Darling, and Poppet, and Lovely, Oh My..

Term of Endearment: A word or phrase used to address and/or describe a person or animal for which the speaker feels love or affection.

In the three days I spent with sisters, Eileen and Jean, I had been called more terms of endearment than I ever have in my life. Not that it was a bad thing. To be honest, it really grew on me. In fact, I got so used to it I half expected my roommate to say "Ah, yes. That's lovely, dear, thank you" after doing a favor for her. The first time I heard Jean call me "poppet" though I was caught a little off guard. Mostly because I immediately thought of this scene in Pirates of the Caribbean. When my internal YouTube finished that clip, I laughed and heard Eileen say, "Don't pay any mind to the 'poppet' comment, dear. Jean used to be a teacher and she got in the habit of calling her students that."

Oh, those three days were fun! These ladies, sweet as can be, are the most British women I've met thus far. And not in just their vocabulary, but in daily life. They're very specific in how they want things done, and actually, I'm quite glad for it. Without them directing me, I would've been utterly lost. Particularly in the way they like their tea. (Eileen - "Fairly strong dear, only a drop of milk and one sugar. Jean likes hers to look like dishwater." My silent question of, 'What??' Then Jean- "Lots of milk, dear. No, no sugar, love.")

So, for those three days, and due to their limited mobility at the moment, I spent hours doing little bits around the house for them. Stopping every once in a while to read with them, or have a nice chat. Actually, on my last day with them, Jean and I got into an interesting conversation about World War II. Dad, listen up, you'll like this.

We were sitting and having our tea when the topic of World War II came up. I believe Jean brought it up because she had recently gone to a primary (or elementary) school with a group of her friends from church to explain their experiences during the years of the war. She explained to me that the house we were sitting in was the house her parents lived in, where she and her siblings grew up. She said that she and Eileen were about 6 or 7 at the time the war broke out in 1939. "I told the kids that we were in primary school just like them, but then all the kids in the area we lived in were evacuated to safer areas for the time being," she said. "We just thought we were going on holiday. We had no idea what was really going on. News didn't travel as quickly as it does these days. When we told the kids that, they couldn't even fathom a world without television. They just kept asking, 'Well, didn't you see it on the news?' We had to keep reminding them how different it was back then. They just couldn't believe it."

When she said that, I thought to myself, holy smokes. How are elderly people not spontaneously combusting due to overload of new information?? Going from a time where the 'Dictophone,' a machine that recorded speech for later playback, was a sweet gadget, to a time where there's an App for that..it's incredible. Truly unbelievable. Anyways, back to the story...

She told me of manor houses that the neighbor children were sent to. She said some were more fortunate than others. I asked her what she meant. "Some of the children were treated horribly. Eileen and I were very lucky. Very, very lucky," she replied.


When she and Eileen were sent back to their families, life resumed. I asked her if they lived in fear everyday, at every moment. She responded with, "Yes, oh yes, dear. You see, one night my mother wanted to make a nice meal of liver* and at that time everything was rationed. So I went to the store to buy the meat, and I remember running as fast as I could to get into the safety of the building and my home. I remember hearing the frightening sounds of constant bombing."

As I was trying to picture this image...a child, not 13, running through the streets to buy rationed food beneath air raid bombings, I couldn't, and still can't even pretend to place myself into their shoes, their memories. They seem like distant stories. It's like trying to imagine yourself in The Secret Garden, or even more nonsensical, Cinderella. They're all stories that are enthralling beyond words, but as much as you long to relate to them, it's an unfeasible task.

Well, that's something to mull over for the next few days or so. On a completely unrelated and cheerier note, the ICYE-UK Social Camp is this weekend and I'm getting to see all the volunteers from my On-Arrival Camp. I cannot wait!



Keep it real,

greta





*My inner Google popped up over 8 million image results in .12 seconds...I tried not to grimace. This was hard.

I'll Take Guy Fawkes for 500, Alex

Mmm, nothing like a little Howard Shore to inspire a procrastinator. Well, the last week has been sufficiently blog-able, so I'm here to fill you in.

This first update is essentially a history lesson written by a novice historian. Friday, November the 5th. For those of you who are as unaccomplished in history as I am in mathematics, (if this is true, you would make a perfect Jay-Walker) the 5th of November is a night, or in Sidcup's irritating case: week, of celebrations that involve bonfires and shooting off fireworks that are no doubt illegal in all 50 states of America. This celebratory field day for pyromaniacs commemorates the anniversary of Guy Fawkes' failed Gunpowder Plot on November 5, 1605.  The Gunpowder Plot, in a nutshell, was a plan thought up by a man, Guy Fawkes, who had every intention of blowing up the House of Lords thus killing King James I, and eventually kidnapping the King's daughter, Princess Elizabeth.  Once the King and his parliament were offed, Fawkes and his plotters would secure Elizabeth as a titular Queen. Subsequently, Fawkes was captured.. and how else would you punish a threat such as him? He was hanged, drawn and quartered, of course! Now, back to the 21st century where this story is glamorized and made a holiday..or, more specifically, a reason to party and blow things up.

