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Here's What I'm Thankful For: An Ordinary Thursday

What I'll be doing on Thanksgiving

It's a week before Thanksgiving and what have I done to prepare? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

When I moved to England nine years ago, I quickly realized one of the best benefits was Thanksgiving. Or rather, the lack of it. It's not that I've always hated Thanksgiving, but when I found myself living in a country that doesn't celebrate the last Thursday in November as a special day of thanks feasting, I realized that I couldn't care less about celebrating the day. 

I gave up turkey long before I moved here, but I always found a suitable main dish to serve. (Here's an example.) But I'm happy not to be forced to do that every year. I'd rather reserve all that effort for Christmas, when my family are all here. 

It was a bit of a revelation for me to see people going about their normal business on that day—going to work, shopping, with all the stores open and absolutely nothing to set the holiday apart from any other day. I realized that we don't have to celebrate some made-up holiday. We too can go on about our business, or even better, find an off-season rate at a B&B or cottage for the long weekend, since my husband is one of the few who do get the day off.

Many American friends here celebrate on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, inviting both American and British friends to experience the holiday. I've been to quite a few of these parties, and they're lots of fun, but I don't really think of them as traditional Thanksgiving meals, especially since no one gets sick. When I was growing up, we often spent Thanksgiving evening at the emergency room, as someone invariably got food poisoning. Thank God I never really liked turkey—who does, anyway?—so I never ate enough of the tainted bird to become ill. Thus I was usually the designated driver, toting first one, then another victim to the local hospital. (Plus, I was the only one not watching football or asleep in the La-Z-Boy.)

Something about trichinosis and tryptophan is a deadly combination.

Here in England, on the fourth Thursday in November you'll see no parades in the morning, no American football blaring from the telly, and no Wal-Mart shootings as Black Friday commences. I'll admit, the parades were fun, but there's no way to watch parades when you have a full meal to prepare in time for late lunch/early dinner.

Then it's over too quickly, and you have to figure out how to squeeze all those leftovers into your refrigerator—try doing that with a European-sized fridge.

I remember one of our last Thanksgiving meals that involved turkey. We were in Madison, Wisconsin, and most of our friends were grad students. We invited them over for a home-cooked feast, and though by then I'd sworn off turkey, my husband wanted to serve a smoked turkey to show the foreign students what a "real" Thanksgiving was like. It turned out the foreign students thought the American-sized feast was way too much. The Germans insisted we all put on our coats and take a long walk after the meal. We never served turkey again. 

So, in the spirit of giving thanks, let me just acknowledge my gratitude for a day of no feasting, no dead birds, and no fake gratitude while we all wait for the Black Friday sales to start. Instead I'll be walking my dog in the woods, giving thanks for a perfectly ordinary day. 

A Cat Tale, Tweeted

All morning I heard strange cat noises coming from the front yard. I figured it was one of the neighbor's three cats, white fancy cats that roam outside on fine days. (They ended up with three when one kitten went missing and they got a replacement brother for the remaining cat. Then after three weeks, the original cat returned.)

So of course I turn to Twitter to express my concern: 

Weird cat noise going on outside. Someone trying to imitate a cat? Or one of the cats in distress?

Then, with a bit of nostalgia: 

Actually sounds a bit like a squeaky swing set. Makes me wish I had a swing.

My concern deepened after an hour or so:

Cat noise stops when I go outside to investigate; begins again when I come in. IS THERE A CAT IN MY HOUSE?

Then paranoia set in and I blamed the construction crew down the street, with whom I've been having a running argument over parking: 

I think the workers 2 doors down have devised a new way to torture me. STOP THE CAT NOISE, you can have the parking space back.

Finally I applied logic and decided it wasn't a cat after all:

Sparky doesn't bark at the cat noise, which means it probably isn't a cat. Or else he's stupid. WHAT IS IT?

All afternoon, no cat noises, and no cats in sight after our walk, when I usually let Sparky run off lead down the cul-de-sac, provided I see no white cats about. 

Then my husband came home. Hearing his motorbike, I decided Sparky was well-behaved enough to greet him outside, so I quickly hooked up the long leash and headed outside, just in time to see a white cat come streaking out of the garage.

Where he'd been trapped all day. 

Fortunately, the lead got stopped by the motorbike's front wheel, or else Sparky might have had a face full of scratches and a mouthful of fluffy white fur. 

