A Dangerous Pastime...

Thinking. Besides walking, this is probably the thing I do the very most these days. I will only be in London for two more weeks, and then I'm headed back for the States. Not home yet, mind you. Oh no, New York and Nantucket are on the schedule for the two weeks after that, and THEN home. More or less. Anyway, my point is that as my time in London winds down, I'm feeling a bit like I've done my experience here a bit of an injustice. The challenge that it has been seems to get all my attention when I'm talking to people, posting here, or writing emails. And yes, it has been one of the greatest challenges of my life! But I feel like I have neglected the absolutely wonderful things that make up my life here. I talk so much about the headaches the girls cause, and leave out the sweet conversations I have with Maggie when she begs me to stay by her bed just a little longer. I never mentioned that when she told me she didn't like to go to bed because she had bad dreams, that I talked to her about praying. I told her how I used to have very, very scary dreams, and sometimes I still do. I told her that if I say a prayer to Heavenly Father to help the dreams to go away, I never have bad dreams. She didn't seem too interested, but the next night, she was so excited to tell me that she was going to pray for only good dreams! And promptly put her hands together and pinched her eyes shut to pray. I don't write about how I get to walk through Kensington Gardens at least once a week on my way to church, and enjoy the open space and the trees and the grass. Somehow the fun I have with these girls slips through the cracks and all anyone hears about is how loud they can scream, the number of swear words they know, and how fun they think it is to ignore me. I just want to set the record straight, and while I don't know that I'll be able to set it straight to everone I've talked to, here is my attempt. This family has been spectacular. Yes, they are different from my family, yes they have a different dynamic. Yes its been a challenge to adjust. But Farran especially has been very considerate of me and has made certain that I have the best experience I can. Yes there are frustrations here and there, but it would be a bit uncanny if there weren't. And I love these little girls. Yes, they are spoiled, but they are sweet. The other day Maggie told me that "it's good luck if a pigeon wee's on you, but its bad luck if a pigeon poos on you." Every night they insist on hearing stories about me when I was little. They are smart and they are funny and they know what's going on in their world. They have taught me a lot about myself and the kind of person I want to be. For a while there, I was certain that I wouldn't miss them much when I was home. That was silly of me; I'm going to miss them desperately. Maybe not the tantrums or the attitude, but I'll miss chatting with Maggie, I'll miss playing backgammon with Charlotte, and I'll miss telling stories to little Farran. And I'll miss London! I am a little surprised about that, because I'm pretty tired of this big, big city. But I'll miss the way the buildings look and I'll miss my walks through Kensington Gardens. I'll miss Pollock, Cezanne, Monet, and Ruebens. I'll miss St. James gardens. I'll miss Patisserie Valerie and Pauls Boulangerie. I'll miss Holland Park and Sticky Toffee Fudge ice cream. Mostly, though, I'll miss those girls. Maybe not immediately after I'm home, but I know I will. Anyway, I just felt like I've been way too negative about these last two months. Tomorrow marks my eight-week mark. Yes, its been hard. Yes, I've felt like crying quite often, and have broken down in tears once or twice. But the challenges always smooth out for the better. Like the tube being on the fritz and making me half an hour late for church resulting in me getting to walk through the park in the sunshine afterall. Or Maggie deciding she was sick and didn't want to go to school and therefore cancelling my plans to explore for the day, giving me the chance to get some projects done that I've been meaning to do for a while. I think every situation has its flip side. I think too often I forget that Heavenly Father loves me to a ridiculous degree, and if only I look for it, every situation can have something wonderful about it. He wants life to be wonderful, so He sends the challenges that make me a stronger person, but with them he sends small miracles and tender mercies. So yes, that is about all that I wanted to say about that. All I would add is that quote again. "Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms--to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way." To choose one's own way.

This and That

After the last rather lengthy posts, I thought it might be a welcome change, if not for you, for me, to write something a little more brief! So, here is the this and that of London....

Today I tried to watch the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, but I'm not exactly vertically gifted, and every tourist in London and the surrounding area were also trying to watch the changing of the guard. I did catch glimpses now and then.

