The Fastest Nails in the West

After the disaster at the hairdressers (see previous entry) I was understandably nervous of getting my nails done. No, they're not real either. At my age I'm lucky both my legs aren't false.
This visit was problem free, which was fortunate since the last time I had them done the design looked at if the manucurist had done them with her eyes closed.
What was really amazing was the speed in which they were done. In England it can take anywhere between 45 and 90 minutes depending on who does them. This time I was out and dried in 20 minutes, for exactly half the cost. Guess they were forwarned of my visit by the hairdresser next door...

Bad Hair Day

Even something as simple as getting your hair done can be a bit of a challenge when you are in a new country without a car. It did narrow the choice for me. Luckily there are at least six within walking distance. Unluckily I chose the wrong one.
I should have known it was too good to be true when I was able to walk in and get my hair done without an appointment. Ellen, my hairdresser, was delighted to welcome me, and said it would be no problem to tint my roots (bet you had no idea this wasn't natural, did you?) Ellen told me she was a grandmother, which in fact came as no surprise since she was babysitting her five year old grand-daughter at the time.
I became a little worried when she pulled out a clutch of hair swatches and tried to match my colour.
"This is the nearest," Ellen declared. "It's very popular."
It was also several shades darker than my hair, but by then she was already squeezing a chocolately goo onto my scalp.
During the 30 minutes it took for the colour to take, she did at least three other hair cuts, although to be fair two were bald old men who would be the first to admit they didn't have much hair to cut.
I decided to go for the barest of trims, just in case. She whizzed the scissors around the edge without a thought for the layers, which in retrospect was just as well. Then she scrubbed the goo out, and popped in another couple of clients before returning to dry it.
Any woman with hair longer than her ear lobes will know how long it takes to get a blow dry in England. My previous hairdresser took ages to carefully section the hair, brushing it through almost hair by hair. And very nice it looked afterwards too.
No such time wasting for Ellen. She roughed my hair up ("ooh you've such a mess of hair") and assaulted it from all angles with the dryer. I'm not sure I ever saw a brush in the salon.
To be fair, it didn't look too bad for a hairdo quarter of the price I pay in England. Then I stood up.
"Oh, oh. There's a little bit of dye on the back of your shirt," Ellen confessed. "It's ok. I can scrub it off with this shampoo. Just make sure you go straight home and soak it. And have $5 off. And take these coupons too."
When I got back, there was indeed a nasty brown smudge all over the collar of my brand new lemon blouse. I've scrubbed and soaked and am currently waiting for it to dry before taking it back to the salon. Still, not many people can boast they have clothes to match their hair...

Infiniti and Beyond

Those of you who know Ross personally will know there is nothing more important to him than securing a bargain. He has honed his craft over the years in England, but was a bit concerned about trying it out in the U.S. However, with two cars to buy he had to put his foot down, if you'll pardon the pun.
After much dithering, as usual, he decided on the right vehicle at the right price. A silver willow Infiniti G35. Of course a minute later he found a slightly better model at the wrong price so began negotiations. The salesman was actually very pleasant, although somewhat worryingly called Rich. Turned out he was orginally from Poland, which could explain the less than ferocious sales technique.
Eventually we were led inside to his desk, where the figures were ironed out. Naturally they ended at a few dollars more.
"I'll just have to speak to my manager," Rich said.
The manager, oddly enough, looked like a work experience kid in his father's suit which was two sizes too big.
As a special favour he brought the price down by a whole two dollars or similar. Not enough.
So as the future author of Car Buying for Dummies, Ross stood up and we made for the door.
We were convinced Rich would come running after us. Ok, so maybe he wasn't playing that particular game. We made it through the doors and round the corner.
"I thought he was supposed to run after us?" I hissed.
Ross turned his head slightly.
"Sshh, I think he is.."
I don't know which of us was more surprised, but he did indeed fetch us back in and we secured the price we wanted, which to be honest was about half what you would pay in England anyway.
Of course the garage probably would have sold it to us at 25% less than we did pay if we'd have put up more of a fight, but don't tell Ross that...

One Month In....

It is exactly one month to the hour since Ross and I arrived in Chicago.
This is what I/we have achieved so far:

1. Moved in to rented apartment.
2. Ross began job, which incidentally is going very well, although I gather there has been a sudden increase in resignations in his department....
3. I began networking. I am getting known by Michelle LeBlanc of the Naperville Cultural Centre; owner of The Comedy Shrine, award winning comedy writer David Sinker and today met Brian Lynch, Director of Naperville Performing Arts Association and Performing Arts Instructor of North Central College.
4. I have secured a job from September (work visa willing) running my own children's writing workshop.
5. We have begun buying a house.
6. We have begun talks about renovations of said house.
7. We received our social security numbers. Hurrah!
8. I applied for a work permit.
9. We have made some wonderful new American friends.
10. We have attended the After Hours Cinema Club.
11. I have joined the Page Turners Book Club.
12. We have regularly(ish) attended the Beth Shalom Temple.
13. I have had one driving lesson and some practice. Second lesson next week.
14. I have written the first chapter of a novel.
15. And of course, have written 38 entries for this blog.

Realty Show

How to buy a home in England:
1. Visit every estate agent in the
area you wish to live in, tell them
what you want and how much you wish
to spend. They will send you details in
the post of every property on their books
priced just over your budget upwards.

2. Make appointments to see any
homes you like. Drive to the property
alone, be shown around by an over-
zealous owner from whom there is no
escape. Be forced to admire the floral
wallpaper and old family photos.