The Ashes Test

Warning sign on the M25

You can't read it, but this sign says "Heathrow Airport Closed". There was a similar sign at the exit for Gatwick, warning motorists that, in case they hadn't heard, Gatwick was also closed. No air traffic is leaving England, so there's no need to go to Europe's busiest airport.

Air travel in almost all parts of Europe has come to a standstill. It began in the UK at noon on Thursday, when the last flights arrived. No one knows when the volcanic ash that's causing the disruption will dissipate, but bets are it won't be before mid-week at the earliest. 

I'm not sure if my friends in the US realize just what a complete halt of air travel means for Europeans, used to hopping on flights the way motorists in America hop on Interstates. 

Almost everyone I know here is affected. Since the school holidays end tomorrow, many people were on holiday with their families, scheduled to return over the weekend. Many of my friends have spouses stranded in various parts of the globe. Others are stranded themselves, while others have had to postpone overseas trips. 

And that's not all. Much of our produce, our fresh flowers, and our medical supplies come via air transport. Supermarket produce shelves will soon be empty of fresh veg flown in from Spain, Kenya, The Netherlands, Egypt—we'll be forced to eat local, which this time of year means lots of asparagus and potatoes. In Africa, flower growers are destroying fresh flowers destined to be sold in European markets—Europeans love their blooms.

My new contacts were due to arrive Friday or Saturday from Germany—since my old ones burn my eyes, perhaps due to volcanic ash buildup, I'm stuck with glasses. But at least I'm not a tourist, stranded in London and strapped for cash. 

I've not heard the sound of jet engines slowing down for their approach to Heathrow in days. I look in the sky and there are no contrails—and we've had a rare couple of days of blue, blue skies. 

How is this affecting global warming, you wonder? Here's a chart, showing the daily amount of CO2 put in the air by Eyjafjallajoekull—the impossible-to-pronounce-volcano in Iceland that's causing all the trouble: 7412 tons. But how much is saved by the cancelled flights across Europe? Around 206,000 tons. (This chart was made when only 60% of European flights were cancelled; considerably more have now been cancelled.) 

The economic costs are impossible to estimate, but it's almost certain that troubled airlines will need bailing out by governments if the disruption continues past mid-week, as some of the direst forecasts predict. What's needed is a change in the prevailing winds, or a cessation of the ash output. Iceland's last volcano went on spewing ash for months. And no one's predicting the Gulfstream winds to change anytime soon. 

As a last resort, airlines have begun experimenting with flying planes lower, below the approximately 20,000 foot ash cloud, or higher, above 38,000 feet. They've had some success, but neither solution sounds like an option I'd like to gamble on. Frankfort Airport has attempted to open during a break in the ash cover, but again, there's no way I'd get into an airplane whose engines could be fouled up by the volcanic ash. 

Meanwhile, trains and ferries are full. Stranded passengers in Europe are making do the best they can. Actor John Cleese paid a cab driver £3000 to drive him from Norway to Brussels, where he could catch the Eurostar to London. 

Me, I'm just enjoying the blue skies, through ash-coated glasses.

(Note: Americans probably don't know what the title refers to: the Ashes Test in cricket, a series of cricket matches between Australia and England that occurs every other year. Let's hope the Volcanic Ashes Test doesn't happen that often.)

Waiting for Barack

It is impossible to overstate the amount of goodwill Barack Obama has around the world. Seriously, he could invade Wales and the rest of the world would join in, figuring it was a righteous crusade. Poor Wales would be toast. (Or at least Rarebit.*)

In the tourist information center in Brussels, I picked up a local English-language guide, The Bulletin. On the cover was a picture of Barack Obama, getting off an airplane in Belgium. Wishful thinking and artful Photoshopping—he hasn't been to Belgium yet, but they're hoping he'll make it one of his first overseas stops, as is the rest of the world.

But with that goodwill comes enormous expectations. Today on the radio I heard a couple of economic experts discussing the financial crisis, which is as bad if not worse here than in America. When asked about the British government's announcement yesterday of an economic recovery plan, which includes reducing VAT by 2%, one economist moaned it wasn't enough. "We'll have to wait for Barack Obama to rescue us," he said, or words to that effect. He wasn't joking, either. The rest of the world is hoping against hope (yes, that pesky hope again) that Barack Obama will magically pull the economic equivalent of a rabbit out of his hat. Or at least appoint some very, very smart people to solve this crisis.

