Photo Finished

After six months of writing virtually every day for my own (and I hope your) amusement, I am delighted to say I have finally sold a piece of my writing! Unfortunately the money earned won't even pay for my work visa, but I guess it's a start. On Monday I am to be a guest columnist in the Naperville Sun newspaper. I have been writing in Positively Naperville! for the past three months, but alas that is out of my own goodwill and desperate need for self-publicity.
This afternoon I had to go to the Sun's offices so they could take my photograph. As I suspected, it was hardly a fashion shoot.
I was ushered in to a studio at the rear of the building and introduced to a photographer who looked as if he had been given the afternoon off school for work experience.
"If you could take twenty years off, that would be great," I joked wittily (or so I thought).
"Everyone says that," he replied. "Just stand between these screens and put your feet there."
He pointed to a line marked on the floor. I did as commanded, and then realised I had to turn round completely since I had my back to him.
"I may look better if you take the picture from directly behind the screen," I said.
"Just relax. I'll just take one to test the light."
I smiled benignly.
"And again."
I purred into the camera. I was really getting into this.
"That's it. Thank you. You can leave by this door at the back."
That was it. Three strikes and I was out. Goodness knows what the finished product will look like. I imagine myself a stunning beauty with a cheeky smile. What I'll probably get is a middle aged woman in desperate need of a face lift.

Celebrity Watching

One of the nice things about living in America is that it gets me nearer to my heroes. Having already seen Henry Winkler and The Beach Boys, yesterday found us in the presence of M.A.S.H. actor Alan Alda at a talk and book signing organised by the local independent bookstore Anderson's.
He was fascinating, but it is not the place of this blog to present usual news stories that you could read about anywhere. So to me, one of the more memorable moments happened before we even entered the venue, the wonderful Art Deco Tivoli Theatre in Downer's Grove.
A group of young girls looked up at the sign about the entrance which proudly announced that Anderson's welcomed Alan Alda.
"Ohh look," one of them called out. "All those people are queueing up to see Aladdin."

These days he looks more like Professor Alda...

..but he is still a great act


And as how most of us best remember him

Red Hatters

Until today, my only knowledge of the Red Hat Society was what I had learned on that highly educational TV show, The Simpsons. To be honest, having a son who is a life-long Simpsons fan, proved immensly useful before coming out here. I learned so much about American society from it that I was amazed when I arrived that everyone I met wasn't yellow, but perhaps I'll have to travel to Springfield for that.

(Very witty to U.S readers. British readers note Springfield is the capital of Illinois. Geographically challenged note Illinois is the state in which I find myself these days, just a mile or two away from panic. Think about it....)

Anyway, today I met a local chapter of the Red Hats at a Naperville restaurant, kindly taken along my new friends Marcy and the aptly named Ruby. I knew I was in the right place as soon as I walked in. In the middle of a very smart new Italian restaurant sat about 20 women in purple with red hats. Some were straw, some large, some smaller, and one or two even covered in sequins.

The more literary amongst you may be thinking quizzically at this point. Red hats? Purple? Yes, it turns out the society bases itself on the Jenny Joseph poem Warning.

To remind you: "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple, with a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me."

The society has been going great guns since its inception in 1998 and now boasts chapters all over the world.

The only rule is there are no rules, so therefore no agenda, no meeting, just a chance to get together once a month and have fun with a bunch of like minded women.

The idea is to attract the 50+, but with no rules anyone can join, but under 50s have to wear lavender coloured clothes and pink hats. Honestly.

Since the poem is all about growing old disgracefully, I couldn't wait. I wondered what they would do. Eat dessert before lunch maybe? That would be disgraceful. Or eat dessert instead of lunch. That would be really decadent. Or throw food perhaps? Or flirt with the waiters.

Alas no. It was the usual chit chat, very welcoming and very hospitable, but not what anyone would really call disgraceful.

