Oh, the snow....

Hello, again.

I know what you might be thinking, 'Did she write a poem today?'

No, I didn't write a poem, but it did snow in London. Quite a lot for the city, in fact, over the last two days and moments of my day have been quite poetic enough for this, the 1st December.

The holidays really are here--and when I say the holidays, I really mean my birthday, the countdown begun. I can't help but think of my birthday and snow as two peas in a pod. Sure, when I was little I yearned for the pool party, the popsicles, the summers running around in the sun (credit to my parents, I did get an un-birthday party in June once. It was a blast!).

But then, I wouldn't have the snow. Or ice skating. Or memories of hot chocolate and piling into the peach mobile to go look at all the Christmas lights around little ol' Yreka with all my pre-teen friends.

I can't help it, I was giddy today that it was December. Hello, birthday month. Hello, holidays. Hello, snow and hot chocolate and the end-of-the-year reflections. Another season has passed, another year older. And, another white winter in London Town.

For Sunday - A Sunday

I worked, and made a few pounds in tips.

I stayed late at the restaurant, had a few beers with the owners & their friends, and knew I had a home in Tooting.

I still missed California.

A New Name

I can't tell you how many years I've wanted a nickname. There are distinct memories from second grade when I realized I couldn't really shorten 'Erica' down to anything 'cool.' My best friend couldn't really either, but it didn't matter: I wanted a nickname. 'Air' was a bit awkward, and a bit too blonde. 'Rica' was just stupid. Friend did start to call me 'E' and in college I started signing this 'e.' (Yes, that is a distinctive lower case 'e'.)

When I lived in Ireland, I became known as 'Erica from America.' My dearest friend there coined the name and it stuck in explanatory terms. In other words, everyone called me 'Erica' but to clarify in situations where I wasn't there (or in people's mobile phones) I was 'Erica from America.'

Then I fell in love with a Brit who's sister had also fallen in love with a woman called 'Erica.' Given that 'Erica from America' popped up again for clarifications sake, and after stilted attempts to use the other Erica's home as a signifier, we gave up: she's 'Erica NOT from America;' it still rhymes.

In England, the name started back up again about two years ago, sometime around my first visit to my lover's home for Valentine's 2008. Here, I am occasionally called 'Erica from America' in family gatherings, and on Christmas tags from holidays past. It was until a week ago though, that the true potential of the nickname really came to fruition. Let me tell you how it went:

I sent a text to my soon-to-be sister in law, and to clarify, just in case, that it wasn't in fact her wife text her, and without taking up all those text letters, I signed my message 'efa.' The following day, Alex and I received a letter from her dad in Cornwall addressed: Ms. A & EfA. Holy moly, Batman--how'd that happen?!

THEN, my friend from Ireland, the one who coined the name in the first place, shows up to stay with us for a week (well planned in advance, mind you) and we start talking about my mouthful of a nickname. Then I tell her about the text message/letter co-incidence and she looks at me and says 'That's a great name!' From that point on this morning, she called me 'Efa.' My eyes have gone starry with excitement: a new name.

Where I've Been

Wow. That is the first word that comes to mind in reflecting upon the last four days: wow. As you may have noticed, I've been gone from one a day for more than a day with Thanksgiving festivities. At home in California, there are three days of traditions. For my first year in England for Thanksgiving, there ended up being three days of festivities.

The actual day of Thanksgiving my mum-in-love brought out all the surprises after she joined us in London for the holiday so I could be with family. First, it was a bowl of Jelly Bellies and a plate of vegetarian sushi. Then, I was banished to the bedroom while her and Alex decked out the living room/dining room with fabrics, candles, potpourri, flowers and food. After that, while all the yummy food a la Marks & Spencers was being heated and the cava flowing, our front buzzer rang with surprise guests of J&E (Alex's sister & her wife) with their dog, Foxy, to top off all the surprises!! Warm, loved: such a relaxing evening with my second family on this side of the ocean.

Friday brought the baking: family recipes of sugar cookies and pumpkin pies. Attempted home-made hummus and planning for our first turkey roast the next day. I even got to talk to the family and all the cousins in California via the delightful possibilities of the internet (thank you, Skype!)

