I could get used to this

Last weekend I kept telling Scott “I’m becoming British for you so you have to let me buy this/watch Twilight again/eat at my favourite restaurant.” You get the picture. He humoured me by going along with the weekend I had planned out.

First up was visiting Pearce’s farm shop in Hertfordshire.  They had some of the biggest pumpkins I’ve seen in the UK. They had all types of gourds, squash and pumpkins. It was a cold Saturday afternoon and it reminded me of America – even though I cannot tell you the last time I was at a pumpkin patch. But that’s the thing about living abroad…you might never eat Taco Bell back in the US, but when you can’t have it, you suddenly want nachos bell grande more than anything in the world.

We browsed the small shop and we were completely overwhelmed by the delicious looking produce, olive bar, fresh cheese, and meats. They had several shelves dedicated to Italian pasta, Indian sauces, and English jams and chutneys.  And then I saw this:

Be still, my beating heart.

Ignore the regular Frank’s Red Hot sauce – I’ve seen it in Sainsbury’s. Focus on the bottle in the middle. Do you realize how many bottles of this stuff I have to pack in my bags? Do you understand how many people request that I make buffalo chicken dip? Do you know what this means for the people of Britain?

I didn’t buy any this time because I have a few bottles in the cupboard but I took a photo and posted it on my blog hoping to spread the word.  Now run to Pearce’s Farm Shop! (I also bought The Farmers Calendar – which is full of naked men working on the farm. I do my best to support small businesses in Britain. Remember this when you’re finished reading this next bit.)

On Sunday we went to Cambridge and spent the afternoon here:

Do you see that one on the right? That’s Britain’s version of Home Goods. Home Sense is Home Goods. TK Maxx is TJ Maxx. Clever. It’s a gold mine in there, I tell you. A gold mine. Even Scott got swept up in the Home Sense madness and we purchased a vintage bird cage and a tall decorative vase. For. No. Reason. At. All. (We purchased other sensible things like lamps and a Chop to Pot Flexible Chopping Board.)

Next door is the equivalent of Bed, Bath & Beyond. It’s a bit smaller than your usual BB&B but once inside you’d never know the difference. You’d still end up at the cash register with all the things you never knew existed but you desperately needed once you saw them like the Ped Egg and the Banana Guard.

They were having a massive sale on Yankee Candle products – America’s Best Loved Candle. So now I have pumpkins in my vintage birdcage and the best smelling flat in the building thanks to all my Yankee Candles.

It was like the universe turned for me last weekend. Nothing like a little bit of good ol’ American consumerism to make me feel at home.

I was feeling a range of emotions about becoming British. It certainly meant something different to me than I imagine it meant for a lot of new citizens coming from disadvantaged backgrounds, war torn countries. I came from one great country to another great country and I’m so grateful to belong in both.

And there the universe was nudging me along. See, you can live here. We’ll bring your favourite things to you. Here, have a candle. Or four. We’ll work on those nachos.

***

This afternoon we talked about a future vacation – one we’ve talked about for years. I asked Scott when he thought we’d take this trip and he said, “Well, I figured we’d do it when we moved to the US.”

I replied, “That’s not going to be for a very long time.”

“You don’t know. We could decide to move in the next year.”

And I said, “No, I’m not ready.”

Holy shit. Did those words just come out of my mouth? Do you think I was somehow secretly brainwashed at my citizenship ceremony? That painting of the Queen was kinda spooky… no matter where you moved in the room, she was always there, watching.

Pumpkin puree in the UK

It’s really Autumn. There’s no denying it.

I love the crunchy leaves, the crisp air, the smell of hot apple cider. I love the excitement of a new school year, new TV season, and new clothes. I love that the Autumn season is filled with fun holidays like Halloween and Thanksgiving.

But Autumn is not the same without pumpkin. I’m talking carving pumpkin and eating all things pumpkin. I’m talking pumpkin patches and pumpkin festivals. To go through Autumn without pumpkin is just tragic.

While pumpkins are getting easier to find in the UK, canned pumpkin puree still hasn’t quite found its way into the hearts and minds of the British. I know this because if it had the supermarkets would be stocking it like crazy. They’re very good at this consumer behavior business.

In the past, I’ve found Libby’s pumpkin puree in the larger Waitrose in South Kensington. This wasn’t surprising since there seem to be more Americans in Kensington than in the whole of England. When I spotted the cans, there were only a few left and they were stuck randomly by the instant soups. I bought them – even the dented cans. I risked paralysis and possibly death for pumpkin pie.

I haven’t been back to that Waitrose in years so I can’t tell you where to find this year’s dented cans. But I’m here to tell you that there is hope for the rest of us. Pumpkin puree does exist outside the M25.