The celebrations of November 5th are that of our American 4th of July. Backyard parties, fireworks, (let's count how many times I mention those things or blowing things up...So far, 4.) and, more or less, responsible drinking. Traditionally, families would make an effigy of Guy Fawkes and eventually burn it in a bonfire. Harsh, I know. Even harsher? This year someone made an effigy of Wayne Rooney (photo above...and yes, it really was that big) to let out their still burning fury (pun completely intended) with his sub-par performance during this year's World Cup and his recent less than honorable actions involving his wife and a..ehm..well...prostitute. My celebrations, however, did not include burning a replica of my least favorite person (5.) or even Guy Fawkes, for that matter. It was an outing to a massive fireworks display (6.) in Blackheath. Thanks to the crowd there and the cell phone satellites' inability to handle so many people in one place, it took me literally an hour to find my friends. The display was sensational for the most part but it was absolutely frigid and I had to work the next morning so the night was cut short. All in all, I will remember, remember, that 5th of November.


Whew, look at this post! If you're still with me, and still mildly interested in what's going on, please continue so I don't feel like this is a complete waste of internet time...

My first tourist attraction. Yessss

Like I said, the day after the celebrations I had to go to a client's house for work. This client is actually two in one. They're twin boys about 8, needing some assistance because of their limited mobility, and they are the funniest and brightest boys I've ever met. Anyway, the morning began with me assisting them with homework and getting them ready for the day. Then, I did my very first touristy thing since I've arrived: we took a family + 1 outing to the Museum of London. I'm not exactly the museum type. Actually, let me correct that...I'm not much of an art museum type, with the exceptions of MASS-MoCA (Cal!) and of course, The Clark (Confortis!). The family made the MOL so much fun. They quizzed the boys on everything we passed and I realized they are so much more knowledgeable in world history than I will ever be. We went through so many interesting exhibits: Saxon & Medieval, Tudor & Stuart, basically the whole of England from the 1700s to today. It was a great day with the boys and their family, and I'm glad I got out and actually did something. Mom, I'm sure you are too.

If you read through this entire post, you're either genuinely interested in my goings-on, or you're family and you feel it's obligatory to read my blog in its entirety. If you skimmed it, I'm satisfied..it still gives me a page view (thank you, Ben for pointing these out to me).

I've found a million brochures of things to do while I'm here that'll surely be blogged about in due time. Stay tuned.


Oh, and if you're interested (Dad, I know you will be)... a while back there was a program on BBC that looked into the Gunpowder Plot. They reconstructed, to a T, what the explosion would have looked like. Really interesting stuff, actually. Here's the link! ---> The Gunpowder Plot: Exploding the Legend

One last thing, if you hadn't noticed already, I learned how to link things within the sentences I've written. Kind of went crazy with it...whoops!


greta

I'm Back by Popular Demand! ....I'm Modest, I Promise..

It's true. I've been neglecting my blog for the past month. There are some good reasons for this though, one of them being my uncertainty of how to write about my experiences with my clients without breaching any sort of privacy rules.  As soon as I sort that out I'll crank out a bunch of good stories, I promise. In the meantime, here are a few pictures. (Yay! Pictures!)

Here are a couple of my friends from Germany.. Inka (left) and Lisa (right)...and there's me on the far right, if you didn't know that, I'm not sure why you're reading this...Annnyway, this was taken at a club in New Cross, called Venue.

This was taken at our On-Arrival training camp. I'd name everyone but that seems a little excessive

I had to stick my arm out of the window to take this one, the person in that red car thought I was a lunatic. The things I do for you guys...

This is my little family room area, complete with a clock that's off by a few hours..and minutes (who set this thing??), a TV I have yet to turn on, and a massive package from my loving family. Thanks guys..and thanks Jenna for going shopping and picking things out for me. If anyone knows how much I hate doing that myself, you do.

The view out of my front window...a lovely Peugeot dealership

 

 This is the view out of the kitchen window on a good day

The kitchen, when it's (sort of) clean

This one shows the other side of the kitchen and its sassy decor..and by sassy decor I mean the map of London and the faux flowers on the windowsill that give the room a nice splash of color.

Okay, so I hope this little post will tie you over until my next post later this week!

I bid you adieu readers

greta

Wait, why are you in England, again?

It's been far too long since I've done a descriptive post about what exactly I'm doing here. When I say far too long, what I really mean is: I'm sorry that since I started this blog I haven't described, in the detail you'd like, what exactly I'm doing here. 'Far too long' just seemed easier.

If you've never asked me what I'm doing in England, or if I failed to tell you (most likely the latter), here's the gist of it (sorry if this bores you, I tried to put in jokes but then I realized I'm really not that funny..at least not to anyone but myself):

So, I'm working here in Sidcup, Kent (which is really a borough of London, but it's not exactly in London either, don't even ask me about this because I will never understand it). Anyways, I'm working in Sidcup as a full time volunteer for Carer's Support Bexley. What does this mean? Well, basically what our job is, as a volunteer, is to give the carer of someone with special needs a little bit of a break. Whether that means being an extra set of hands to the carer (who is generally a relative) or to take care of that someone while the carer goes out.  Each of the volunteers are given clients, different families with different needs. So far I've been given somewhere between 6-9 different clients. Being a volunteer that's staying for just 6 months, I kind of hit the ground running.

