Tales of the Emergency room

So the other night, a dear friend of ours had to be taken to hospital in an ambulance. I'll pause right here to say that she's fine and it was nothing deeply traumatic. She's back to work, keeping calm and carrying on. :)
But I felt that this was worth blogging about as it was most definitely a night of drama. I shall skip to getting into the ambulance and draw a privacy curtain around the events that led us there. I've never ridden in an ambulance before so that was actually kind of fun. My friend's husband also accompanied us and a former UK soldier now paramedic was asking questions.
It didn't take long for him to realize I was American, largely as I was being more direct in answering the questions than my very British friends.
"As you can see, we're not racing to the hospital, so we're not overly concerned" he pointed out. Ah, that's why the siren wasn't going. My friend's husband and I exchanged the first of many ironic looks for the evening.
We arrived at the hospital and my friend was wheeled into the emergency receiving ward and the paramedics discussed the situation with the person on duty. Eventually it became clear that there was a shortage of wheelchairs and one doesn't use gurneys from the ambulance in the hospital. Ah. Could my friend walk down to the trauma ward? My friend who had had a few balance issues? Oh sure. She was behaving with typical Britishness--of course, it was fine, she'd be fine, no problem--while I was internally dropping my jaw on the floor. Sure, yeah we'll just walk down badly marked and under construction hallways with her. No problem my eyeball. But we did make it to the trauma waiting room so we could see a nurse. Who wasn't there yet. The trauma/triage nurse wasn't there. Of course.  We sank down upon the bright red and blue PLASTIC chairs in the tiny room. Overhead, a light flickered. I exchanged another ironic glance with the husband. This could be very very long. My friend expressed this thought as well. The junkie across from us, unabashedly listening in, agreed. "You should have gone to Frenchay" he told us. Thank you. He plucked at a few of his guitar strings and jiggled his foot. An old gentleman in a shabby jumper wandered over to show my friend's husband a picture on his camera. This time my friend and I shared the look as the husband nodded politely. Apparently the old man had done some renovations on a home and was proud of his work. Fair enough. His teeth were the  epitome of a British stereotype.
The trauma nurse arrived 30 minutes later, in no hurry. I wondered how the bloke in the wheelchair with a clearly badly sprained ankle felt. The nurse went into a tiny room. The waiting room pretended not to care too deeply, but you could feel everyone's spines getting more painful. Finally a name was called. Not ours. My friend decided she needed the ladies'. Naturally, after hobbling along several hallways to find it (bathrooms in hospitals are stealth bathrooms for security) we discovered it was out of order. "Of course" I said. "Use the men's". She gave me a look of horror. "Oh I don't know..." "I'll stand guard" I insisted "you do what you have to." She went in and I stood outside feeling like secret service. A man wandered by and looked curiously at me. I stared him down and he looked away. Victory. We went back to the waiting room. "It's always like this. Terrible." Commented the junkie. "Frenchay is much better. Treat you better. They treat you like **** here. Do you have a cigarette?" Sorry no we didn't. "Oh well." He wandered over to the people who had just recently come in supporting a man who looked as though he'd been in a club. He rounded the corner and we didn't see him for a while. Two security guards strolled by, thumbs in their vests. Another name was called. Not ours. An overweight girl came over to the vending machine for some poor choices.
The junkie returned. "I've been here before, they just don't treat you right." He let us know. His name was Josh. He wore a cap and carried the guitar around. He didn't open his mouth all the way when he spoke. He strolled down another hallway and disappeared. A moment later, the two security guards strolled by. The friend's husband and I shared a look. Apparently, there was a connection. FINALLY, our name. My friend and her husband went in. I avoided eye contact with the old gentleman as he was impatiently wandering now as well, and I didn't much fancy conversation. I picked up the citizenship booklet I was studying and turned to the health care section. Ha. I also read about women in Britain, the legal system and other largely useless information that most Brits likely don't know. Josh wandered back in and miraculously, his name was called. I looked up. Mistake. The older man took this as a signal and came over with his camera. Ah. However, it was not as I feared. He wasn't drunk, or not much, and was a rather pleasant individual. The look he gave Josh as he went in to see the doctor was not flattering. But he proceeded to tell me about what he did ("most jobs really") whose house this was ("Brunel lived there for a while") and quizzed me on my knowledge of  Bristol history and significance. Josh came out, fussing about needing medication. Shocker. Apparently he was fine. "Frenchay would treat you better. Finally called your friends eh? The **** are terrible here. Shoulda gone to Frenchay." The old man just stared at him coldly. I pasted a weak smile on my face and nodded. Josh ambled down another corridor. The old man continued to talk to me and then his name was called. The door shut and I picked up the booklet again as the security guards returned to stroll down the same hallway Josh had disappeared into. Mhm. The light flickered. After a small eternity, my friends returned. All was well. She would have a follow up at the local GP in a few days but we could go home now. Thus, we wandered out to find the lifts to take us up to a level from which to call a taxi. My friend and I seated ourselves on the small sofa as the husband called a taxi service. A confused looking Asian lady wandered by looking for the exit. Right behind her we explained. She thanked us and went that way. Josh came by. I wasn't surprised by now, though we were now two floors up. "Always throw me out. Frenchay..." His mumblings went down the hallway. But now here were the two security guards, right on his tail. They caught up with him and they all moved toward the exit. "It's time to leave sir" they explained. Josh took up his mantra "They always throw me out. Don't treat you right, it's terrible." After further argument and our little group wondering if we would witness some interesting drama, he was escorted out. "I was looking for the exit!" He explained vehemently, "I was going!" "Yes sir." replied the security guards with straight faces. "Right out here." "I was looking for the exit!" The sounds died away outside. My friend and I looked at each other. It was after midnight and our coach was the pumpkin of a taxi, and our driver was unshaven. But we made it home. I made up the sofa bed for our friends and then went to collapse into my own with Mark. But first I had to share with him the whole drama and we chuckled in the dark.