I asked Norma, who wore a purple pant suit, what she thinks of the people who make fun of the Red Hats. (Who would do such a thing?)

From under her large brimmed red straw hat she said: "The idea is to get together with women of a similar age and just have fun. If people don't like it, I don't care!"

A sentiment that would no doubt be applauded by Jenny Joseph herself.

Knights of the Round Table

Moving across the world? Nothing to it. Remodelling a house in six weeks? Easy. Get furniture in your home? Forget it.
Despite having lived in our new home for nearly three months, there are still yawning gaps. Visitors politely ask if we have only just moved in as we open the door to reveal nothing but a hardwood floor. It looks like we've been the victims of an horrific burglary. Word on the street is that we piled all our money into the house and have no money for furniture.
To put the record straight, here are the real reasons.
1. The mill that is making the custom fabric for the furniture conveniently went out of business as soon as they accepted our order.
2. Our own indecision as to what to order, where to order it from and how much to pay for it.
3. The ease in which internet based companies will accept your money then tell you the furniture you thought would arrive in two weeks will actually take six. Maybe.
After weeks of rattling around in our half empty house, yesterday we had a breakthrough. The lamps for our formal lounge were delivered. Ok, so the shades will come seperately, but at least we're half way there. I've learnt to be grateful for small mercies.
Even more exciting was that the table we had ordered for the dining/kitchen area arrived. This was one of Ross's internet finds. It's known overhere as a pub table. Not sure why, since they don't even have pubs, but it is the same height as the countertops in the kitchen which mean we can utilise the chairs we already have. (Had to collect those with enormous complications ourselves, then build, return and rebuild. Don't ask).
The main purpose of the table is for Ross and his new friends to play poker. Yes, I know we should have just bought a poker table, but I didn't want my kitchen to look like a sleazy casino, so this seemed a good compromise. Ross assured me it would look great, and not be too large for the space.
"Er, it's going to be a bit bigger than I thought," Ross said, double checking the night before delivery. "But it should be fine. Apparently it weighs 200lbs, so we may need a bit of help setting it up."
I had visions of having to leave the patio doors open so the table would fit into the space, with some poor folks having to sit out on the deck to play cards. (As opposed to playing with a deck of cards inside the house).
Thankfully Bif came to rescue and helped Ross put the thing together, then heave it into place.
It actually looks pretty good. It's really solid with a circular top, and big enough for about 8 to play poker.
Trouble is, it doesn't match the chairs....

Heading for Fall

It's officially the start of autumn, but try telling the weather that. With temperatures in the high eighties, the summer just doesn't want to let go. We spent a scorching day at the Morton Arboretum looking for early signs of the new season. Ross had a great time trying out his new digital SLR camera, a gift from CA for 20 years service.

"Hurry up! I can't hold this pose much longer."

One legged woman lies helpless under tree while photographer watches.

It would be impossible not to get a good photo with scenery like this.

Instant Massaging

After all the physical exercise from making cookies and little biscuits in the shape of hammers (see yesterday's entry) today I decided to relax with a massage in downtown Naperville.
"Velcum, follow me up ze ztairs," said Carol, my Lithuanian masseuse. I wondered briefly if she was related to my cleaner.
Unusually she didn't waste time asking me pointless questions like whether I had ever bruised my left knee or if there was a history of hay fever in my family.
"Jest get undressed, lie on zis bed and press ze svitch on ze vall vhen you are ready," she commanded, leaving the room.
My experiences with my cleaning service, has taught me nothing if not to take orders quietly, so I quickly obeyed. I undressed, popped my jewelry in a little tray and climbed onto the table. I had a slight panic when I realised I couldn't reach the switch from my position lying under the covers, but managed to resolve it by leaping up and back down again before Carol returned.
I have to say it was a truly relaxing experience. Well, mostly. Why she had to heat the bed when it was 90 degrees outside heaven knows. (No exaggeration, Chicago knows how to hold on the summer).
I was just dozing off when she stopped.
"I chem zo zorry," she said, more than a note of panic creeping into her voice. "I hev lost my earring. I zink it is oonder your right breast. Zis has never happened to me before."
Grabbing the sheet I raised myself on one elbow, trying to retain my modestly while searching for the earring. It turned out not to be an entire earring at all, but the tiny butterfly used for fastening. Eventually it tumbled out onto the table in front of me.
Back at work, Carol pushed my head down as she pummelled my head and neck. I felt my head descending into the head rest. I imagine it must be something like this for those poor unfortunates who have their heads flushed down toilets by school bullies.
An hour later it was all done.
"I hope you vill cum back again zoon," she smiled.
Maybe. Next time I'll tell her to put her jewelry in the tray also.

