And definitely not for me. Not that this flight was worse than any others. We arrived at SFO in good order. I have no memories of the airport from our arrival last October as I was totally exhausted - turns out it's quite small (well I compare everything to Heathrow which is my usual airport) and clean and quiet. Boarding was a little delayed as they forgot to board the crew and then take-off was delayed because the tunnel thingy got stuck to the plane. We were flying United because they had the best price and BA were having industrial problems when we were buying and I didn't want to risk it. The main differences seemed to be fewer inflight entertainment options and slightly bigger seats.
United took every opportunity to ensure we could see what fools we were for sitting in economy. First we boarded at the front and had to walk past all the various grades of luxury before reaching the cattle section. Then the security announcements lingered lovingly over shots of what to do should something happen while you're in an improbably comfortable and space age pod like seat. The curtain was a veil so you could see the lucky sods up front - some of whom were younger than my children which is just bloody not fair. I walked past one little girl who could have fitted two other girls next to her in the same seat and whose feet didn't reach the end. I also walked past some rather portly people who had squeezed themselves into club class seats and would not have fitted into ours.
The girls slept quite a lot and were otherwise very excited but well-behaved. I read, watched Polanski's newest film (all right if a little dull though with a very good cast and the lovely Ewan McGregor who I always think looks a little like Tom) and then I started to feel ill.
Warning: Mention of puking coming up (literally).
You never see people get travel sick in films, do you? I mean no one with travel sickness ever goes into space, or has romantic encounters on transatlantic flights and so on. Well I got sick - properly into the bag on landing. And then at baggage claim. And then after spending the 45 minutes in the cab with my eyes shut trying hard not to be again, I rushed past my mother who I haven't seen in 8 months into her downstairs loo. Not quite the greeting she or I was expecting.
Three days later and we're all still jet-lagged. Tom and I are alternating bad nights of sleep and the girls are still asleep - it's nearly 10am - when normally they're both up by 8am.
It is lovely to be home. England is having a summer this year which makes a change. We have settled back in here at my mother's and feel as if we've not been away. I just wish we didn't have to fly again in a month. I really like San Francisco - I just wish it was a bit closer, like Pembrokeshire or something.
Showing posts with label Moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moving. Show all posts
09 July, 2010
19 November, 2009
At home at last
We have moved in. And we have things to sit on and sleep in - thanks in large part to the help of several of Tom's colleagues and their apparently willing partners. I am very grateful to Chad, Sarah, Henry, Rachel, Jon and Alex. We are much more comfortable because of you. And probably a lot less cross with each other than we might have been.
So here I am sitting at my kitchen table looking at a wonderful view on a gloriously sunny autumnal day - feels like early October in the UK. I am not used to the weather and it does keep one in a good mood. I would take pictures but I can't remember where I put the camera battery charger. And I have a lot of unpacking to do. So with that, I shall go off to put some bookshelves together.
So here I am sitting at my kitchen table looking at a wonderful view on a gloriously sunny autumnal day - feels like early October in the UK. I am not used to the weather and it does keep one in a good mood. I would take pictures but I can't remember where I put the camera battery charger. And I have a lot of unpacking to do. So with that, I shall go off to put some bookshelves together.
06 November, 2009
The apartment
Oh sorry, did you want to know about the apartment?
In brief, it is in Noe Valley, on the top floor of a three story building up an inordinate number of stairs so the views are amazing. It has hardwood floors - de rigueur I gather for SF, lots of light, an eat-in kitchen which opens onto a deck, two reasonably sized bedrooms and a large sitting room. Oh and a shower room and a bathroom and very importantly the washer and dryer are in the flat.
It is a couple of blocks from the majority of the shops and the location of the weekly Farmers Market, one block from the tram (what do they call that thing - to me it's a tram), a few blocks from the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit which is more like Paris's RER than the London Underground) and five minutes to the freeway south for Tom. In other words, it is ideal. Now we just need a good school we don't have to drive across town to, and we're all set as they say here.
In brief, it is in Noe Valley, on the top floor of a three story building up an inordinate number of stairs so the views are amazing. It has hardwood floors - de rigueur I gather for SF, lots of light, an eat-in kitchen which opens onto a deck, two reasonably sized bedrooms and a large sitting room. Oh and a shower room and a bathroom and very importantly the washer and dryer are in the flat.
It is a couple of blocks from the majority of the shops and the location of the weekly Farmers Market, one block from the tram (what do they call that thing - to me it's a tram), a few blocks from the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit which is more like Paris's RER than the London Underground) and five minutes to the freeway south for Tom. In other words, it is ideal. Now we just need a good school we don't have to drive across town to, and we're all set as they say here.
A big day
Also a very very wet day. More like being in a cloud than being rained on. I was soaked especially as I only have a lightweight not very rainproof coat and no umbrella. And I met my first rude San Franciscan which is noteworthy as so many other people have proved so friendly and kind. This particular individual took it upon herself to comment on the outrageously wet state of me, at length as if I could do something about it.
Anyway, moving on. Much has been achieved today. I've booked the girls in for an appointment for a health check which is a necessary step towards enrolling them in school. This particular practice (no idea if that's the US term but I'm going with it) was recommended by the tour leader at the school we visited yesterday. We're paying a one-off fee as we haven't yet been accepted by the company's health insurance having only just applied and to be honest I want it done quick and with minimum hassle. I won't tell you how much but suffice to say for a Brit who's never paid before in her life for a doctor it's a lot but it probably isn't as much as it could be. I'm sure I could work the system in some more financially sensible way and possibly claim back retrospectively or something but frankly I'm tired, and not ready for this. The doctors' surgery was where I met another friendly San Franciscan who overheard me say I was from the UK and has offered to decipher the US healthcare system for me. I will almost certainly be taking her up on it - plus she was very nice and used to live in a nearby part of London to my neck of the woods. Got to start somewhere with the friend-making process!
