Hail to the Chief

I doubt many English readers would be able to tell me the name of their local mayor, let alone anything about them. Here in Naperville, it is quite a different story. Everyone I meet seems to have a story about Mayor George Pradel. I first came across him several weeks ago during the local election. It was a forgone conclusion that Mr Pradel would be re-elected to office,not in the least because he had been in office since 1996.

I thought this may be a cause of irritation to the townsfolk, but they actually seemed pleased. I quickly discovered he is as loved as Santa Claus, a real friend of the people. Before becoming mayor he served on the Naperville police force for 29 years. Three generations of children knew him as 'Officer Friendly' because of the work he did in schools. He is quick to support local good causes and is the town's ultimate flag waver.

It turns out the mayor is a non-political figurehead - just like our queen but without the pearls. Therefore he doesn't have to spend too much time worrying himself about running the town, but gets to do all the good stuff like opening fairs and singing the praises of Naperville whenever asked.

I think this story sums up his popularity in a nutshell. Three years ago, WTMX radio ran a competition to find the state's sexiest mayor. This in itself is bizarre enough. Londoners, you can just imagine Ken Livingstone running for that one! Anyhow, the idea was for people to vote for their favourite. Competition was stiff because the mayor of a neighbouring town is apparently quite good looking. I hope Mr Pradel will forgive me for saying this, but although his good qualities are too numerous to mention, being sexy is not one that would immediately spring to mind.

Anyhow, once the good people of Naperville realised they could vote as often as they wished, they threw all their support behind him with the resulting in a surprising win!

Maybe It's Because I'm a Londoner...

As I write this I am watching NBC Today. They are in London because of the 10th anniversary of Princess Diana's death. Interestingly enough they are treating London with much the same patriotism they display in America. The news items are very positive - how great English cuisine is, how it is a great commerical centre, fascinating facts about tea drinking, that kind of thing. They have interviewed Princes William and Harry, plus Diana's brother Charles Althorp. There is great excitement about Sunday's commemorative concert at the new Wembley Stadium, which, incidentally, is within walking distance of my old home.
From the other side of the pond, news about London and the Royal family is very different. They report the same events, of course, but instead of serving the dish with a dollop of positivity, it is always covered in a thick layer of negativity.
Charles Althorp is usually portrayed as an outspoken opposer of the Royals, which I guess is understandable considering what they did to his sister. The princes are pictured rolling out of nightclubs often the worse for wear. Wembley Stadium itself was hugely controversial when the original building was demolished and the new one was not finished in time.
So which version of current events is true? Well I suppose the answer depends on how you look at it. In England, most people's cups are half empty, over here, brimming over.
The problem is in England we are all so negative about most things it can be difficult to succeed in life. Here, problems are often swept under the carpet so everyone feels great, but is life actually any easier?
Wednesday is arguably the most important day in the American calendar, Independence Day. I can't wait to experience it, with all the flag waving, fireworks etc. (Of course I may need to keep a low profile considering who they are celebrating escaping from!)
In England we have a national day too. St George's Day happens on April 23rd. No, I'm not surprised that American readers may never have heard of it. Flag waving in England is considered a bad thing. We are so multi-cultural that people fear any shows of patriotism will offend the majority of the population. It is not politically correct to show any display of pride in our country.
Here in America, we have inherited a fitting for a flag pole outside our new home. I can't really fly the American flag because I am English. I would feel odd displaying the Union Jack because it "simply isn't done". So stuck in the middle of these two leading cultures, I sit a little nervously in the middle. My English roots tell me to remain guarded and cynical. My experiences in America are making me feel more positive that I have ever felt before. More than ever, I feel positivity breeds content. My negative side wonders how long this will last....

Suburban Utopia?