High Rollers

One of Ross's long life ambitions has been to have a regular poker night. Not much of an ambition I guess, but something he has always wanted to do. Probably as a result of watching too many American sitcoms where the gang get together once a week and the little woman makes snacks then skidadals.
Tonight his ambition has come true. As he and his new friends play, I am hiding round the corner writing this.
The first thing we needed of course, was a poker table. In the end we managed to compromise. I refused to have one in the middle of my kitchen, so we ordered a very smart pub table instead. Of course with furniture delivery being what it is in this country, we'll be lucky to see it before Christmas, so in the meantime Ross decided to do it himself.
So, as I write, he, Neil, Mark, Biff and Matt are crowded around a plastic garden table covered with a piece of green felt he spent half the night stapling down.
My role in all this has been a bit strange. With no job I have taken on the mantel of Mrs Desperate Housewife big time. I'm embarrassed to confess I have spent the entire day baking snacks to fulfil Ross's somewhat chauvanistic ambition.
As usual I have made enough food for twenty people. It's a pity there are only five of them and from what I can see they don't seem too hungry.
I have home-made peanut butter cookies, chocolate chip cookies, tiny decorated chocolate muffins, even bruschettas with home-made pesto. The worst is probably the tiny cheese biscuits in the shape of hammers. It was the most macho cutter I could find in the local gourmet cook shop.
I had hoped that the players' partners would join me for a bitching session on the sofa. Oddly enough they had more important things to do - like working.
If I had one tiny fantasy about this myself it would be that they would opt to play strip poker. It would be just my luck that Ross would lose.

Acting Up

Choosing a restaurant can be a dangerous thing. Last night I thought we were going to a new place for spaghetti. We ended up in the middle of what was the worst dinner theatre we had ever attended.

I should have realised something was up when the actors came out to shake hands. Not during the show, you understand, but while we were reading the menu outside the restaurant. The manager of the group couldn't have been happier to meet us than if she had never had a single customer before. She probably hadn't.

"It's a great show," she lied. "Is that a British accent I hear? Oh we can have fun with you. You must join us."

Having been quite impressed by Tony and Tina's Wedding recently, we thought we'd give it a try.

Unfortunately it turned out to be more like an evening of fun in a Spanish hotel than a clever American comedy. Various characters babbled away in front of us as we sat at long tables eating food only slightly better than school dinners. One young man at our table said it actually reminded him of the food they served in the canteen where he works. He works in a hospital.

Still, food isn't important when you're having 'fun".

The first bit came when I was dragged out to join in the Macarena with an actress impersonating Hannah Montana and a nine-year-old girl. Fortunately I had just downed two Cosmopolitans, but even so it was the longest minute of my life.

Worse was to come, when Ross was hauled up to do a hula dance in a pink grass skirt.

Once that humiliation was done, I thought we could relax as we struggled to solve the mystery of who murdered talent. But no. They saved the worst for last, as we were dragged up to join in a rousing chorus of YMCA. I do try to be fun (sometimes) but those who know me know I prefer to stay in the background.

As we left, the owner came over to hug us.

