When did I start this thing ?

Oh, two weeks to go.

I was one of those ‘post 9/11- ers’, dontcha know-

Dime a dozen, we are.

I slept for 13 hours , no doubt aided by the massive does of antihistamines I took last night. While The Father joked that I was allergic to him, perhaps the fabric on the seats of the plane were the cause of the hives that covered my legs once I stepped into home sweet.

I just went and woke the children up- it’s after noon, it’s time. But it was nice to sit in the quiet house, drinking coffee, reading newspapers in Dutch once again, instead of english.

At one, I shall have to go out of our front door, though. End our vacation and step back into my life in the Netherlands. Having emptied my wallet of dollars , dimes and quarters, I shall go to the money machine and fill it up once more with euros.

And then begin the shopping that is a daily part of my life, speak in Dutch once again.

Wonder if I still can…

As I stepped in to the car, I asked The Father if this was our car, it looked so ..unfamiliar, maybe it was his Dad’s or something.

We were really gone for a long time.

As we drove home,The Boy kept commenting about how flat things were, how far one could see.

Maybe on Tuesday, I’ll start cleaning the house, unpacking, checking to see just how bad the dog’s fur is.

But tomorrow- outside of changing the sheets- I’m going to try and pull myself together : the trip ( which went very well) has crunched me, the time change, destroyed my wits, lack of sleep cast a maudlin, black mist over everything.

We managed to haul 7 suitcases and one bike ( no extra charge!) across the Atlantic today. No one weighed our suitcases, but as we stood in the ticketing line, we could overhear the men searching our luggage : ‘Another one ?’. They enjoyed The Boy’s Simpson’s clock very much. Might have even gone so far as to have made their day, given all the hooting that we heard.

And as we went up to the counter, a last glimpse at the security showed a man holding up a framed photo of me receiving my degree. He seemed to hold it for a few moments longer than seemed necessary. It’s only an old photo in a cheap frame, after all.

I wonder what caught his attention- wonder if he could guess our story ?

If, last year or the year before, I had been asked what caught my attention most during our weeks in America, I wouldn’t even have had to pause for breath : I would have answered all of the american flags- simply everywhere. During those two years, we knew that getting The Baby to focus her attention outside of the car would keep her from vomiting, and so, set her out to search for flags. Our car trips were accompanied by the never ending drone of ‘ there’s a memerica flag !’- tiresome at times, but less tiresome than Mumsie scraping up noxious fluids.

Her room- by the way- is done in a rather red, white and blue color scheme : she just loves that flag.

But in America, that phase seems to be over. Old Glory is not in your face any longer, every time you blink your eyes.

What is, is obesity.

I noticed it first at the beaches : our kids were the only boney kids on the beach- and let me add, I’ve always thought that I was very flabby on the nutrition scene. But each kid that I saw on those two beaches was at least pudgy, often downright fat, sometimes obese. I was pretty shocked. The Girl is very slender, yet eats at least twice as much as I do, and not really being a beach person, I would sit there and ponder just how much a child- The Girl’s age- would have to eat, to be overweight. It must be a very great amount indeed. And of course- being the cat that I am- I wondered how any mother- knowing what great store America places upon appearance- could let her child become overweight, a target for ridicule. I’ve already promised The Girl that I will let her know if she starts packing it on : even at 11, her appearance matters very much to her.

Now, I’m not some slim Jim, and after almost 6 weeks here, I’m feeling very much the pus- ball- but I have been amazed and saddened by the large number of morbidly obese people I have seen during this trip. Legs so distorted that they can hardly walk, many handicapped parking spaces going to those who can barely move because of their great weight.

I find it very sad. One can be a stout, refrigerator sized Auntie in the Netherlands and get by, but in America ?

Just today, I read that local hospitals were buying a number of winches ( or cranes, help me out on the English), which could lift up to 600 pounds ( as sometimes there isn’t enough personnel about to help move a patient), as well as special hospital beds for the larger patient. A normal hospital bed, I read, can hold 300 pounds.

You know, it’s a bit of a mystery to me : as I’ve mentioned, I’m pretty lax ( in my opinion) about the food our family ingests. Maybe it is the fact that in the Netherlands- while we have our array of junk foods, it just isn’t quite so large of an array.

And we don’t have all of those stinkin’ commercials ( are s’mores the flavor of the month right now or what ?)