The more I delve into Naperville society, the more extraordinary I find this place to be. On the surface it is middle class town filled with ladies who lunch and men who work to pick up the tab. The children are all geniuses, and most play six instruments, speak four languages and play golf, football and baseball with equal finesse, often at the same time.
Nothing negative ever happens in Naperville. Everyone walks round with a smile and says "good day" as they pass you on the street.
If you drop litter, someone will pick it up, gift wrap it, and politely return it to you. If your grass grows more than an inch, your neighbour will be out trimming it with manicure scissors . It is only allowed to rain at night, dogs are toilet trained and cars drive at 25 miles per hour, stopping to let pedestrians cross even if they are not at a crosswalk.
If you leave your house unlocked, someone will come in and clean it for you. If you leave your car unlocked, they will fill your tank with gas. If you find yourself struggling with your groceries, a boy from the store will come home with you and arrange everything in cupboards for you.
Even below the surface, things are not much different. However, what I have discovered is a tremendous sub-structure of amazingly talented women.
Those who I thought were idling away their time in Starbucks, much like myself, are actually often involved in important meetings. They are not only planners, but doers. Let me give you an example.
Today I joined a meeting of women setting up a Month of Peace celebration for September. It is the brainchild of a Indian engineer who took early retirement several months ago. Now in England, she would be putting her feet up watching soaps all day. Here, she has not only set up a charitable foundation, but also enlisted the help of the town's major movers and shakers. The event will not only be opened with an inaugural speech from the mayor, but will include a talk by Rajmohan Gandhi, grandson of the world leader.
All this helps to make Naperville the perfect place to live. On the other hand, children can be immensly pressurised at school. An A grade student elsewhere in the country, may find themselves only achieving Cs here, life is so is highly competitive. Of course I've yet to meet any mother whose child has an IQ of less than 350, but there must be a few hidden away somewhere. Other disparities mean that whereas families here have everything they could wish for, neighbouring towns only a couple of miles away can be highly depressed, and I don't mean in attitude.
I am quite sure Naperville families realise how lucky they are to be living in the Eden they have created for themselves. But I cannot help but wonder what happens to their little chicks when they finally fly the coop and find themselves in the real world.

Home Comforts?

It's like the United Nations in our house at the moment. The demolisher is American, the painters Mexican and the electricians Polish, but I suppose that is fair enough since the owners are English!
Fortunately the team has unearthed no real surprises so far, save for a family of mice beneath the kitchen. Fortunately, any taste of my cooking will soon put pay to that. Currently we have no flooring downstairs, few completed walls and not too many ceilings either. From the master bedroom we have a grand view of the attic above, largely because we have no ceiling there either. There is dust everywhere and the dulcet tones of sledgehammers and the like wake the neighbours on a daily basis.
There are now 22 days before our house guests arrive. We have ordered their beds, one is still in storage, and the basement is filling up with bedding. We cannot have the beds delivered until the bedrooms are painted and two will also need carpeting.
We have invited so many people to the housewarming party on July 22nd that I have lost count. We're still not sure when we will actually move in. The deck where the party is to be staged looks like a bulldozer chewed up the edges. The grass is growing a foot a day.
Despite this, I am quietly confident all will be well. Deep down I know it will be alright on the day. Outwardly I am having a nervous breakdown. What was I thinking? I have half of Naperville coming to this gathering, and the way things are going I may have to issue hard hats on arrival and give them sawdust martinis to drink!
I still hope it will be like one of those home make-over shows, where at the last minute everyone runs around with accessories and the owner bursts into tears. I imagine slicing through a black plastic tarp over the entrance way to reveal a stunning interior. That reminds me. We did order the front door, right?

Driving Instructor

"Drive 1.9 miles, then turn left, turn left, turn left."

"Oh I know this bit, I can take a short cut here."

"Recalculating...drive 200 yards and turn left."

"I don't know why I bought this thing. I can work this out. Look, that sign says we should turn right."

"Recalculating.. drive 100 yards and turn right, then turn right, turn right."

"Oh shut up, look, this must be right."

"Drive 2 miles then take ramp right."

"I don't know why more Americans don't have these satellite navigation systems, they're invaluable."

"Drive 1.6 miles, then keep left, keep left."

"Of course I know where I am going now. Don't really need this anymore."

Five minutes later...

"Drive 9.3 miles."

"Really, wasn't that our stop back there?"

"Look you stupid machine, do you even know where you're meant to be going?"

Two minutes later...