People in London aren't the cheeriest, but I do my best to try and smile at anyone that will make eye contact with me. They always seem to be staring at my feet...I certainly don't have cute shoes, so it must be that they are trying to figure out how someone with feet that small can walk without tipping over. Either that or the British have some fascination with feet. Seriously, though, its not just that they aren't looking at me to not make eye contact, they are looking at my FEET! It's not like I can help the size of my feet.

I was walking down the street earlier and this old man in his car drove by, singing opera at the top of his lungs. It was so funny because he was gripping the steering wheel and leaning into it and everything. I had quite the chuckle and decided that I hope that I never hold back the urge to sing with the windows down at the top of my lungs.

I hate to lie. Hate it. So when someone asks me if I have any money...sigh. This weird guy wanted money to catch a train to his job interview. He said two pounds...then three...then wanted four. By then I was already looking for some dough for him, so I couldn't very well say just kidding, don't have any. He gave me a hug and kissed my cheek and asked me if I had a boyfriend....sigh. I've been kicking myself over it all day. Why not just say "Sorry, gotta go"and high-tail it outta there?

I've been reading the Chronicles of Narnia while I'm here, and am having an especially fun time doing so when Lewis uses things I've seen--like St. Paul's and Trafalgar Square--to describe things in his book. Like, "Aslan was as big and as still as the lions in Trafalgar Square" or something like that, and I know exactly what he's talking about, because I was there just the other day. It's loads of fun.

The girls' favorite game to play, to my surprise, has been Backgammon! We haven't played too much lately, because we haven't been on the best terms (we're getting much better), but for a long while, they would come down to my room at seven thirty in the morning, or earlier, and we'd pull out the backgammon board and play a few games. I don't even go easy on them and they beat me all the time. Days seemed to go better when we started out with a little one-on-one backgammon time.

I have loads of little stories and snipits from my explorations here, like the crazy lady in Chesterfield...but I think I'll remember them, or at least, remember them in greater detail, when I'm showing pictures and chatting. What does this mean? Well, this means that if you want to hear them, you are gonna have to spend a little time with me when I get home! Sorry. But I'll make you cookies if you do :D

Keep on the Sunny Side...or the less rainy side.