My local Waitrose is on the smaller side and I don’t think Stevenage is particularly bursting with Americans. But there she was, sitting pretty in the tinned fruit section.

You snooze you lose, Libby. There’s a new girl in town.

The early signs of shopaholism

Thank you for all your well wishes. My allergic reaction went away and my eye is back to normal. I won’t be touching parsnips again anytime soon.

My mom recently emailed me about the passing of Hans Beck, the German inventor of Playmobil, and we reminisced about the time my sister, Lisa, and I saved up to buy the Playmobil Grande Mansion.

We made a special trip to a bigger military base in Germany to purchase the house. There was one last house left on the shelf but the box was a bit bashed up.

My mom pointed out the damaged box to the manager and asked for a discount. She mentioned I was buying the house with my own money.

The manager examined the box and then told my mom to go to the next aisle so he could negotiate with me. Looking at me and then the box and back again, he said, “How about 10% off?”

I said that would be ok.

He shook his head and said, “No, no, no. You never take the first offer. Now you say, what about 20%?”

I don’t remember how much I got off but we went back and forth for a few minutes. He shook my hand at the end and that was when I felt it for the first time. The excitement, the thrill of a bargain.

And so it began with a Playmobil doll house.

I can remember so many times when I would return home after yet another shopping trip, with a shirt or a pair of shoes, and my mom would tell me I already had so many.

I would hold them up and exclaim, “But I got them for $3!” And no one could argue with that.

My dad would shake his head and mutter, “You’ll go broke saving money.”

Not only did that Playmobil house teach me that if you don’t ask, you don’t get, it also provided hours of fun for me and my sisters. Though it usually ended quickly when I would announce that we were playing “Yankees and Southern Belles” and we were hiding Yankees in the attic and I’d insist we write down all their names and ages. And Lisa would be all, “Can’t we just play? You know, the normal way?”

They were always trying to stifle my creativity.

This is what happens

…when you take your husband to Target

…and the outlet mall.

Bag a bargain

I got an email a couple weeks ago from my friend Alli. She wrote about how she was organizing a garage sale with another young couple on her street. This little comment about a garage sale in America made me really sad. I’m sure it was due to those deep, complicated emotions that women have sometimes. You know the ones where we say we’re upset about one thing but we’re really mad about fifty other things and they’re all bunched together just waiting to implode.

Later that night I told Scott I was feeling a bit heavyhearted because I couldn’t have a garage sale.

Then it was his turn to explode.

“You live in England. You work in London. You are 45 minutes from Paris and you’re sad because you can’t have a garage sale?!”

I could have said, “Well, when you put it like that…” but instead I pouted some more and told him he just didn’t understand.

And he doesn’t really. He has never been to a garage, yard or estate sale – the very types of secondhand sales I am used to.

I sit back and imagine a neighborhood where everyone comes together and organizes a block yard/garage sale. On the Saturday morning, we wake up, bright and early, and set up our belongings on the driveway. Kids set up lemonade stands. Neighbors wave from their garages. Cars slowly drive by, checking out the merchandise. A few wander up and down the sidewalks. A friendly neighbor offers me hot coffee out of their thermos. (In my imagination, I drink coffee.)

I know that these neighborhoods exist. I’ve been to these sales before. Even when I lived abroad on a military base, the neighborhoods organized yard sales and for those who didn’t have garages/yards, there were community-wide secondhand sales at the rec center and you could reserve a table to sell your things.

Yard sales and garage sales don’t exist here. What does exist is something called a car boot sale. (For my American readers, a boot is a trunk.)

I know how shady it sounds. I too imagine a man who sidles up to me outside Tesco, hissing, “Pssst! You want handbags? Mobiles? Take a look at what I have in the boot of my car.” He might as well just tell me he wants to kidnap and murder me right then and there.

But what do you do with your stuff? I sold as much as I could on eBay. I donated a lot of clothes to charity. I just needed another way to get this stuff off my hands and make a bit of money. The car boot sale was my only option.

I did a bit of research on what to expect. I priced my items the night before. Scott was convinced it would be a waste of time but I forced him to take part.

As we drove onto the field and took our place behind a row of cars, I wondered if he was right. We paid £10, which is the price for sellers, and the car boot sale man told us we were not to take anything out of the car until 11:30.

We waited patiently in our car. We watched as people climbed out of vans, trucks and cars and started making their rounds. They strolled by the cars, peering into the windows, trying to see what was on offer. Buyers would not be allowed onto the field until noon but other sellers – seasoned car boot sellers – were already wheeling and dealing.