This world-wide love-in is a good thing. While Obama won't invade Wales, or hopefully any other country, this goodwill does give him a great deal of leverage that no other American president in memory has had. It's a very real possibility that Middle East peace could be achieved in this decade.

It's a 180-degree reversal from the George Bush era—enough to make an expat's head spin. Many of my friends have reported they're getting gushing praise from their British associates, who are suddenly ready to love Americans again. On CNN International, emailers suggested the Bush administration quit now and let the Obama administration have the reins of government immediately. They were serious, too. One even suggested we amend the constitution to make such a thing possible.

I don't remember how the world greeted the election of John Kennedy. Perhaps it was the same. But Kennedy didn't have the weight of the entire world and on his slender shoulders, unlike Barack Obama, who the world seems utterly confident will solve the financial crisis.

Perhaps the honeymoon won't last. Perhaps Santa Claus isn't real either. But it sure is nice to have the respect of the world again. Seriously.

(* Sorry.)

Overheard

Last night...

On the platform at Paddington, we heard two young men discussing Sarah Palin. One asked the other if he'd seen the SNL skits (yeah, he referred to it as SNL, just like Americans do) and he replied, "You can't take the piss out of someone who's already so awful."

And when my ticket didn't open the turnstile (I'd used the wrong one) the attendent glanced at my Obama button, and waved me through.

We went to Putney Arts Theatre to see The Importance of Being Earnest. It was really good (hard to screw up Oscar Wilde, isn't it?) but the guy who played Earnest, who happens to be my husband's co-worker, put in an especially great performance. Kudos to Stuart, who from now on shall be called Earnest.

On the way home we saw people dressed up for Halloween, but not that many. Lots more who were just ordinary drunks.

All's Well

Yesterday, I learned that a doorman in Notting Hill found my handbag, along with my friend's wallet, and when we picked it up, everything was there except £80 and my mobile phone.

Including my Obama buttons (worth a fortune in London!), my IDs, my credit card (which we've cancelled) and my other cards.

So, I'm good.

I'm very impressed with the Notting Hill police. They've contacted me twice, to update the police report I filed online. They may even fingerprint my handbag and cards, though it's probably too late.

I never expected such follow-up after what was a relatively minor crime. Thames Valley police could learn a thing or two.

If they find a suspect, maybe I'll get to participate in an identity parade. That sounds like a lot of fun!

Read All About It

Arianna Huffington is in London and she has a scoop:

The next morning, I was picked up at my hotel in a hybrid Lexus by James Harding, the editor of the London Times -- at 39, only 2 years older than the Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer. As we drove to his office for a breakfast meeting with a great group of Times editors and columnists, he told me that when the paper puts Obama on its cover they see a significant jump in newsstand sales.

I do believe I bought the last issue of The Times that featured Obama on the cover. It's about the only reason I'd buy a newspaper these days.

Incidentally, newspapers aren't delivered here the way they are in the US. You can contract with your local newsstand to deliver your paper, but it's expensive. And there isn't really a local paper, nothing that compares to, say, The Albuquerque Journal. We do have several weeklies, which cover a wide geographic area. One of the most read stories in this week's Bucks Free Press is "Noise reduction measures for snooker club". There was also news of a 40-tonne rubbish fire in Seer Green.

Sadly, none of these stories is enough to make me pick up a paper.

Now, if they'd put Barack Obama on the cover...perhaps.

Vandals and Visigoths

Stonehenge, on December 31, 2004, before vandals struck

 A year ago yesterday, someone set fire to Cutty Sark. And last night, someone vandalised Stonehenge.

Suspected souvenir hunters broke into Stonehenge and vandalised the ancient monument, English Heritage has said.

A small chip the size of a 10p piece was taken from the side of the Heel Stone with a screwdriver and hammer.

Scratch that. It happened on the 15th of May, but news was only just released. So I guess there is no conspiracy to attack Britain's landmarks on May 21st. But still, I'd better see as many of them as I can before they're destroyed.

Report From Old Europe

Yesterday, driving through the Benelux countries, we found a BBC World Service radio station. We were in the car most of the day, with a stop in Kinderdijk to look at windmills. Then we decided to see just how bad rush hour traffic in Rotterdam was, so we drove right through the city. (My husband insists the sat nav knows what it's doing. I prefer to think of it as a kamikaze device designed to hurl you into the sea.)