"At the next exit, turn right, turn right."

"We seem to be out in the middle of nowhere. And it's getting dark."

"Turn right, then turn right."

"Won't that take us back where we started?"

"Recalculating.."

"We've lost the signal!"

"Recalculating, recalculating..."

"It's like a scene from 2001: A Space Odessy, where Hal the computer goes mad."

"Look, she's back."

"In 0.3 miles, turn left, turn left."

"What's she on about? Isn't that Lake Michigan ahead?"

"Keep straight, keep straight."

"I think she's had enough of your arguing, Ross. We're heading straight for the water! Look out!"

Sometime later...

"At the third piece of seaweed, turn left, turn left. Glug, glug...."

Top Ten Things To Say To An Englishman in Naperville

1. Are you from Australia?
2. Are you from South Africa?
3. Have you seen the movie The Queen?
4. Shame about Princess Diana.
5. I love Benny Hill.
6. How is it driving on the right?
7. Wasn't Alec Guiness great?
8. Cup of tea?
9. It always rains in England, right?
10. Anything at all in an English accent that makes Dick Van Dyke sound like Prince Charles.

Home Sweet Home

I return from my trip to discover someone has stolen the inside of my house!

...and I have a houseload of guests arriving from England in just 28 days time...

Puppy Love Pictures

"As soon as she leaves, I'm going back to chewing the rug."

"This is my laid back look."

"Enough with the photos already, I have to go out..."

"....I have to get to my meeting of the Red Hats Society."

Puppy Love

The main reason for my visit here in New Jersey was actually not to see my gbf, but his new puppy, Yeva. Seemingly you cannot really call yourself gay unless you have a dog, especially a little fluffy one. Now if you or I were going to get a dog, the chances are you would pick up a mongrel from a rescue centre, or at least a regular pet shop. It came as no surprise to me that Yeva was actually flying in from Missouri. A Coton de Touleur, her lineage stems from Madacascar, so to be honest I'm surprised she didn't come directly from there in a private jet.
Jack was very keen for me to meet with Yeva as soon as possible, strangely thinking I would be some help with training her. True, we did used to have a dog, but he failed obedience classes and then ran away when we went on holiday, so I'm hardly qualified. Of course I would be able to teach her English as a Foreign Language, but not sure how handy that would be.
As soon as our eyes met, it was love at first sight. As you will see from the photos (to be posted later) she is not only adorable, but quite the poser. She would actually stop galloping around to smile for the camera. She instantly proved her worth as a gbfgd (answers on a postcard, please) by keeping her new raincoat on all afternoon, although we're still working on the shoes.
She loves riding in the car, although I expect it will be sometime before she gets behind the wheel. She is also a champion swimmer, diving straight into the family pool and swimming a length in an elegant doggy paddle, something I can only dream of doing.
Unfortunately house training is proving more of a challenge, and rugs seem more fun to chew on than toys, but it's early days yet. By the time I return, I expect she'll have learnt how to dust, answer phone calls and prepare afternoon tea.

Dance Macabre

Following my foure into the Philadephia gay scene on Friday night, I was intrigued at the possibility of watching some line dancing at another bar last night. Fortunately for me, and the other dancers, I would not be expected to join in, just spectate. In the past I have enjoyed the odd grapevine myself, but I was always the one on the end of the line falling into the next person, forgetting to turn at the right time so I would always find myself in the opposite direction to everyone else.
If there is one thing my gbf and I have in common it's watching really fit men line dancing, so I entered the bar, Woody's in downtown Philly with some excitement.
Of course what I was expecting was lines of really hunky men stamping and gyrating to Achy Breaky Heart. So you can imagine my horror when what I got was half a dozen middle aged businessmen two stepping around the floor holding their partners in a waltz position!
There were no muscly topless men in tight jeans and cowboy hats. Some even had the audacity to wear shirts and shorts with white socks and formal shoes! I don't know how they could call themselves gay - they must have been closet straight men.

