A New Chapter

I have begun a new chapter in my life. A move to England to be with Sarah and James. A baby boy on the way to add to our family. But what good would the story be without a few twists and turns.

Monday - 12/27/2010
After a long ordeal - delayed flight from London that was diverted to Toronto - Sarah and James made it to Boston at 6:30 p.m. We drove straight back - minus the requisite stop for pizza - to Northampton. James, uncharacteristically, fell asleep on the car ride home. He, too, has entered a new phase of his life.

The delayed flight caused a problem with our impeccable timing. You see, we were planning to get married on New Year's Eve. There is a three day waiting period for a marriage license.
Yesterday, I had spoken to the head of the probate court in Northampton. Luckily, I knew him from school work and work with the Survival Center. He told us to appear at the district court today at 8:15 a.m., when we would be placed at the front of the day's docket. All went according to plan and we received our marriage certificate.

We spent the next two days getting the last details in place for the wedding. I still had to propose to Sarah since we had not been together for two weeks. Then we had to get wedding bands (as in rings, not music).

Thursday - 12/30/10
The wedding guests - my father and Lenore, Harvey and Rebecca, and Andy and Nancy - arrived after travails with travel. We had a nice dinner at Green Street Cafe. James, in now characteristic fashion, fell asleep with his head in Sarah's lap. My father, who had doubted that he would see my wedding day, basked in happiness. Near the end of the meal, he got up from the table and wandered off to an adjacent room in the restaurant. We could see him talking to successive tables of patrons. Then, like a bandleader, he led the group in "Happy Marriage", sung to the tune of Happy Birthday. A few voices harmonized, as happens when you get a critical mass of able people. It was so sweet that we hardly needed dessert. (James sleepily picking his nose also put us off desert.)

Friday - 12/31/10
New Year's Eve and our wedding day. James, our ring bearer, looked smart in his suit and white rose boutonniere. And no burping or nose picking on this special day. He had to serve as unofficial wedding photographer.

Jitters for Sarah. Her nerves kicked in at about 4 a.m. Cold hands on the way to the wedding at The Blue Heron in Sunderland. The ceremony was held in front of the fireplace. A heartfelt exchange of vows. My brother, Andy, capturing the moment on his blackberry to send it to the rest of the family. We recessed to a private room upstairs for a delicious meal. Joyful toasts tinged with tears abounded from Rebecca (representing the UK contingent), Andy, Harvey, James, Sarah and me.

James's toast:
Lovely Chippie
Thank you for making me laugh.
Thank you for playing with me.
Thank you for being a friend.
I am so glad to have you as my stepfather.

Now I just need to get back to England to actually begin the new chapter.

The Naked World Is Not Ruined

Events have conspired against us. Note the passive voice. I would like to believe that we have not contributed to our own misery. We thought that the visa process would be quick and painless. It has proved (proven?) to be neither. In-depth searches on the internet - all you can do when stranded stateside - have revealed the fickle, impenetrable and sinister workings of the British Consulate. But who knew? It has caused us much pain to be apart, having to revert to skype chats and to have our relationship resume the abstract quality that we thought was firmly a part of history.

At least, we thought, we would have a temporary respite from this slow drip of loneliness, as James and Sarah were due at Logan Airport on Sunday, Dec. 26. (We would be reunited for our impending wedding on New Year's Eve.) On Sunday, Sarah and James were scheduled to leave Heathrow at 11:00 a.m. (GMT) but strangely their departure entered a series of delays. Oh no! Will they make it? Hours of texting and refreshing the British Airways website. And then yes, a reprieve! They caught the last flight out of Heathrow and made it across the Atlantic. Yippee! The British Airways site said the flight was due in a little after 6:00 p.m. A drive to the airport through slippery, snowy streets and a slushy turnpike. I entered terminal E at Logan to see a couple was hugging upon their reunion. I looked up at the arrivals board.  "Flight 213 - Diverted/See Agent." The delay forced them into the teeth of, what will be known as, the Blizzard of 2010. The plane has been detoured to Toronto.

Now don't get me wrong. I like winter storms and find comfort in the warmth and shelter of home. But when it separates from your loved ones, you see the harsh side of nature. After a full day of anticipation, the slow drip continued.

Or has the dam of devastation broken? Our wedding ceremony may be in jeopardy. I'll see today. In Massachusetts, you apply for a marriage certificate and have to wait three days to return to pick up the license. Our timing was precise but left no margin for...well, I can't call it error...acts of nature. I will find out today if we can proceed with the help of a hopefully, flexible bureaucracy. Will someone come in to the Northampton city clerks office on Friday - when they are closed - to issue us a marriage license? (Can you hear the timpani?)