3. When you find the house of your
dreams yourself, put in an offer and
hope for the best. Whichever
house you choose, the estate agent
won't much care what it is like,
only how much money they can make
from the sale. Resolve to never see them again.
When agreement is made, wait for up to three months for
everything possible to go wrong, which it usually will. Be prepared for pit-falls like gazumping or the seller changing their mind. Drag out legal
work to make everything as expensive
as estate agents and solicitors can make it.

How to buy a home in the U.S.:

1. You only need one realtor because they
all have access to the same pool of properties.
He will send you property details via the
Internet, all of which will be just under your
budget. The details will include colour photographs,
maps and little movies called virtual tours with
twinkly music playing in the background.

2. Be taken by the realtor to see as many properties
as you like at a time. The owners have to vacate so
you can speak to the realtor privately. They are
advised to redecorate and update the properties before
putting them on the market.

3. When you find the house of your dreams, the realtor
will tell you all the pitfalls. After a short time you will
realise the more stunning a property is, the more likely
it is to back onto a main road, be directly under a water
tower etc. When you finally agree on one, most of the
paperwork is done when you put in an initial offer.
Negotiations on the price should usually be completed within
a day. After that, the move in date is normally 2-4 weeks later.
Remember to invite said realtor to your house-warming party.

Working Girl

When I knew I was coming out to live in the U.S I wasn't even sure I wanted to work. I dreamily imagined fulfilling my days with worthwhile activities like shopping, lunching and shopping.
Less than a month in I have applied for my work permit. Those of you who have worked with me will not be surprised by this. A workholic by nature, there is only so much shopping you can do when you don't have a home of your own. I have taken to having lunch in Panera, a local Starbucks copy-cat. It's very nice, but filled with people working while eating. They are seemingly talking to themselves via bluetooth or scanning their laptops whilst chewing. What this says about the work ethos of this country I'll leave you to decide, but either way I have realised that I can work, lunch and probably shop at the same time if necessary.
Of course the trouble with getting a work permit is that you have to navigate yet another sea of red tape. It is quite complicated, and as usual in the U.S. is only made more so by the attempts to simplify it.

Step 1: Find the correct form on the Department of Homeland Security website, the Employment Authorization Document, known after by the first party of the first part as EAD apart from a Thursday when it is called a DOA, Friday when it is an LBW or Saturday nothing at all because the office is closed.

Step 2: Read through the accompanying explanatory 35 pages. Identify exactly what right you have to have the gall to even think of working in the U.S. Are you a legal alien from (tick box for the following) from Europe, Asia, Africa or Venus? Are you a student? Have you ever been a student? Are you sponging off your husband and bored witless stuck in a one bedroomed apartment all day? (I went with that one).

Step 3: Get husband to print off form at work because your printer is still somewhere over (hopefully not in) in the Atlantic.

Step 4: Fill in form. Find accompanying documentation. Documentation needed: copy of L2 visa (one for those sponging off working husbands). Copy of marriage certificate. 2 photographs which must be 2.5" square with your mouth not less than 0.5" from your left ear, preferably glowering as if you got off a plane at 3 a.m. Oh, and a cheque for $180 to pay for the privilege of being able to work in the first place.

Step 5: Take all information in the driving rain to the local Fed Ex office. Have photographs taken by girl several times until the one of you looking at your very worst is finally printed. Photocopy relevant parts of passport. Buy an envelope at least three sizes smaller than you need it. Discover you cannot actually send anything from said office.

Step 6: Watch umbrella crumble in the gale force wind as you struggle across the square to the UPS office. Buy new envelope two sizes too large. Copy out the correct address from a list of 800 places dependant on which state you are in. (Quite a big one by now). Pay an extra $1.36 to send said materials to be told it should reach its final destination in three days time.

Personally I think this is a ploy to make sure only the best people can get work. Only the very best will be able to beat the system to even apply for the permit. It can take up to three months to arrive, and then needs to be renewed about three months before it expires, three months after that.

Fortunately I have actually received my first offer of work. I'm developing my own after-school children's writing workshop, Bookworms for the Naperville Cultural Center. Luckily the job doesn't start until September.....

New Arrivals

Ross and Hilary are proud to announce the arrival of twin bouncing baby social security numbers. The little bundles of joy were safely delivered by the U.S. Postal Service late yesterday afternoon. Parents and numbers doing well. Thanks to everyone who supported us through this difficult time. Ross will be holding a numbers shower in his office today. All gifts should be sent to the U.S. Government.

More Scenes from the Great Outdoors

The Great Outdoors

With winter transformed into summer overnight, we took a 90 minute road trip to Starved Rock State Park.

The spectacular views were well worth the climb.

