Tiffin Fun Fest

One of the stereotypes for America is that you drive everywhere. This isn't entirely true, while I was there we walked the dog a number of times, took the children to the park, and took the long (about 40minute) walk from the house to A's high school. (We walked the 40 minutes back too!)

However, when we were driving, we would pass from town to city, passing through the various counties of Iowa. One of which would make me chuckle. The city of Tiffin. Of course, most people are probably scratching their head, or going "what's so funny about a light meal?"


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The reason it makes me chuckle though, is totally childish. "Having Tiffin" of course being a euphemism for sex (mentioned, according to this link [click me] in the film "Carry on Up the Khyber" - but I think also in the Bridget Jones Diaries? Maybe?). And then, seeing a sign "Tiffin fun fest, Saturday!" - it takes on a whole new meaning... well... old... childish meaning. Of course, most people in Tiffin are (I'm told) strict religious types (i.e. psycho Christians)... the sort that probably most definitely would never, ever, ever, think of having a bit of tiffin... sex for procreation and not recreation and all that.

Of course, on night trips, the sky was full of fireflies (which are some of the coolest things in the world) and bats! (who are also some of the coolest things)

(want to know more about the place : this is what wikipedia says)

I am between moments of happiness

I woke up this morning ten minutes before the alarm clock sounded, and lay there in bed until twenty minutes after the alarm had gone. I felt low. I felt slightly depressed. I felt a way that I hadn't done for the best part of a month.

While I was away in the states, I would wake up every morning about eight (usually as K was taking the dog out - the dog having to bounce up onto the sofa bed and say "good morning!" to me - either on the way out, or the way back.) Sometimes I'd roll over and get five more minutes (which sometimes turned into more than just five more minutes), but I felt different. I was relaxed. I was happy. The only thing stopping me getting up was tiredness. (I put most of it down to me "getting old and not being able to burn the candle at both ends any more", or jet lag)

Some mornings I would sit and write my journal (especially if I'd had a particularly interesting dream the night before); I would go and get breakfast (most mornings this was a bowl of Cheerios and a mug of either tea or coffee); I would spend time with my children - even if they were just sitting there with their "I'm awake but don't bother me just yet" faces on, watching some show (often SpongeBob, sometimes Hanna Montana or the Suite life of Zack and Cody depending on the day, the time, and who'd grabbed the remote that morning).

I'd eat, shower and get changed. Some mornings I would join K outside and play soccer or basketball. It varied a little from day to day. But I would spend time with my girls.

Now I wake to an alarm, I eventually get out of bed, bathe and shave. Eat breakfast and join the commuters on their way to work. I grab a Mocha on the way to work (today, it was from Millie's cookies - but it was the worst Mocha I'd ever had! It tasted like muddy water, no chocolate at all (and usually they're so good)) narrowly missing my train (in part due to inconsistent clocks at the station leading me into a false sense of security that I'd catch it, and in part to me giving into my Mocha craving)

Work has been uneventful today so far. The first day back, always catching up (which involves liberal use of the delete button on emails). C'est la vie.

So I feel like I'm in a state of non-being right now, like I am between moments of happiness. I know this is temporary. I know I'm just mourning the me of the last few weeks; the dad version of me which will disappear before too long in a haze of unremembered memories and feelings. My mundane life will supplant the life I wish I lived 24/7. At least, until next time.

(not that there won't be moments of happiness in the meantime, it's just that they'll be fleeting and different)

Back in Blighty

For the best part of a month I've been in the USA, in IOWA; visiting my children who live there with their mother. I left the 1st, returned the 24th (arriving half-way through the 25th). While I was away I kept a journal (which is something I usually do - my memory isn't my best attribute, so a few words and thoughts from the time helps remind me.