Anyway, we heard the top stories on BBC several times over, and it was almost always the election in Pennsylvania. And what Hillary said about Iran. BBC, in their non-judgmental way, refused to call her a war mongerer, but just by running her words about "obliterating" Iran they made it clear that she has totally left the reservation. Ironically, as we drove through The Hague, home of the International Criminal Court, I couldn't help wondering if Hillary Clinton would some day be brought before the World Court after she used nuclear weapons against Iran.

It's embarrassing, to be in a European country known for its contributions to peace and world order, and to have a major candidate for the Democratic nomination running around talking about launching nuclear weapons.

I don't do British accents very well, but I can pass for a Canadian easily. I know it's a cliché, Americans posing as Canadians, but it's never been because we were embarrassed by the Democrats.

I'm gonna try to find more pretty flowers to look at today and forget about the nonsense going on back in America. Maybe I can bring some bulbs back—wonder if they'll grow back home in Calgary?

Welcome to the Neighbourhood

Those of you who are regular readers here probably didn't know that a few days ago, this blog was linked to by Justin Webb, BBC's American correspondent. Consequently, a lot of people are reading this blog for the first time, and like newcomers to a neighborhood, haven't quite figured out if the people in the house next door are batshit crazy or just a little high strung.

Of course, they could read my About Me page, but that would be too easy. And still not paint a complete picture. That's one of the problems with blogs. People think they know you, based on the words that come pouring out of your keyboard, and the truth is, these here blogs are only a small window into the lives of their owners.

That's sort of the point, isn't it? If I wanted to write my memoirs—and trust me, I don't—I wouldn't have mocked all the memoirists at my table during the last writer's conference I attended. (Seriously, get a life, people! Preferably an interesting one!)

Anyway, I've been pretty busy lately, redesigning a website and working on a newsletter and other projects I've ignored too long. I'm also compulsively checking the internets for poll results, and other news from the campaigns in the States. Wish I were there, in the thick of it, frankly. And I'm tired of waiting until I wake up to read the news that inevitably occurs while I'm fast asleep.

Which brings me back to BBC World Service, the harbinger of events every morning at 5 a.m. If disaster strikes while I'm asleep, that's how I'll find out. Although, you have to take some of it with a grain of salt: I'll never forget the morning I woke to the news that "Hillary Clinton has won the nomination!" (Maybe Justin Webb could have a talk with his counterparts over here.)

A Burning Embassy

Last night, after a full day banging away at the keyboard, I collapsed, exhausted, on the couch, ready for some entertainment from the 19-inch TV we keep for those purposes.

As my husband and I enjoyed a bottle of wine and a plate of crackers, hummus and cheese, we were treated to scenes of rioters in Serbia attacking our embassy. Even though the rioters were hundreds of miles away, the violence felt a little too close, a little too real.

Living in a foreign country brings a measure of vulnerability, even in a perfectly civilized country like Britain. My American-ness sticks out every time I open my mouth, and consequently I'm careful of what I say. I'm also aware that there are plenty of people here who really don't like Americans, and for this reason I'm very careful of what I write here. I don't want to give anyone a big clue of where to find me, or where my daughter went to school, or where I'm going on Friday. I'm also the web manager for an organization of American women, and I'm even more careful there about posting any identifying info—no names, photos, or locations on the public part of the site.

You just never know.

So, watching those scenes of our embassy in Belgrade on fire brought a measure of discomfort. No, it won't happen here—the MOD would never allow it—but for those embassy employees in Belgrade, it's all too close.

I happen to agree with America's recognition of Kosovo, so it's not like I'm once again condemning my own country. It's just that there's one more group added to the "hates America with a red hot passion" list. That can't be good.

Before I signed off yesterday, I read a lot of commentary about the Democrats Abroad overwhelming vote for Barack Obama, and how those of us on the front lines of the war for America's reputation voted for the candidate they thought best able to repair that reputation.

Perhaps. No one is more acutely aware of our reputation abroad than Americans whose safety depends on a foreign country's police force.

As I watched the American Embassy plaque fall from its position on that building in Belgrade, I found myself thinking January 21 can't come too soon.

Notes From Abroad

Setting the stage for Dems Abroad to vote

At the London Democrats Abroad caucus on Super Fat Tuesday, over 100 members of the press were there, along with over 1500 voters. Here's a few comments that were sent to me afterward:

“You Americans really know how to put on an election.”
“We never have this kind of enthusiasm for our candidates. It makes our elections look so boring.”
“It is great to be here --  an event I’ll remember for a long time.”
“A really great evening.”