All Scream - It's Ice-Cream

Those of you who know me well, know the love/hate relationship I have had with ice-cream over the years. When Ross went to work in Paris a few years ago, I turned to my friends Ben and Jerry for comfort. I should have brought a law suit against them for what they did to my weight!
Fortunately the cold weather in Naperville has kept me away from such fiends. Until last night, that is.
The downtown area is a great place to be on a warm evening. There are groups of kids on the streets,and unlike England, as they pass they actually say "excuse me" and don't look as if they are about to knife you.
And thus it was we came across the Cold Stone Creamery. We were definitely the oldest people in the queue. There were groups of teenagers fresh from baseball practice, still in their striped suits. There were young couples, and one or two moms with their kids. None of them could have had more trouble making their choice than I did.
Eventually I settled on a Coffee Peanut Butter High Cholesterol Whipped De Do Dah(not its real name, but on second thoughts not a bad idea). The young assistant congratulated me on my choice, something I was a little worried about since she couldn't have been much older than 12.
The making up process was a little strange. I was expecting a sundae in a waffle cone. Should you want to clog up your own arteries, this is the recipe:

1. Use two giant paddles to pick up a large wodge of coffee ice-cream.
2. Dump it on a marble counter top.
3. Use a garden spade to carve out 1/2 lb of peanut butter and dump it on the top.
4. Open a packet of Oreo biscuits, eat one, then crunch up the rest of the packet on top of the ice-cream.
5. Squirt on half a pint of whipped cream.
6. Pour over quarter of a pint of chocolate sauce.
7. Use paddles to chop up ice-cream and mush all ingredients together.
8. Scoop up said mess and plonk into waffle cone or small dish*.
*American for large bucket.
9. Allow at least an hour to eat.
10.Throw up.

Recommendation: Do try this at home, or pop into the store when you visit and tell them Hilary sent you...

Tree Huggers

It seems like only yesterday it was still mid-winter here in Chicagoland. In fact, it was yesterday. Today, however, it is mid-summer. The temperature is approaching 80 degrees, the sun is shining and the local inhabitants have come out of hibernation.
I was excited when my friend Jill came to pick me up yesterday lunchtime. Less so, when it transpired we were going to see where she works. On such a beautiful day, why wander round an office, I thought?
Another misconception blown out of the water. Jill works at the Morton Arboretum, a local beauty spot. Actually, at 1,700 acres, it's technically a bit more than a spot.
The Arboretum is a huge park full of a luscious trees and lakes. There is a children's playground, a maze and fascinating wild life. The cafe sits on the edge of a lake. The panoramic view from the massive plate glass windows would be worth the entrance fee alone.
Walking around the grounds we even came across an artist at work. Of course in this neck of the woods, it wasn't just someone with an easle. Patrick Dougherty builds vast sculptures from tree saplings. He had a team of volunteers hard at work helping him, and the project should be completed in time Arbor Day, a national celebration of trees which takes place in this area next weekend.

Volunteers Please!

Another pre-conceived idea blown out of the water!
My experiences in England led me to believe that most volunteers were either little old ladies shovelling old clothes in Oxfam or mums and dads gamely helping out the PTA in the hope that the teachers would look favourably upon their children at school.
Basically voluntary work was only something done if you were too old or wealthy to get a "proper" job.
This is definitely not the case in the U.S.
This week stumbling in the wrong door led me to a window of opportunity.
I was searching for the tourist information office when I came across the Naperville Cultural Centre. Tucked away on the second floor of an office block, it is the small but vibrant home of an organisation dedicated to bringing cultures together. Look through the door of one room and you will find a group of senior ladies tackling yoga exercises. Listen at another to hear a child carefully practising 'Take me Out to the Ball Game' on the piano. Another room is a well stocked mosaic studio, boasting a cornucopia of coloured shards just waiting to be selected and turned into something beautiful.
Volunteers are the backbone of this organisation. But they are certainly not people who cannot do a real job.
For example, on Thursday I witnessed an amazing meeting. It was led by the director of the centre, an Indian businessman, an Indian music specialist and two American yoga teachers. They all have busy lives, but in their spare time they are helping to organise a month of peace celebration in the town.
At first I thought this was some hippy-like festival where people would skip around banging tiny cymbals together. Within minutes I discovered that in fact they were going to be playing Indian classical music. The event would open with a speech from a descendant of Gandhi, so heaven knows what else is lined up.
Chatting with one the group later, I discovered that he has a connection to Dunkin' Donuts. "Oh," I wrongly assumed. "He must have a little job there selling donuts. Could be a useful person to know."
Taj (not his real name) was born into poverty into a village in India. As he said, children often had no shoes and would only own a couple of shirts. Fortunately his father was able to send him out of the village to school. He worked hard and eventually came to America to study pharmacy.
So is Taj a retired pharmacist working part time in a donut shop?
Not exactly. He owns two Dunkin' Donut franchises, plus a Best Western and Ramada Hotel.
Taj says he has never forgotten his roots, and still takes his American son back to visit the village.
Of course in his spare time he volunteers at the centre, bringing his Indian culture to the people of Naperville. That way he can make sure Native Americans aren't the only Indians everyone tens to think of here.

A Cut Above The Rest

Rick Motta's Barber Shop is a quaint old fashioned establishment a few yards away from the post office in downtown Naperville. It has a red and white striped pole outside, the barbers wear black and white striped shirts, there's an ornate brass cash register and the seats are those big,comfy, black leather chairs that go up and down when the barber pumps the foot pedal.
However, there is a fine line between quaint and old fashioned. Quaint is when a brand new place tries hard to look like something historical. Old fashioned is where things haven't changed in the past 40 years and the customers become hysterical.
When Ross popped in for a haircut yesterday, the shop was bravely manned by three old retainers boasting a combined age approaching 250. I'm not sure what was worse, that Ross's barber could barely see across the room to use the remote control on the TV or the fact that all the chairs had their backs to the mirrors.
"Just a tidy up please," said Ross, confidently.
Bill began snipping away, squinting through his glasses like Mr Magoo. I was worried he would simply dye Ross's hair grey and shave a bald patch in the top so he would look like everyone else in the shop.
The snipping over, Bill then pasted some sort of gunk around Ross's neck and took out a cut-throat razor with the panache of Sweeney Todd.
Then came a strange sort of electrical gadget that looked a bit like an iron.
With this he proceeded to massage the neck and shoulder area, athough to be honest at first glance it looked as though he was going to give him ECT treatment.
I got really worried when Bill pulled a vacuum hose from the wall and began to use it not on the floor, but on Ross to hoover up clippings.
When it was done, the cut itself wasn't too bad, but for some reason Ross's hair looked as if it had been glued down with Brylcreem to accentuate his side parting. When I asked if that were the case, Bill assured me it wasn't, but started searching around for some, mistakenly thinking that's what Ross wanted.
Further on into the town is a children's barber where the young clients can sit in little cars to have their hair cuts. Maybe next time we'll give that a go...