The Only Straight in the Village

Although I love living in Naperville and Chicago is a great city; to me, there is no where like New York. So while staying here in New Jersey, I knew I had to visit. It's so close. A mere 45 minute car journey and 1hr 20 mins train ride away. Ok, so maybe it's not that near, but it's a lot closer than from London.
I have been lucky enough to visit three times before, and it is my favourite city on the entire planet. But I have never had a visit quite like the one I experienced yesterday.
This time my stay centered on Greenwich Village - the trendy gay area of Manhatten. No, I haven't converted following my visit to the gay bar yesterday. It was just somewhere to explore while my gbf Jack spend three hours getting his hair cut and coloured, his nails manicured and I don't even want to know what waxed.
The nearest thing London has to Greenwich Village is Camden, but strangely New York it is far less threatening. The shops are full of all kinds of trendy, if alas often trashy, knick knacks. There was also a colourful market, but the best thing was the wonderful festive atmosphere. Waiting for the traffic signals to chance, athletic men in shorts roller skate across the road. Dogs are carried in holdalls into doggy gift shops by over indulgent owners, who would rather spend $100 on booties than risk getting their paws dirty.
The weather was hot and sunny, and I was having a lovely time until the clouds gathered for an hour long storm. Just in time I was able to nip back to the salon before the heavens opened.
Now I am not adversed to the odd massage and nail treatment myself, but whenever I have been, I have never found myself sitting next to men getting their nails painted too. The place, interestingly called Randee Elaine's (English humour necessary here), seemed to be run by former members of the Russian women's Olympic team. Burly unattractive women lined up to haul quaking little men off to individual rooms for massages or waxing. Amazingly, they seemed to come out of the closet smiling, and even more astonishingly, still able to walk.
The place seemed very busy, but there was still time for the ladies to take a break. In one cubicle two of them sat leaning over one of the treatment tables, sharing a magazine flicking sunflower seed shells all over the place.
Once Jack was finally ready (they think women take a long time over these things) we sheltered from the rain in a quaint little bar where we drank the most amazing cocktails blackcurrant vodka and creme de cacao. (Can you see a pattern from the previous entry?)
After a day of gay New York, I was anxious to show Jack my favourite haunt, something a little more touristy, I'm afraid. The view from the top of the Empire State Building at night has to be the most amazing thing ever (save for the Grand Canyon, perhaps). The clouds had cleared and it was just breathtaking. We were even entertained by a fabulous firework display going on on either side of the river. As we were leaving, a saxophonist started playing. It has to be one of the most romantic spots on earth.

Unfortunately, there are times when only a straight man will do....

Straight Eye for the Queer Guys

The last girls' night out I went on was a jewellry party. We tried on rings and bracelets, ate delicious snacks and drank wine. Well, let me tell you, I have found something so much more entertaining! I had the best night out in years this week at a gay bar in Philadelphia.
Ok, the sharp intake of breath is audible. No, I am not coming out, it's just I have discovered the perfect place for the middle-aged woman to unwind. What could be better than a cocktail bar where you are greeted to show tunes around the piano as you enter and dancing, complete with disco ball, upstairs? At once I was 18 again.
And who'd have thought it? The reason why most men can't dance is because they are straight. You should see the gay ones go for it! Of course I'll never see the conga in the same light again, but at least they were having fun!
So, how does an ordinary English woman fresh off the boat end up so far from home? Well this week I am visiting my gay best friend Jack at his home in New Jersey, four miles out of Philadelphia. Every woman needs a gbf. He doesn't shout when I spend too much money (obviously because it isn't his), doesn't get ratty when I don't iron his shirts properly because he can do it better, and never cares if I have a headache (probably because he has an entire pharmacy of medicines in his house).
When the idea of going to a gay bar came up, I was, quite honestly, a little apprehensive. I hadn't brought any dressy clothes with me for one thing. Of course after thinking about it I realised it didn't matter what I wore because no one would give me a second glance anyway.
We went along on Friday night (sorry Rabbi), with Jack's delightful friend Bernie. He rides a motorcycle and can look quite threatening until he opens his mouth....
Anyway, as soon as we entered the bar, I realised on what I had been missing out on all these years. The room was dark and not yet full, but in the corner a piano player was singing show tunes as if he was auditioning for a leading role on Broadway. Everyone stood around joining in with various degrees of success. There were some more obvious choices like Oh, What a Beautiful Morning! from Oklahoma (or should that be homo?) but also more obscure songs from lesser known shows which amazingly everybody still knew.
Then it was upstairs to the dance floor. This too was fun, no doubt fuelled by the fact that I had knocked back a fairly strong Cosmopolitan by then.
Even through a slightly tipsy haze, it didn't take me long to realise I was the only woman on the floor. I couldn't have felt more conspicuous if I was stark naked. Fortunately, I then noticed a tall willowy girl in the corner.
"Typical," I thought. "Even with no competition (for what??) there was someone far more beautiful".
Of course as she twirled around I realised it was a man with a long wig and women's clothes. Why do men have better legs than women? Life really isn't fair.