Now that I have related the more difficult and humbling aspects of my weekend, I'd like to share how absolutely delightful it was. I was watching the BBC News this morning, just for a few minutes (the lady said she'd have breakfast for me "at half nine" and when I woke up I realized I didn't know if that was half TO nine or half AFTER nine...it's half after nine) and it was talking about how British people are always so miserable. It didn't take long for me to get tired of the list of things that they are miserable about, so I turned it off but thought it funny that people are so quick to blame their misery on outside influences rather than their own failure to choose their own attitude. If you read the post before this one, you'll know that it took me some time to actually apply this to myself. Anyway, even though I am just as tired as I was before my weekend off, I have a much better attitude, due in part to an epiphany, and in part to the fact that Saturday was wonderful. I know I said it rained the whole time, but I love the rain. I absolutely adore it. I took a bus to Baslow and then from there walked for about five hours straight. I walked through fields full of sheep and trees and green and nothing else until I got to Chatsworth Estate, which is an enormous, famous and beautiful old country house. If you've seen the Pride and Prejudice movies, you've seen it--it's Pemberley. I didn't spend much time in the house itself, because the hills behind it were filled with trails. They are covered in trees, and between the trees they are filled with bracken and heather. It was brilliantly green with splashes of incredible purple. In the trees, the rain was more like a mist than a rain. Like someone had rigged a giant mister like the ones they put over the vegetables at the grocery store into the tree tops. It swirled in the wind and everything looked like a fairytale. I kept slipping away from reality and expecting Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, Little John, and the rest of the merry men to jump out of the trees and surround me. I kept imagining their hiding places and where they would post lookouts and where they would set traps. I was sure that I would look down and the well-worn trail will have disappeared from under my feet and I would be following a deer path into the unknown. Being sick almost delirious with lack of sleep only enhanced my imagination. One point on the trail went up to a waterfall, and above the waterfall was a bench and a mirrorlike pond where the water fell from. It reminded me of the place where Robin Hood and Maid Marion go to be alone. I was always startled to look down and see pavement under my feet, or to see other hikers round a corner, or to hear a plane fly overhead. My only disappointment of the outing was that I didn't have time to explore every trail. Once I finished one and came back to the road, across the way there would be another. Several times I was on the road headed back down to try and catch another bus to a different place (I had plans to see several spots) but would find another irresistable trail. The only thing that got me out of those hills was the fact that I was getting a bit desperate for the loo. Once down, I right near turned around and went back up. Wandering around like that, doing one of my favorite things ever--hiking--was so much what I needed. I almost tried to catch another bus, but decided instead to take a look at the actual house. It ended up costing less than I thought to go in, so I didn't feel too bad that it was closing in about an hour and a half. The house was beautiful, and the gardens...oh my heavens, the gardens...I could have spent a whole nother day in the gardens. They were huge and beautiful and diverse and secluded and absolutely wonderful. There were flowers and ponds and bridges and huge rocks. There were fountains and statues and mazes and benches. Everything you could possibly imagine in any garden in the world, it was there. Since it was rainy and getting close to closing time, there weren't very many people there. I would have loved to spend more time there. Anyway, I eventually had to leave because I wasn't sure what kind of buses I'd get once it got later. When I got back to Baslow, I had about thirty minutes until the next bus to Chesterfield, where I would catch another bus, I hoped (the bus to my stop would leave almost as soon as my other bus got in) to Stainsby Mill. I was staying at Stainsby Mill Farm. With that half hour, I went into a hotel pub and got some hot chocolate. It wasn't quite Stephen's, and could have used a bit more chocolatiness, but it was hot, and that's what I needed. I caught my bus and barely made my other one. I could barely see through the windows because of the rain, and I wasn't entirely sure when my stop would be, but I saw Hardwick Hall on top of the hill just in time and got off at the right stop. I had to walk for a mile or so back to the farm. My body was ready for sleep so I read for a bit and went to bed early. Hardwick Hall, by the way, is quite the place itself. Both it and Chatsworth were built by Bess of Hardwick, who was the second most influential woman in England. The first was the queen. Hardwick Hall is a couple miles up the hill from Stainsby Mill. Once I got to Stainsby on Friday, I dropped my stuff, put on my tennis shoes, and went exploring. I made my way up the hill, through herds of sheep, to the Hall. It was a fun climb. Sheep are funny, and sometimes very ugly. It was mostly closed down, partly because it was almost six thirty by the time I got up there and partly because lots of it isn't open on Fridays for some reason. I couldn't get in the house, of course, but there were some paths I could follow, so I did. I wandered around and walked some more paths outside the grounds for a while until I decided I should go back. I was absolutely ecstatic about being out of the city. Finally. Now I'm back, but that's okay. I had another bout of homesickness while I was in Derbyshire, but that's okay too. The hives I mentioned in my last post are coming back, but that's okay too (only because I have more benedryl). "The last of human freedoms [is] to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances."