Why Live in Naperville?

People here often ask why I have chosen to live in Naperville, so here's why:




1. Naperville has a living museum where people dress up in strange clothes and talk about yesterday.
England has one too, but it is the home of the British government.

2. Naperville is justly proud of its sporting heroes. We send ours to L.A.

3. In Naperville independence from the British is celebrated every 4th July.
In England we're still complaining how our long lost child never remembers to call his mother and if he does it's only because he wants military support.

4. Naperville has a beautiful river walk created by gifted artists.
London has river walks too, but they are created by constant rain cascading down the dilapidated cobbled streets.

5. Naperville attracts people from all the country to enjoy delicious ribs every summer.
In England we serve visitors dishes like beef with pudding on the same plate.

6. Naperville does have the best vineyards in the United States, right?
Or am I mixing you up with the home of country music?

Local readers, feel free to add your own comments. International readers may want to tell me what is good/bad about their town.

Fame Thrower

How many famous paleontologists do you know? Let's make it simpler. How many non-famous paleontologists do you know? Until today I would have been stumped to think of one, apart from Ross Geller from Friends, but technically speaking he isn't real.
I am pleased to say that the Naperville Sun has helped me to learn of one today.
Paul Sereno is not only a real paleontologist, but last year he won the Sun's Most Famous Person from Naperville competition! FYI he beat CNN anchor Paula Zahn to first place.
American readers, please feel free to enlighten me as to how Mr Sereno achieved his fame. But surely Naperville has produced a better known son or daughter than this?
I now understand why American Idol loser Gina Glocksen was given the keys to the city last week, even though she has only lived in Naperville for two years. Don't tell anyone she is planning to further her career in LA later in the year...

Don't Buy This At Home

There's another oddity about the way drugs are advertised over here. Just as there are health warnings on boxes of cigarettes, so they must warn of side effects when taking certain medicines. This is the kind of thing you might expect to hear on TV or radio:

Slow Booming Macho Male Voice:
"Having trouble sleeping? Sleepness nights making you crochety at work? Taking it out on the wife and kids? Suffer no longer. Just take one spoon of Rip Van Winkle syrup and you'll sleep so good you may never be able to get into work or see your family again."

Whispering Female Voice speaking at 500+ words a minute:
"Remember, do not take on any day with a 'y' at the end. Do not take when using heavy machinery, or holding a pencil come to that. May cause drowiness. In tests, 30% of all users did not wake up until 3 days after taking; 20% never woke up and 60% woke up but were unable to solve simple math problems. May be addictive. Studies have proven Rip Van Winkle syrup has similar properties to heroine, but for half the cost. Always remember to take the syrup after food, preferably a heavy Sunday roast with all the fixins.Do not take if you have ever suffered from any of the following: dandruff, bad breath, sweaty armpits, ingrowing toe nails or bruises.
Do not take for longer than a three week period. If symptoms persist consult your doctor and ask for maximum strength Sleeping Beauty lotion. Just rub into your eyelids and sleep for 100 years, or until awakened by a kiss from a handsome prince.

Doctor, Doctor....

If U.S. television is anything to go by, Americans are obsessed with their health. There are constant ads for medicines and drugs, and what is particularly strange to me is that prescription only drugs are advertised, with the sole purpose of telling patients what to ask their doctors for.
Imagine how this would work in England:

After sitting for 45 minutes in a crowded waiting room, 84-year-old Mrs Brown is finally called in to see her doctor. It takes her some time to realise this as the announcement appears to be made by a foreign exchange student talking through a sock.

Doctor: So Mrs Brown, what can I do for you this afternoon? You know you must give
those tablets I prescribed for you this morning more than an hour before
complaining they don't work.

Mrs B: No, it's not my water works this time, doctor. I've got a terrible pain in
my (unbuttoning her blouse) ....knee.

Doctor: (Typing out a prescription without even examining her)Just a little case of
arthritis I expect. I'll give you six months supply of Zimamon. Come back in
the spring and let me know how you're getting on. Don't forget I'll be away
on a three month cruise from Thursday.

Mrs B: Zimamon? Can't I have Blomamin? They reduce swelling in just 2 hours in 90%
of cases and you can take them even if you're allergic to yeast.

Doctor: You really must not take those adverts so seriously. Firstly, they're known
to cause headaches in 20% of all patients under 90. Secondly, they're totally
uneffective if you eat red meat and thirdly, you're not allegic to yeast.

Mrs B: But they're so easy to swallow and I only need to take one a month to put
the vitality back in my step. Everyone should ask their doctors for Blomamin.
I'll notice the difference right away.

Doctor: (Standing up)I'm sorry Mrs Brown you're 3 minutes are up. I have other
patients to see and I've a round of golf booked for 4 o'clock.

Mrs B: Well, ok then. But before I go, I've noticed this nasty rash on my inner
thigh....