"Well, was it what you expected?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Oh no," said Ross. "Far worse."

Artistic Leanings

In England one of my favourite hobbies was visiting local art and craft fairs. Unfortunately they were often disappointingly small with nothing much to buy. They took place in large marquees in muddy fields that smelt of damp. I am now beginning to realise that everything in Naperville is bigger and better, so was only a little surprised that this weekend's Riverwalk Art Fair was more like attending a major open air art gallery. Artists had come to exhibit from around the country, with music provided by the Du Page Symphony Orchestra. I have always thought the riverwalk was beautiful, but didn't realise the addition of classical music and art would make it perfect.

Golf Girls

Of course the real reason for Corinne's visit was not to see me at all, but to cross clubs with Buffy. What is it with women these days? When I left England Corinne had only had a couple of lessons and showed little interest in the game. Five months later she gets twitchy if she doesn't play every week and even practises in her lunch hour!
Buffy, of course, is a natural, and could probably win a tournament without any lessons. I'll just stick to taking the photos....

The Tourist Trap

The short break in transmission was due to another visitor from England, my old school friend Corinne. We had a great time sightseeing in Chicago, but if I have to take a tour one more time, I'll be able to get a job as a guide!

Fantasy Figure

I cannot believe it. An Ilinios woman is living my fantasty! Yesterday I read about a Chicago mum who keeps a blog about looking after young children. Turned out she put a link to it on ebay and now has publishers, film companies and the like after her to write for them.
Obviously I cannot copy her, but if any readers would like to put in a good word for me with someone, feel free!

On Parade

Who are those two Brits at the Naperville Labor Day Parade? Oh, it's us!
We couldn't let the Naperville Cultural Centre march without a British contingent.

"We want to be cheerleaders when we grow up."

"And we want to be train drivers."

The German School was highly organised, but there is no truth in the rumour they laid their towels down on the parade route at the crack of dawn. Here's their oompah band preparing to drive off.

There was even a surrey with a fringe on top.

The route was lined with well wishers making the most of the last of the summer sun.

No, it's not us. They're representatives of Anderson's bookstore getting into character.

Many political parties were represented, including this one. Surely it's not a one horse race?

The Knights of Columbus take up the rear.

The Last Fling

If there is one thing Naperville loves, it's a festival. The Labor Day holiday sees the Jaycees Last Fling, the final party of the season. It's just like the Rib Fest, without the ribs. The beautiful riverwalk, the jewel in the city's crown, is transformed into a fairground, with visitors from all over the state. Trouble is, with so many out of towners, it just doesn't seem like Naperville any more. I'll be looking forward to Tuesday, when it will be left to me and the other ladies who lunch.

Is there nothing the Americans won't eat?
I suppose these could be a little lighter

Streets are turned into a showground

But you can still cool off by the fountain

Not much chance of healthy eating here

If the fountain is not enough, just jump in the river

or take out a pedalo

it's certainly one way to avoid the crowds

Or of course, you can always relax at Centennial Beach. Which other city would boast a beach at its centre? Ok, Chicago has Lake Michigan, but this one is only five minutes away.

No matter what the event, there is one thing prevalent in all Naperville events - the ubiquitous lines of toilets!