Am I making this sound melodramatic? Do we sound like passive victims of events? I can't help it. I'm willing to entertain a little self-pity. I have missed the past two months of Sarah's pregnancy. She has been distraught at times and then, as is her nature, regains her composure, and resets her expectations. I have missed valuable time with James, that was to be spent enjoying each other and strengthening our bond. I wanted and want him to be secure in our relationship before the baby is born.

But, the naked world is not ruined. This phrase came to me at three in the morning. Strip away the immediate travails and look at the essentials. Whatever happens in the next week - in terms of the wedding - and in the next months - in terms of my visa, we still have our love for each other.  Eventually we will return to our life together. I try to embrace this thought.

But these may be the last ramblings of a man before he enters and institution. And I don't mean marriage.

While we're waiting...

Still no news on the visa.  I am considering a move to Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania to resubmit my application to the UK because the visa processing times are more favorable there.

I won't be able to see James open his Xmas gifts this year. To compensate for our "misfortune", Sarah and James, arriving on the day after Xmas, will be staying an extra week. We'll get in some skiing the first week of January. By then the slopes will be clear of the vacationers.

We're still moving ahead with our plans to have the baby and have decided to have a boy. Sarah had her scan last Thursday. Sarah told James the news and discussed possible names with him. She mentioned the name "Lucas" which was proposed by my family at Thanksgiving. James said, for some reason, that to be a Lucas, you need to have blond hair. When Sarah said the baby may be a redhead, he quickly offered "Rodney." No offense to anyone named Rodney but it's not in the running but is now serving as a moniker for the bump.

In other news, we're getting married in a very small ceremony on New Year's Eve day. For a complicated set of reasons, this is our window of opportunity. About a year ago, when Sarah and I were discussing the visa options, she offered, "Worst comes to worst, we can always get married." What a romantic. Marriage will not immediately help our visa status but once I receive my visa I can turn around and apply for a partner's visa.

Visa Time II

December 6, 2010

I wish I could tell you that the visa came and we're all set. Sorry.

The British Consulate has updated the visa processing times with Oct. 2010 data.

Settlement Visas	2 days	3 days	5 days	10 days	15 days	30 days	60 days	90 days	120 days	Total decisions made
Settlement	22%	28%	34%	39%	46%	73%	99%	100%	100%	149

Compared to September, they had three times as many visas submitted and the processing time took at least twice as long. Days means business days. We are now at day 17. The data for September were more hopeful. For example, in September, by the 15 day mark, 74% were processed.

But more silver lining to this waiting period. I was able to see the Hopper exhibit at the Whitney in NY. And yesterday, I was able to celebrate my brother Harvey's birthday with him in Cambridge. Good to spend time again with Rebecca and my nieces.

Sarah and I have adjusted our longer term plans to deal with reality. I will stay in the states and run for president in 2012. We're getting fed up with Obama's capitulation to the Republicans (I had a hard time using a capital "r") by extending the Bush tax cuts for two more years. How could he do that?

Sarah and James will be coming to the states on December 26. I was supposed to be coming with them. It looks like I will miss the 20-week scan on Dec. 16 when we will learn the gender of "Ginger/Red." (We're not disclosing names yet.) This is a great big bummer added to the disappointment of not being with Sarah and James to enjoy this time of year and the excitement about the baby. I can only hope that I will be flying back with them in the new year.

Well, gotta go to the hardware store. Sarah and I are planning to chain ourselves to the British Consulate gates over the holiday. Look for us on the evening news. Is anyone available to watch James?

Visa Time

"Oh to be in England" - Robert Browning

Wednesday, Nov. 3:

I am in Boston to have my Biometrics done for my visa application. It seems like Sarah and I have been strategizing around my visa and the implications for so long. Which visa? When? How long will it take? How do we work this around work, ultrasounds, etc.? Filling out the lengthy form. Assembling all the supporting documents. Email correspondence. Bank statements. Pictures of us together. Pictures of James. Mortgage statements. Birth certificates. Evidence of Sarah’s income as my sponsor.

As my sponsor, Sarah must demonstrate that I won’t be a burden on the system. That she can support me. They don’t realize that she goes off to work while I do all the heavy lifting, e.g. doing the wash, yardwork, etc. 

Sarah fears I will be stuck in the states longer than the two weeks, at most, it will likely take to process my visa. She has already said that if it takes longer than three weeks, she is pulling James out of school and coming to the states.

Today I’m going to the Application Support Center, opposite the Boston Garden, to have my Biometrics done as part of the visa application process. Sounds so futuristic. This probably only means finger printing but I’m hoping that they will also scan my retina and fit me for some new glasses.

When I entered the center, I was handed number 756 as part of the passive and impersonal process. “Move here.” “Sit here.” “Move down three chairs.” “Next.”  However, very efficient. I arrived an hour early to reduce my anxiety and was processed in a half an hour. Biometrics done. My BMI is 26. I need to lose a little weight. And my triglycerides were a little high. Ha!