Culture Vultures: Art

"You can never get a place by the lake in the summer"

Can you tell what it is yet?

"Are you sure you don't need a social security number to get in?"

Culture Vultures: Music

We left Naperville for the bright lights of the big city today and enjoyed a visit to the Art Institute of Chicago. Hope you enjoy the video of East meeting the Mid-West.


http://s153.photobucket.com/albums/s206/hilarydecent/?action=view&current=MOV00171.flv

Don't Bank On It: Post Script

Last night we finally became the proud owners of bank account number 083...(please ask for details if you would like to make a contribution).
Paveena's attitude changed completely when she realised we would be requiring a mortgage. With startling efficiency, Sam, the mortgage man, was brought in to see us with much bowing and scraping.
So what I have learnt from this is:
1. Banks don't actually want your money - they just want to lend you theirs.
2. If you want to open a U.S. bank account, wait for your social security number.

Don't Bank On It: Part 3

Ross decided that banking with a supermarket may not be the best idea after all, so the next day we went along to a proper branch of the bank, all big, shiny and very authoritative. One thing did amaze me, however. In England banks and post office workers are protected by sheets of armour plated glass. In America, where guns are legal, these places are wide open, with people strolling around as in an office. Anyway, I digress.
This time we spent an hour and half starting the entire process all over again with another woman. Within five minutes I was missing the jolly comaraderie of Cindy and Ross was no doubt missing the purring of Joanne. Paveena Shah, alas not her real name, was an officious witch who within minutes made us feel like aliens not only to America, but another planet.
"It is always much more difficult for foreigners," she said. "I should know, I am one."
I had never realised quite how negative the word 'foreigner' is. She must have used it 20 times.
Eventually she got to the part where she had to fill in details on her computer screen about me.
"What shall we put down as an occupation for you?" She sneered. Without waiting for an answer she said: "Home-maker?"
This is a very sore point with me for two reasons. One, without a social security number I cannot apply for a work permit so am completely unemployable at present. Two, without a social security number I cannot buy a home, so I can't even reach the dizzy heights of home-maker.
Seeing the steam coming out of my ears, Ross immediately interjected.
"She's a journalist," he said. (He should be one, bending the truth like that. Of course I am hoping to return to that line of work should any editors be reading this, but only once I get the work permit, of course).

Don't Bank On It: Part 2

When we returned the next day Cindy wasn't there - probably too much homework to do.
However we were pleased to learn the manager would deal with us personally. Joanne turned out to be a fluffy blonde. The easiest way to describe her to English readers is Sandra Dickinson, to Americans Marilyn Monroe. Either way a ditzy airhead with a pale pink voice.
Of course we had to go through the whole process again. This time a letter from the company we booked the apartment through surficed, but now we needed a letter from Ross's company to confirm his position.
"Oh I'm so sorry," Joanne breathed. "You'll have to come back with that. Of course if you had your social security it wouldn't be a problem at all. But you haven't. Have you?"
If the process took much longer we probably would have, but no, we had to return yet again. But this time Ross had a new plan.

Don't Bank On It: Part 1

I'm pleased to report after two weeks in the U.S., six hours of heavy negotiations and an hour of therapy we are the proud owners of an American bank account.
The story begins last week, when shopping in a local supermarket we noticed what looked like a school girl handing out leaflets about opening a bank account.
As with virtually every thing else Ross does these days, including taking out the trash, he assumed it was something we couldn't do without the social security numbers we still don't have.
"Oh, no," the little girl told us. "You can open an account without one. Just tell us when you get it and we'll add it to the information. But you can open an account right away."
She sat down beside a desk. I wanted to ask her if her mummy was in.
"Hi. My name's Cindy. You are? Ross? Hilary? Hi."she started clicking away at her computer. "I just went to London in March. It was neat. My favourite was the Tower of London. We had this great guide who knew all about Jack the Ripper. Maybe you've been on that tour?"
Afraid not, but I'll give it a go next time I go home.
Twenty minutes later we got to the crux. No social security number? Then we needed a utility bill confirming where we lived.
"But we don't have pay any utilities, we live a rented apartment with everything included."
Cindy looked puzzled. If she couldn't fill in the boxes on her screen she couldn't function. It was as if her oxygen supply had been cut off.
To cut a long story short we had to agree to return the next evening. One good thing is that the banks are conveniently open until 7 p.m., presumably because each transaction takes a minimum of two hours. That was our first mistake.

Don't Snow On My Parade

Naperville Sun, dateline April 11th 2007: We Love You, Gina!
A homage to local heroine Gina Glocksen. Today the town was due to throw her a parade, (honestly) but poor weather has meant a slight change and her homecoming party has now been moved to a local college.
Local mayor George Pradel is to give Gina the keys to the city. She will then speak to the crowds and answer questions.
College spokeswoman Jennifer McGuffin is reported as saying: "We are very excited and happy to help the city in her welcome-home event. It should be a great day for all her fans."
Mayor Pradel added: "The excitement is building, and the City Hall is really in a buzz trying to get everything settled."
Now I appreciate those of you across the pond may be wondering who this local heroine is.
Did she single handed save 100 children from a burning building?
Did she leap in front of George Bush and take a bullet for him?
Afraid not. The fact is Gina was Naperville's hope in American Idol. I cannot even say she won. Last week she was voted out in ninth place.
In the land which spawned Superman, I can only wonder what it takes to qualify for the post of hero these days.

