The Joy of Brit fits!

Alas.  It's December.  The semester has flown by and the announcement of a royal baby in the works has brought me back to my Brit fits.

The supremely ironic part of this post is that I somehow have supposed that I've neglected my British leanings.  Yet while I type this, my trusty iPad is to my left--and I'm watching the final episode of the first season of Dr. Who.  My son, who will be 25 this Saturday, BTW, recommended the series to me.  My husband and I were Star Trek fans (all incarnations . . . ) and I just GET British humor, so it was a no brainer.  Must admit I love it.  Sci fi + Brit wit.

I've also watched a series of films this semester that only a true Anglophile would think of watching. . . Sherlock Holmes:  A Game of Shadows, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, The Hobart Shakespeareans. . . 

Which brings me to this.  Consciously, I forget that I created this blog as a reason to continue my fascination with my British heritage.  Unconsciously, my British side surfaces.  I call that a successful semester.

Happy Christmas.

Paradise Lost or Regained?

Love my Milton.  But alas, I've not read any lately. I have a new job in a new location, back in my home town.  My husband and I made the conscious decision to move here, and I am working in a school that has been neglected in so many ways.  I am exhausted, but my heart is full.  Most people would call it "Paradise Lost" because it was once a large, thriving educational community that has become a place where few teachers, administrators, or students would choose to be.  The story of its demise might be dramatic--which is the reason I believe "Paradise Lost" is still relevant today--but the story of its redemption--"Paradise Regained" if you will--is likely to be even more dramatic.  I am  honoured to be such a small part of the story.

In the midst of 14-hour work days, I've had little time to indulge in any British niceties.  I did finally watch the film "Ladies in Lavender," though.  It features Judi Dench and Maggie Smith, who are two of my daughter's favourite actors (mine, too).  Sweet story with a twist or two I wasn't expecting. The two older sisters stumble upon a chance for redemption of a sort--their own version of paradise lost, gained, or never attained.

Wimbledon = summer!

When I was 12 or 13 years old, some hot and humid summer days sent me inside to the welcoming coolness of my parent's den--where the curtains darkened the room and I wrapped myself in a blanket and watched tennis.  I honestly don't remember who dominated the sport then, or if the first matches I watched were of the French Open or Wimbledon.  But I do know that it sparked an interest in the sport--which sent my younger brother and I, along with many of the other neighborhood kids, to make the short trek to the neighborhood high school tennis courts and try our hand at the net.  

As is common with me, I quickly understood the concept of the sport and its rules.  However, I never became very good at actually PLAYING the sport.  My brother, on the other hand, continued to play, joining the tennis team in high school and eventually being named "most valuable player" his senior year.  He also played quite a bit during his first years in college.

My affair with tennis, however, is primarily perpetuated by its association with carefree summer days.  As I write this today, I am a vacationing English instructor in a rented townhouse on the Gulf of Mexico.  From my chair, I can hear the ripple of water in the bay, and if I glance to my right, the water is so close I can imagine I am on a cruise ship rather than on land.  But straight ahead of me is a 36-inch   television screen.  And I am observing my yearly ritual of "breakfast at Wimbledon."

Yes, there are strawberries.  No, there is no cream (I prefer a little agave syrup).  And although I've always like Roger Federer (no reason not to like the guy), I'm firmly in Andy Murray's camp.

The first British gentleman in the finals since 1938?  Love it.  His hometown fans in Scotland squeezed into the pubs to watch?  Priceless.  Princess Catherine and Pippa in the stands?  And the Beckham "royalty," as well?  What could be better?  And Murray's making us proud so far.

Today, I'm feeling as British as my great, great, great, great. . . . grandparents.  I feel the tea coursing through my veins and my puppy (who is at least 50% Yorkshire terrier) doesn't seem to mind my occasional outbursts.  He's sidled up beside me, wearing his plaid Hamish McBeth harness I bought at Harrod's two years ago, and enjoying the show.

Looks like it may be a bit overcast and gloomy at the beach today.  In my mind, God is giving me a bit of London weather.  Many thanks!

Home sweet home

As part of my introduction, I share the picture of my mantle--the view from my chair as I begin this blog. Telephone booth bookends (Mother's day gift from my son), London and Ireland guidebooks (from past and future trips), and a print of Shakespeare's Globe theatre (purchased during my 2010 visit).

The Short Version

Starting when I was in the sixth grade, my life inexplicably took a turn toward the United Kingdom.  About 25 years later, I learned that both sides of my family can trace their ancestors straight back to the UK.  Between those two events, I became a teacher of literature and composition, always leaning toward British Literature.

Now, both consciously and unconsciously, I am always fascinated and sometimes obsessed with all things from our Mother Country.

So here's my story--both past and present.  My goal for this blog?  To give me a valid reason for continuing my love affair with all things British!  But also to share my findings and experiences with those of you who read it, hoping you will catch a bit of the fever, too.  I'd also like to hear the stories and experiences of others--the more, the merrier.