The Application Support Center was the typical bureaucratic, drab powder blue. Would  powder blue be drab in your house? Maybe you can also get drab Egg Shell, or drab Ochre. The can must have specific instructions: “For use in government offices only.”

There was also an old 1’ x 3’ map in a case, bolted to the wall, of all the shipwrecks around Sable Island. Pretty random. Once home, my research revealed that Sable Island and the accompanying wrecks are up in Nova Scotia. I can’t make the connection to the Application Support Center, unless it relates to immigration back in the days of ocean travel.

Afterwards, I ran over to FedEx and shipped the two-inch thick packet, including confirmation the completion of my biometrics, that we had assembled for the Future Partners Visa to the British Consulate.

As we now fret over the uncertainty of my return to England, some personality traits are illuminated. Sarah pretends to be an optimist but this process reveals her methodology. She prepares herself with the worst-case scenario (“I’ll see you at Christmas, honey.”) and is then happy when it works out better. I tend to be optimistic (Can you say “naïve”, Pangloss?), thinking it will work out according to plan, the most expedient route.

Monday, Nov. 8:

The British Consulate sent an email today confirming receipt of our application. The letter states that the visa will be processed within 5-10 business days. They clearly state that we should not try to contact them within that time but may contact them if they exceed the 10 days.

Wednesday, Nov. 24:

The 10 days have expired and the visa has not been processed yet. We have had no contact or information from the British Consulate. I called my congressman's office and was told by a staffer that the embassies have, in the past, told them to mind their own business. In fact, she commented that an inquiry from the congressman's office would likely extend the processing time or quickly result in a rejection. With that information, I wrote to the consulate a careful, diplomatic, deferential email seeking information on the status of our application.

It’s been great to see family and friends but I am now feeling like an exile. Sarah is attending doctors’ appointments without me. In three weeks, she is having the scan where we will learn the gender of the baby. These events are supposed to be shared.

While I get to spend more time with my family for Thanksgiving, we had to cancel our Brent Pelham Thanksgiving scheduled for this Sunday.

Tuesday, Nov. 30:

The saga continues. No response to my email to the consulate. I called British Airways to reschedule my flight two weeks hence and was informed that it would cost an additional $450. I cancelled the flight. My optimism is beginning to look a lot like wishful thinking while Sarah pessimism is looking more realistic.

My tenant returned to Northampton from her two week trip to California and Washington state. I’m now itinerant, in NYC for a second round of visits with family and friends. James has begun to ask, again, when I am coming home.

If I am still stranded in the states when Sarah goes into labor (not really, since she is having a c-section), I'll be sending around a petition for your signatures, requesting that I be placed in a nice mental health facility with kindly orderlies. 

More updates to follow, unfortunately. If only we knew someone who had some influence with the British Consulate.

As Robert Browning wrote, “Oh to be in England” (http://poemsandprose.blog.co.uk/2009/08/23/oh-to-be-in-england-6798761/). I’m out of season but the sentiment still fits.

Big Brother

On Monday night (Oct. 18), while drying off from the bath, James asked if he could have a pet of his own. He wanted something that he could cuddle (his fish are hard to cuddle) and that wouldn’t run away (Kissa, our cat, has an understandable fear of kids). I could only think that somehow he sensed that something was up. Sarah and I had to restrain ourselves from saying, “Will a baby do?”

At the kitchen table, after dinner on the following Thursday, homework completed, the last of the pudding scarfed, Sarah asked James to sit in her lap because we wanted to tell him about a big surprise we had for him. Head nestled against Sarah’s chest, he immediately guessed that he was getting a hamster. We said that it was an even bigger surprise. He awaited our next comment eagerly with wide, puzzled eyes. We told him he was going to be a big brother. He leaned back, looked at Sarah, eyes widening further, the puzzlement instantly turning to glee. I said, to give him a location for his affection, “It’s in Mummy’s tummy.” He gave Sarah a big hug and came over to me with another hug. Then stepping away, he stood between us and said very maturely, “I know how this happened." (“Oh no,” we thought.) Pointing at each of us, he said, "This baby came from you guys. I came from my real dad and mum. You guys made this baby.”

We asked James if he would like to see pictures of the baby and pulled out the ultrasound scans which are amazingly detailed and clear (see pictures). We pointed out different features and, one particular scan which showed the baby picking its nose. We commented that James must have left a note behind in mommy’s tummy with instructions.  

Our baby

Baby's legs

Baby's fingers

We told him we didn’t know whether it would be a boy or a girl but that we would tell him as soon as we knew. Thus, over the course of the next few days, began the litany of questions, concerns, ideas, and thoughts – all betraying his excitement.