Weekend Woes and Whoa's

Sometimes you just need a couple of days when no one expects anything of you, you have no place you have to be, nothing you have to do, no reason you have to take a shower. A carefree weekend, with no work, no stress, and everything goes just right and you can completely unwind and spend some time doing nothing but spending time. Which is why I took the opportunity to spend the weekend in the Derbyshire countryside. I reserved a room at a lovely little bed and breakfast on a working dairy farm, picked up some brochures on possible hiking trails in the area, and hopped on a train, leaving all my cares on the platform. Well...as much as I'd like to say that this weekend was like a warm, relaxing, soothing bubble bath, I'm afraid it was more like a bucket of cold water thrown in my face. Why? Well, it certainly could have been a lot worse. And I'm certainly not regretting the approximate $250 it cost me to do it. I made all my trains and buses, (although I did almost go to Southampton instead of London on my way home) but a few things went...a bit awry. First of all, I've been a bit sick lately, so I was coughing a lot the whole weekend, especially at night, which made for restless sleep. This was not helped in the slightest by the fact that just before I left on my little jaunt, for some outlandish reason, my skin decided it would be a fabulous time to break out in the most ridiculous hives. I haven't had hives since the third grade. This came out of nowhere. I still have no clue what caused it, but it was absolutely maddening. I've never itched so bad in my whole life. And I mean everywhere. Legs, arms, back, stomach, rear end, everywhere. On a scale of one to ten, a mosquito bite is about a two. This was about a thirty. So, combined with that and a bed that sunk in the middle and caused an uncomfortable sleeping position, my first night was relatively lacking in sleep. I sort of dozed for about an hour before waking to see what time it was before dozing off again, only to be awakened by either an attack of itches or coughs, or sometimes both. Besides all that, I have this problem when I travel, that actually can be reflected onto my life as a whole, that I have destinations in mind, but I never really work out how I'm going to get there. I know where I am going, and only when I go to get there do I realize I don't really know how to get there. So, I had plans to visit several spots in the Peak District and go hiking here, walking there, picnicing there. And then I woke up Saturday morning and realized I was about six miles from the nearest town, and about one mile from the nearest bus stop, and had no timetable for any buses or anything. Did I mention there was a steady rain all day, too? Having caught a total of four buses that day, barely making two of them, I made it back to the bus stop after my day out and had to walk the mile or so back to the farm house, in the rain, in my clothes and shoes that were soaked from already having walked the entire day in the rain. Fortunately, having bought benadryl earlier in the day, the itching had stopped and that night I only had to deal with the coughing. I still woke up every hour or two, but this time the sleep in between was more like sleep and less like lying there with my eyes shut. It took me a long time to get home today mostly because I had to do a lot of waiting. Services don't run as much on Sundays, which, of course, didn't occur to me until it was Sunday. It was an hour until the bus came, after I walked to the stop again, and when I got to the train station and asked when the next train to London was, the woman said, "No trains today." She waited several agonizing seconds before adding that there was a bus to Derby, where I could catch a train. So, I waited half an hour for the bus and drove for a good while to Derby. Here is where it could have been worse; I was two minutes late for the train, and the next one didn't leave for another hour. Fortunately the train I was two minutes late for was fifteen minutes late itself. It ended up being a bit more than that, and this is where I almost went to Southampton, but in the end I got the right train and was none the worse for it. After a two hour train ride and another half an hour on the busy tube, I finally made it home. Just my luck, the key was acting funny and for several minutes I fiddled with it, nearly in tears at the thought of being locked out until the family came home. Begging for the door to open, it finally did and I was soooooo happy--until the alarm began screaming in my ear. Totally startled and at a loss as to what to do, I panicked, running this way and that, trying to find a place to plug my dead phone into to call Farran because of course I don't have her number written down anywhere. Phone plugged in--"Battery is charging" I know its charging!!! It wouldn't let me do anything. I rush downstairs, suddenly remembering the number IS written somewhere. I find it, rush to the house phone and dial it three times, each time it said the line was busy. Get off the phone! I yell, nearly in tears, before realizing that the reason its busy is because that's the house number, not Farran's cell. I rush back over to my cellphone and randomly push buttons, shouting at it to behave. I don't swear often, but I was exhausted and the alarm, quite loud and certainly being heard all over the neighborhood, had been going for ten or more minutes by now and I was expecting the police to break down the door and apprehend me any second, so I may have said damn it. I was totally panicked and finally realized that I had to not only plug the phone in, but actually turn it on for it to work. Sigh. After finally getting hold of Farran and getting the alarm off, I felt like crying, laughing, and swearing all at once. Instead I poured an enormous bowl of coco pops and took a nice hot shower. So when I say that this weekend was exactly what I needed, I suppose most of you will want a bit more of an explanation. Because this post isn't long enough already ;) Well, like I said, it was like a bucket of cold water to the face. This is effectively jarring when one needs to be woken up. A nice, soothing hot bath will only make one sink further from awareness and attentiveness. And really, this weekend wasn't all that bad. Saturday was so wonderful. I'll write the details later, but I basically got to hike around in the most beautiful, enchanting forest I have ever seen. I'm realizing more and more that the trouble with me is that I have to be reminded and taught and retaught over and over again, and even then, I seem to have a hard time retaining the things I learn. Long story short...er...sort of...is that this weekend helped me realize that there really isn't any excuse to be selfish. I know there are times when we've earned the right to be selfish, but ultimately, it doesn't help anything if it lasts for more than an indulgent hour or two. If we--I should say I since I am the only one I can really speak for--If I keep it up much longer than that, I don't entirely pull myself out of it, and pretty soon all day every day is selfish. It's hard to see where you're going if you're always looking at your own feet. This house is very competitive--you have to be selfish to get any attention, and even then its short lived. It's an exhausting environment, and I let it get to me. Instead of keeping in mind that having a rotten attitude would only play right into that cunning devil's plot, rather than protect me from the rest of the rotten attitudes in the house, I let myself become just as selfish and childish as the girls I nanny. I was thinking only of my needs, and how their needs made it difficult for me to do what I wanted. My thought process was that if these girls are going to be brats, then I am not going to be the fun, happy nanny I could be. I'm going to be the bossy, rule-abiding nanny that tells them to do things and won't play with them. They don't earn me as a playmate until they've behaved. Well, the fact is, they are brats. Their environment hardly allows them to be otherwise. I know they are sweet to the core. They just have been taught to be brats. Me being bratty right back made everything go downhill. Maybe they don't deserve a fun nanny, but having a grumpy one doesn't help anything for anyone. This weekend being a bit less smooth than I hoped helped me see how selfish I've been. I didn't see it before because everyone else was just as bad around here, and I felt sort of like a victim. But, being on my own and listening to myself pout about being covered in hives, complain about coughing all night, whine about being tired, disgusted me and showed me how utterly pointless it is to be in a bad mood for more than a few minutes. No one is invincible, and sometimes things just get to you. It's up to you, or in my case, me, to save myself from any further misery by letting go of those irritations and moving on with life without them hanging on you all the time. I just had an image of Marley from A Christmas Carol, weighed down by the chains that represent the bad things he did in his life. That's sort of how I view it; its no ones fault but my own that I was having a hard time. I'm creating my own weights, my own difficulties, by being frustrated and irritable. Anyway, I could go on, but I'll spare you. Simply put: Lesson learned.