Scott got bored and wandered over to the nearby supermarket. He was so bored he chose to go to a supermarket! I sat in the car, nervously watching people making their way down the aisles of vehicles. We still had an hour to go before we could get our things out of the back and set up shop so I pulled out my book and tried to ignore the people waiting to pounce.

Just as I was getting into Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, strangers started sticking their heads in the car, asking if we had ipods or jewelry or mobile phones. It was very unsettling. I would say no and then, as if they didn’t believe me, they’d look into the backseat. I’m sure if the car was unlocked, they’d slip right into the backseat and root around themselves.

Scott returned in time for the horn to sound and everyone scurried out of their cars. You need a lot of hands. This is why parents packed as many children as possible into their cars. (No, not to sell them…though I can’t be sure these sorts of deals weren’t going down.)

We stood out as complete novices when Scott took his sweet time opening the packaging on our shiny new folding table. By the time we got the boxes out of the car, there were people all over us, digging into the boxes, trying on shoes, holding up clothes, flipping through books.

The first hour is by far the busiest and I don’t recommend you do a car boot sale by yourself. Even with two of us there, I am sure things were taken off our table without us noticing. It all happens so fast.

This is what Scott liked. Suddenly he was all abuzz with excitement, talking about the day’s sales targets and how he could really get into this sort of thing.

For me, the best part of any type of secondhand sale is watching the kids. They realize they can buy a whole bunch with just a few coins and things you no longer need or want are suddenly exactly what they’ve been looking for. I remember my favorite garage sale purchase was an almost new Midge doll. I paid $2. She was prettier than Barbie, in my opinion.

We didn’t have any Barbies to sell (Are you kidding? I’m keeping them!) but we did have an unopened build-your-own airplane kit. I was really happy to see it go to a little boy who stared at it for what must have seemed like an eternity before his dad said, “Is that the one?” And the little boy nodded, handed me his money and held the kit tightly, proudly as his dad pulled him over to the next car.

It broke my heart to take 50p from him. I would have given it to him for free if there hadn’t been another buyer standing there, haggling over 20p.

We had sold most everything by the first two hours but stayed almost to the end because our car was blocked in. Once we could see that a space had opened up so we could get our car out of there, we went home and found ourselves sunburned and exhausted but £120 richer.

The car boot sale is a British institution and I’m glad we did it. But even though it was a success, I still would rather have a garage sale. If only because you get to use your own bathroom.

The best things in life are free

Every once in awhile I like to write about the good things I have come across while living in the UK.

It’s been a rainy week. Don’t be confused – that’s not a good thing but it is what made me think about this post.

During my first few months in the UK, I must have purchased at least 10 umbrellas. But as I was walking to work yesterday and my umbrella was being flipped inside out by the wind, I didn’t really mind because, you see, the umbrella was free.

Free? Something (besides that little thing called healthcare) is free in the UK? Yes, actually. We might have to pay to use public toilets and we might have to pay for refills on our drinks but I will never have to buy an umbrella again. This is life-changing for me.

It’s not just umbrellas. I have received flipflops, scarves, sunglasses, books, handbags, cosmetics, and make up cases. I also once got a sarong.

These wonderful freebies come with two of my favorite things- Glamour and Marie Claire. You buy the magazine and you get a free gift. You don’t even have to fill in any forms and wait for your free gift. It is packaged up with the magazine. You could just walk into any bookstore and browse the magazines for the best free gift. I’ve even been known to visit several bookstores to find the issues with the best color choices.

Freebies come in all sorts of magazines but Glamour and Marie Claire are the ones I subscribe to. They even send me the free gifts and I’m already committed to buying the magazine every month! They usually advertise what free gift will be with next month’s issue but I don’t pay attention because I like to be surprised. There’s nothing better than receiving gifts in the mail.

This past weekend I heard the mail being pushed through the door. Thud! Thud!

It was the sweet sound of the magazines hitting the floor. I walked into the hallway and there they were. Beautifully wrapped in protective plastic. Waiting to be opened, and read, and enjoyed.

(The lack of protective plastic packaging always bothered me about some of the magazines I subscribed to in the US. Sure, maybe it was better for the environment but I swear my magazines were read several times by many different people before they actually made it into my mailbox. Especially at college. God knows who read my magazines in the dorm mailrooms. If there had been any free gifts, they were probably stolen.)

I picked up Marie Claire first. I think it always has the best freebies. I examined the packaging and flipped the magazine over several times. Where was my gift?!

And then my eyes found the slit in the plastic and I knew. I just knew. The postman was enjoying my free gift! I was about to run to the window to see if the postman was using a polka dotted pink umbrella or maybe he had a yellow sarong tied around his uniform.