Birthday spread

I really need to get with it. I shall attempt better discipline with the blogging. But at last, I am getting up a shot of the birthday cake I made Mark. It was blue velvet cake with a vanilla bean Swiss buttercream frosting. Sadly, forgot to take a shot after we cut it, to show the blue, but I was very happy with the results and I LOVED the real vanilla bean in the frosting. It was pretty as well as delicious. So here tis:

I also asked Mark what he'd like for dinner. We were in the 'let's make it easy and economical' mode and I had an idea from Pinterest (of course) so I made him a Dagwood sandwich. And had loads of fun doing it. Here's the battleground laid out:

And here's the completed sandwich. I wanted to go another layer, but my husband didn't feel quite up to that. :)

Five kinds of meat, three kinds of cheese and veg in between homemade bread. Yep, we both had fun. :)

Good-bye Summer, it's been grand

Once again, it has been an age since I blogged. But we've certainly packed in the events for August!! Flying to the States, toodling around the Pacific Northwest, coming back, having Mark's mum come to stay for a bit, our anniversary, and Mark's birthday! Whew! And suddenly we look up and realize that Mark heads back to school next week and tomorrow is September.
Tempus fugit. I've always known that, but every year picks up speed. They say things slow down with age. Hmmm. At the rate we're going, I'll blink and Colin will be married. So, given our every increasing velocity around the sun, I think I'd better stop and take a moment to record a few reflections.
It was glorious to soak up the States. Our trip to Cannon Beach even obliged with sunshine and our little man seemed to enjoy sitting on the sand. He didn't enjoy the cold Pacific waves, curling up like a poked anemone when we tried to dip his toes in it. But we had a fantastic time with our family and when I say 'family' I mean cousins, aunts, uncles, grandmothers--the lot. We stayed in a house on the beach that is very special to our family and I was so pleased to share it with Mark and Colin.
We whizzed through Seattle on the way home and I enjoyed the brief time in another place dear to my heart. I never get tired of the Seattle skyline and there is still a part of me that feels I have come home, every time I view it. Who knows? If Mark and I live in the US for a while, it would be nice to be there. :) Toward the end of our visit, we went up to Spokane and my dear friend Lori arranged an open house so we could see as many of my friends and former colleagues as possible. What a joy that was! I went hoarse from talking to so many people. Isn't it great that we'll have eternity to catch up with dear family and friends? Because there's just not enough time in this life!! :)
A lot of folks have asked what our favorite part of the trip was. And I'm sorry if it's cliche, but hands down, it was the family time. I just ate up time with precious friends as well and was so blessed by that, but it was the time we spent with our family that recharged our batteries and made our trip so special. It was an opportunity to make Colin real to his little cousins and I didn't get tired of watching them interact with him or him watch them in fascination.
So now we're back and in the swing of England again. And we're good with that. Because the autumn is a-comin' and things are getting cooler and I desire to make butternut squash soup and redecorate the house for a season of festivities. So I'll do that. See you in September!

Seal of Approval

I am delighted to report we are in Moscow Idaho!! It was a rather rigorous plane ride, but the disguised blessing of that was Colin deciding to sleep through the night when we landed. :) And here we are enjoying wide blue skies and the warm enriching fellowship with our family.
Colin has been meeting all his uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents and I am happy to report that they all find him cute. Or to sum it up in Amara's words "I YIKE him mom!!" She proceeded to say this numerous times to anyone who would listen and follow it with "He's super cute!" (Colin thinks Amara is super cute too. Or at least I think so. He was grabbing her hair.)
We are snapping many photos of cousins and shall post as we can. In the meantime, it's off to the beach today for Colin's first ocean experience. Yes, the irony is not lost. He lives on an island in the Atlantic but his first view of the ocean will be the Pacific coast of North America. :) We'll let you know what he thinks of sand between his toes....

It's How He Rolls

So our son is rolling everywhere lately. This is really entertaining so far, but we realize that the time is coming where we need to baby proof the house. He is capable of sitting, but is clearly impatient with it--would much rather skip to standing. So in the meantime, he prefers to roll to his chosen destinations. These are such tropical places as by the rocker, under the table, under the coffee table, or under the bar stools. And he is STEALTHY. The first we'll know about this (if we're not looking) will be a pair of feet sticking out from under the coffee table. :) Or a dissatisfied clunking because he can not roll through the bar stool. So I made sure to catalogue a few of these moves just for you all.