Work with me...

I'm new at this blogging thing, so if you are an avid reader and don't want to miss anything I've posted ;) you may want to scroll through my posts to make sure something I started working on several days ago but only recently finished isn't tucked back there among posts you've already read...I can't seem to work out how to put them in the right order. I'm working on it :)

Blood and Guts

I've been putting off a visit to the Tower of London because I kept hearing how crowded it always is. With some of the other places, you can avoid the crowds by going at certain times of day. Like, St. Paul's in the morning. Well, the Tower is busy, busy, busy all the time! I finally made it there, though, and I'm very glad I did, despite the crowds. The museums and things like that I can get by just fine wandering around by myself. In this vastly historical and significant places, such as Westminster Abbey and the Tower, I much prefer to have a guide of some sort to give me the brush up on history and the less well known stories that I need to make the visit actually mean something. I was a little late getting to the Tower because I didn't realize it took so long to get there. It was about eleven thirty, so I decided to get lunch. I ate my very first London Fish and Chips sitting just outside the Tower of London (the chips were great, the fish was so-so). I went in the gates and waited for one of the Beefeaters, the yeoman warders of the fortress, to start a tour. So did about seventy other people. It was a big group, but the warder that led us was wonderful. He told us all sorts of stories about the rack, heads on pikes, public executions, and such. One story in particularly gruesome story was that of James Scott...let's just say the executioner, as the warder put it, "was a part-time butcher and a full-time drunk." Whew. The Tower has a lot more history than I realized; I mean, I know it's a symbol of London, but I never realized how well it deserved to be used as such a representation of the city. One of my favorite things about it is the ravens that live there. Legend has it that if ever the ravens leave, the White Tower will collapse and with it the entire nation of Britain. So, they always keep at least six ravens at the tower. Currently they have three extra. The Beefeater that led my group was the Ravenmaster. I was a bit rushed at the tower because I got there late and the girls were convinced that because of parent-teacher conferences, they didn't have netball (it took me a while to realize that netball is basketball, more or less) after school like usual on Wednesdays. So, I rushed home only to find that they did have netball afterall. My visit was rather quick, only about two and a half hours, but I was glad to go. There is amazing history there, and most certainly not the boring kind of history.