The other thing, which- truth be told- that caught my attention once again, was the number of children in America growing up under the poverty level. I read it in the paper today, but can’t remember the exact percentage- it might be
here, though I can’t check it out as the computer I am on can’t do a PDF file. It was something like 11 or 16 %, something double digit.

Imagine, at least 10% of the children in the richest country in the world are growing up in poverty.

That is shameful.

Today I bought some nicotine patches- only have one of my dutch ones left.

21 mgs they are.

21 mgs.

I’m going to look like something from a Bradbury story on that plane.

Today, I bought 120 oz of chocolate chips for a friend of mine who lives in the Netherlands and is running low. Tomorrow, I shall buy the same amount for myself, as well as a supply of Dr. Seuss books.

After all, I can bring 8 footlockers of treasures on the airplane with me on Saturday, should I so desire.

And I’m doing my very, very best to fill those bags.

This morning- having whizzed through the store- The Boy and I were chit- chatting outside the door to WalMart, as we waited for The Girl and The Father and The Baby to finish up their shopping.

To pass the time, I suggested that he open the box of the PC game he just bought and read the little book. Once he had the wrapper off, I pointed him in the direction of the grey garbage can by the street. A van was parked by the trash can, and a young black man with a foot injury was sitting in the van, waiting for his wife to bring back one of those electrical shopping carts, provided for those who have trouble walking.

As The Boy neared him ( and the garbage can), the man called out a friendly and totally incomprehensible ( to The Boy) greeting.The Boy actually turned towards the man and stood there with his mouth open, jaw- hanging, flies – can -walk- in -and- out open. The man repeated his greeting, and The Boy continued to respond with an open mouth and a blank look on his face. And then The Boy looked at me, and I sauntered over. Hi, I said, I’m sorry, but The Boy is actually from the Netherlands and sometimes he has a little trouble with the accent here. The man then turned to The Boy and said ‘ That’s cool’ and then carefully and slowly explained to The Boy what ‘ That’s cool’ meant.

They continued chatting- The Boy is like that- about PS2 games and concluded their chat withThe Boy explaining why american PS games won’t work in the Netherlands ( PAL vs NTSC).

It passed the time, as we waited for The Girl to finish up her last minute shopping.

I started packing this evening. I hate packing. We can bring eight suitcases as well as The Boy’s bike. And- while it is a bit of a struggle for about a half an hour- my thoughts are : why not ? There are things from the house I want to bring home, photo albums, things that belonged to my mother. There are a few gifts that I want to buy for people I know across the sea, simply because I am in mode shop and I seem to be quite sure that these various children simply lay awake at night, dreaming of these things. And the exchange rate is so in our favor.

And I want to bring some stuffing home as well.

I miss stuffing.

Today, the US News and World Report ranking of Colleges and Universities in America came out.

My Alma Mater came in about 13th place, so what. After about three days at the place, I knew that I had made a terrible, terrible mistake : what, I wondered, was I doing here ? But it simply meant the world to my parents that I had been accepted to a Seven Sisters School.

In the late 1800’s, when The Ivy League popped up, The Seven Sisters was the feminine retort. While most of you would never, ever have heard of my school, any one who went to an Ivy League School has. They were where the dapper young Ivy Leaguer found the appropriate wife.

The Seven Sisters were a serious approach to the education of women, on a serious level, not just that finishing school shit. And while I never fit in there, not really ( uh, I like competing against the boys, not other women), I can never be ashamed of having gone to a school which nurtured Julia Child, Betty Freidan, Gloria Steinam and Sylvia Plath, to name a few.

On the other hand, Barbara Bush and Nancy Reagan went there as well.

Can’t win them all, I suppose.

While other schools may rank higher, that bothers me not one iota: in my life, today, no one has ever heard of my school, doesn’t know about the mystique of having gone to a Seven Sisters School, I haven’t one shred of prestige from having gone there.

Except for the fact that it was one of the first schools to take the education of women seriously.

I just wish that someone, along the line, had taught me how to spell.

After I had checked my email this morning, I decided to check on the procedure for obtaining absentee ballots in the Great Commonwealth of Massachusetts ( you know, where The Hub of the Universe is located). After all, at least the county names are more familiar to me.

Sitting on the kitchen table is my sealed application for an absentee ballot, ready to go off in the mail tomorrow morning. I can’t help but feel my vote will be a waste of effort- after all, if he doesn’t carry his home state, he hasn’t a hope in hell.

But still, after last time… I want to add my silver bullet…

It looks like I shall be voting -for the very first time – in an American election come November.