They were also impressed by the number of children we'd brought along, to participate in and observe our election process. (One of the red-shirted volunteers standing next to me as I directed voters off the stage was about 10 years old.)

I also heard another interesting comment. At one point I walked outside, to photograph the lines outside, and there were, as we'd been told to expect, a contingent of 6 or 7 British police officers, dressed in reflective jackets. I said to one policewoman, "Thanks for being here," and she replied, "It's our war too."

Then, on the way home at midnight, a man sat across from me on the train. He commented, "I like your choice." I realized he was remarking on my Obama button. We began a conversation that lasted throughout the journey (turned out he was getting off at my stop). Not so unusually, he followed American politics closely, and knew more about our political system than most Americans. (For example, he even knew that Al Gore lost his home state in 2000.) He seemed to have given up hope on us Americans, but has been encouraged by Obama's campaign. He'd read his last book, The Audacity of Hope (which I haven't yet finished) and we both agreed Obama was a gifted writer. He'd also seen the movie Sicko, and as a doctor, he was appalled by the American health system. (We also spent some time discussing neurology, a special interest of mine.)

I've been particularly proud of my country these last few weeks, as it goes about choosing presidential nominees. And, with the news today that Obama has raised over $6 million online since Tuesday, from small donors like me, I'm even more proud. Here, political parties are funded by huge donations from millionaires—there are effectively no limits, and as we saw in the cash-for-honours scandal, there is a payback expected for those political donations.

I love that what we started in the Dean campaign—Joe Trippi's idea that, together, 2 million people could fund a campaign based on $100 contributions—is now coming true.

To paraphrase a slogan we often scrawled on campaign signs: I am Barack Obama's special interest.

More photos below of Tuesday's London voting.

Obama in Berkshire?

Well, this was weird. While Barack Obama is tearing around the U.S., stopping in places like Boise, Idaho and Wilmington Delaware to give speeches to overflow crowds (15,000 thousand in Boise. And thousands turned away.) the UK is apparently feeling left out.

I just walked into the kitchen and heard the end of a piece on Radio 4 about "Following the Barack Obama trail". Turns out he was in Berkshire for a half-sister's wedding, several years ago. Seems he went into a pub called The Rose, now known as The New Rose.

This pub was famous for the poems written about a former pub owner's daughter, so they read a poem Obama had written. About his grandfather. Not bad, but nothing at all to do with the pub.

No one could quite remember him being there, either, though his sister's mother still lives nearby.

You could almost hear a great stretching sound coming over the radio.

Live, From Underwater England

It's hard to know whether allusions to the Noah's flood or Hurricane Katrina are more appropriate. It's been approximately 40 days and 40 nights since the floods swamped Yorkshire, and this weekend heavy rain brought flood waters further south. Pretty Gloucestershire looks like New Orleans' Ninth Ward, with water creeping into stone cottages that have stood for centuries. Oxford's colleges have water lapping at their lawns. Abandoned caravans bombard bridges in Worcestershire. Evesham looks more like Venice.

Rescue helicopters pluck residents from roofs and trees in Tewkesbury, almost completely submerged. Dogs climb aboard rescue boats, accompanied by their grateful owners. Fifty thousand have no electricity, and 350 thousand are expected to lose drinking water soon. Once sleepy rivers like the Windrush and the Cherwell are raging torrents, and the Royal Shakespeare Company, next to the swan-filled River Avon, has cancelled performances.

It's a mess out there.

On Friday, a storm system stalled over the M5, bringing 5 inches of rain to already sodden area. Motorists were stranded on the motorway overnight, stopped in their tracks by flood waters.

In Berkshire, just south of Buckinghamhsire (where I live), copious amounts of rain fell into the Thames, and also in Oxfordshire, just to the west. This put a halt to rail service in both Reading and Oxford. Because of the flooding upriver, both towns expect further flood surges in the next 24 hours.

More rain is forecast for the week, and as tributaries dump into rivers, the Severn and Thames are expected to swell even further.

The Times says the floods are worse than any in recorded history. The BBC has aerial footage, as well as a map of the affected area. The Independent names the culprit: global warming. But The Guardian implicates La Niña as well.

