Back in the UK

In keeping with my chronological theme, and wanting to keep distant friends updated, I think it is about time to describe my most favorite Christmas ever. In 2006, Megan and I went back to England for Christmas (the Muthaland!). It was my first time back in over 15 years, and since I finally have my Resident Alien Card (only took 10 years!), I can come and go as I please.

I cannot even explain the excitement I was experiencing prior to leaving. For years, I have adopted families in an effort to experience that familial feeling of togetherness. I have become a vampire, unable to survive without the lifeblood of families, and seeing those relationships grow and develop. Family is possibly the single most important element in our lives. Without it, we are meaningless creatures, with no way and no one to express our deepest feelings and desires to.

The thought of being back in my parents home, with the people I grew up with, the people who know me best (or think they do!), was almost too much to stand. Unable to focus on work, I spent evenings detailing and planning what I would pack, packing and unpacking our bags over and over. I checked our passports over and over, making sure everything was valid, and there was no way I would not be allowed into England.

On the day of travel, we got up early, and, having been ready to leave weeks in advance, we showed up at the airport hours before our flight was scheduled to leave. I mean, you never know, they could board the plane and leave early, right? The airport was packed with stranded travellers, whose flights had been cancelled due to severe weather. I seriously considered what I would be willing to do if my flight was cancelled, but in the end, our flight took off without a hitch. But, this was only the first leg.

Knowing that I would never be able to handle an 11 hour flight from LA to Gatwick, I left SLC for Minneapolis/St. Paul, which was our connection for the trans Atlantic portion of the journey. I had cut the connection pretty fine, only allowing 50 minutes between flights. Megan was a trooper, racing without need for instruction through the airport, heading for the new terminal. Whew, I wish I was more like her! So, we get to the new plane, huge big airbus, get settled, meet the very nice couple next to us, and sit and wait. And wait. And then we waited some more. Yes folks, after all that rush, and cutting it close, we sat for over an hour, waiting for other connecting flights. Well, no need to get upset about that, Northwest is a great airline to fly, and it's always nice to know that if you are late, they will be waiting for you!

Finally, we leave, and I am terrified. I am not great at flying, mostly because I usually fly on small planes, that get knocked around by the slightest amount of turbulence. However, things are different on this great big plane, you can barely feel a bump. It was the Cadillac of aircraft, big, overbearing, and unbelievably smooth. So, why am I still terrified? Well, lets just say that I am not sure I trust the physics involved in keeping these behemoth's in the air. And I watch way too much Lost. Thankfully, not too many tropical islands in the Atlantic.

Right, so here we are, Megan and me, settled in for the long haul. Put on a movie, listen to some music, play some Uno, generally killing time. Dinner comes around, and it is surprisingly edible. Watch another movie, and next thing, Megan is snoozing on my shoulder. Aghhh, NOT FAIR! That girl can sleep just about anywhere, where as I have difficulty sleeping in my own bed, let alone an airline chair. Oh well, more movie's and music.

Amazingly, without falling out of the air, we make it to England. Grab our stuff, head to immigration. Suddenly not so smooth. You see, Megan's last name is Teresinski, and mine is Johnstone. The agent starts questioning why I am travelling with a minor who has a different name. Can I prove she is my daughter? No, she just is, geesh, she looks just like me! (OK, maybe a little like John, but she got the good looks from me!) He finally accepts it as the truth (I think Megan saying "This really is my Mum, honest!", may have helped), and suggests we either get matching passports, or carry the divorce decree with us.

Then we walk through the maze of barriers and hallways, and there they are, my parents, on their home turf, waiting for me, my Mum is crying, I am crying, and everything is so RIGHT!

Well, as you know, there is nothing like Christmas with family, and even extended family, so now, for the photo's.

Christmas morning (the hats were a dead give away, right?). Alan, Hilary and Christian spent the holiday's with us. My dad is at the end of the table, and unfortunately, my mother has her back to us. However, she put on a fabulous breakfast, with smoked salmon and all sorts of goodies. Have I told you that my mum is possibly the best chef in the world? I don't think she really gets enough credit for it, but, oh my, give that women a few left overs, and she will turn out a gourmet meal! That's my dad at the end of the table, holding court, no doubt explaining some sort of Johnstone Christmas tradition to Megan.

More pearl's of wisdom from the Johnstone family patriarch. Can you tell from that she has become an expert at humoring him? She has also become an expert at being "Grandpoo's Girl". She see's a pair of boots she likes, he goes out and buys them. Not that she's spoiled or anything, just well taken care of!

Mum and Dad planned a big Christmas party of a dinner. Friends and family joined us for the festivities, and, indeed, it was a festivus to remember. Mum cooked a fabulous meal, and Dad made sure there was plenty of wine to keep things going strong all night. After dinner, the wheel of stilton was served, and the games came out. Clare and I had a great time visiting, catching up and generally goofing off.

I know I can count on my Dad to teach Megan all the important things in life. Always take your dishes to the sink, be respectful of others, and how to play Liar Dice. GrandPoo has it all covered, and as you can see, Megan is paying close attention.

I mentioned earlier that Megan got her good looks from me, but I really cannot take credit. You see, all the good looks and talent come from The Grandma. Not only is she the world's best chef (I am not exaggerating, honestly!), she is also a very talented artist, using various mediums to express her creativity (pen and ink, dried flowers, clay), she has the greenest thumb of any person you have met (I will post proof soon!) and she is beautiful. And fun to be around, quite the English Rose.

In between the fun parties and catching up with old friends, we visited the surrounding area. My parents live in Bosham, West Sussex. It is a beautiful old village, with a lot of local history. Bosham is the first Christian site in England. The old church in Bosham in built on the site of a Roman Temple. King Canute tried to hold back the tide in Bosham (his courtiers convinced him that he was powerful enough to control Mother Nature herself), and some guy name Harold left for France from here. Because Harold left from here, it is also featured in the Bayeux Tapestry. Check it out by clicking here: Bosham

Talking of the first Christian site in England, here it is. Bosham church really is a beautiful example of Norman architecture. At least, that is what I hear, since I really have no idea what Norman architecture looks like. But you have to admit, it is kind of cool.

The cemetary at the Church. You can see the lichen on the grave stones, and since lichen is pretty slow to grow, the excellent coverage gives you a good idea of how old these grave stones are.

Bosham harbor at low tide.

This was my first, and last, effort at being "artsy" with my camera. Lets face it, I am not the most creative person around, but even I can see a good picture when I see one. This thatched cottage backs onto a stream, and has a little patch of gravel in back. I just love the look of the thatch, the old brick and the timbers. This is just one of many thatched cottages in Bosham.

Feeding the ducks in West Ashling.

Doing the tourist thing at Portsmouth's Spinnaker Tower.

My posse, all grown up!

So, there it is, my first trip back to my homeland in far too long. I had the worst time coming back. Nothing felt right, and I spent hours online looking for a job and a home in England. After a few months, I started to settle back into my rythm of life. Work sucked me back in, and I got ready for the ride of my life, the MS150, but that is a whole other story!