and didn't think he could improve on it. (This did make Neil slightly uneasy about a large mechanical equipment order he had recently placed in China if this the typical standard of Chinese workmanship). More plumbing issues ensued; Mr Soon was followed by Mr Lee the dishwashing engineer. They were like a double act and trying to communicate with either of them was extremely frustrating.  Mr Hong, the pool boy had the right idea - if I wanted to speak to him he would get out his mobile phone and call his wife who then acted as an interpreter in a three way conversation.  Effective but not the easiest way to conduct business.

The plumbing problems finally escalated into a series of blocked drains; which culminated in the only usable toilet being the illegal one in the forbidden guest house. We had to spend a day and a night surreptitiously slipping across the back yard to our outside "loo" whilst we waited for the Chinese version of Dyno-Rod to arrive (in case you're wondering if you've missed the part of  this blog where we moved to the Far East, don't panic, we're still in LA, but LA has a very diverse population and our landlord was Chinese  and so was everyone else he employed - it's not just the British who are stuck in a bubble!)

So at the end of the day it proved relatively easy to persuade Neil to try luxury condominium city living.  Yes of course there are disadvantages - it's noisier in town, we are closer to the freeway; helicopters frequently buzz about overhead; police sirens go off all night and you have to put up with the sound of your neighbours  romping in the jacuzzi at midnight.  Groceries have to be carted from the car, to the lift (whoops elevator), up to the 5th floor and along the corridor to our apartment, which makes food shopping a carefully planned expedition rather than a spontaneous gesture. But our apartment itself is light, airy, modern and plenty big enough for the three of us yet there's still enough room for  a couple of guests.  Our furniture fits in perfectly so the apartment feels comfortable and homely, and everything works - and if it doesn't we simply go down to the leasing office and it gets fixed! We still have a great view over the mountains and it's a 10 minute walk straight into town to boutiques, department stores, cinemas, museums, bars and restaurants.  

Pasadena is an attractive city, it does have a European feel, a cafe culture (or at least it would have a European feel if they took out the dual carriageway that runs through the middle of it and pedestrianised the main street....) It's old by Californian standards - some of the buildings date from the beginning of the last century; it has great architecture and a charm and elegance which is decidedly lacking in other parts of LA. It's certainly a different way of living for us, but it's definitely not bad.  I wouldn't want to do it forever, but for a couple of years it will suit me just fine.  Oh and did I mention that there's a lot of other British people here too? Walk down the main street any day of the week and you can catch snippets of familiar accents...close your eyes for a couple of seconds and you can almost imagine yourself back home....

Being (Mis) Understood

I am genuinely surprised by the amount of Americans who do not recognise our English accent. Yes they recognise that we are "not from round these parts", but they don't automatically associate us with being British.  Most frequently we're mistaken for Australians - occasionally we have been asked if we are Irish or Scots - close; I have even bizarrely been asked if I was Russian (to be fair this was from a non-native American).  Apparently I look Russian too - what do think of my secret agent outfit?

Of course there are Americans who will recognise that you're English immediately; others will enquire politely "where are you guys from?", others will just look at you, register that you are an alien species and turn away without further comment.  Xenophobia? America? Surely not?! 

Anyway, when it is finally established that yes, we're from England, you realise that Americans' knowledge of any other culture apart from their own is extremely limited.  In Europe and the rest of the world we are bombarded on a daily basis with Americana - films, TV programmes, celebrities, fast food, American culture is everywhere.  I've watched American films - I know that petrol is gas, I know the pavement is a sidewalk; I know a holiday is a vacation and I put my rubbish in the trash can.  You have a lapse of concentration here and call an elevator a lift and suddenly you're from the Planet Zog.  They have no idea what you are talking about.

I've given up trying to explain I'm from Southampton, a large shipping port on the South Coast of England - "is that near London?"  Well, it's about 70 miles south west of London. Yes, actually I'm from South London. I have managed to bluff my way through questions about the Queen, Prince William and Camilla (whoops Camilla who? was my first thought when I encountered that one!) I have also admirably defended the British weather - after all who needs sunshine everyday - pretty boring if you ask me! Sadly, Americans really do have trouble understanding our accents.  Expect to have to repeat everything at least twice - very clearly and very slowly.  Our great sense of humour is wasted; Americans tend to take everything you say very literally so by the time you've repeated what you've just said, then explained that you were in fact only kidding, you really do end up wishing you hadn't bothered.

It really is a question of having to think before you speak - not exactly a good recipe for relaxed, spontaneous conversation.  I'm flippant, I'm sarcastic - that's just who I am, or who I was, when I socialised with people who understood me.  Now I've become very conscious that my sense of humour and throw away remarks can easily be misconstrued and worry every time I speak that I am about to offend someone.  I once made the mistake early on of trying to make what I thought was polite conversation with a neighbour - contact with our neighbours had been extremely limited and whilst out for a walk I spotted this particular neighbour tending to her garden.  I saw this as an excellent opportunity to become better acquainted - common ground - same street, gardening, the ideal conversational opportunity! I remarked how nice it was to see someone doing their own garden for a change rather than employing a gardener.  "Actually I do have a gardener" she replied rather haughtily before turning her back on me.  What had I done, what had I said? It wasn't until later that it occurred to me that she might have thought I was implying she couldn't actually afford a gardener....Had I actually been rude??  A few weeks later she appeared at the door, with her cat, which she informed me had recently started to go missing.  She was sure someone was luring him away so she had decided to follow him.  Guess where he had ended up? Not that I had ever seen the cat before in my life but as he playfully wound himself around my legs, I realised I was doomed....catnapper...worse than that, rude, alien, catnapper!