The Cicadas are Coming!

They're coming...One little cicada bravely sets out to see if he can find friends in Naperville...

(See previous story)

Cicada Watch

The latest buzz word in the Chicago area is definitely cicada! For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, let me explain. Cicadas are locust-like insects which literally plague areas lush with mature trees. Just like most of Naperville.
The good, if somewhat extraordinary news, is that they only emerge every 17 years and only in specific parts of the country. Just my luck, this is their year!
For the past month or so, the TV stations have been full of warnings. Hysteria is so high one furniture company is even holding a Cicada sale!
Not that the bugs are dangerous. Just ugly and noisy. The newscasters warned that they can smother a tree in their thousands, and their call reach as loud as 120 decibels.
Now I hate creepy crawlies as much as the next person, but ever mindful of the blog, I knew this was a great story. For the past three weeks I have been waiting in intrepidation for their arrival, so I could take photos and tell you all about it.
It seems that Naperville is such a perfect place they even have a magic spell to keep the little critters at bay. I've seen none here at all, even though neighbouring towns have been swamped with them. I finally got to hear their cry on a visit to nearby Downers Grove on Monday. It sounded like crickets with megaphones. Definitely a good plot for a horror film. Luckily only one or two dropped down on the ground, but I feel greatly relieved that Naperville seems to be an exclusion zone.
If any locals have seen them in the area, do let me know. I'm off for a week to New Jersey, so just make sure they are all dealt with by the time I return!

Newshound

After being America for almost three months, I am beginning to feel a little cut off from the rest of the world, and I don't think I am the only one.
I thought the easiest way to keep abreast of current events would be by watching the TV news, but I'm not so sure. Considering this country is at war, most days it is hardly mentioned at all. I have little idea what is going on elsewhere in the world, but occasionally the strangest tidbits from England pop up. For example, hot news this week is that Britain has come up with a new wonder treatment for wrinkles! Turns out is has been produced by Boots No 7! (For US readers, this is similar to Walgreens, only smaller with less choice, of course).
Monday will see an interview with NBC anchor Matt Lauer with Princes William and Harry, and in a couple of weeks his colleague Meredith Viera is travelling all the way to Scotland to interview J.K. Rowling.
In the UK, I knew what Tony Blair was doing on an almost hourly basis, whether I cared or not. George Bush is currently in Europe at the G8 summit. Hot news? There was speculation someone in the crowd of wellwishers (astonishing in itself) had taken his watch. Turns out he removed it himself and handed it to someone else. Really? Amazing! No information about what actually happened at the conference. Perhaps he cried off and went sightseeing.
If I hear another word about Paris Hilton I will scream. In and out of prison like a yoyo, what does this say about the American penal system? Latest is she has found God. Where? In the cell next door? Who knows? Who cares? (Any Paris fans, feel free to comment here. I certainly haven't come across anyone who is in the least bit interested).
One thing they do have in Naperville is a local news station. I enjoyed London news back home, but this is entirely different. Most days when I flick through the 800 or so channels, I find coverage of council meetings. I was never actually fired up with enthusiasm when I had to report on them back home as a reporter, but on TV? Watching paint dry is more interesting. This, by the way, is not just a cliche. It is, of course, something I can comment on with some expertise at the moment.