Bookworms

I have never been to a book group, but like so many things in life I had my preconceived ideas. I imagined half a dozen women sitting in someone's living room spending 10 minutes discussing a book only two of them had bothered to read, followed by two hours idle chat over a glass or two of wine and a peanut.
So I was pretty relaxed when I attended my first meeting of the Pageturners Book Group at the Nichols Library in downtown Naperville this week. I had a good excuse for not reading the book. I had only recently arrived in town and the book, Lipstick Jihad, was out of print in England. It is the biography of an Iranian journalist living in the U.S, and discusses what life is like for today's Iranian women.
Like so many things, my expectations were short lived.
Going down the stairs to the meeting room, I was greeted by a committee style arrangement with 22 women seated around the tables. They all had name cards in front of them. At the head was Buffy (you may be surprised to read not her real name), who is a professional book group leader. It looked like a meeting of the United Nations. The women appeared to be professionals, all with something to say. And worst of all, not a glass of wine in sight, although that was probably just as well since it was only 9.30 a.m.
Many of the women appeared older than me, which initially I thought might be a blessing. Little old ladies just passing the time of day, but alas not so. If this is retirement in the U.S. I need to start preparing. They were all so fascinating and able to discuss a multitude of subjects, (and wait for this), as if they actually understood them.
Some had written notes on the book. It was like attending a class. There were women from different countries, including one who was actually from Iran, where the book was set, who gave a mini lecture about what life is like there.
Afterwards we all went for lunch. There I met a lady who fundraises for a group which brings Palestinian and Israeli teenagers to America to live together for a few weeks. Apparently last year they even met up with Native American kids to learn about their different cultures. Guess not everyone over 60 stays in and bakes cookies then.
Next month's book is a biography of a Geisha girl. Knowing this group, the discussion will be held in Japanese followed by sushi and a lecture on the country's political history. Guess I'd better start swotting up now...

April Showers

This is the scene that greeted me this morning. April 11th and an inch of snow. As they say, no one ever moves to Chicago for the weather!

Lights, Camera, Action........

I have had two very different experiences of cinema in Naperville this week. On Sunday we drove out to a large gleaming multiplex where the young workforce wore red floppy hats not seen since the days of Max Sennett. (Hope they are paid extra for the embarrassment).
Ticket prices, I am delighted to say, are half the price of English ones. As we dithered over which film to choose, the young boy (I must be getting old) at the cashier's desk, said we could have a discount, so we paid just $20 for two of us to see two new films. Inside the cinema was quite spacious, probably because we were two of only about six other customers. The seats were more comfortable than in England and we had a great time watching.
On Monday the experience was quite opposite, but equally fascinating. My new best friend Jane (note how I am now changing names to protect not only the innocent but also myself - you know how litigious these Americans are) took me to the Tivoli Theatre in nearby Downer's Grove.
The Tivoli looks like it sounds. It is a beautifully restored art deco cinema complete with a working piano that sinks into the stage before the film commences. Every other Monday night it is taken over by the After Hours Film Society, whose aim is to show films not easily available in the Western suburbs.
This usually means foreign films or arthouse movies. This week's offering was The Italian, which I hoped would show picturesque scenes of Italian vineyards and happy go lucky Mediterraneans at play.
The opening grey scenes of a bleak snowy orphanage made me think that maybe I had the wrong film. It turned out to be the miserable story of a little Russian orphan who is awaiting adoption by an Italian couple. Unfortunately he never makes it there because he runs away to find his real mother first. In case I forget to mention, it was in Russian, with English subtitles.
Now don't get me wrong, it was a good film, but what is with these Russians? It was like a Chekov play, where the characters are wandering around looking for Moscow before they die a mile away from the city gates. Don't they know how to have fun? (I have actually met the odd Russian and they are always fun, so I don't know what has happened to their film industry). Just before the end, the little orphan boy slit his wrists, something which I'm sure the entire audience were considering by that point.
Next month they are showing Venus, the film for which Peter O'Toole was Oscar nominated this year. Initially I couldn't understand why they would choose it as it certainly isn't an arthouse movie. Then I realised it is English, which I suppose is a foreign film out here. I'll be first in the queue...

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Since arriving in the U.S (almost two weeks now!) we have been amazed at the hospitality we have been shown. We have already been to three dinner parties, and this what I have learnt.

1. Dinner parties in the States seem to be how they were in England 20 years ago. The best tablecloth will be put on a large dining room table in a formal dining room. The best crockery (flatware), cutlery (silverware) and glasses (glasses) will be wiped clean and laid out with precision. Everyone is told where to sit, with the hosts at either end of the table.
In England the dining table is somewhere to litter with your husband's papers and assorted nick knacks and in the unlikely event you do entertain, paper and plastic disposables are the order of the day.

2. The dinner party is not there to celebrate Passover, Easter or anything else, come to that. It exists for the sole purpose to show off the hostess's culinary skills. Now let me make it clear, I am not jealous. I have been known to host the odd dinner myself, in fact my rock hard avocados and frozen pasta salad are legendary. But in America, it is quite different.

3. Once guests are allowed to sit, the meal seems to begin with some kind of religious ceremony. At Passover, that was the complex sedar meal. We normally only celebrate this with fellow Jews, but this year was quite exciting, with a mix of nationalities and religions. The Easter Sunday lunch began with grace. The Shabbat dinner with the lighting and blessing of candles. Personally I always offer up a prayer or two before serving pretty much anything.

