Poster Board Report: England

After living here for the past 15 months, I’m ready to present my initial findings. I’ve decided to start at the beginning. With the basics. Remember in elementary school when you had to make a presentation about another country? Or maybe, like me, you are a former Girl Scout with World Thinking Day experience? Following in those traditions, I will share today about the food, weather and language. And throw in a few fun facts for color.

First, my three favorite things about living in England:

  1. No mosquitos

  2. Magpies

  3. Spotting Weeping Angels

You might have thought my favorite thing about living here would have been being with my new husband. And that’s pretty nice, but honestly, no mosquitos is life changing. It means you can leave the windows open- with no screens! And outdoor activities and everyday leisure is unbelievably pleasant without those blood suckers. Here I am in the summer hiking near water with no bug bites in sight!


The second delightfully surprising thing about life in England is the abundance of magpies. Which let’s be honest, I thought were a nursery rhyme make-believe creature. But they are real. And all over the place. And I still smile every time I spot one.


Speaking of spotting, I said my third favorite thing about England is spotting Weeping Angels. That might have been a little too specific. I just mean, it is cool to be out and about and see things like weeping angels, crooked spires, remnants of castles, watermills that look like hobbit houses, and all kinds of interesting landscapes and beautiful architecture. Take a look at the gallery below, and see if you can spot the weeping angel I photographed from my car… (tap on the photos to scroll through)

Back to the report.


So in every world culture day I’ve ever seen, there is always food. And if I’m honest, I never really understood how we were learning about someone’s culture by tasting their food. But now I get it. Because I’ve learned a lot about our American culture by experiencing (and thinking about) the differences in food here. I’m not sure what the taste of food tells you, but I can certainly now see how asking questions about the preparation and ingredients could teach one about culture. And what I’ve learned so far, is that in America, we value convenience and time. Sometimes to an absurd result. For example, shortly after moving here, the kids requested chicken nuggets for dinner. My English husband said he would make some. I asked how? He said he’d cut up chicken, coat the pieces in bread crumbs… and I was like, “but we don’t have any breadcrumbs.” And he said, “but we have bread.” And I said, “I don’t get it.” Truthfully until that day, it never occurred to me how Progresso made their breadcrumbs. Or how anyone would make some at home. 20 seconds later, my eyes were opened. And it’s not just bread crumbs (literally I now know to be ONLY the crumbs of bread easily whipped up) we needlessly sell in America, Kraft has no market here either. After looking for processed pre-grated cheese for days, my kids finally gave in and tried the freshly grated parmesan cheese. Again, I’m not sure now what is so time consuming about grating the cheese, that Americans sacrifice taste to have it pre-grated for us? But that’s a philosophical discussion for another day…

So the food here in England is pretty similar to America in many respects. Meat and potato countries that we are. The peas here might be mushy, and the bacon might be thick, but the biggest difference I’ve found is the way food is bought, kept, and prepared. Which is all to favor freshness. My fridge here is a 4th of the size of the one I had in America. Here we just shop frequently at stores within walking distance. And we make our bread crumbs from scratch.


No report about England would be complete without throwing in a nod to the weather. It is rainy as advertised, but not in an oppressive way. The rain is usually light and passes quickly. Comes back quickly too, but then it goes again. And it never brings tornadoes. At least not that I know of… hail on the other hand, that does happen. But in general, it is calm and rainy and then mild and sunny. All without mosquitos. I like the non-extrerme weather here. I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.


It pained me a little to type color and favorite earlier in this blog post instead of colour and favourite. Because the language and the spelling here are seeping into my core bit by bit. Recently I said something about the way the sat nav took me home, and my husband commented on how I was “going native.” I said, “what do you mean?” “Well you wouldn’t say sat nav.” I had to be reminded what I would have said. GPS.