Biff and Buffy Play Golf

With my golf game improving slightly (very slightly), Buffy decided it would be a good idea to take the men out to play. Her husband Biff has been playing most of his life, so she thought it would be a fun thing to do. Nothing is fun at 8.20 a.m on a Sunday, but try telling that to Americans. Get up at 10 a.m. and you've missed so much of the day you may as well go straight back to bed.
The session began well. I bought a brand new shiny white golf glove. Apparently all real golfers wear one glove to help with their grip. Personally I'm losing grip of my grip, and even with the glove felt more like Michael Jackson that Tiger Woods. It also left me with a very lopsided suntan, with one white hand and one pale brown.
Ross doesn't know one end of a golf club from another, but that didn't stop him trying to tell me which club to use and how to hit it. If an expert like Biff had told me I wouldn't have minded, but with Ross on my case, the session did not go well.
"Which number club are you going to use here?" he asked
"Er, 34D?" I ventured.
Not amused.
"You need a 7 iron for this," knowledgeable in his own ignorance. "Like this".
The only iron I know about is the one I beat my clothes to death with once in a while.
"You could use a wood." He suggested at the start of the next hole.
I searched desperately through my collection for anything at all made of wood, until discovering that was another name for a driver, which is actually made of metal. This was not helping.
It also didn't help that despite never having played golf before, having to share a set of ladies' clubs and suffering from a nasty case of man flu, Ross still played better than I did.

I Wish They All Could Be California Boys

Ravinia is an open air festival ground just north of Chicago. It began in the 1960s, and the same people seem to have been coming for years to hear all kinds of music. The old hippies now sit and sew or read books while waiting for the show to start.
Americans don't travel light when they picnic. People struggled in under the weight of tables and chairs and trunkloads of food. If you're packing so much, a candelabra or two hardly makes a difference.

Mike Love and some of the Beach Ol' Boys...

..and how they used to look.

With the Labor Day weekend upon us signifying the last days of summer, what could be better than to celebrate with the Beach Boys, at a fabulous open air concert in Ravinia? (For British readers, think Ken Wood only bigger and more sophisticated).

Those of us of a certain age, even in England, grew up with the Beach Boys: those fresh faced all-American college kids who spent their summers Surfing USA or eyeing up California Girls.

We followed their careers over the years through splits and tragedies, and summer wasn't summer without their unique style of music.

Now I'm not stupid. Since the boys were a little older than me, I realised they would have aged a bit since the Sixties. As it turned out, the only original left seemed to be Mike Love. They still sound fabulous and are nearly as animated as their audiences, but nowadays look more like a tribute band. Quite frankly it is a little creepy to see an old man singing songs about being proud of your school and sitting alone in his room!

Anyhow, following our picnic on the lawn (ok, on the bench, we're getting on a bit ourselves now you know), we took our seats with a forum full of former teenagers looking for their lost youth.

Five minutes in, the old lady next to me nudged me.

"Do you have a Kleenex?" she asked.

"Er, yes. Hang on," I rummaged in my bag. "Here".

She promptly ripped it up and pushed the two halves into her ears.

"If you don't like the music, why are you here?" I shouted.

"It's too loud," she said.

She then settled back, fell asleep, woke up and left half way through.

Wedding Crashers

We began our Labor Day weekend festivities by attending a wedding. It was great fun, although I believe the happy couple had been married before; to each other; six nights a week and Wednesday afternoons. We attended Tony and Tina's Wedding, a kind of murder mystery with wedding cake at the Pheasant Run resort in nearby St Charles.
We went with Ross' colleague Ben and his wife Lou. (I hope they'll forgive me for this but I feel its a good idea to change their names because I'm never sure what I'm going to say about them and I don't want to get sued).
The wedding went without a hitch (no pun intended for a change), but our first problem came when it was time to sit down. Our table was doubled booked. For one nervous minute I thought this was some kind of rouse as it was a highly interative evening, but it was a genuine error and they found us somewhere in the end.
If there is one thing I should have learned by now in this country, it is to never open my mouth. In the show, actors mingle with the guests. There is the fierce mother-of-the-bride, the gay brother, that kind of thing. Of course as soon as anyone came within a foot of our table, they immediately honed in on us, so we had to spend a evening talking about the tube; Harrods and English cream teas! Still not sure if the groom actually thought we were from Australia or not.
Ben is even more gregarious than Ross, so lost no opportunity in heckling the wedding party. Lou spent much of the evening hiding under her napkin in embarrassment.
The fighting and yelling across the room as the actors really got into it, made for a fun evening. Much like our own wedding, really.