Although I haven't met all of my clients yet, I've learned a little bit about each of them through their respective client profiles. It's really interesting to see the different families' situations. I've got a couple elderly people and quite a few children, each with varied special needs.  These needs range from Cerebral Palsy to advancing dementia. This results in completely different experiences every time I head out for work, which is fantastic for someone who falls into a zombie-like state when forced into a monotonous routine. Mom, if you're reading this, I know you just laughed, rolled your eyes, and asked your computer "When have you ever been in a routine?" Good question, Mom. Fine, let's just say I get bored easily, routine or no routine... just in general. This is the reason why I change my hair color more often than Carrie Bradshaw* changes her clothes.

So, now that everybody's up to speed, I can write up some good stories and you'll know what's goin' on.

*Carrie Bradshaw - If you don't know who this is, don't even tell me because I will scold you. To avoid this, just Google it

Do You Need Some Asssshisshtance?: First Aid Training

Hypothetical question:

 If you were walking down a busy street, and the woman in front of you collapses, holding the left side of her chest, how would you respond? ...I feel like there are 3 different types of people. The people who run, the people who act, and the people who watch. Which one are you?

Annnnd on that note, we had our First Aid Training session yesterday. As the instructor threw out each serious scenario, it really got me thinking; what would I really do? It's easy to say you'd play hero and act fast, but it's so hard to say how we would react if the situation actually occurred.


P.S. I know these last couple posts have just been random thoughts but there hasn't been much to report, I start my actual carer support work this Saturday, so expect a better, more thorough post soon!






greta

Things I've Learned in the Past Few Days....

• Never take the buses at any time between 3 and 4 o'clock. Unless, of course, you'd like to relive grade school transportation
• There are an alarming number of McDonald's and KFC's here
• Asking for directions is actually a good thing
• I can manage public transportation more efficiently after a night of drinking than when I'm stone cold sober
• Feeling underdressed throws me off completely 
• 85% of English small talk really does revolve around the weather
• Creepy, old, drunk men tend to pace in front of train stations
• The Sidcup High Street pubs get overwhelmingly filled with hopeful 13-17 year olds on Saturday nights
• To check under my pillow when I think I've lost my phone

Are you there, Internet? It's me, Greta

After ten days of being in the English countryside I think I can safely say, and this is horrifying... I've almost forgotten how to type. Now that I'm here and settled I'll do my best to rack my brain for details of the past week and a half.
 
After a not-as-long-as-I-thought-it'd-be flight from Minneapolis to Reykjavik to London, (I had to type that into the Google toolbar to make sure I spelled it right, don't judge me) I met up with a big group of other volunteers. Volunteers from all over the place; Uganda, Bolivia, Costa Rica, Columbia, Honduras... With all these Latin Americans around, my Spanish has come back swingin'.

Anyway, we all packed onto a bus that took us to Hockley, a small town somewhere in Southern England...that's pretty much the extent of my knowledge of Hockley.  We stayed at a scout centre, which means no internet, shared bathrooms, and close quarters. All was well though, we managed to keep ourselves busy by playing an absurd amount of games of Jungle Speed*, playing football** with the guys, and going to the local***.  I felt like such a cheater being one of the two English speakers of the group, so I made myself somewhat useful by cleaning in the kitchen and sitting in on some of the classes. You read that right, Mom, I was voluntarily cleaning everyday. So most of the week was a blur of Latin American meals, tea, football, Jungle Speed, socialising, and drinking copious amounts of cider. All in all it was a great time and I'm really, really excited for these upcoming months.


Oh, and just as I got settled into my flat and got comfortable on the couch the power went out for the first time in almost a year, according to my Taiwanese housemate, Crystal. Naturally, I would bring in the bad luck and it would happen the second I get here. She and I were searching in the dark for a half an hour for the fuse board. Minor setback, but it's settled. I'll have to remember to look above the front door and under a nearly invisible hatch next time. Ohhh England


Much love, I'll keep you posted



*Jungle Speed - A dangerous card and totem game that should only be played after clipping your nails and taking off rings and watches, I have battle wounds to prove this

 

**Football - I changed it from soccer to football in fear that the British Empire might actually kill me

 

***Local - The pub nearest you! In our case it was The White Hart...and The Spa, that was an interesting one

I'm (not) in England!

This is my anticipatory blog for my trip to England. I think I've got too much time on my hands and far too much excitement for it and that combo is lethal. I haven't even received my visa but I'm dying to pack my stuff up. I feel like one of those babies parents hook to a leash at parks and I'm running in place trying to make a mad dash for the monkey bars.


Since I'm in my kitchen in Minnesota and not in a flat with the other volunteers, just consider this a test post.


I'll post when I actually have something to say,

greta