There are some differences I still can’t take- football to me is the Steelers or OSU. I cannot call soccer football. During the World Cup and our office pool, my co-worker (or colleague for my English friends) said she was going to burn off a fingertip every time I said soccer instead of football. Not sure why she couldn’t just start with pinching… anyway. You can read some more vocabulary differences in my previous blog post. Or just wait for them to start bleeding through into my writing.

One of the hardest things to get used to was the greeting people use around here (which might be a Manchester thing for all I know) of “you okay?” Several times I was quite indignant with my yes, why would you ask that? Because for me, you only ask if someone is okay if you think they might not be. But here, it is a greeting like, “how are you?” and the answer should be as perfunctory as “I’m fine, thanks.” I’m still working on my response.

Another difference I’m struggling with is that it is somehow rude to address or refer to people who are in the room by pronouns instead of their name. This I learned at work. After several times being asked “who’s she, the cat’s mother?” I’m still shaking my head at that one. But mostly I’m glad that on most days, I am understood and I understand. Even if I would prefer my English mates to be a bit more direct. All except for my colleague who enforces the use of the word football, she’s plenty direct. And she has a name. Which I use when she’s in the room.

As I hope you can see, there are many things I do love about my new homeland. But since I started this piece with my favourite things, I thought I’d end with some things I miss about life in America. Not counting people or specific places. Which I miss terribly. If you know me in real life, and we used to hang out, work, play, worship, or study together somewhere, I likely miss you and that place a great deal. But setting all that aside, what do I miss generically about life in America? Well truthfully after giving it a great deal of thought, here are the three things I miss most about life in America.

  1. Wide roads

  2. Ample parking

  3. Stop Signs (or rather 4 way stops as opposed to roundabouts. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stuck on one. Think Chevy Chase, “look kids big ben” That phrase is like a code for us. Just yesterday when I successfully navigated myself to the third exit of a large roundabout on one try, my teenager said with sincerity, “Great job mom, we didn’t even see Big Ben!” I’m learning. And I’m okay.)

Dear Meghan... (Open after the honeymoon!)

I heard a reporter say recently that he was looking forward to the graciousness Meghan Markle would bring to the royal family. He said Americans use and understand the word "gracious" more than the English do. I don't know if that is true, but as an American living in England, I am enjoying the positive press an American is getting. Walking my dog on the day of the Royal Wedding, I passed a house with a photo of Harry and Meghan hanging outside. Next to Meghan was a small American flag. Proudly displayed on my neighbors' fence. 

So I would like to say thank you to Meghan Markle for representing. And I would graciously like to offer some words of advice and encouragement to the new wife of an Englishman:

Dear Meghan, 

I came to live in this beautiful country under similar circumstances to your own. Perhaps with a little less pomp and press, but the basic story is the same. Just instead of a prince, I married a professor. It's been nearly 9 months since my arrival as a new bride in a foreign land. There are a lot of things I am still getting used to here. I still find it awe inspiring when I hear the age of some of the everyday buildings I am surrounded by. Just last week I was at a work meeting in a coffee shop across the street from a Church built in the 1300s! Before 1492 when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, people were worshipping in a building that I can just casually walk into after my coffee! I can't even imagine the awe-inspiring buildings you will be able to walk into with your royal credentials! Although our lives may be really different in grandeur and scope, I thought I'd share a few observations from my own transatlantic transplant you might find helpful. 

There will be a lot of small changes to get used to in the vocabulary of everyday life. Words that didn't come up in the courtship period will start popping up all over the place. Like they call all vacuum cleaners "hoovers" and outside trash cans "wheelie bins" and spell car tire with a "y"- tyre. Shortly after I arrived my husband asked if I'd gotten a rubber for my pre-teen's pencil bag. I thought, "wow. I knew it was more secular and progressive here, but I'm surprised they need condoms for school." Of course he meant an eraser... 

And I'm not sure what the household chores will look like when married to a prince, but sometimes here I feel a little like I'm living in the Little House on the Prairie. It's a different pace of life with a smaller environmental footprint. I'm still getting used to seeing laundry hanging out on a line in my backyard. 