After that, the girls and I had a peaceful coffee and cake in Martha & Bros on Church Street in Noe Valley (great coffee, lovely cakes) where we met our next lovely San Franciscan - and this may sound strange but was genuine, honest - who gave the girls two small soft toys he had spare. Sweet.
Meanwhile, Tom picked the short straw and got to visit the Social Security Office (quite quick today) after having picked up two rather fabulous new phones. As I said, we were using horse and cart phones so neither of us is really sure quite how fab these phones are - abnormally so or run of the mill, who can tell. We're a bit like medieval peasants presented with a Ferrari - we're in awe. And did I mention mine is pink? Subtly so, but still pink.
After that, he visited the property agent and was told we were accepted as tenants, so we have paid the deposit and first month's rent and are picking up the keys tomorrow! We did have our first hitch which is that the school which we were told on Tuesday had two places for the girls, now only has room for our seven-year-old. And we had really liked it and it was convenient for us. But no rush. We can wait and judging by the list of schools Tom got from the SFUSD available places change quickly so once we are settled, we should be able to move fast to get what we want.
Right now we have to think about furniture and crockery and cutlery and curtains and and and.
IKEA here we come.
Anyway, moving on. Much has been achieved today. I've booked the girls in for an appointment for a health check which is a necessary step towards enrolling them in school. This particular practice (no idea if that's the US term but I'm going with it) was recommended by the tour leader at the school we visited yesterday. We're paying a one-off fee as we haven't yet been accepted by the company's health insurance having only just applied and to be honest I want it done quick and with minimum hassle. I won't tell you how much but suffice to say for a Brit who's never paid before in her life for a doctor it's a lot but it probably isn't as much as it could be. I'm sure I could work the system in some more financially sensible way and possibly claim back retrospectively or something but frankly I'm tired, and not ready for this. The doctors' surgery was where I met another friendly San Franciscan who overheard me say I was from the UK and has offered to decipher the US healthcare system for me. I will almost certainly be taking her up on it - plus she was very nice and used to live in a nearby part of London to my neck of the woods. Got to start somewhere with the friend-making process!
After that, the girls and I had a peaceful coffee and cake in Martha & Bros on Church Street in Noe Valley (great coffee, lovely cakes) where we met our next lovely San Franciscan - and this may sound strange but was genuine, honest - who gave the girls two small soft toys he had spare. Sweet.
Meanwhile, Tom picked the short straw and got to visit the Social Security Office (quite quick today) after having picked up two rather fabulous new phones. As I said, we were using horse and cart phones so neither of us is really sure quite how fab these phones are - abnormally so or run of the mill, who can tell. We're a bit like medieval peasants presented with a Ferrari - we're in awe. And did I mention mine is pink? Subtly so, but still pink.
After that, he visited the property agent and was told we were accepted as tenants, so we have paid the deposit and first month's rent and are picking up the keys tomorrow! We did have our first hitch which is that the school which we were told on Tuesday had two places for the girls, now only has room for our seven-year-old. And we had really liked it and it was convenient for us. But no rush. We can wait and judging by the list of schools Tom got from the SFUSD available places change quickly so once we are settled, we should be able to move fast to get what we want.
Right now we have to think about furniture and crockery and cutlery and curtains and and and.
IKEA here we come.
01 November, 2009
The journey: part two
A huge plus as a result of the closure of the Bay Bridge is that our arrival in San Francisco was via Marin county and the Golden Gate Bridge. Somehow it seems terribly appropriate to drive into SF on that bridge and it utterly lived up to expectations. Today was a glorious sunny day with not a cloud in the sky. This may happen a lot round here and doubtless I will get bored by the good weather but right now, WOW! Not a cloud in the sky and it is a very big sky.
How utterly fabulous is this? Oh all right, the picture is rubbish but you get the idea.
Oh and an afterthought. A picture of our lives packed in the back of the truck.
That's it. There is an awful lot of shopping to be done in the next few weeks. Let's hope chair choices aren't as difficult as mayonnaise or orange juice.
How utterly fabulous is this? Oh all right, the picture is rubbish but you get the idea.
Oh and an afterthought. A picture of our lives packed in the back of the truck.
That's it. There is an awful lot of shopping to be done in the next few weeks. Let's hope chair choices aren't as difficult as mayonnaise or orange juice.
The journey: part one
I finally feel awake and alive enough to write about our journey here which was long, not fortunately hugely eventful and very very tiring.
So on Friday morning at 6 am we woke and got ready for the drive to Heathrow. Goodbyes were quick and minimal at that hour which I think probably suited me and my mother. Best not to dwell on the distance we were travelling or for how long. We had an easy ride to the airport - Terminal 5 which was handsome enough but mostly filled with lots of opportunities to buy the same designer stuff over and over again. I did splurge on some expensive moisturiser and endured the snooty assistant's horrified gaze at my un-made-up cold-filled up-since-six face as she said in hopeless tones "are you sure there isn't anything I else I can do for you (unsaid addendum "because you need all the help you can get")?". I'm always amazed by how put together some people are at airports. There was an unbelievably ritzy couple checking baggage in just ahead of us. All designer bling bags, highlights, plucked and shaped eyebrows, and that was just the man. I am not like this. Not when flying or indeed ever.
So then we got the plane - four seats together in the middle so no chance of a view either side. Seats were fine but the whole experience was like being put into a large box, shaken about for hours and discharged exhausted at the other end. No sense of a journey or the earth passing beneath. The girls were fine. They are good and quiet and quite static so didn't jump about or shout. Neighbours were probably grateful.