Practical: What should we call it? When will it be born? How old will it be when it’s born? Will we have enough money? If not, you can use money from my money pot. How old does the baby have to be before we can go on holiday?

Heart-wrenching: (To Sarah, who had a difficult childbirth with James) What happens if you die when you give birth? What happens if the baby dies before it is born?

Scientific: How does it eat? How does it breath in there? Where does the wee go? Where does the poop go?

General: It must be really dark in there.

Nurturing: He asked Sarah to open her mouth so that he could offer the baby advice, relishing his role as big brother.

We were relieved to see James’s response. We had anticipated disappointment at losing his place at the center of the universe. Of course, the baby is still an abstraction to him so we'll keep you posted.

The Harvest Festival (Sept. 26)

The Service

In a country covered by farmland – 75% of England is farmland – you need to pay homage to the Lord for the harvest. The church service was held in the Norman church in our little village. We were joined by Phil, Kate and Ralph. Phil is Sarah’s partner in their practice. The trio are good family friends.

To set the scene succinctly, the day was rainy and raw. As we sat in a dank stone church, I understood why tweed jackets and corduroy (wide-wale) trousers were in abundance. They looked so warm and comfortable. Sarah forbade me to wear my wide-wale corduroys and guffawed at the mention of my tweed sports jacket (I really have one, with vents even) in the closet.

The vicar introduced the purpose for our gathering and led the service efficiently. After fifteen minutes, Ted Barclay, as the prominent farmer in the area, was asked to speak. Standing beneath the large plaque dedicated to his father, Major Barclay, Ted shared a crop report and compared Britain’s yield to India and China, reminding us of our relative imperviousness to any great variance in weather (drought, floods or other natural disasters). Seamlessly, he transitioned to thanks giving for the abundance of food. Hey, thanksgiving!

After Ted’s speech, the vicar launched forth with questions about the ingredients in bread. She asked what prayer mentions bread. Unable to resist an ecumenical moment, I yelled out, “The motzi.” (The Hebrew prayer over bread: Baruch atah adonia eloheynu olam, boray pree hagafen, hamotzi lechem Minnie Horowitz.) The congregants were stunned, momentarily taken off course, but as they witnessed Sarah’s elbow into my uncushioned, tweedless flank, were able to regain their focus and resume the service.

(I revert to some fictional accounts because I missed parts of the service due to a child, directly behind us, who talked and whinged (whining for you Americans) throughout the hour-long service. I know I sound like a curmudgeon but I’ve never witnessed anything like it.)

The service hummed along nicely with recitations by children and reached its pinnacle with the children’s choir leading “Pears and Apples.” Phil had mentioned, over breakfast, that he loved this hymn and he and James sang to the nave rafters with the fervor of Mahalia Jackson.

Pears and Apples – Lyrics

Pear and apples, wheat and grapes

Many textures, many shapes

Falling leaves in golden drifts

Thank you God, for harvest gifts

Flashing shoals of silver fish,

Every colour you could wish;

Fishing boats, for you and me

Reap the harvest of the sea

Deep beneath the ocean floor

Fuel and power have lain in store,

Brought to use through dangerous toil

Thank you, God, for gas and oil.

Coal black diamonds in the earth,

Ancient forests gave them brith;

Skill and labour now combine

Raping harvests of the mine.

Earth and ocean, plant and beast,

Altogether make the feast;

All who long to share your grace

At your table have their place.

Loving Lord, we know you care;

May we all your goodness share;

Save us from all selfish greed,

Finding you in those who need.

The Meal

The service was followed by a Sunday roast – leg of lamb and many other fixin’s – in the village hall across from the church. The meal for 50, prepared by 3 women in the hall’s tiny kitchen, was delicious. We chatted with village folk, giving me a better opportunity to see the character and community spirit of Brent Pelham in full. 

The real focus of the meal was the three blackberry-apple crumbles including one by neighbor Jo. Jo is the standard-bearer and the one I look to take the measure of my crumbles. I chose not to embarrass Sarah (or myself) and only partook of Jo’s crumble.

By the way, the following day, I made another crumble after a walk to pick blackberries. This time I reduced the amount of cinnamon and didn’t overcook the apples when I carmelized them. James had tea at Jo and Woody’s with Tom and then they came back to our house for pudding (what we Americans call “dessert”). Jo, with a discerning palate, gave the thumbs up. I still haven’t gotten the magical response that you see in Chocolat, Babette’s Feast, or Like Water for Chocolate - a sort of mesmerized, transported glaze in the eyes. My standards may be too high or it may take more than an apple-blackberry crumble.

After the meal, we lingered a while. The skies relented and we headed back home, bellies full and glad that the whingeing child lives at the other end of the village.