Others blame the fact that 10 percent of homes in England are built on a flood plain. They didn't call it the Doomsday Book for nothing.

It's raining here now. Fortunately, I'm not living in a flood plain, nor near any rivers. The stream out back has so far handled the runoff from my garden just fine.

But I'm checking out plans for an ark, just in case.

WDIK Answers Your Questions!

The other day KathyR at Everybody Knows asked me a question:

Besides family and foodstuffs, what do you miss most (if anything) about living in the USofA? And are you ever coming back?

I've been thinking hard on this, stumped for an answer since she eliminated the two obvious choices: food and family. I was going to go with convenience, or customer service, which there is a decided lack of here, but those are concepts, not things.

So today I hit on it: thick socks. It's impossible to find thick socks here. There are plenty of thin, fashionable socks, but thick thirsty socks that you can wear with sensible shoes and hiking boots? No, for that you have to catch a flight to JFK.

I was shopping with a friend in London one day, an American who's lived here longer than me, and she told me she flies to New York every year to buy socks. We offer to buy socks for each other, whenever one of us is heading back to the States.

The last question is easier to answer. We were originally scheduled to be here three years, but we recently learned it will be five. So, with two and a half years under our belt, we're at the half way point. Me, I'm perfectly willing to stay longer, except for the sock thing.

Someone ought to start a sock exchange.

Home Again

Observations from my trip to Vegetarian Hell, known otherwise as the Deep South:

The entire country has gone to the dogs. Honestly, what is with the designer dog clothes at Target and elsewhere? I can get both casual wear and formal wear for my dog, jewelry, gourmet dog treats, designer label pet carriers, and Shabby Chic chew toys if I were the type of person to spoil my dog. Alright, I am the type of person to spoil my dog but the day I start dressing her is the day you should put me in a long-term care facility.

The Dallas airport has no vegetarian food. I finally found a veggie burger at Bennigans, of all places. Normally I don't eat in airports, but I was there for 5 hours. Someone should open a healthy restaurant in Terminal D.

On the other hand, the veggie meals on American are very good. I even asked for a recipe.

I ate three spinach salads while I was gone, which usually was the closest thing to vegan on the menu. And when I say "leave off the cheese" I am talking about mozzarella, which is still classified as "cheese" despite the presence of god-knows-what.

The electricity went out at my in-laws' house, after a massive storm system moved through. When it rains in Louisiana, it really pours.

It was colder in the Deep South than it was here, which is really weird. I like to've froze.

Southern grammar has a way of sneaking up on you, but I have not yet uttered the phrase "she don't want no fried chicken" although it is tempting.

Nursing homes are dominated by females. Almost all the patients are women, and all but a couple of employees are female too. When a man walks in all eyes turn toward him. He's usually carrying a Bible.

Women traveling alone are ignored by female flight attendants, and doted on by male flight attendants. (But I don't normally answer to "sweetie". Trust me.) Airport lounges are also the province of men, and when I walked in the attendant assumed I was with the man ahead of me.

It took three Target employees to find the DVD "An Inconvenient Truth" which the first two had not heard of. Now I know why they call it an "inconvenient" truth.

Target also has vegan boots for $24. That's only £12! I quickly tossed a pair of size 8s into my shopping cart in case someone else had their eye on them, but I bet I needn't have worried. Probably no one else knows how much vegan boots cost at Vegan Essentials or at Stella McCartney's shop in Mayfair.

There is just way too much stuff available in American shops, in addition to designer doggie wear. But I didn't see a whole lot of people out buying it. Which was fine with me, cause I needed to shop for certain things I can't get here, or can't get economically here, including a hair cut. My daughter says it looks very "L.A." but I think she meant "Louisiana".

My brother recently moved back to Louisiana, where he is getting into the organic farming business. I had no idea farming was in his skill set, but he can pretty much do anything he puts his mind to.

My mom's new nursing home (which was also her old one, from before she came to live with me) has worked out very well. Everyone seems to love her, and I don't think they're pretending for my sake. She is, however, mere skin and bones at this point. We have placed photos of her when she was young and beautiful in her room, which is a great idea if you have a loved one in a nursing home.

I only drove on the wrong side of the road once, on a stretch of deserted highway near St Francisville, when I backtracked to take a photo of a cow.

Cows in Louisiana are not as friendly. I'm sure that's related to the fact that there is a scarcity of vegetarian meals.