US Immigration was also fine. But God did it take a long time. There were several flights arriving at once. We had two small and by this time completely exhausted children and had to stand in a queue for at least an hour. By the time we had cleared somehow everybody else had vanished and the immigration staff were going off shift. We were the last to leave the building. Not that there was a problem - it just took a very long time. Once through customs we were met by Tom's very charming boss. We've been staying with him and his family for the last two nights in Berkeley. Before that could begin though, we had to get there and forces were against us as the Bay Bridge is closed after a couple of tonnes of metal landed on the freeway (no one seriously hurt). So that was another three hours, though by this stage we were such basketcases that we didn't really notice.
Since then we've been doing battle with jetlag. If we didn't have children we'd be fine but just as we think we're doing all right, one of them (okay Lottie) wakes up at 3 and requires attention and that's it, you're thrown all over again.
to be continued...
So on Friday morning at 6 am we woke and got ready for the drive to Heathrow. Goodbyes were quick and minimal at that hour which I think probably suited me and my mother. Best not to dwell on the distance we were travelling or for how long. We had an easy ride to the airport - Terminal 5 which was handsome enough but mostly filled with lots of opportunities to buy the same designer stuff over and over again. I did splurge on some expensive moisturiser and endured the snooty assistant's horrified gaze at my un-made-up cold-filled up-since-six face as she said in hopeless tones "are you sure there isn't anything I else I can do for you (unsaid addendum "because you need all the help you can get")?". I'm always amazed by how put together some people are at airports. There was an unbelievably ritzy couple checking baggage in just ahead of us. All designer bling bags, highlights, plucked and shaped eyebrows, and that was just the man. I am not like this. Not when flying or indeed ever.
So then we got the plane - four seats together in the middle so no chance of a view either side. Seats were fine but the whole experience was like being put into a large box, shaken about for hours and discharged exhausted at the other end. No sense of a journey or the earth passing beneath. The girls were fine. They are good and quiet and quite static so didn't jump about or shout. Neighbours were probably grateful.
US Immigration was also fine. But God did it take a long time. There were several flights arriving at once. We had two small and by this time completely exhausted children and had to stand in a queue for at least an hour. By the time we had cleared somehow everybody else had vanished and the immigration staff were going off shift. We were the last to leave the building. Not that there was a problem - it just took a very long time. Once through customs we were met by Tom's very charming boss. We've been staying with him and his family for the last two nights in Berkeley. Before that could begin though, we had to get there and forces were against us as the Bay Bridge is closed after a couple of tonnes of metal landed on the freeway (no one seriously hurt). So that was another three hours, though by this stage we were such basketcases that we didn't really notice.
Since then we've been doing battle with jetlag. If we didn't have children we'd be fine but just as we think we're doing all right, one of them (okay Lottie) wakes up at 3 and requires attention and that's it, you're thrown all over again.
to be continued...
26 October, 2009
Goodbyes
As of this morning, I am homeless and in transit. Many goodbyes have been said over the last few days, several rather tearful and mostly involving my tears. I hate saying goodbye and I think in some ways I have only just come to realize what good friends we had made and how settled we had become in Wales. There is doubtless some cliché about only knowing what you've got when it's gone, or is that a Joni Mitchell song? Anyway our Welsh adventure isn't over - we will come back.
Also I am very grateful. Grateful to our friends and family who looked after the girls while we packed, moved and cleaned, and who fed and watered us at the end of frustrating days, to friends who took lots of stuff, to the friends who brought Bollinger to our party which we saved for our last evening and went down very well.
Memorable moments of the last week or so were in no particular order:
Being given a little book of autographs collected by school friends of the girls, a handmade card delivered by a tearful mum, and a calendar with pictures of our home in Wales from our wonderful landlords.
The girls' parents' evenings - they are apparently quiet, bright and lovely and it's not just me saying that.
Almost divorcing halfway down the stone steps carrying a very large kitchen cupboard.
Arriving outside the storage facility the second time in a day to find it shut. Then the owner driving down specially to let us in.
Seeing a red kite hovering over the Brecon Recycling centre as I sorted yet more unwanted shoes.
Delicious sausages from a pig I met once, and goodbye hugs from all of the lovely pig-owning family.
Finishing up the house before we left and discovering some plates were still in the dishwasher.
The drive to Brecon and back this morning. Wales put on a stunning autumnal show of blue skies, dark mountains and leaves in every shade of gold, red and orange.
Not being able to fit all the suitcases in the car with all of the family. Two travelled by train. We think we can get to the airport all right and apparently we don't have too much for our flight but we definitely have too much for our car.
Realizing I'd left my laptop at my cousin's house. And I shall leave it at that. I need a drink.
Also I am very grateful. Grateful to our friends and family who looked after the girls while we packed, moved and cleaned, and who fed and watered us at the end of frustrating days, to friends who took lots of stuff, to the friends who brought Bollinger to our party which we saved for our last evening and went down very well.
Memorable moments of the last week or so were in no particular order:
Being given a little book of autographs collected by school friends of the girls, a handmade card delivered by a tearful mum, and a calendar with pictures of our home in Wales from our wonderful landlords.
The girls' parents' evenings - they are apparently quiet, bright and lovely and it's not just me saying that.
Almost divorcing halfway down the stone steps carrying a very large kitchen cupboard.
Arriving outside the storage facility the second time in a day to find it shut. Then the owner driving down specially to let us in.
Seeing a red kite hovering over the Brecon Recycling centre as I sorted yet more unwanted shoes.
