Packed

The bags are packed and we’re ready to go.

Two years, eight months and five days (honestly I haven’t been counting) since our arrival in the US and it’s time to leave.

Of course we’re all a bit sad – especially the teenager – to be leaving our new friends and the rather luxurious lifestyle to which we’ve all become accustomed.  It’s back to public transport for the teenager after a whirlwind romance with the car, and I’m going to miss my self-indulgent routine of gym, swimming pool, lazy lunches and idyllic morning walks in the mountain foothills. 

Of course what I’ve lacked most, and what I crave most now, is intellectual stimulation.  I am not cut out to be a housewife.  I have tried to become a lady of leisure and feel I have failed, plagued by that guilty feeling that I should be doing something more useful. Yes I tried to read the classics in an attempt at self-improvement;  I  ploughed my way through the teenager’s English Honours reading list in an effort to at least look intelligent as I sat around the pool. 

There were many times when I felt I lacked a purpose.  I was  an appendage – my husband had to come here to work and I came along for the ride.  I wasn’t useful to anyone.  I was supposed to be the home-maker but there were many times when I couldn’t even manage to put dinner on the table; flummoxed by something so mundane as the grocery shopping. Of course now I think, heck this is America, who needs to cook, let’s just eat out or get a take-away!

One of the things I struggled with most was that feeling of not fitting in. I missed my old friendships; I longed for uninhibited conversations with people I’d known since the year dot and who knew me warts and all.  Americans are very good at talking to complete strangers, unburdening themselves; I just didn’t feel comfortable divulging my innermost secrets to the check-out assistant at Ralphs.

I tried to involve myself in American culture; I dabbled with my voluntary work, I enjoyed my gardening but the school mom thing just didn’t feel right.  I admitted defeat and started this blog. It became my lifeline - the friend who listened to me, who understood my accent. And of course I did make real friends in the end; friends who I am really going to miss.

One thing I have learned is that writing not only keeps the brain cells ticking over, it’s a cathartic experience; it’s great therapy. So when I get back to the UK I really am going to write that book.  I'm planning a comic tale, entirely based on historical fact, about a charming young (okay middle-aged) English woman who comes to Los Angeles for three years, discovers she is totally incompatible with American culture and very slowly, but in the nicest possible way, goes mad.  I think I’ve just about finished my research….