4. In England we tend to have a starter, soup, main course and dessert, sensibly, I think, served in strict order after each course is completed. In America, there is delirious chaos. Huge plates of home-made food are dumped on the table in random order. It's every man for himself. Buckets of jewelled fruit salad, barrowloads of spicy chicken, mountains of mashed potatoes, fresh asparagus and eggplant bake are handed out like fire fighters passing buckets of water up the line.
"Hey, I forgot the hors doevres honey".
"No matter, send them over here. I've just started dessert but bring it on."
The most applauded dish will be the meat. For Jews, it's brisket, stewed in the oven in rich tomatoey gravy. For Christians it's a pink juicy ham. Not sure yet what the Buddists have, but I'm open to invitations.
The tables buckle in the middle like the Golden Gate Bridge in a high wind.
"Oh just one more spoon, it's a shame to let it go to waste" as your plate cowers under the weight of incoming potatoes.
"Leave room for dessert" as you munch down another cookie. I thought that was dessert.
"And we'll crack open a bottle of that new port we just bought too. A fine undercurrent of chocolate, so I'm told."
Living in a one bedroomed apartment with a three utensils and a bowl, it will, unfortunately, be sometime before I am able to return all these wonderful invitations. Fortunately that gives me plenty of time to enrol in cookery classes!

The Wild Youth of Naperville

One of the things I dislike about England is the youth culture. Teenagers hang out on street corners jeering at passers by, there is no respect of adults, they are rude, sullen, self centred - and that is just my children!
So it was with some intrepidation that I came across a gang of kids hanging out in Naperville. They were a mixed group just out of school. They were lively, but a little less intimidating than the kids in England.
In Naperville, no one hangs out on the streets. So where were they? Inside Ethel's Chocolate Lounge, that's where. Ethel's is a middle-class, middle-aged chocolate cafe. It is decorated in pink and brown and boasts a glittering array of delicacies. Chocolat meets Starbucks.
The youngsters were gathered around a fondue. Instead of swigging beer out of bottles, they were politely dipping marshmallows into molten chocolate.
Don't ask what I was doing in a chocolate lounge. But I can recommend the hot cocoa.

Downtown

I thought I'd give a little insight into the hub of Naperville, it's downtown area. Until yesterday I thought we must find a house within walking distance. That downtown would be the centre of my universe. The place I would shop and socialise. Now these things are possible, but a four hour walk around made me re-consider.
The area is indeed beautiful. The perfect streets are lined with trees that actually sparkle in the daytime. (The fairylights catch the sun and gently blow in the breeze). Next to the shopping area is the Riverwalk, a magnificent landscaped area with a traditional covered bridge and wildlife so accommodating they will actually pose for photos.
Even the two storey car park has a stained glass window, and by the way, parking is free. Unbelievable to anyone coming from London.
Mid-week daytime the only people on the streets are middle-aged women strolling around the shops. There are art galleries, antique shops, restaurants, interior design palaces and beauty parlours galore. You can buy formal wear, casual wear, cruise wear. But washing powder or an apple? Forget it. And there is absolutely nothing for anyone under 45.
I began my visit by stopping by (I know, my American is almost fluent already) at Coldwater Creek. The place was full of older women jostling around the sale rails of brightly coloured sweaters and cotton clothes.
"Are you finding everything ok?"asked one assistant, as if I was on a treasure hunt.
I eventually picked up a couple of lurid green sweaters just to see if they looked as terrible on as off. They did.
Another assistant, at least 70-years-old, was hovering around the fitting rooms. They were spacious and cool with louvered doors with a lovely smell. I think it was "rich".
As she opened the door she asked me my name.
I told her suspiciously. Why would she need to know such a thing? Assistants in England barely care if you are breathing.
"Hi, Hilary, I'm Betty," she replied.
Maybe they think if they befriend you, you'll be more likely to buy.
As I handed the items back after trying them on, it was Betty who was apologetic.
"I'm sorry they didn't work for you," she said. Then more brightly. "Do try us again."
In another shop the assistant actually ran over to me with a free bottle of water. And the weather wasn't even hot.
The fitting room in that shop, Acorn, even seemed to have a bed in it, presumably in case all that shopping was too much for you.
Of course one good thing is that here I am a size smaller in clothes, but for some reason my shoes are two sizes bigger.
Downtown Naperville is indeed a place of beauty. But it is so highly manufactured that it resembles a cross between Stepford and The Prisoner's village.
Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if the sunshine is programmed between 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. and that dog's have special public conveniences. Hey, maybe I should suggest that to the town council...

Images of Naperville

Naperville is so beautiful, even the car park has a stained glass window!

We have our own Central Park

A few yards from the shops is the Riverwalk. Everyone is so friendly, even the wildlife poses for pictures.

Desperate Housewife

You don't need me to tell you how fabulous America is. There is so much to do. From sea to shining sea, every state is like an individual country. Over 80 and looking for fun in the sun? Try Florida. Sporty outdoor type? Try skiing in Colorado - you get the picture.
As most of you will know, I couldn't wait to get here. How I love the U S of A! (Hope some official is reading this and will rush my green card through). Ten days in I still love it, but it is difficult to travel across the country when you cannot drive and face hours alone in a one bedroomed apartment waiting for your husband to return from work.
So I thought I'd share with you the low down on what life is really like for me just now.

7.15 a.m. Awakened by alarm at 7.15 a.m. Ross has to be in the office by 8 a.m so he gets out
of bed, turns every appliance on full blast but doesn't talk in case he wakes me up.

7.32 a.m. I decide to get up and face the world. It may be below freezing outside, but the sun
is shining and I'm excited!