Balance and Revelation

I am tired, sick, frustrated, and missing home terribly, but I couldn't really ask for more. I like to think of myself as having it together. You know, smart enough to know that I'm not all that smart, and therefore willing to learn and be open. Well, in thinking myself such, I realized that I'm not. I've been feeling like I've been doing a good job of being understanding of the girls, but not letting them get away with things. I've been feeling like things have been pretty balanced here; it's a challenge at the house with the girls, but its been countered by all the incredible experiences I've had and the things I've been able to see. I know for a fact that I am one of the most blessed people in the world; I have a job, a home, a great family, wonderful friends, money in the bank and in my wallet, a car, an education, an opportunity for more education, etc. etc. etc. The list of my blessings is off the charts. Which is why it bothers me that I've been a little...down lately. Not depressed, just a bit subdued. Working with these kids is no easy task, and it hasn't gotten any easier since I started. In fact, its gotten steadily harder. I'd go into details but, as those that get emails from me regularly can attest, I've got a lot to say on the subject and could go on for ages. I'll sum it up to this: I was talking to a gorgeous girl in my ward, Emma, who works with the stake primary presidency. She was asking me about my work and I said these girls are pretty spoiled. She mentioned how fitting a word "spoiled" is, and I've thought a lot about that. It's actually a really sad word. Something wonderful, like a flower or a peach, is spoiled when either it is neglected or mistreated or not allowed to grow in the way it should. Kids are spoiled when their upbringing and their environment prevents them from being the tender hearted, sweet, gentle little lights they came into the world as. Children aren't born spoiled. They aren't born prejudice or rude or ungrateful. It breaks my heart that the world can spoil them and make them bratty little hellions. Okay, so that wasn't very summed, but anyway. I've been subdued the last few days because I feel somewhat helpless, as I've sort of felt since I got here. Now, though, I'm helpless and tired, and therefore a bit less resiliant. I feel helpless because I have absolutely no authority with these girls; the second I ask them to do something they don't like or tell them they can't have/do something they want, they scream and run off to mommy. "Hannah's being mean!" I started out, six and a half weeks ago, thinking that as long as I was consistent and patient and enthusiastic and understanding, things would improve. I've sort of gotten walked all over for my efforts. Now I've come to a point where I need to make a decision: do I push through these next weeks in the attitude that it'll be over soon enough, and hey, I get to explore London, or do I start fresh and risk getting shot down for it? I like to think of myself as a strong and determined person, and certainly not one to give up or avoid something just because its a little risky. Its just that anything I establish with these kids is entirely dissolved the second their mom or dad walks in the door, and they revert back to screaming and disrespect. I won't be here long enough to change the way they've been doing things for the past eight years, so is there much point in wearing myself out being an energetic, walked-all-over nanny? I know what the solution is for the behavior here--actual punishment rather than threats. They are smart kids, they understand consequences. They also can figure out how far they can push things before a real punishment will happen. They can push it and push it and get plenty of threats without actually having more of a consequence than an annoyed mother and an exhausted nanny. I know all this sounds horribly pessimistic. Don't worry, I haven't given up or resigned myself entirely yet. Tomorrow the family is going on vacation to Devon, and I am going on vacation to Derbyshire. It will be a welcome seperation, and it will give me the chance to hopefully get over this annoying cough I've got, and get away from these girls and all the stress and frustration they cause! I've believed for a long time now that "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent" (Eleanor Roosevelt) and also that "the last of human freedoms [is] to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances" (Viktor Frankl). They can't get to me unless I let them get to me. I think being tired and sick hasn't helped, but I also need to buck up and not leave my personality behind when I get up in the morning. It's harder in this situation than it has been in other things in my life, but I know I can do it, and I will do it. I just need a weekend in the countryside to convince myself of that. I think it is utterly pointless to blame your attitude or behavior on anyone else, since it is you who ultimately decides how you will react. I think it is giving others undue power over you, which is not a very wise thing to do because it takes away your ability to choose exactly how you will live your life. Therefore, I'm going to go away for the weekend and not think about London or the girls or any of that, and I'm going to come back with a better attitude and more determination. It would be silly to spend three months being nearly five thousand miles away from home just to be frustrated, irritated, and exhausted. It'd be a terrible waste. I found out quite quickly that I wasn't here to sightsee. I'm here to learn, and if I don't actually act on what I've learned, I haven't learned it afterall. So, here I go, off for the weekend with the intention of leaving all ill feelings, both physical, spiritual, mental, everything, behind, hopefully for good. At least, for now...