On The Chopping Block

Suffice it to say, I won't be having my hair done at the salon where Harry just got his "trim." While it may be the style here, he looks a bit like a middle-aged man trying to hide the onset of baldness. He also looks entire too mature. I may put him in footie pajamas tonight to dull my pain.

Happy Birthday....to Me

Despite the presence of a single fork, we did SHARE the cake.

It was a birthday well-spent: an afternoon with my family at the Cambridge Botanical Garden and home later with friends (The Bean and our neighbor Gillian) for a grilled steak, some champagne and a wicked yummy chocolate cake from Patisserie Valerie.

I have nothing profound to say about getting older. But despite the growing stock of collagen creams, I feel very loved. For that I am so grateful.

Many thanks to all for the birthday wishes from afar, they meant a lot.

Mom's Night Out

I enjoyed an early birthday present: a night out with my husband. We strolled a block into town to enjoy a sushi dinner and then, on a whim, hired a punt to take us down the river at twilight, ales in hand. It was a beautiful time to see the river and a great, relaxing evening.  (Note to self: sake and ale do not mix).

Company Retreat

I have never enjoyed the NGA picnics in DC, sorry little affairs with dry burgers and nothing to entertain. So I was dubious about Friday's company picnic. My mistake. The airmen fund-raised for the event, collecting enough money to roast a whole pig (which they began, bless then, at 2 a.m.), and put up three huge moon-bounces (one of them was three stories tall with an obstacle course and a wicked fast slide that had most people sailing off into the bushes and another X-treme sports contraption that had the kids beating the snot out of some older girls who very kindly feigned injury. My hat's off to the lot of them.

Paul got special recognition as the new fish and I'm glad we could be there to hear the raucous applause. On the way home we were treated to a quintessentially British road closure that had me driving 18 miles down country lanes and through tiny villages to bypass the main artery home, which was closed.

Situation Normal

The reemergence of Thomas the Tank Engine and our craft box can only mean things are normalizing.

Boxing Day

 

It's been a long few days, made longer by a heat wave (seriously??). Our two lug-headed movers, Tony and Simon, arrived late and worked impossibly slowly, until at last they were busting with complaints and the house was busting with boxes, enough that the back entrance was blocked and the rooms were barely penetrable. Do watch the video above to see how a truck is un-crated....they actually use crowbars!

Two days later, we have emptied all but a few clothing boxes, hung the art and hired a second mover to haul away a small house full of furniture to storage.

Somehow everything arrived, but not without incident. Anything worth breaking has a missing foot (the sofa included...oi!). One lamp shade was beautifully mangled (nearly a work of art), thanks to the "spastic tea party" of a packing job, so say the goons who unpacked: boxes marked fragile were used to support a wrought-iron garden table, the glass top of which wasn't wrapped and broke. The most notable fracture is my cherished dining room table, which lost a big hunk of wood on the underside. Still, considering all the things that can go wrong with an overseas move, we got off easy (think: crate floating in the open sea, never to be seen again).

We owe many thanks to The Bean, for the helping hands and sanity check when needed most.

Seas of brown paper

The mangled lamp shade

Just a few of the broken legs

Boxes were us

Helping the dopey movers with a lengthy item list

The spastic tea party inside the truck

It is now, officially, home-sweet-home in Cambridge. Please stop by for a cuppa. We're ready!

Just the 411

Delivery has been made! A day-long affair involving two of the slowest Brits ever. The house is stuffed to the gills and we await the "Man with the Van" on Wednesday to haul the excess to storage. So now, we celebrate with champagne, delivery curry (we can't reach the stove, I just hope we can find forks) and buckle down for tomorrow's unpacking onslaught. Three cheers for feeling 'at home!'