7.33 a.m. Have shower and put on gym clothes, which are carefully lined up in my walk-in
closet. Ok, so they are Ross's old gym clothes because I gained so much weight before
leaving England mine look like they have shrunk in the wash.

8.05 a.m. Get into the elevator (that's lift for you English readers) and go down two floors to the
fitness room. (Not good to overstretch myself by actually walking downstairs). Turn on
fan (in the unlikely event I get up a sweat) and the TV. My favourite is the Food
Channel. The other day I watched a great programme about sticky toffee pudding. Did
you know it is an English pudding? And pudding is not just a gooey blanchmange, but in
England a word which describes anything sweet eaten after a meal. How informative.
I cycle for 20 minutes before wobbling back like John Wayne to switch off the TV. I
burned off 70 calories, but probably put on more just watching the programme.

8.30 a.m. Check the mail box. On a good day there are 500 pieces of junk mail. Most days,
nothing at all.

8.31 a.m.
or 8.50a.m. depending on whether I take the lift or the stairs

Slump in front of the TV and put back the calories I have just lost. Food here comes in
two kinds: too sweet or too salty. Even the Special K tastes of something, not like in
England, where you'd do better to eat the box.


9 a.m. Pick up laptop and check desperately for e mails. Again, on a good day, plenty of junk,
on a bad, nothing at all. Resume blog writing. Well, you get the picture.

Driving Miss Crazy

Today I had my first experience of driving in the U.S. Over here kids can have a provisional licence at 15, and can take their test on their 16th birthday if they wish. So I thought, how hard can it be? I picked a nice mumsy instructor, Cathy, who admitted she had never taken an adult out. It must have been refreshing for her to have a pupil not in school uniform.
"I'll show you all the useful places," she said. "We'll get you to the supermarket, shopping downtown, the station where you can get the train into Chicago for more shopping." (These mid-western women really have their priorities right!)
Must be a change from Chuck E Cheese (kids' restaurant) and the playground.
So with three minutes prior experience of driving our hire car around the car park at our apartment, I set out bravely onto the open road. I had a few things to remember. Firstly, which side of the car to get in. It always helps to get in on the side behind the wheel. Whoops. Then you must stick to the right side of the road, especially when you turn right. Also, drive near the centre of the road or the other drivers will think you are drunk.
Left turns were a little worrying, especially as you must then stay in the left side of the right side.
You may only turn left on green, but can turn right on red, unless the sign says you can't, there are brave pedestrians (never) in front of you, or a cute guy in the car next to you.
"Now we'll go to a busy area downtown. The roads are very narrow so go as slow as you like, " Cathy advised.
Most English people tend to think of American roads as 10 lane freeways with taxi drivers shaking their fists, or people stepping out of their cars to take part in a little slapstick comedy. Not so Naperville. The roads are so quiet I could have got out and pushed the car around town without upsetting anyone. The "narrow" road was the size of an average English main road and busy traffic meant there were two or three cars within vision.
If I decided I didn't want to drive, I could probably hire a horse and cart.
Another thing worrying me was the automatic transmission. I have only driven a manual up to now, called rather oddly a 'stick shift' here. The years I have wasted building up muscle in my left arm! It was like driving a kiddy car - no wonder Ross has had one for so long. Cathy said you don't even need to use a hand brake when you stop, although I'm not sure about that one.
Fortunately I have a year on my international permit before I have to apply for an Illinois licence. The good news is that we will only have to answer questions on the highway code, just as well as it took Ross five attempts to pass his test back in England.

Ladies Who Lunch

One week in. Ross has now started his job. But what is there to do for a middle aged woman with no family (here), job or the ability to drive except around a car park? Well, luckily, quite a lot and today I am pleased to announce I have offically become a "lady who lunches".
I was collected today by my new best friend Jill (no disrespect to those of you I have left back in blighty). She showed me the important "must know" things in Naperville. Firstly, the post office. The strangest thing was that it had its own car park. Not only that, but parking was free. Secondly, you don't queue, but take a number while preparing your package, or whatever. Thirdly, the clerks are actually friendly! Imagine such a thing. It's almost like they are happy you came by. (See how I'm picking up the language already).
We then toured some more grocery stores, thankfully a little smaller so less scary, although it probably helped having a native guide.
After stopping for lunch, we did a little house hunting. Apparently nowhere in Naperville is a bad area, just some are better than others. In the U.S homes for sale have signs in the lawn, plus leaflets you can pick up with all the details. We did a bit of this before Jill noticed an Open House sign.
In England, this would be tantamount to saying "please burgle me", but not so here. We followed the signs around until they stopped.
Jill and I have only been friends a few days, but even she couldn't think my English accent meant I was a close relative of the Queen. Could she?
The house was magnificent. It was like the Playboy mansion without the bunnies. It defies description, but that doesn't usually stop me. Hogwarts meets Cluedo? Maybe. That it had a swimming pool goes without saying. But an elevator? Guest/servant quarters? Computerised sound/security system around the house? I lost count of the bathrooms, but there was a special shower for the dog. No, really.
I left without enquiring the price, after all if you need to ask you probably can't afford it. But the real reason for the rejection was this. I may be happy for you all to come and stay, but with a house like this, you would never leave!

Our Kind of Town

View from the top of the John Hancock Building

The Signature Lounge Restaurant

View across Lake Michigan

Chicago is 30 minutes away from our new home in Naperville..but a little further from London
On the psychatrist's couch
Ross at Navy Pier