A Most Heartwarming Thanksgiving Story

In 1736 Chief Mahomet Weyonomon traveled from Connecticut to London, to ask King George II to stop stealing land from his people, the Mohegans. Sadly, he died of smallpox before he was able to see King George. Because he was a foreigner and foreigners weren't allowed to be buried in the City of London, he was buried in an unmarked grave.

Today, the tribal chief of the Mohegan tribe honored him with a memorial ceremony in Southwark Cathedral, attended by the current monarch, Queen Elizabeth II.

The Queen and the duke were joined by tribal spiritual leader Bruce "Two Dogs" Bozsum and other Mohegans wearing deerskin leggings and headdresses made with turkey and eagle feathers at the memorial ceremony at Southwark Cathedral on Wednesday.

She was presented with a scroll containing a copy of the original petition and a red stone peace pipe.

Mr Bozsum said: "We are glad that we have given him a proper burial now.

So put that in your pipe and smoke it, King George.

The Rubber Chicken in the Corridors of Power

The other day former ambassador Sir Christopher Mayer was on the radio talking about the American TV show West Wing. What he was really talking about, though, was the national character, the national propensity toward cynicism. Politics in Britain is viewed with pessimism, politicians are seen as "rogues and scoundrels" while in the U.S., though they really may be rogues and scoundrels, there's a reluctance to believe our leaders aren't sincere.

That's why Jeb Bartlett and his noble henchmen were so admired, by fans from both ends of the political spectrum. We wanted to believe the office was occupied by men and women of character. We all wanted, as one commenter put it, to live in Jeb Bartlett's jurisdiction.

I'm not sure Americans are quite as idealistic as Sir Christopher thinks, despite the examples set by the West Wing cast, but he did make some good points, particularly about the different levels of "schmaltz" that are tolerated in the young Republic. The same sort of show could never be made here. The nearest thing was the comedy Yes, Prime Minister, which portrayed the Prime Minister as a bumbling fool. Though taller than Martin Sheen, Jim Hacker (Paul Eddington) lacked the stature of Jeb Bartlett. PM Hacker was more likely to quote from a Quango guideline than quote from Job.

It's all well and good for the Americans to admire, from the remoteness of the television screen, a leader like Jeb Bartlett, but the British people would be uncomfortable with a leader they had to look up to. That might lead toward a national optimism that just wouldn't set well. As Sir Christopher says,

The difference between Americans and British people is Americans say, "this situation is serious but it's not hopeless". British people say, "It's hopeless, but it's not serious."

That pretty much sums it up.

If you're a West Wing fan, or if you're an Anglofile, you'll find it a fascinating discussion. You can listen to it here. 

A Land of Milk and Curry

Alan Cowell in the New York Times writes:

For 40 years, Britain has nurtured a policy of multiculturalism celebrating ethnic diversity and its emblems.

I think maybe Alan went to London, saw lots of ethnic restaurants, and figured the Brits have embraced multiculturalism. Sure, they've embraced curry, but when it comes to the problems of modern society, somehow it's the "foreigners" who are to blame.

At least that's what I've been told, more than once, by my white British neighbors who would be shocked if I told them I haven't heard such racist language since I was growing up in the Deep South.

I would like to invite Alan Cowell to go beyond London next time he visits the U.K. He might be surprised by how few "ethnic emblems" he finds a mere 30 miles from the West End.

The rest of the article wasn't that bad.

The Big, Overextended, Stick

Forgive the cliche, but I love it when someone hits the nail on the head, the way Avedon does here:

What the neocons don't understand is that we didn't have to act mean and threatening toward other nations to cow them, because they were already cowed. We could smile and be nice and respectful and maintain the charade that we didn't have 'em all by the short hairs - you know, that "diplomacy" thing - and we could all be mostly friendly most of the time. We walked softly and carried a big stick.

They were happy to play along because we were generally rational and not overtly bullying and we actually seemed to want to further some laudable values and goals.

And, instead, we have an overburdened military that can't really take on much more - at least, not if we actually expect to be militarily effective - and we can't even ring that old "freedom and justice" bell much anymore. They used to think our intelligence agencies were competent enough that they couldn't get away with much - see what happened to that?

I suspect living abroad would have been a much different experience back when the U.S. had moral authority. For instance, I wouldn't have had to put up with smug Canadians at parties. When people from Calgary gang up on you, you know your big stick has lost its effectiveness.