My Semi-European Childhood, Part II

When I was young, I lived for a time in half of a double house in a small village near Oxford, England.  

My dad was an intelligence officer in the US Air Force.  We were used to him disappearing without explanation for days at a time, and then returning with oh, say, a cuckoo clock.  Code for Germany.  Belgian chocolates—you get the picture.

One Christmas Eve, Dad came home from work—or from having beers at the Officer's Club—and told us that on the radar at the base there'd been a UFO spotted.  


The really weird thing is, that was not an unusual occurrence.  But that night, the air traffic controllers said it looked suspiciously like a sleigh and reindeer.  Dad went into specific detail about the route of the man in red, and his ETA  for our town. 

I'll always wonder if every soldier from Upper Heyford Air Force Base went home that night and told his children the same tale, or if it was just my father who shared that story with three children who didn't see their dad nearly enough.

My Semi-European  Childhood, Part I

In 1968, the president of France (rather rudely, it seemed to me) decided to drop out of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization.  What that meant to a small American girl living in the French countryside was that we had to get out of town  - fast.

Within weeks, our young family of five moved from a small, rural chateau with fireplaces in every bedroom in Champagne, to a trailer at Croughton Air Force Base, England.  The transition was occurring so rapidly that the armed forces didn't have time to finagle sufficient housing for all of its personnel.

Fortunately, our stay in the mobile home was very brief.  Soon my father found us two tiny rooms in an eleventh century inn called The Marlborough Arms, in Woodstock.  (It still exists, and I heartily recommend it.)   

There we stayed for a couple of months–time is different to a child so I'm not quite sure—rising in the dark to board our navy blue military bus to the Department of Defense school.  The bus took my sister and me, half asleep, across mist-filled greens over narrow roads and Roman stone-arch bridges to our corrugated metal classrooms, warm as aircraft hangers.  

Every fifteen minutes of the school day, for the next three years, our teachers would be interrupted by the mindsplitting noise of B-52 bombers taking off, a mere football field away. No one thought about ear protection in those days.

Returning to the inn after school, once again, in the dark— England has shorter winter days than we do—we grew to anticipate tea and little pink and yellow checkerboard slices of cake served to us by the hotel staff.   I think we were as much a novelty to them, as the lovely olde Inn was to us.

Long back in the US, I've since discovered that among my father's ancestors were a retinue who accompanied William the Conqueror from Normandy, France, to England, at about the same time The Marlborough Arms was founded.  Turns out that while living overseas, I unwittingly walked the same ground as those forebearers.

Even though Dad's people were later some of the first to migrate to America in the 1600's, we're still a young country, compared with England.  After all, we've only been here three hundred years or so.  Not even as long as The Marlborough Arms has been standing.

Bad Manners

When I began my teaching career, one of the first things I learned as a teacher was that I'd have to lower my initial standards for behavior expectations.

For example, my pet peeve quickly became the use of the phrase, "that sucks."  

Why? Because I remembered the origin of the phrase.  Back when I was a teenager, the saying was not "that sucks," but a slightly longer version that indicated exactly what part of the male anatomy was sucked.  Does anyone else remember that?  It was crude, it was rude:  it was what the cool guys said when they wanted to impress the bad girls and shock the good ones. 

So one day when "Jason," a 13-year old middle schooler, responded to my pronouncement of a homework assignment with the hated phrase,  I decided to make an example of him by doling out after school detention.

At 3:30PM, I dutifully called Jason's mom to deliver the bad news.

Me:  "Mrs. Jones, this is Jason's teacher calling.  I wanted to let you know that Jason will be staying after school tomorrow."

Mrs. Jones:  "That sucks.  How come?"

Bon Voyage, Ma Petite Fille!

There is something surreal about driving your only child to the Philadelphia International Airport, squeezing the stuffing out of her, and then driving away...while she goes off to board her one-way flight to Paris to begin her new life.
The twenty two years I devoted to raising her passed before my eyes in a split second, as I helped her unload her 50 lb. bag - carefully weighed to avoid extra fees - and her supplemental 20 lb. bag and her backpack and the bag she's named 'Marc.'
Even more surreal, though, was the comment from an acquaintance about my daughter's decision to teach overseas:  "Why on earth would she want to do that?"
Why should anyone chase their dreams?  Young people should just live in their parents' basements, that way mom will never have to endure the agony of missing them.
I gladly carry that burden.  But mine pales in comparison to that of another mom I know.  On the same day my girl left for France, her son was chosen for the US Army's elite Special Forces.  While my child is in a cozy classroom, hers will be navigating dangerous territory.
Ships are safest in harbor.  But that's not what ships are made for.

Sage Quotes

When I come across a quote - usually it's from an artist of some kind, and that includes the whole pantheon of artists:  writers, painters, actors, etc. - that really moves me, I like to record it.  Now I have a nice little collection of inspirational quotes that truly cheer me whenever I pull them up on my laptop.  

Here are a few:

I’ve found that writing is just as difficult and lonely as it was before I won the Oscar.  Matheny

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable; and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly ... to listen to stars and buds, to babes and sages, with open heart; await occasions, hurry never ... this is my symphony. --William Henry Channing

Trust men and they will be true to you; treat them greatly and they will show themselves great -  RW Emerson

I'd rather be a failure at something I love than a success at something I hate.  George Burns

To live is the rarest thing in the world.  Most people exist; that is all.  Oscar Wilde

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.  R. Frost

I didn't want to work. It was as simple as that. I distrusted work, disliked it. I thought it was a very bad thing that the human race had unfortunately invented for itself.  -- Agatha Christie

I am the master of my fate:  I am the captain of my soul. ~~W. E. Henley

One has no talent.  I have no talent.  It’s just a question of working, of being willing to put in the time.  Graham Greene, author of 26 novels, who had a daily quota of 350 words

My Backyard Foxes

Last spring, two baby female foxes (I've seen between their legs) began traversing through my yard every evening, with their mother.  At first they stayed far from the house, but with a little prompting, ie., two hard-boiled eggs placed ever nearer, they are now right up to the house.   I've fed them each an egg every night since spring.  The photo is of one of them eating some stale bread I put out for the birds.

A couple of times - once when I was in New York City and again when in I was in D.C. - I had to get the D.H. to feed them.  He asked if the eggs needed to be peeled first.

"As if that's how they are when they rob the hen house!" he said.  "Hard boiled and peeled!  I suppose you'll set up a heated tent for them when the snows come."

Hey, nothing's too good for my little foxies.

Lately they are maturing and no longer eat together.  Nature dictates that now, they will compete for food, rather than share it.  However, grown up female siblings will share in child care of their baby foxlets.  Isn't that cool?

Feels Like Fall

Here in the Mid-Atlantic we're supposed to get from six to eight
inches of rain this week (thanks, Tropical Storm Lee)...right through the weekend.


Just bought a pair of tall, navy blue Hunter mucking out boots from ebay - they're coming from Toronto, so there's probably no way I'll get them for the Penn State/Alabama game on Saturday!  I'm sure I'll ruin a pair of shoes tailgating, but it'll be worth it.  It's the only time of year I see certain special friends.  


I made this painting of Pears last fall.  I hope the person who bought it is enjoying it!