 Ron Weasley the rabbit enjoying our "garden" last fall.

Ron Weasley the rabbit enjoying our "garden" last fall.

Which btw I should call a back garden. A yard is paved. A garden is the green behind your house. And you might grow vegetables in an allotment. Or the palace might have a vegetable patch they'll allow you to use on the grounds. But anyway. 

In the beginning all these small differences might start to add up to make you feel a little alien. When you have to learn 5 new things just to go the grocery store by yourself, you might start to feel overwhelmed. Or you might have servants to go shopping for you... I'm not sure how it works when you're royalty. But for me, I did find myself starting to feel frustrated with the sheer amount of small things I didn't know. Things that I might have found interesting or endearing as a tourist, made me feel foreign and incompetent as a new resident. I can't tell you how many times I've thought, "it never would have occurred to me to..." For example, I tried for days to figure out how to lock our back door before I asked my husband. You lift the handle up. Ah. It never would have occurred to me to lift the handle up! 

These might seem like small things to point out just after you've made such a large move. And they are. But these small things can contribute to real culture shock. And so when the honeymoon finishes, and your life begins here in earnest, and it sinks in that you've left your community, your career, and even your country- remember that you are not foreign to yourself. Everything around you will be slightly different, which might leave you feeling disorientated. Like you don't know who you are. In those moments, try to remember that you are the same person you were before- you just need to find a way to manifest that self in your new surroundings. 

Shortly after we moved here, my pre-teen with the rubber in her pencil case started to mourn the loss of her identity at her old school. She said everyone knew her at the old school, and here she felt like play dough that had been smushed back into the can. She'd lost her shape. Her sentiment was both heartbreaking and familiar to me. Because I knew how she felt. And hearing her put into words how I was feeling, helped me. 

Recently I had a 90 day review at work. My boss wrote under my strengths, "A genuinely strong desire to see others succeed before herself." And I started to cry. Right in the middle of the review. Because I hadn't been sure how people were seeing me here really. What shape I was presenting. When I read those words, I knew that somehow I had been displaying what was important to me all along. I might have been smushed into a slightly different shape, but I am still made of the same stuff. 

Any new life change can be hard. A new home, a new marriage, a new job. When you have all that at once and add a new country, it can be really disorientating. That's not to downplay for a minute all the wonderful things and the new opportunities and the happiness of our love stories. But I want you to know if you start to lose yourself a bit, I've been there too. And it does get better. Writing this blog today in fact is a step for me in finding my voice again. Opening back up my play dough can. Reminding me that I have always formed my best shapes through sharing with others. That's who I am.

So I wish you all the best this beautiful life can offer. And if you'd like to form an American expat wives club, I will graciously offer to host. 







Must be an American

Sitting in JFK a few hours from boarding a plane to move to England. The last few days as I've packed up all my belongings, I couldn't stop a flood of emotions and thoughts about my American identity and who I'll be (and how I'll be seen) when I'm no longer living in America.

I visited England for the first time in December of 1992. I have a vivid memory of attending a holiday service in a beautiful old church in Cambridge. A woman was walking around near the worship area with a video camera. (In 1992 those were bulky and conspicuous) A lady sitting in front of me said in a disdainful tone, “she must be an American.” I immediately slid down in the pew, lowered my head and made sure to not speak so my accent wouldn't betray me. 

I’m not sure what message was delivered from the pulpit that day. But the message my 18-year-old self received then was that being an American was something to be embarrassed about…that my people were unrefined and out of place in such a dignified setting. Who knows if the woman in the church with the camera was American. And certainly that judge-y woman was not the best representative of the English... But I did carry that insecurity about how people (especially maybe educated, fancy people) see Americans. 

Fast forward 25 years, and I now find myself moving to England and married to a British citizen. The same one I visited 25 years ago. But that’s a different story. This is the story of me leaving my homeland. And my feelings about it. 