Have You Seen This Somewhere Before?

The picturesque town of Woodstock, Il. may look familiar to movie fans.....

It doubled as Punxsutawney in Groundhog Day
It doubled as Punxsutawney in Groundhog Day!

So if you feel you may have seen this place before...

It's not deja vu!

Wandering in Wisconsin

We crossed the border this weekend, and discovered Lake Geneva! We didn't make it over to Switzerland, this beautiful area is in Wisconsin. With the mid-west so far from the ocean, the lakes are the nearest we have to a sea-side. It's actually very reminiscent of the Lake District in Northern England.

Shake Rabbi and Roll!

There are many kinds of Jews, and Ross and I are not perhaps the best kind. A bit like a child learning the piano, we practised a little but would usually prefer to do something else. In England we attended synagogue on high holydays only and I didn't really enjoy it for several reasons.
Firstly the entire proceedings were in Hebrew, which meant I didn't really understand what was going on. I spent more of the service trying to find my place in the prayer book than feeling any kind of spiritual growth.
The only part of the service I could understand was the sermon. As a child the rabbi's job was to berate those members of the congregation who did not attend regularly. Plus I felt ostrosized by the regular members who did. They were very friendly with each other and I felt left out. (Of course if they had seen me more than three times a year, things may have been different).
The orthodox synagogue was a very serious affair. Generally only those born as Jews attended. Men and women sat separately, you had to dress very formally with hats, try not to talk and in my case, often struggle to stay awake. The woman's place is in the kitchen, so they take no role in the service at all, although of course they can provide food for afterwards.
Despite this, we still feel a need to be true to our roots, especially since we have arrived in our promised land. So right away we joined the local synagogue here in Naperville.
Religion can be a controversial topic for discussion, so I've avoided writing about it on the blog, but when the rabbi last night lept on a chair playing the guitar in the middle of the service, I could bear it no longer.
To say the Reconstructionalist approach to Judaism is a little different to my upbringing, is like saying George Bush is the greatest president this country has ever known. (See how I'm mixing politics and religion - God help me, Mr President!)
Firstly, men and women can sit together. Some women wear kippahs, the skullcaps only men wear traditionally. The congregation are wonderfully friendly and the whole ethos is for inclusivity, so non Jewish friends and partners are welcomed. Heck, some weeks the place has been crowded out with visiting church groups.
The best attended service is on Friday night, not Saturday. (Apparently so everyone can spend the sabbath going shopping, taking the kids to sports etc.) The service is led by a male rabbi and a female cantor. One or both of them will play the guitar. On Sunday we attended a gospel brunch at the House of Blues in Chicago and there were definite similarities! One week they even had a live band on stage with a Powerpoint presentation showing the words to the hymns. The prayerbook is in Hebrew, but with a phonetic English version for dummies like me who never listened in Hebrew School and non-Jewish visitors.
Last night was extra special, as it was a farewell to the congregation's rabbi. Now rumour has it the rabbi was a little too orthodox in his sermons for some of the members liking, so he now has to search the wilderness searching for pastures new.
Orthodox! They should attend the services I've been too. Anyway, for his swansong, he certainly pulled out all the stops, and I don't mean on the organ.
As the service wore on, he became more and more, shall we say, relaxed.
He played the guitar throughout, and for one song called on his wife to accompany him.
"I know everyone told Paul McCartney not to let his wife join the band when he formed Wings, but he never listened and neither did I", he said.
After that he became so enthused in another rousing chorus he literally jumped on a chair. (Obviously a frustrated rock and roll star).
Naturally he saved the best for last. He called on his family to join him for the final hymn. That's been one of the few things about the service I have recognised up until now. Not this time.
My Sweet Lord will never sound the same again! He left the complicated guitar rifts to someone else who unfortunately could not play them either. I for one will greatly miss the rock and roll rabbi, and hope he manages to find a new flock to tend very soon. Of course if the congregation found him a little traditional in his ideas heaven only knows who we'll get next!

