It's been a while...

Actually, it's been far too long. Several people have asked me what's going on in my life, and I have been saying things along the lines of "Semper in excreta sumus solum profundum variat". Which is not strictly true. Christine still has cancer, I'm still seeking honest employment, still struggling some with stress and depression, but this is not to say that there are no silver linings.

We're surrounded by loving, caring people, Christine and I danced in the Nutcracker in November, as did Tess (of course!)


I have been meditating, attending a men's circle, and have gone so far as to attend a "men's retreat" - the New Warrior Training Adventure in September.


Each of these elements have conspired (can one conspire constructively?) to help me out in some measure. Meditation has given me a sound, balanced and well-grounded core, has helped me develop inner peace and count to ten before throwing my teddy out of the pram. Dancing in the Nutcracker was an enormous amount of fun and gave me a lot of confidence, having been told at age 13 that I would never be able to dance.


The men's circle was another boon, albeit an almost accidental one. A pal of mine had invited me to go, and in my usual rather skeptikal fashion, I kept turning down his invitation. Oh, all right, I'll fess up; I made countless excuses. Finally, one evening, I was dragged along, and found myself in one of the few places I could be truly honest about myself, my feelings and behaviours. It was like confession, only without the kneeling, and it worked. 


Suffice to say that after even more excuses, I signed up to attend the weekend "training", an eye-opening adventure into myself. It's produced lasting effects, all positive. I find myself more rounded, balanced and positive. Christine and I are even better friends as a result.


That said, I'm still struggling. The "carer" element of my life has all but taken over, and I have a fight to look after myself. I've been a cancer carer for most of the last seven years, and it's tough sometimes. Its hard to look at Christine and know that even with the best outcome, I won't have her for much longer. Not that I let it get me down; I think of the line from Theodore Gesiel (Doctor Seuss, to you): "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."

Three Nutcracker dancers

Oh yes. I smile.

Farmer's Market Magic and Madness

I first came to California in the winter of 2004, and have only a few jet-lagged memories of my first few days here. There was meeting Christine for the very first time, the bigness of American roads and shopping malls, and then the Davis Farmer's Market. Christine (in the photo, left) helped one of the vendors, Jim Eldon of Fiddler's Green Farm. Of course I went with her on my first big outing in Davis, hence my first Saturday in the US was spent serving customers at the market stand.

I quickly came to realise that this marketplace was magical. Here was a social space, not just a place to buy veggies. People would stop and chat, swap recipes, admire babies, compare notes on the past week and generally support and encourage one another. The magic is in the people, you see.

Since then I have continue to go down to spend a little time with Jim and his customers, some of whom have become my friends and supporters during the long months of Christine's cancer treatment. When I started working at the Davis Food Co-op, I'd still go down on my days off, to schmooze with people, learn about my new country and its ways, and occasionally baffle people with my British English.

My accent came in handy sometimes (though Christine points out that I'm frequently chatted up!) in starting conversations, though occasionally there were moments of confusion. For example, I had to learn that what I'd known in England as a courgette was in fact a zucchini, the French loan word swapped for an Italian. Coriander herb was suddenly cilantro, and even basil was different - not the word this time, rather the pronunciation (we say ba-sil, Americans say bay-sil). Of course, this soon became part of my lexicon, though while I am quite happy to use a different word, I tend to stick to my British English pronunciations. You may say tomay-to, I still say tomah-to.

Then over time, as the seasons changed, I watched the progression of vegetables. Winter squash gave way to melons, the huge variety of summer squashes and a profusion of greens from the plain cabbage to the exotic mizuna. There was far more than just the plain courgette, of course - here were crookneck, Romanesco, Zephyr and their kin. There were peppers of all shapes, sizes and heats; likewise heirloom tomatoes with real old-fashioned flavour and a bewildering palette of colours.

Oh, and the people. They fascinated me. I'd talk and learn about America in general, California in particular. I learned about the history of the West, about farming in different parts of the country, about a dozen family histories, about their holidays and customs. In turn, they'd learn from me. I told people about the three-cent piece, about why the US pint was a different size from the Imperial pint, about British ways and language. It was a wonderful time, and you know, it still is.

Here's a piece of real America, the social marketplace, the gossip fence, the cultural exchange built on what colonised America in the first place - a place to farm and live in peace. Long may it last.


I wrote this after reading a customer's blog. She stopped by on Saturday as I was having a bit of a laugh with Jim. There are good words, and a good picture too, here.

Autumn, Fall, whatever. Still my favourite season

Going into Autumn is complex for me. It always was - the "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" used to fill me with a desire to flee England's dismal shortening days for milder weather and above all, daylight. Living in California now means that I don't have to fear the coming winter, miss the light, bright days or plod around in wet-weather gear just in case it rains.

Now, it means the season of abundance at the Farmer's Market. We're just out of the best bit, with the piles of tomatoes and peppers, but apples are beginning, so just as I start to miss one crop, another comes along to excite and delight me. How can anyone not shop at the Market? All those Safeway shoppers don't know what they are missing by buying their "fresh" produce in bags and boxes, shipped from God-knows-where and treated in dreadful ways that a man ought not wot of.

Now, of course, it saddens me because my Mum died last year, in late October. This year I'm also dealing with Christine's cancer and the grief that's attached to that. But it's not about to drag me South with the autumnal emigre birds.

A final note on autumn, for my many English or British friends who enquire after my dealings with "American English". "Fall", they say, "is an Americanism best done without. Use 'autumn'".

Sorry to tell you this, but the words fall and autumn are relatively new words, dating from the 17th century. Before that, the season was known as "Harvest", and both words were used alike in America and Britain (or at least, England), though in time, each country had its own preferences. In fairness though, most Americans know what "autumn" means, and few Brits fail to understand the "fall" season. Of the two, once again, the Brits are the ones who gripe most.

I still love you, Harvest season, by any name.