I know sometimes Americans are a seen as a joke. I remember backpacking through Europe and meeting Americans who had put Canadian Flags on their bags so people would like them more... And truthfully, I’m not always proud of American policies and practices. And some of our history is indefensible. Sadly, I’m certain future politicians will make mistakes as well. But my story is distinctly an American one. Good, bad and ugly. I am who I am today because of my American upbringing and lifestyle. 

I am the granddaughter of Appalachian people from West Virginia and Kentucky who moved to Ohio for industrial jobs. My grandparents married in their teens. As a child, I watched my paternal grandfather struggle with his own racism when my father married an African-American woman. I watched my maternal grandmother dance to Rocky Top on top of the bar in the bowling alley lounge. I grew up in a rental community in Ohio’s most dangerous city. I played t-ball. I went to vacation bible school and church camp every summer. I was a girl scout. As a teen, my social life revolved around Youth Group and Marching Band. I took family vacations in cars to the Smokey Mountains and DisneyWorld. 

I was the first in my family to graduate from college. My dad retired from the Air Force. My first husband was a Marine. I taught high school near Yorktown, Virginia. I taught English to international students in LA. I opened my own business in Alabama. I was a PTA President and a Business Coach of the Year. I shuttled kids to play dates and after school activities. I started a somewhat self indulgent blog… 

I love country music. And Bon Jovi and Madonna. My favorite holidays are the 4th of July and Halloween. I believe you can make your dreams come true. I was taught to stand up for what you believe in and to fight injustice anywhere. And like my American idol, Dolly Parton, I know it’s okay to have a big, flashy personality if you have a big heart and generous spirit to go with it. 

So after reflection, my 43-year-old self has internalized a new message. I'm not leaving my identity behind at all. I'm taking my Appalachian ancestors and their dreams with me. I'm representing my people and forging a new future for myself. I'm engaging with the world the way I was brought up to- with curiosity and hope. And if I overhear someone in a my new hometown of Manchester referring to me with a, “she must be an American”, I am going to hold my head up high and say proudly, “she is…” 


My We the People

I became an American in Nagasaki, Japan. Well, not literally. I was literally born an American in 1974. But 23 years later, teaching English in Nagasaki, Japan, I found my American identity. I felt connected for the first time to the larger collective. The We the People. 

Prior to living in Nagasaki, my identity was tied to more local groups. Schools and church and family and friends. I do think I was proud to be from Ohio (Go Bucks!), but as a recent college grad who enjoyed feeling righteously indignant, when I thought or talked about "America" at all, it was most often to go on about what was wrong with it. And then I moved to a city our country had destroyed with an atomic bomb. 

Everyone there has a story about August 9, 1945. I will never forget the one the man in the picture below shared with me. He was a student in one of my classes. After he retired, he had decided to learn English. Because he loved America. And he had scars all over his back from flying glass blown out of windows in the blast radius outside of where everything had been obliterated. And he told me how after the bomb, his family hid in the mountains fearing the American troops coming into the city. Expecting the brutal treatment they knew conquering Japanese troops to inflict on their enemies. Instead, they were met with kindness (and chocolate!) by the American soldiers. In those first days after the bombing and in the rebuilding. I could hear his genuine affection for those American soldiers. And I was proud. The arguments about what my government had done and why fell away. In that moment, those soldiers from 52 years earlier became my we the people. I was proud on behalf of their actions. My American identity was born. 

And I've carried that with me for the last 20 years. That sense that I belong to a nation of good people with kind soldiers. And I've tried to be that kind of American. A kind one. 

After this election, listening to our new President's hateful rhetoric, I felt despondent. Untethered in a way that was surprising to me. It wasn't just that my candidate lost. That has happened before. This was not about policy disagreement. I felt like my American identity was being challenged. Because he did not represent me. Or the good people I thought made up our country.