But I didn’t have to look because I watched as the mail slot opened up again and the postman pushed through a small brown container.

Thud!

So maybe we don’t get complimentary refills very often. And you have to find 20p everytime you want to use the bathroom at Kings Cross train station. But, while you’re at it, if you want some reading material, buy a magazine.  You might just get a free pot of your favorite lotion. At the very least, you’ll get another umbrella.

And in the UK, that’s something to be happy about.

DIY gone too far

I love designer handbags as much as the next girl. I love them for the quality, design, and style that goes into each bag. More important, I love them because someone else, someone very qualified and talented, made them.

Next month Fendi is releasing a limited edition bag to celebrate 10 years of the Fendi Baguette. I don’t like Fendi bags, however this one caught my eye (but not in a good way.)

This bag is white canvas. And it comes with a set of markers. They actually want you to buy this bag and decorate it yourself…with markers! And they want you to pay £615 for the pleasure of designing your own bag. You could also pay more than £2000 for a DIY bag that comes with a logo-embossed wooden box. I don’t know if the box is meant to be for your markers or the bag but keeping in the spirit of DIY, I’m pretty sure you could make your own wooden box for less.

Fendi, I was coloring on my bags (shoes, shirts, hands, walls, etc…) 20 years ago. I also stopped coloring on my bags about 15 years ago. What’s next? Prada releasing handbags complete with a set of puff paints? Balenciaga including BeDazzlers with their bags?

You had me at taco

A couple of years ago, my parents were in Germany on business and Scott and I flew over to Munich to join them for Oktoberfest. We had a wonderful time. But what was so wonderful? It wasn’t the huge beer steins or the bratwursts or even the fresh pretzels. It was the vending machine at the resort we were staying in.

This vending machine contained Twinkies, Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies, Goobers, Sour Patch Kids, Junior Mints, Pay Day candy bars… American goodies galore! The best part was that it took quarters. Real quarters!

We were staying in the Edelweiss Lodge and Resort, which is a R&R complex for the US armed forces and their families. Picture it: a little piece of America put into a beautiful Bavarian chateau placed neatly in the Alps. For someone who was living in England with no access to these little delights, this place was heaven and the weekend went by way too fast.

Even though I only purchased a Pay Day from the vending machine, I will remember it fondly. Best 50 cents I ever spent!

I got to relive the experience this past weekend. My parents were visiting and we decided to drive to RAF Lakenheath in East Anglia, which is where my dad lived during his high school days. He hadn’t been back there since he graduated.

The day was meant to be a little trip down memory lane for him. But it turned into so much more for the rest of us!

We got to shop on base and pick up a few things I can’t normally get unless someone from the US mails me a care package. And if Royal Mail decides to deliver it.

We had planned to drive around Lakenheath and the other smaller bases and then drive down to Cambridge and have lunch in a cozy, quaint English pub. But when we walked into the food court at the Base Exchange, we all knew what was going to happen.

And then I spotted it. A vending machine! And suddenly I was 8 years old again begging my dad for quarters.

As I pushed the quarters in the machine, Scott stood next to me saying, “We have vending machines in England, you know.” The man, bless his heart, just does not get it!

This time I passed on the Pay Day and got myself a Nutter Butter.

But I haven’t eaten the Nutter Butter. I’m saving it for tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow I take my driving test. So, I am saving the Nutter Butter. If I pass, I will eat it in celebration.

If I fail, I will at least know I have a little piece of happiness – in the form of peanut-shaped cookies – waiting for me at home.

I’m so excited and I just can’t hide it

As many of you know, we will be flying back to the US this week. And before any big trip, I start making lists like crazy. Lists of what I want to pack, what I can’t forget to bring, what I want to purchase on my trip, etc. I have lists in my head, in my dayplanner, on my computer, on a receipt in my bag. Today I have given myself the task of combining all those lists into one list so that when I start packing tomorrow, everything is in order.

But I’m so excited I can’t even gather my thoughts to actually combine those lists. Instead I thought I would try to make it easier for myself and get out all the excitement!