Delicious sausages from a pig I met once, and goodbye hugs from all of the lovely pig-owning family.
Finishing up the house before we left and discovering some plates were still in the dishwasher.
The drive to Brecon and back this morning. Wales put on a stunning autumnal show of blue skies, dark mountains and leaves in every shade of gold, red and orange.
Not being able to fit all the suitcases in the car with all of the family. Two travelled by train. We think we can get to the airport all right and apparently we don't have too much for our flight but we definitely have too much for our car.
Realizing I'd left my laptop at my cousin's house. And I shall leave it at that. I need a drink.
19 October, 2009
BT - does anyone have a good experience of them these days?
Bloody bloody BT. I phoned up this morning to book the cancellation of our phone for next Monday. All seemed to go well, I was assured that it would finish next Monday morning, on the 26th October. And then I found I couldn't make any outgoing calls. So I rang them and it turns out they've already cut us off. Apparently this happens in stages so I can't make or receive calls but hopefully I can complain about them virulently on my blog, twitter and any other site I can think of!
Oh, I tried to get the order cancelled/changed to next Monday but apparently once they start something, like an unstoppable juggernaut, they can't stop. So the only way to get a phone line back would be to put a new order for a new line in, possibly taking 3 working days, and best of all, a different phone number. My language wasn't pleasant. Tom's also stretched itself to the limits of politeness. We've decided there's not much point in waiting three days to have a line for a further two. So it's down to mobiles and hot desking at the neighbours for the rest of the week.
Those of you who have read the blog for a while will know the problems we had when we moved in. Which leads me to ask does anyone in Britain have a good experience with British Telecom or are they just uniformly useless? Really, I'd like to know.
Oh, I tried to get the order cancelled/changed to next Monday but apparently once they start something, like an unstoppable juggernaut, they can't stop. So the only way to get a phone line back would be to put a new order for a new line in, possibly taking 3 working days, and best of all, a different phone number. My language wasn't pleasant. Tom's also stretched itself to the limits of politeness. We've decided there's not much point in waiting three days to have a line for a further two. So it's down to mobiles and hot desking at the neighbours for the rest of the week.
Those of you who have read the blog for a while will know the problems we had when we moved in. Which leads me to ask does anyone in Britain have a good experience with British Telecom or are they just uniformly useless? Really, I'd like to know.
16 October, 2009
Banking - and how I feel a bit smug
One of the things that Tom and I have been stressing about is how to access our money once we're in the US. I've heard horror stories of people waiting six months before they can open an account, and I suspected that we might have to jump through some tricky hoops - like needing a Social Security Number, an address, some utility bills - before an account was ours, and some of this is a bit chicken and egg. How do you rent a house if you can't pay your deposit because you haven't got access to a bank account, etc.
And then, while carrying out my usual displacement activity avoiding packing, I checked what banks actually exist in California and I recognised one of the names on the list. HSBC. I don't or at least I didn't bank with them. But I did vaguely recall an advert about a family giving up fish for a lizard or something and the slogan "the world's local bank". Well, not that this is meant to be an endorsement of a bank (heaven forbid!), but they have been efficient and organized and we now have a British bank account with them, and rather more usefully, an American bank account. Two weeks before we get there. No cards have appeared yet, but I have enough information to transfer funds. So my tip if you're moving from the UK to pretty much anywhere - check if HSBC has branches there. They may be able to help.
A big thank you to Hannah in Abergavenny and Erica in the US office. This is one less thing to worry about (oh no I'm starting to sound like an advert...).
And then, while carrying out my usual displacement activity avoiding packing, I checked what banks actually exist in California and I recognised one of the names on the list. HSBC. I don't or at least I didn't bank with them. But I did vaguely recall an advert about a family giving up fish for a lizard or something and the slogan "the world's local bank". Well, not that this is meant to be an endorsement of a bank (heaven forbid!), but they have been efficient and organized and we now have a British bank account with them, and rather more usefully, an American bank account. Two weeks before we get there. No cards have appeared yet, but I have enough information to transfer funds. So my tip if you're moving from the UK to pretty much anywhere - check if HSBC has branches there. They may be able to help.
A big thank you to Hannah in Abergavenny and Erica in the US office. This is one less thing to worry about (oh no I'm starting to sound like an advert...).
I've never seen so many golf clubs
Today was day one of the move and our first destination after we'd collected the unfeasibly long transit van, was the dump in Brecon. Or rather the recycling facility. And I really really wish I'd taken my camera. It was completely fascinating. There were sections for every conceivable type of rubbish - soil, cardboard, rubble, bottles, plastic bottles, yoghurt pots, computers and televisions, paper, and shredded paper. And then there was the shop. I assume they were selling stuff though clearly not for a lot. In this section you could pick up a whole house worth's of furniture, a hairdresser's worth of mirrors and a golf tournament's worth of clubs. We left lots of things that probably won't be sold on. And lots of old computer equipment which might be eventually. Who knows.
I could have spent all day there but sadly my destiny was elsewhere. Specifically I seem to have spent a lot of time in our lane shouting very very loudly and aggressively at Tom. Which if you know Tom will be a surprise. My excuse is that he was manoeuvring the tank-like van into our drive way and out again which is not easy and has been known to defeat real-life van drivers. We then loaded it with what seemed like a lot of stuff, drove very slowly round lots of roundabouts waiting for the sound of crashes from the back and then unloaded it into the container, at which point we realised it wasn't that much stuff in the first place.
This evening, after collecting two very tired and partied out girls, we ate fish and chips, drank beer and I will be heading to bed very soon. Tom is still doing battle with some tax forms, more fool him!