Thanksgivin' a la Tooting! happened on the Saturday with 16 of us (16!) filling out the 3 tables + chairs spread Last Supper style down the center of our living space: decorating cookies'; enjoying devilled eggs, wine and champagne; feasting on the intense amount of food provided; conducting the most stellar clean-up job I've ever seen from a collective group of people at a party; and playing games and chatting until the clock struck twelve.

Endless moments to be thankful for, countless people to feel loved by near and far, epic proportions of food to be relished over.

Mmm, the food. A one a day list to be drooled over:

• Delia's style turkey with butter, bacon, salt, Tony's Creole seasoning (not Delia style) and lemon
• Mashed potatoes with spring onions, butter, sour cream and milk
• Sweet potato souffle with pecans
• Southern Green Bean Casserole with home-made fried onions
• Cornbread
• Devilled Eggs
• Home-made hummus with carrots & celery
• Champagne, wine and sweet tea
• Nut-Vegetable Loaf
• Brie & Goats Cheese
• Cranberry sauce a la Britian
• Cranberry sauce a la Washington
• Hawaiian style stuffing
• Paxo stuffing
• Home-made sugar cookies
• Home-made pumpkin pies
• Ice cream, Double Cream, Cornish Cream
• New York Cheesecake
• Mini Mince Pies
• Chocolate Tart
• Bakewell Tart
• Tarte aux Pommes (Apple Tart)
• Citron Tart!
  

Care Package

Last week, my love and I received a care package from my aunt filled with the best candy America has to offer, the kind of candy you get special just for the movies and you scarf down before the opening scene even starts:

Junior Mints
Milk Duds
Whoppers
Sour Patch Kids
Red Vines
Baby Ruth
Peanut M&Ms

I can hardly think of an instance where I didn't get one of these for a trip to the movies, sneaking it in under my jacket or paying full price at the theatre for the bigger box.

As if enjoying their taste wasn't enough, I have relished in talking about them. Calling them 'candy' instead of 'sweets' and feeling justified because they're not English sweets, like Wine Gums or Smarties or Maltsers, but an all-American spread of candy. It's like I have some kind of Sandlot mentality when I talk about them being the ones you take to the movies--not the 'cinema'--as if buying a box of Junior Mints for the blockbusters were some nostalgic weekly summer tradition of my childhood.

No such weekly summer tradition existed, and often times the actual chocolate of the candy or sweets is better in Europe (see: Ireland's Cadbury), but it seems I still can't help but be excited when I see the tub of candy on the kitchen counter... I think I miss home.

Living Somewhere

This morning, I got up and baked oatmeal raisin cookies for a friend who is far away from home. I found a recipe online and with the last batch in the oven as I type, they didn't turn out too bad. A little dry (short on unsalted butter) but in a country where tea is prevalent, they'll be fine with a cuppa.

As I read the instructions this morning though, I sighed at remembering not only do I not have a hand beater, I definitely don't have an electric one, i.e. the kind of necessary baking tool I grew up using and absolutely loved. No, they aren't really popular in England and even though my love's mum has shown me multiple times how her grandmother used to beat her batter 'within an inch of its life,' I still struggle beating any mixture by hand.

It reminds me of my mom trying to bake pumpkin pie for Christmas in Ireland. None of the stores had pie tins--aluminum, non-stick, or glass--and neither of us had thought to pack one. The Irish make pies, yes, but thick savory pies and anything resembling the sweet slices we craved were made into little tarts. After much searching, we finally settled on pumpkin tarts for Christmas. They were delicious. Plus the cream was way better.

A friend's sister says that she hasn't lived in a house until she's baked in it. Baked once, that's a start. But it's more than just the inaugural batch of your classic chocolate chip recipe with the secret ingredient. It's finding where your baking ingredients will be kept, how the bowls will stack, the temperament of the oven, use of counter space, and where your dish cloth or apron will hang.

When you live in a new country though, it's even more than organizing and understanding a kitchen. You have to learn the new names for ingredients: Bicarbonate soda is baking soda, sultanas double as raisins; which brand of butter you prefer; and sift through the masses of sugars you never knew existed. There's Gas Marks instead of Fahrenheit or Celsius, hand beating techniques instead of mom's Kitchen Aid mixer. No, I think it's not until you have learned to bake in a new country that you begin to learn to really live in it.