Colour Blind

I'm pleased to announce that work started on our new home today. We have no kitchen and a big space in the family room where the cupboards used to be and I couldn't be happier.
Well, to be honest I could. Don't get me wrong, I am delighted the work has begun, but somehow even the simplest choice is proving really complicated. If I thought shopping for food was confusing, I had no idea what it would be like when I looked for paint!
In England if you want a white house with cream walls inside, you buy tins of white exterior paint and cream interior paint. White is generally called white and cream, cream. As they say in the UK TV ad "it does what it says on the tin."
Not so in the U.S. Oh no. There are at least 40,000 shades of white and at least a million of cream coloured products. Do I want Nomadic Desert or Simplify Beige? Heck after an hour in the paint shop choosing a different house would have been easier. At the end of the second trip of the day the salesman took pity on us and gave us the entire collect of paper swatches for free.
Another problem is having too much help. The more you have, the harder it gets, because of course no one agrees.
Our contractor Matt told us to choose whatever we liked, until we showed him and it turned out to be whatever he liked.
One was too pink, one too green. How was I to know the actual colour would look totally different to the paper swatches?
So I went to our interior designer, Kenny. He recommended other colours, but the contractor uses a different brand only so nothing was quite the same.
An old friend from California is visiting us this week, and she knew the answer. We went off to the paint store to buy sample paints and try them on the walls.
Good idea excepting each pot was $5 and we bought six, plus brushes, and when we painted them in the house they were all either too dark or too light.
After finishing work for the day, we dragged Ross round to the house to help. He promptly lost his temper at how much I had spent and how we had ruined all the walls.
"I'd rather have had the original colour," he said. "But now it's covered in stripes."
Tomorrow everyone is going back to the house to make final decisions, plus look at samples of kitchen cabinets and granite. I'll think I'll stay in the car.....

The Day the Rains Came - Jazz Fest Pix

Chair backs are this year's latest headgear
"Don't worry dear, it's only a shower."

An interesting special effect

"Where is everybody?"

"I'm here!

"Do you think this roll of paper towel will be enough to dry off 1,000 seats?"

All That Jazz

This weekend saw the first Naperville Jazz Festival. It was so nice of them to put it on for us, especially after all that fuss they went to with that parade recently.
The venue was Central Park. Not quite as nice as it's famous namesake, but central at least - right in the middle of downtown Naperville.
It was a lovely sunny evening, so we came prepared to soak up the evening sun whilst enjoying the music of jazz legend Ramsey Lewis.
Like any show these days, we first we treated to the delights of the support act. In this case, the Naperville Municipal Band. Now to be fair, they were better than I may have thought, much like everything in this town. They played big band music,which was very appropriate as they must have had a collective age of 1500. It was a bit like listening to a 1940s radio show. Not, I hasten to add, because of the style of music, but the announcements.
Before each piece, a somewhat mature lady (must have been sleeping with the second trombone, I guess) stood up to announce each piece. Then she sat down at the side as they started to play. However, before long, something more important took over.
We noticed in the distance the sky darkening. I hoped it was the approaching night sky, but alas no. Dark clouds began to roll in.
I should tell you at this point, that the event was organised largely by the YMCA. An announcement was made.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I would just like to give you some options. It looks like we may have a shower. I'm sure with some positive thinking we can stop this. Let's offer up our prayers and God will send the clouds by...and just in case you can take shelter in our building over there." Then he added that the concert would only be cancelled in the event of lightening. Very reassuring.
At first it was just a couple of drops.
"We're British, we can handle this," said Ross gamely. "It's so warm the rain will be refreshing."
For a minute or two he was right. We huddled together - that is until we saw people dashing to the sides. The band played gamely on. It was just like the last night on the Titanic only no one bothered to rearrange the deck chairs.
Suddenly there was a crash which obviously was not from a cymbal. There was a flash of lightening and the heavens opened. So much for sending positive thoughts to God. Everyone dashed for the nearest cover - which happened to be the awning over the front of the stage. At least we got a good view of the quite lovely waterfall effect over the band.
Luckily the rain did stop and we were able to go back to our seats. However, we were soaked and had to use towels to wipe the chairs off first. That'll teach them to play "Stormy Weather".