The smell of bacon

I know it's been too long. I keep telling myself to be more consistent in blogging. It's not that I don't have lots of thoughts. I just seem to run out of time to write them down properly. But I think I'm a little to fussy on that front--a little too pedantic. So, I'll try to keep the teacher quiet for a while and just WRITE.

Mark and I recently bought an electric griddle and I tried out its paces this morning with pancakes and bacon. And it worked beautifully and I love cooking such an American breakfast so conveniently. But as I laid 8 strips of bacon out neatly side by side and they began their lovely sizzle and pop, I was suddenly overwhelmed by memory. Grandma and Grandpa Garfield's home--bacon in the morning that Grandpa always cooked to perfection; not too chewy not too crisp. Yes we had eggs and muffins and cereal too, but you all know how dominant the smell of bacon is. I really don't know why it is that memory that came over me. I've had bacon often while in England and certainly in my lifetime. But this morning by the new griddle I was transported to Grandma and Grandpa's house 15 years ago. It was quite powerful. Standing in my English kitchen, I could FEEL  my parents and siblings at the round table behind me. I could see Grandpa cooking bacon as I was doing and I could see Grandma pulling warm muffins and buns out of the oven. And I was vaguely excited because today we are going to the beach and we'll meet up with the Shermans at Holstrums and....
I'm in England and it's Mark behind me with Colin and I'm married and I have a son. Memory is so powerful isn't it? I shared this memory with Mark and amusingly, though not as strongly, I also had a picture of the Dwarves cooking bacon in Prince Caspian and Sam making bacon and tomatoes with the Hobbits.
We all know that smell is a powerful tool for unlocking the past. I think I rank bacon in the top 5 for doing so. And I'm grateful. It was a nice way to start the morning. :)

Because we have a Creator

I'll start off with saying this is not intended to be a glorification of myself or my family. I was just reflecting on numerous things I'd seen my sisters post on facebook recently and I felt I needed to share my thoughts.
All four of us girls are very different from one another. I'm the oldest and have all the classic traits of one. :) I'm also very classic in my tastes and love elegant chic. My sister Kajsa is much more contemporary and can effortlessly fold new fashions into her repertoire. She's always had an excellent style eye and isn't afraid to try new things. (it took her years to make me try wearing purple. :))
Kathryn is the youngest and falls somewhere in between Kajsa and I in her fashion tastes. She's also the most enterprising, starting her own business and being quite successful because she is very good at knowing what other people need.
Naphtali is our sister-in-law, but is as close to us as if she was always part of the family. :) She has what I would call a very French eye for style and can somehow manage to channel Audrey Hepburn while still being modern.
But all four of us are very creative. We share a passion for creativity and it overlaps in a lot of areas and also shows our uniqueness in others. We love to bake and create beautiful and fun things for birthday parties, holidays and events. We all like to dress up for various functions, and we love to create a beautiful room.
We do this because we enjoy it and our personalities are suited to it. Be we do these things for a much deeper reason as well. We do it because we have a Creator. Because He delights in what is true, and what is good and what is beautiful.
Unfortunately, I think Christians have largely lost what that last one means in the past 150 years. We have slowly let the world erode beauty into an ugly soup of subjectivity and we have been told that only 'artists' can really help us define the beautiful. 
As Christian women though, Proverbs 31 calls us to find and develop what is beautiful-- in our appearance, in our family's appearance, in our homes and property. We can only determine beauty because our standard is the One who spoke a beautiful world into being.
This doesn't mean a home that is basically a museum or a spread in Pottery Barn. It is a home that is lived in. Messed up and cleaned up over and over. It means making a gorgeous cake that will be eaten. It means making a flower arrangement that will die. It means creating beautiful things that will not last. But that is the joy. We get to create new ones. Sure it takes work but that is the world in which we were made to live.
But I also wanted to mention one more woman in connection to this creative commonality we all have. My mom is very simple. She has simple taste in all things. Satin isn't for her. Loud colors don't appeal. Huge floral centerpieces are not her forte'. But for as long as I can remember, it was my mom who taught me to have beauty in my home. She didn't feel she could teach us which clothes to get or make up, but she did instill in us that we should be looking for beauty. And we did. I can't remember a Christmas she didn't work hard to make lovely in every way. I can't remember a time when she didn't decorate for the seasons and holidays. I can't think of a time when she didn't make our birthday cakes from scratch or sew our matching Easter dresses.
My dad is a hugely creative guy with a massive gift for painting so I'm not downplaying that. But it was my mom who gave all of us the example to follow in finding beauty in everything that we do, my dad included. :) And I know that we girls are all grateful because we all have a pattern that is set for life, founded in our Creator and nourished by our mom.
That's all. Just some thoughts as I look at all the lovely things my sisters do and as I putter around the kitchen myself.