So, how do you stop being misunderstood? Stop speaking? Start talking with an American accent? No that would be losing my heritage. Find some British friends and stick with them, they'll understand.  We'll have our own social enclave like all the other groups of American immigrants.  Back to our bubble again...oh, only kidding. No I said ... B..A..C..K....T..O....O..U..R....B..U..B..B..L..E....A..G..A..I..N... It was a joke...it doesn't matter, forget I ever said anything!

How (Not) To Make Friends

 Making new friends was never going to be easy.  I had already decided to grasp every hand of friendship that was extended in my direction; I knew I would have to break out of my quiet British reserve and get out there to meet people. I wasn't going to be working; and daughter No 2 was at the age when she wouldn't want me hanging around the school gates chatting to the other parents, so how I was I going to meet people?

The gym perhaps?  Do people talk to each other when they are running on the treadmill? No they stick in their earphones and get on with it.  Obviously I was hopeful that I would get to meet the wives of Neil's work colleagues.  After all it was a big project and there was a large team of mostly American and Saudi workers, with a few Brits stuck in for good luck.  The new Health & Safety Manager and his wife (Canadians who had emigrated from the UK over 20 years ago) invited all the project team and their families for a welcoming BBQ. A great opportunity to get out there and make some new friends! The Saudi team members did not bring their wives or children - not totally unexpected - but neither did the Americans.  These colleagues who had all been very quick to advise on housing, schools, doctors, dentists etc, were obviously not going to be quite so forthcoming on the social front.  It was a great disappointment, but a valuable lesson learned. You soon realise in America that an abundance of "hi how ya'll doing"s and "have a nice day"s are not indicative of the beginnings of a lifelong friendship. Americans can and will talk to anybody about anything.  You will have heard somebody's life history in the five minute wait for the pizza takeaway; they are certainly not backward about coming forward. But don't expect things to go any further.  These are people with full and busy lives - they don't need any more friends - you do, and that's the difficult part.

It's not until you are "friendless" that you realise how much you rely on having familiar company around you; people you've known for years, people you have something in common with and you can chat effortlessly to about work, schools, kids, or even just the street where you live.  You have history together.  All of a sudden you have to start from new, so what do you talk about? The weather? Well the weather here is always the same so that's not going to grab anyone's attention.  There's no salacious gossip to whisper about - you can't moan about the relatives, or a teacher, or a colleague because you don't know theirs and they don't know yours. There's no talking about last night's TV because with 400+ channels available every night there is very little likelihood that anybody's actually watched the same programme; current affairs and local politics are in another league; American sport - far too complicated to even think about joining in a conversation and sounding remotely intelligent.

So what do you do? Another of Neil's more sociable colleagues - a well-travelled American couple in their 60's, decided I needed taking under their wing.  I was invited to go on a trip with a "Ladies Group" - I really should have known better - my mother is in a Ladies Group back in England and she is in her 80's.  We went on a tour of the LA Metro system - actually a very useful introduction to the public transport system of LA; then came a tour of a Bhuddist Temple - not quite so useful but interesting all the same.  But then came the coffee morning, and invitations to lunches, and there I floundered.  I'm in a room full of elderly American ladies, all lovely of course, but where was the common ground? How could I sustain a meaningful conversation? I had no grandkids, I hadn't done a Caribbean cruise; as much as I wanted to "grasp the hand of friendship" I found myself politely declining invitations to play golf, join the bridge club, the sewing circle....

I'm shy, I'm British, I don't like being the centre of attention.  I only needed a very small group of friends...there had to be another way to meet people.  Volunteering.  That was answer.  Volunteering is huge in America and it's taken very seriously; I would find a voluntary job to fill my time and keep myself occupied.  Neil took great pleasure in suggesting possibilities - volunteer administrators were being recruited by the local council - I could do for nothing what I had been paid to do back home! No way - if I was going to have to work for love not money then I was going to find something I enjoyed, and so I did. I  found a "job" gardening.

I now have joined the ranks of America's great non-paid workforce and one morning a week I go and pull up weeds and dead head roses at the LA Arboretum.  I see the same small group of people, week in week out, we lunch together; we have common ground; and the conversation flows quite easily.  Yes of course my fellow volunteers are all retired, but I too have prematurely reached retirement age.  I  can no longer fool myself I'm a career girl on a sabbatical. I do wonder though, what do people my age do in America? Are they really all out at work? Surely not here in this affluent neighbourhood - I thought I would be surrounded by other "stay at home" moms and desperate housewives.  So, where are they all? Perhaps they are all at the Country Club playing tennis,  or at the spa, having a manicure, or are they stuck indoors, baking cookies? I'll let you know when I have found some, meanwhile, pass me my slippers, it's time to take my afternoon nap.....