The trip was a good one. It was my fourth trip to North America, my third to Iowa; my first going direct to the USA from the midlands and not having a stop-over in Amsterdam or France. My baggage went every which way, both coming and going; which really didn't surprise me. Every time I've travelled my cases seem to take a more scenic route (which I've gotten used to; I just take a photo of the cases (tagged) before checking them in - having made sure I've put a piece of paper inside each case with "the owner of these cases is going to this address" note, just in case (pun unintentional); having the photo helps when being asked to describe the cases. As does the fact that my cases are pretty unique in that they're not draggy, wheely shapeless abominations (like most other cases))

Going, both cases turned up the following day. Coming back, one arrived at the airport, the other didn't but was delivered to my house the following day. I had, previously, been told that neither of my cases would arrive with me - so I went direct to the "lost and missing baggage" office without checking only to receive a phonecall moments after I'd left the airport to say one was there going around the carousel. Now I'd been told that neither bag would arrive because I'd missed my connecting flight from Philadelphia; my journey was Iowa, Chicago, Philadelphia, Birmingham (England). My Chicago flight was meant to get into Philadelphia at five, my Philadelphia flight was meant to leave just after six. The Chicago flight boarded on time, showed all signs of leaving on time. But got stuck in a queue waiting to depart (nothing significant, only about twenty minutes); in the air though, it was all going well until I noticed we'd passed that same lake about three times already and the pilot announced we were in a holding pattern waiting for landing permission. We were in the holding pattern for about half an hour. The plane landed, taxied, pulled up to the gates and it was five fifty five. I had to cross the airport to the other terminal (about a fifteen minute walk) and gate; my only chance was that the outbound flight was delayed. It wasn't. The attendant at the Chicago arrivals gate told me that boarding had occurred and had already completed (it's always good to check before busting a gut running across a busy, unfamiliar airport)

They sent me to the customer service desk; conveniently just down the way from the gate. A nice, friendly black guy helped me. I was hoping for another flight to Birmingham that day; I remembered seeing a couple more flights about an hour later (when I was booking with expedia) - unfortunately they weren't showing up on his screen; my only options were

1) stay in Philadelphia for the night and catch my next flight, just after 6pm, the following day. (they'd feed me and put me up in a hotel... it was very tempting)

2) catch a flight to Munich, then wait about seven hours for a connection to Birmingham.

3) catch a flight to Manchester, leaving in a couple of hours time; only my baggage would arrive in Birmingham the following day and need to be routed.

I chose option (3). While I waited storms happened outside. The bright, sunshine day turned grey - very grey, and the sky was lit up with a thunderstorm. This must have lasted about half an hour. Right before I was due to board.

All said, we boarded pretty much on time; they do it by zones. 1st class and priority boarding first, then zone 1... etc. I was zone 5. We then sat around for about an hour waiting. The thunderstorm had meant that they couldn't use the equipment to load the bags onto the plane. If only this storm had come in a little earlier, I might have made my other flight.

Flying to Manchester was uneventful. The plane was pretty light on passengers (I had a window seat and an empty seat next to me - I was not the only one in this situation); they dimmed the lights, then raised the lights. Served dinner (at around 10pm (GMT -5 hours)), I picked the chicken - I'd usually have the pasta, but they were out of it on the trolley at that time. They dimmed the lights again.

On my flights, I've noticed that some carriers give you everything for free. I was travelling this time with US Airways and they charged where-ever they could. They charged for headphones for their entertainment system. On this flight to Manchester it was an "on demand" system. On the way over though, it was an old style "tv in the centre isle". I was glad I'd brought my own entertainment, but made a mental note to pack some airplane headphones next time I travel; just in case (I have at least a couple of pairs lying around from previous journeys)

I don't really think I slept on the flight. I may have gotten a bit of a power nap in. At least, I might have gotten as far as the PO :o) .Arriving into Manchester, passing quickly through passport and customs. Met my father at the airport (they did offer me train tickets, although my parents' had offered/insisted on picking me up) and headed home, stopping only to pick up my cat from the cattery and my bird from my parents' house.

I don't mean this in a bad way, but, you can tell when you're back in England. Before anyone opens their mouths, you see it. The way people dress, the outfits, the shapes. Then the weather; although Saturday was hot, it was grey. The roads look darker, the trees have darker leaves; everything feels wrong (after having spent the month away)

I'm getting used to being back; I have to - I've work tomorrow. I'm worried about jet lag; already I've had problems sleeping and feel like my body is still on USA time. I'll get there. I always do. It just might take a while.