I could have spent all day there but sadly my destiny was elsewhere. Specifically I seem to have spent a lot of time in our lane shouting very very loudly and aggressively at Tom. Which if you know Tom will be a surprise. My excuse is that he was manoeuvring the tank-like van into our drive way and out again which is not easy and has been known to defeat real-life van drivers. We then loaded it with what seemed like a lot of stuff, drove very slowly round lots of roundabouts waiting for the sound of crashes from the back and then unloaded it into the container, at which point we realised it wasn't that much stuff in the first place.
This evening, after collecting two very tired and partied out girls, we ate fish and chips, drank beer and I will be heading to bed very soon. Tom is still doing battle with some tax forms, more fool him!
15 October, 2009
Woman with a van
Tomorrow is our first day of moving. We've had lots of other people taking stuff - mostly lightweight - but tomorrow Tom and I are hoping to shift a lot into our storage container. I haven't done this kind of moving for nearly ten years and I seem to remember that last time it nearly killed me, so it would be fair to say that I'm not entirely looking forward to this. Why are we subjecting ourselves to this ordeal? Well, it just seems to make sense this time to ensure that we are putting stuff in storage we want, that we're getting rid of our rubbish and I suppose we just about have the time to do it though the last part is feeling less and less like the case. Plus I think I may actually be better at packing and sorting than was my last removals company.
Meanwhile, we're in that odd limbo where we're almost out of here, but still carrying on with the daily routine. So Brownies, swimming lessons and this morning, a school assembly, have all been on the agenda. The assembly was lovely, and my shy and quiet daughter read her own poem out nice and loud which is more than I would have managed at her age. I also answered a question (yes, the headmaster made sure that parents had been listening by asking questions!) on Henry VIII (how many wives?) which was a little easy for me as I specialized in the 16th century at university, but I wasn't telling. Still can't resist being a class swot!
Meanwhile, we're in that odd limbo where we're almost out of here, but still carrying on with the daily routine. So Brownies, swimming lessons and this morning, a school assembly, have all been on the agenda. The assembly was lovely, and my shy and quiet daughter read her own poem out nice and loud which is more than I would have managed at her age. I also answered a question (yes, the headmaster made sure that parents had been listening by asking questions!) on Henry VIII (how many wives?) which was a little easy for me as I specialized in the 16th century at university, but I wasn't telling. Still can't resist being a class swot!
12 October, 2009
Free stuff: the pleasure in giving
I'm rather enjoying getting rid of our stuff. We've sold some things - books, a bike or two of the girls - but mostly at the moment we're giving things away (note to W. but not that particular painting). A lot is going to friends and family and it's lovely to think of our stuff finding homes all over the Usk valley and beyond. People have been leaving our barn with car loads. The funniest was probably a friend who spent the entire time she loaded the car with our stuff, telling me how she really must start clearing out her house. And then there was the husband or two who clearly hadn't been included in the decision-making process and found lots more stuff had appeared when they got home from work. While I know giving does wonderful things to your mood and soul and what have you, mainly I'm just glad to see space appearing in the house. People are being told they can do what they want with our former stuff, as long as it doesn't come back to us (apart from that painting, W. ...).
06 October, 2009
Life, don't talk to me about life...
Actually I'm not as miserable as Marvin (paranoid android, brain size of a planet etc.) but I am exhausted. So far today, I've dragged myself out of bed (briefly horrified by the bags under my eyes), shouted at children who were squabbling over knickers, and headed off in the rain to Cwmbran and a self-storage facility.
We are now the proud renters of a container and will be attempting to fit our belongings into it in the next couple of weeks. Self-storage sites aren't particularly interesting or cheerful and nor was the girl at the reception desk. I'm not sure what I was expecting. You can't see anything, just row after row of dull looking container. But they are lined and raised off the ground and it looks all right. Frankly, I am getting to the stage where I'm past caring.
Meanwhile, we were surprised at how much the garage has offered for our car. Not a huge amount but much more than I thought it would be worth. My advice to those looking to retain value in their car is not to drive it. I think our low mileage helped a lot. Of course that does rather defeat the purpose of having the car but still.
And we're mid panic because we have prospective tenants coming to visit the house on Friday. The place is all disorder and underneath the disorder, dust and dirt. I am trying to be philosophical and my lovely landlords have said not to get in a tizz about it, but I can't really help it. It is rather kick-starting me into action to rid the house of huge quantities of clutter. Yesterday, I chucked about 8 bags of unwanted clothing into the clothes bank at the car park, as well as offloading loads of mixing bowls, a filing cabinet, some vases and some baskets to a friend. I have two forms of freecycle going at the moment - a private group of friends, now known as the gannets in this house (don't take offence if you're reading this! it is meant affectionately) and the real freecycle who are getting anything the gannets haven't had first.
We have also sold a load of books to the local second-hand bookshop and are hoping to get some other furniture taken away very soon. By the time we're ready to leave, we'll be taking it in turns to sit on one chair in the middle of an empty house, eating chinese takeaway!
We are now the proud renters of a container and will be attempting to fit our belongings into it in the next couple of weeks. Self-storage sites aren't particularly interesting or cheerful and nor was the girl at the reception desk. I'm not sure what I was expecting. You can't see anything, just row after row of dull looking container. But they are lined and raised off the ground and it looks all right. Frankly, I am getting to the stage where I'm past caring.
Meanwhile, we were surprised at how much the garage has offered for our car. Not a huge amount but much more than I thought it would be worth. My advice to those looking to retain value in their car is not to drive it. I think our low mileage helped a lot. Of course that does rather defeat the purpose of having the car but still.