 Apparently there are many, many people in America who have felt for years "forgotten." Like the government didn't represent them. Well now I know that to be a horrible feeling. To feel like you don't belong to our We the People. To feel unrepresented. It is disheartening. Luckily for me, the feeling didn't last long... 

 me with two of the kindest Americans I know. At the Women's March in Birmingham, Alabama 

me with two of the kindest Americans I know. At the Women's March in Birmingham, Alabama 

There have been a lot of "Why I Marched" posts this last week. I honestly don't know exactly why I marched. I wasn't going to. I had a lot of things to do that day. But that morning I felt called to go. I asked my Dad to cover driving and picking up my girls to their events that day, and I set off on an hour and half journey to Birmingham about an hour and a half before the rally was set to start. So I don't know exactly Why I marched. But I do know why I am glad I marched. I found again my We the People.

The park outside of the Civil Rights Museum was packed with the biggest, most diverse crowd I've ever seen in Alabama. Apparently there were 5,000 marchers. They had been expecting a couple hundred. And it was a joyous day. I overheard someone say, "we're just preaching to the choir." Yes. Yes, we were. But sometimes you need to do that. Sometimes you need to see how big and beautiful your choir is. And how diverse. That day in Birmingham, and in photos from marches all over the world, I found again that I am part of a bigger collective. I do belong, and I am represented. But not by politicians. Because politicians and governments should reflect our We the People (and we should fight to make sure they do!), but they are not our We the People. I am represented by all the good people and each action they take to make our world a better place. 

I no longer feel untethered and unrepresented. My We the People are the Woman Marchers all over the world. My We the People are those who believe Black Lives Matter. My We the People are those who speak up for the rights of our LGBTQ friends. My We the People care about immigrants and refugees. My We the People want to take care of our planet. My We the People believe in science and in facts. My We the People value diversity. My We the People respect all religious beliefs. My We the People bring chocolate. My We the People are kind. And My We the People are a mighty number...  

Our children are listening...

So this morning my 9-year-old was laughing about a sign she had seen which made fun of Trump by calling him names. I started to tell her how mommy prefers we disagree with people on their policies and how we should engage in critical dialogue about their plans and actions, but I prefer we not actually call people names. To which she replied, "but Trump started it." I sighed. And I was disheartened a bit.

And so all the way to school this morning, I half heartedly talked to both girls about how people can disagree with us on things and that doesn't make them bad. But as I said, it was a half hearted attempt. Because as my daughter had said, Trump started it. And I feared that with all the hateful rhetoric now being so up front in american politics, I might be fighting a losing battle by asking my daughters to use respectful dialogue. And again, I was disheartened. 

Then after I dropped them off at school, I checked my email. My nearly 13-year-old had sent me an email last night. Strange. I'm not usually on her social media list. In fact, I've promised to never comment publicly on her Instagram... but anyway, I opened the email to find she had sent me a poem she wrote with her friend. And that brings me to this moment. When I'm going to share the poem now with you all. Because she has been listening. And I could not be more proud of the message she has heard. And she has reminded me that despite all the negativity around them, kids will hear positive messages. So we have to keep saying them...and I am hopeful once again for our future... 

Humpty Trumpty

Humpty Trumpty’s mother turned on Fox News
Humpty Trumpty’s mother loved Donald’s views
The idea of a border wall sounded so great
It would keep her and her son Humpty safe

Humpty Trumpty sat on the wall
Humpty Trumpty had a great fall [into Mexico]
All of Mexico’s horses
And all of Mexico’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again

Mexico’s leader assembled the humps
Gluing him together with quite a few bumps
They chucked him back over
Trump’s border wall
He was back in America
Humpty and all

So even though Humpty was full of hate
Mexico still found it in them to make him great [again]
So this is where many people hit quite a slump
You should be kind and respectful to everyone
Even Donald Trump [even though he’s a nutjob]

— By Dukie Momo & Jojo Pickles