So here is my first list…

“Why I’m so excited I can hardly concentrate on doing any real work”

• Our friends Sara and Tom are getting married on Saturday. I have known Sara since middle school and she was a bridesmaid in my wedding and I can’t wait to be a bridesmaid in hers! I know they will be very happy together!
• I am excited to see my family! Had to get that one in there )
• Scott and I have been counting down the days until this much needed vacation.
• American restaurants!!! Scott is looking forward to having some chili at Austin Grill and I can’t wait for unlimited refills on iced tea. Not to mention the Cheesecake Factory.
• My friend Christine is coming down from NYC to see me! And I am so grateful that she is taking the time to make the trip. I haven’t seen her in almost a year.
• Air conditioning! Although the weather in Virginia isn’t quite as good as I thought it would be…
• Target. I can’t wait to roam the aisles in this place.
• Driving…although it looks like Scott and I will be forced to drive the grandma Buick. You know the kind…large comfy seats with huge bright numbers on the dashboard for easy viewing.
• My mom’s chex mix.
• And last but definitely not least….all the shopping! We will feel like millionaires over there!!! Ok, not millionaires…not even close. But things will seem really cheap. The pound is nearing $2….yes!!! Perfect timing! Read more. I’m already fielding requests from coworkers. Ipod anyone?

Happy Semiversary to us!

I’m so excited today. Do you know why? Well, it’s our “semiversary.” We have been married for six months. Wow. Ok, not really ”wow” to any of you married for 5 years, 10 years, 20 years, etc, but nevertheless, a “wow” for us. And before people wonder “Oh really? Is there trouble in paradise?”

No. No. No. It’s not “wow” because we can’t believe we’ve made it six months. It’s just “wow” because time seems to be flying by.

We’re not the couple who celebrates every little thing. We don’t celebrate the first time Scott sent me an email or the first time we met or when we got engaged. We never even really celebrated anniversaries (much to my chagrin). But today felt different. And I know Scott set a reminder on his phone so he would remember what today was because the alarm went off last night while we were watching TV. A set reminder! He didn’t do that for our third month semiversary so this has got to mean something!

Of course maybe it just means he was taking extra precautions to ensure he didn’t forget in case I tried to trick him into confessing that he had no clue what today was.

Anyway, so Happy Semiversary to us! What will we do? Well, like I said, we’re not into celebrating every little thing. Plus we’re addicted to the box DVD set of 24. So we’re going to have tuna steaks and potato salad and watch a couple more episodes. And I do mean a couple! Yesterday we watched six episodes and Kiefer Sutherland was in and out of my dreams all night—and not in a good way!

I am also really excited today because I only have three more days left at work until I am off on holiday. And only four more days until we are on a plane flying back to the US! I am so excited to see my family and friends. Not to mention eat at the Cheesecake Factory and go on a late night shopping spree at Target.

Speaking of shopping, I meant to have all my Christmas shopping done so that I could take all the gifts to VA and not have to worry about spending ridiculous amounts of money on shipping. I took Wednesday off so that I could go shopping in peace and not have to worry about fighting the weekend shopping centre crowd. Well, we went to Milton Keynes on Wednesday and after wandering around all the shops, admiring all the winter collections, and drooling over expensive designer handbags, I had only purchased one gift. And about five gifts for myself. Why does the holiday shopping season bring out the “One for you, one for me” attitude?

Or more like five for me, one for you…

I was quiet all the way home and after about fifteen minutes of silence, Scott asked, “What’s the matter? You’re not saying anything.” Which I am sure really is a bizarre occurrence.

I thought about saying nothing and letting him imagine that I had taken care of all the Christmas shopping. But then I would have to think up a story of why I needed to go shopping again this weekend. And I briefly thought of saying that all my purchases were HIS Christmas presents.

But I decided to just say it. The truth.

“I am suffering from major buyer’s remorse!”

And out came the tale of the beautiful suede boots…

But it was true. I had come off the shopping high and I was crashing fast. I was now feeling all the opportunity costs of the purchase and the reduced purchasing power remaining. Yeah, I don’t know what the heck that means… but when I looked up “Buyer’s Remorse” that’s what it said I would be feeling.

Anyway, after trying on the boots with every pair of jeans I own (you know, just to make some memories), I decided it was best to put them back in the bag. On Sunday, I made my way back to the shopping centre, through the crowds, and up to the cash registers. While I was waiting in line, I did briefly think about buying a coat instead.

But in the end, I returned the boots and bought a couple more gifts for my family. I did feel better. And I promised myself that when all my Christmas shopping is done, I will go back and buy the boots.

According to Wikipedia, that’s called deferred gratification.

Who said retail therapy only results in negative outcomes???

P.S. When Scott read this entry, he emailed me and this is what he said: “When I learned about this stuff in my Consumer Behaviour classes at uni, I also learned that a way to combat such remorse is through seeking positive reinforcement – i.e looking for people to tell you that you had done the right thing and that you deserve to treat yourself and all that…so I apologise if I didn’t provide you with that – but I just figured that you know best and that if you really wanted to keep them, then you would.”
Damn, I should have kept the boots!