And we're mid panic because we have prospective tenants coming to visit the house on Friday. The place is all disorder and underneath the disorder, dust and dirt. I am trying to be philosophical and my lovely landlords have said not to get in a tizz about it, but I can't really help it. It is rather kick-starting me into action to rid the house of huge quantities of clutter. Yesterday, I chucked about 8 bags of unwanted clothing into the clothes bank at the car park, as well as offloading loads of mixing bowls, a filing cabinet, some vases and some baskets to a friend. I have two forms of freecycle going at the moment - a private group of friends, now known as the gannets in this house (don't take offence if you're reading this! it is meant affectionately) and the real freecycle who are getting anything the gannets haven't had first.
We have also sold a load of books to the local second-hand bookshop and are hoping to get some other furniture taken away very soon. By the time we're ready to leave, we'll be taking it in turns to sit on one chair in the middle of an empty house, eating chinese takeaway!
02 October, 2009
Following in footsteps
When I'm not packing boxes, donating objects to friends or shredding long out of date documents I have time to think about the forthcoming move. People ask if I'm excited and I am but I'm also a bit overwhelmed. San Francisco is a very long way from home. And family and friends.
But I remind myself that it's a lot closer than it used to be. I come from a family of travellers. For generations they have been leaving their homes to spend some time in far flung corners of the world. My great-grandmother was born in France and moved to London when she married, leaving her family in Havre. Reading her diaries I am struck at how she treated the Channel like a river to cross, which she did sometimes several times a year (this in the early years of the 20th century). She went to America, Africa and India in her life, all by ship on long slow journeys but as far as I can judge she was entirely undaunted by this. She communicated by letter and wire.
My grandfather spent the 1930s in India, leaving everyone he knew to go to Calcutta for work. The journey took 6 weeks by ship, so letters were slow to come and you can't say much in a telegram.
My mother went to live in Germany with my father during the mid-1960s. And though you could fly by then and telephone, you still had to go through the international operator to make a call. Her relatives congratulated her on my birth there by letter.
So now here we are with Skype, and chat, and blogs, and Twitter and Facebook. People respond so fast, Tom can watch Emilia blow her candles out from California to Hampshire. It takes 10 and a half hours to fly to San Francisco, not several weeks by ship. It is a long way but I will be able to call my mother and what is more see her. Who thought that would happen? How very Star Trek (and I mean the Shatner/Nimoy version).
But I remind myself that it's a lot closer than it used to be. I come from a family of travellers. For generations they have been leaving their homes to spend some time in far flung corners of the world. My great-grandmother was born in France and moved to London when she married, leaving her family in Havre. Reading her diaries I am struck at how she treated the Channel like a river to cross, which she did sometimes several times a year (this in the early years of the 20th century). She went to America, Africa and India in her life, all by ship on long slow journeys but as far as I can judge she was entirely undaunted by this. She communicated by letter and wire.
My grandfather spent the 1930s in India, leaving everyone he knew to go to Calcutta for work. The journey took 6 weeks by ship, so letters were slow to come and you can't say much in a telegram.
My mother went to live in Germany with my father during the mid-1960s. And though you could fly by then and telephone, you still had to go through the international operator to make a call. Her relatives congratulated her on my birth there by letter.
So now here we are with Skype, and chat, and blogs, and Twitter and Facebook. People respond so fast, Tom can watch Emilia blow her candles out from California to Hampshire. It takes 10 and a half hours to fly to San Francisco, not several weeks by ship. It is a long way but I will be able to call my mother and what is more see her. Who thought that would happen? How very Star Trek (and I mean the Shatner/Nimoy version).
24 September, 2009
Editing my life - and my cookery books
What are the essentials of your life? In terms of things that is. Objects you absolutely need to have with you. Actually that's an exaggeration as I'm not planning some survival experience a la Bear Grylls in San Francisco. In fact in some ways life should be a little more civilized than here in rural Wales where manure, chicken poo and wellies feature regularly.
The thing is that we're not shipping anything. We're taking suitcases and arriving and making our new home from scratch or in fact Ikea which rather handily also exists on the other side of the Atlantic. But I can't bear not having any cookery books with me. Partly because they are my favourite books and partly because I know the American ones will be all cups and therefore a bugger to use.
Anyway I've managed to edit my collection - 70 books and rising - to three. It was ten but they were all huge and heavy. So now it's three and only one is huge and heavy. The winners in the competition for which cookery books get to cross the Atlantic are in no particular order:
Elizabeth David's French Provincial Cookery - because you have to have one David and this is the best and most used and wonderful to read. Oh and smallish in paperback.
Darina Allen's Ballymaloe Cookery Course - not because it is my favourite. It is great but I use others more. But it's comprehensive and educational so should come up with something most days.
and
Edouard de Pomiane's Cooking in Ten Minutes - because it is new to me, tiny, funny and my uncle who is reigning champion cook in our family of cooks loves it.
Sorry to all the other entrants. I shall miss you and will no doubt buy lots of future companions.
The thing is that we're not shipping anything. We're taking suitcases and arriving and making our new home from scratch or in fact Ikea which rather handily also exists on the other side of the Atlantic. But I can't bear not having any cookery books with me. Partly because they are my favourite books and partly because I know the American ones will be all cups and therefore a bugger to use.
Anyway I've managed to edit my collection - 70 books and rising - to three. It was ten but they were all huge and heavy. So now it's three and only one is huge and heavy. The winners in the competition for which cookery books get to cross the Atlantic are in no particular order:
Elizabeth David's French Provincial Cookery - because you have to have one David and this is the best and most used and wonderful to read. Oh and smallish in paperback.
Darina Allen's Ballymaloe Cookery Course - not because it is my favourite. It is great but I use others more. But it's comprehensive and educational so should come up with something most days.
and
Edouard de Pomiane's Cooking in Ten Minutes - because it is new to me, tiny, funny and my uncle who is reigning champion cook in our family of cooks loves it.
Sorry to all the other entrants. I shall miss you and will no doubt buy lots of future companions.
23 September, 2009
What would you do?
I have touched on this vaguely before but thought it would be worth going into a bit more detail. The visa I've been given as Tom's wife for the United States doesn't permit me to work there. In fact in some states in the US it makes it difficult to get a driving licence or bank account but let's not go into the oddities of the H4 status here. Or the fact that an American citizen coming as a spouse could work here.
What I do know is that I'm not allowed a Social Security Number and therefore that I can't work. Of course I haven't done a paid job for some time now, not since the children were born. They came at a natural break in my then career in academic publishing and somehow it just didn't feel right to go back. That's not a judgment on other women's choices; everyone has to do what works for them and what they want for their family. We are in the lucky position of not needing an additional income and so far I think the children have benefited from having a mother at home for them. Of course it's often bored the pants off me, but I have also enjoyed having time with them.
This January when Lottie started at full-time school nursery, I briefly started looking around at what next for me. A return to education or work? What could I do here in Wales with the rest of my life?
Then of course the American option came up and we were thrust into limbo for the next seven months, and now I know that I won't be working or being a full-time student for at least the next three years.
So what should I do? Especially as gardening and chickens are unlikely to be as available in a two-bedroom apartment in San Francisco.
So far my ideas run as follows:
A cookery course/s to turn from a competent self-taught cook into an accomplished knife flashing, sauce making cook
Learn Spanish and brush up my sadly ropey French
Explore digital photography in more depth than taking snaps for fun
Take a writing course of some kind
Volunteer at a community garden scheme
This is of course in addition to helping out at school which appears to be obligatory and hard to escape in the US (aren't I keen!), housework (which ought to be obligatory but somehow always gets forgotten) and exercise (which may involve a lot of hills so I'm already worrying about my knees).
What would you do?
What I do know is that I'm not allowed a Social Security Number and therefore that I can't work. Of course I haven't done a paid job for some time now, not since the children were born. They came at a natural break in my then career in academic publishing and somehow it just didn't feel right to go back. That's not a judgment on other women's choices; everyone has to do what works for them and what they want for their family. We are in the lucky position of not needing an additional income and so far I think the children have benefited from having a mother at home for them. Of course it's often bored the pants off me, but I have also enjoyed having time with them.
This January when Lottie started at full-time school nursery, I briefly started looking around at what next for me. A return to education or work? What could I do here in Wales with the rest of my life?
Then of course the American option came up and we were thrust into limbo for the next seven months, and now I know that I won't be working or being a full-time student for at least the next three years.
So what should I do? Especially as gardening and chickens are unlikely to be as available in a two-bedroom apartment in San Francisco.
So far my ideas run as follows:
A cookery course/s to turn from a competent self-taught cook into an accomplished knife flashing, sauce making cook
Learn Spanish and brush up my sadly ropey French
Explore digital photography in more depth than taking snaps for fun
Take a writing course of some kind
Volunteer at a community garden scheme
This is of course in addition to helping out at school which appears to be obligatory and hard to escape in the US (aren't I keen!), housework (which ought to be obligatory but somehow always gets forgotten) and exercise (which may involve a lot of hills so I'm already worrying about my knees).
What would you do?
22 September, 2009
Stuff and nonsense
We are now fully engaged in the decluttering, junking and packing phase of the move. And it is horrible. And salutary. We have too much stuff. Stuff in cupboards that's not been looked at for years. Stuff on kitchen shelves that is never used but looks pretty and makes me think I'm a varied cook and adventurous. Books that have been read and will not be again, and books that were bought and will never be read. The complete works of two overactive artists aged under 7, which if thrown out in their sight is seen as an indication that we don't really love them. Balls of wool never knitted up. Bolts of cloth never sewn. Toys not played with for months if not years. Old computers, old cameras.
Too much bloody stuff.
It is both emotional and strangely liberating to get rid of things. You face up to life, look it in the eye and say "I was lousy at dressmaking and I hated it so why the hell do I have all this cloth". Or "realistically now we've gone digital will I ever use a film camera again?". Or "I know Grandpa read the complete Decline and Fall by Gibbon but am I going to? No I am not".
Too much bloody stuff.
It is both emotional and strangely liberating to get rid of things. You face up to life, look it in the eye and say "I was lousy at dressmaking and I hated it so why the hell do I have all this cloth". Or "realistically now we've gone digital will I ever use a film camera again?". Or "I know Grandpa read the complete Decline and Fall by Gibbon but am I going to? No I am not".
11 September, 2009
Flowers in my hair
So now I'm getting excited. When I'm not pondering the schooling problem/challenge. Then I get panicky.
I think I've spent more time this week "in" San Francisco than Wales. So here in no particular order are some thoughts.
How the hell will we get used to living in an apartment after two years in a barn?
Should I take the girls' Welsh costumes or will the Americans think that they are Puritans from Salem? (I wasn't planning on sending them to school dressed like that - just dressing up purposes. Oh and maybe St David's Day for tradition's sake and the ritual humiliation of infants.)
How the hell will we fit what little we are going to take into our suitcases?
Am I really prepared to go back to urban life after two years on a Welsh mountain?
Why is that every person I mention where we're going to, immediately tells me what a fabulous place it is, and how they loved it? Has everyone been except me? Seriously, I swear, I could be addressing a Welsh farmer in boots with his hand up a sheep's bum and he'd still tell me how cool the Mission district was.
How bad is the fog? Really. Because so many people mention it. But then a lot of people mention it raining in San Francisco and I checked. It does. But only half as much as in Wales. It really rains A LOT in Wales.
TBC
I think I've spent more time this week "in" San Francisco than Wales. So here in no particular order are some thoughts.
How the hell will we get used to living in an apartment after two years in a barn?
Should I take the girls' Welsh costumes or will the Americans think that they are Puritans from Salem? (I wasn't planning on sending them to school dressed like that - just dressing up purposes. Oh and maybe St David's Day for tradition's sake and the ritual humiliation of infants.)
How the hell will we fit what little we are going to take into our suitcases?
Am I really prepared to go back to urban life after two years on a Welsh mountain?
Why is that every person I mention where we're going to, immediately tells me what a fabulous place it is, and how they loved it? Has everyone been except me? Seriously, I swear, I could be addressing a Welsh farmer in boots with his hand up a sheep's bum and he'd still tell me how cool the Mission district was.
How bad is the fog? Really. Because so many people mention it. But then a lot of people mention it raining in San Francisco and I checked. It does. But only half as much as in Wales. It really rains A LOT in Wales.
TBC
The move: my current obsession
Sojourn: to dwell or live in a place as a temporary resident or as a stranger, not considering the place as a permanent habitation
I'm not doing what I should which is sort this very large and cluttered house ready for the move.
No. I'm spending my days obsessing about which bits of the Bay Area we might want to live in, how we want to live, where the children can go to school, how long a commute Tom will have and so on.
Actually, it's quite an interesting process if not for you, then certainly for us. And it's made us both reconsider what we are planning to get out of this sojourn in the States.
Now I know you all know me as a barn-dwelling, jam-making, chicken-chasing, veg-growing greenie currently residing in the glorious and under-populated Usk Valley in Wales. But not so long ago I was an inner city working girl, catching the Routemaster to work from leftie, trendy Stoke Newington to my publishing job in the centre of London. And now I'm trying to work out what is best for this family, what we will get the most out of in three or so years in the Bay Area. It is a sojourn - we're not planning to stay. We may fall in love with California - I'm certainly hoping to have a fabulous time - but we have family here and we love these hills and we love our own country. So for the moment, this is a sojourn, and that means that we should aim to get as much out of it, to play with ways of living and explore a new way of life, as much as we can. We should, I think, embrace this opportunity to try things we don't have in our green valley.
We started out looking at the suburbs on the grounds that Tom could get to work easily, and the schools were good. But I can't work out there, and frankly I was worrying that I would find myself trapped during the day in an area that didn't inspire me. So then we considered the East Bay and Oakland but after several people did that builder thing where you shake your head and whistle through your teeth, and then others told us Tom would spend more time on the freeway than at home, we decided that wouldn't work. So now we're thinking we might live in San Francisco itself and try to be one of those small apartment urban chic families that you see in big cities.
Each option has its ups. The suburbs mean a good commute, good schools, a safe neighbourhood, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like it. Oakland/Berkeley borders could mean good schools, the area is much more interesting and there is public transport but the commute would be hell and Oakland has a reputation for being dangerous (hence the teeth whistling). And San Francisco? Commute is certainly doable and there might even be the option of public transport to work. The city is very interesting, walkable, has public transport. But the schools are a mixed bag. In fact by asking another blogger for some advice, I've started a whole train of comments full of conflicting advice.
We still don't know what the answer is but I think we're narrowing it down, and lots of people are helping us with advice and information.
And with that, I'm off to clean out the chickens.
I'm not doing what I should which is sort this very large and cluttered house ready for the move.
No. I'm spending my days obsessing about which bits of the Bay Area we might want to live in, how we want to live, where the children can go to school, how long a commute Tom will have and so on.
Actually, it's quite an interesting process if not for you, then certainly for us. And it's made us both reconsider what we are planning to get out of this sojourn in the States.
Now I know you all know me as a barn-dwelling, jam-making, chicken-chasing, veg-growing greenie currently residing in the glorious and under-populated Usk Valley in Wales. But not so long ago I was an inner city working girl, catching the Routemaster to work from leftie, trendy Stoke Newington to my publishing job in the centre of London. And now I'm trying to work out what is best for this family, what we will get the most out of in three or so years in the Bay Area. It is a sojourn - we're not planning to stay. We may fall in love with California - I'm certainly hoping to have a fabulous time - but we have family here and we love these hills and we love our own country. So for the moment, this is a sojourn, and that means that we should aim to get as much out of it, to play with ways of living and explore a new way of life, as much as we can. We should, I think, embrace this opportunity to try things we don't have in our green valley.
We started out looking at the suburbs on the grounds that Tom could get to work easily, and the schools were good. But I can't work out there, and frankly I was worrying that I would find myself trapped during the day in an area that didn't inspire me. So then we considered the East Bay and Oakland but after several people did that builder thing where you shake your head and whistle through your teeth, and then others told us Tom would spend more time on the freeway than at home, we decided that wouldn't work. So now we're thinking we might live in San Francisco itself and try to be one of those small apartment urban chic families that you see in big cities.
Each option has its ups. The suburbs mean a good commute, good schools, a safe neighbourhood, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like it. Oakland/Berkeley borders could mean good schools, the area is much more interesting and there is public transport but the commute would be hell and Oakland has a reputation for being dangerous (hence the teeth whistling). And San Francisco? Commute is certainly doable and there might even be the option of public transport to work. The city is very interesting, walkable, has public transport. But the schools are a mixed bag. In fact by asking another blogger for some advice, I've started a whole train of comments full of conflicting advice.
We still don't know what the answer is but I think we're narrowing it down, and lots of people are helping us with advice and information.
And with that, I'm off to clean out the chickens.
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