Summer in Erie

An update for all of our faithful readers :-). There is some big news to report...but first a quick note on where we are and what we're up to...

Lynnsey and I came back to the US of A on 5 August a couple of weeks in advance of Lynnsey's planned return (today 8/20 :-), now 9/29 :-)...see Lynnsey's blogs on our trip home). I needed to be Stateside in order to apply for my extended stay visa at the British Consulate in New York so we decided to come back together. It turned out to be a fortuitous decision as I was subsequently drafted to co-manage a project at the "Mother Ship." Its a cool project and August in Erie has been a big step up from summer in England (believe it or not :-)). More importantly it's meant that I got a couple of extra weeks at home with Lynns which has been GRRrreat.

I was in the mix for the annual MS Regatta which landed on my dad's birthday this year. We won, again :-). Not bad considering its the only race we contest all year. Funny story a couple of days after the regatta my dad's buddy, Doug Beers, heard some fellow competitors on a boat in a neighboring slip commenting on our performance. Seems there were some sour grapes to the effect that "either their rating (sailing handicap) is wrong or the timer on the committee boat is wrong because there is no way that PEDESTRIAN CREW could have gone that fast." :-) Just to set the record straight our crew is VETERAN, not pedestrian, and has never finished worse than 3rd :-) Kudos again to Gary, Greg, Mike and Vance for another superior performance.

Being back has also meant mornings at Greg's torture cell aghhem! I mean Peak Personal Fitness studio :-). I'm getting close to fighting form again after I was ruined by my fight with Toblerone addiction and the Brit Bitters. I had my bike rebuilt over the weekend and hit the 'ninsula for 40K on Sunday...let's just say I could feel the 3 bikeless months on my way back home up Sterretania Rd :-). But hey as Greg would say: "suck it up, pepper." Looking forward to the Presque Isle Tri this weekend (especially the run :-)) and to a couple of late season races in the UK (stay tuned to the blog for more).

Well now that I'm getting back to this post at the end of September (argh) I can update you on the Presque Isle Tri. For those of you not familiar with triathlon its really a competition that alternates between 4 timed events: swimming (700yds)--clothes changing--biking(13mi)--clothes changing--running(3.5mi). The tri starts with the swim and transition (clothes changing) area at Beach 6 at PI.

With all the craziness of setting up camp in the UK I hadn't seen a pool for 4 months (let alone dipped my toes in open water) and hadn't seen my bike for 3. So opening the door of Lynnsey's Pathfinder to the sound of roaring surf gave me a bit of the butterflies...but you tell yourself its never as bad as it sounds.... We got my gear all set up in transition (I'm not the best triathlete by a long shot but Lynnsey is definitely the best Pit Chief in the business) and I decided to stroll over the dunes to take a look. You tell yourself its never as bad as it sounds...until you see it...6 ft waves...rrruuhh ro...and tell yourself it isn't as bad as it looks...until the head life guard (who swam across the lake), Bob North, gets on the megaphone and tells you it IS as bad and pleads with you not to get in the water. I must admit I probably should have listened to the little voice telling me it was possible to surrender with honor...but I'm glad I didn't. Somehow I dog paddled my way through and actually had a great run at 19:26 5k pace (my PR was 18:36 as a 17 year old harrier). It was a great time and I vowed to come back next year as an improved swimmer to compete for my age group :-).

Lynnsey does a better job of telling the story of how we met and fell in love than I do (she's a much better writer among other things - see her blog on Uncle Bob about the greatest aviator of our times :-)) but I do want to say a quick word. One of the big reasons we are still together in spite of the long geographic distance between us is the very short distance between who we are and want to be together. Most important, Lynnsey understands the creative nutcase side of me most people never see. And she shows her love with actions (instead of just words) by investing everything she has, is and does into our relationship. Those of you who have had the privilege of checking out her blogs on Uncle Bob and her crafting blog http://whichcrafty.blogspot.com have seen a glimpse of what I'm blabbering about :-).

So without any further ado...the big news you've all been waiting for...drum roll...I know, I'm a cheese head...drum roll...bombs away...Lynnsey and I are ENGAGED!!! The big hitching is set for June 21, 2008 at my parent's place in Fairview. Anyone reading this will be invited so mark your calendars!

Jim, if you read this, many thanks again from both of us for your engagement gift and for all that you've done.

Ryan hates cats...

Or so he told me the very first time we spoke. I remember thinking to myself that this guy was probably not gonna be my type. He was talking about running and how he "hated cats" and he sounded like a health nut (I am sooo a steak nut, a reading a book nut, all kinds of nuts...except a health nut). He did have some other interesting aspects, though, so I thought I'd give him a chance.

We went out to dinner a couple of nights later and hit it off. Six hours, a bottle of wine, a couple cups of coffee, and a swarm of Jehovah's Witnesses later he kissed me...and then asked if he could. That's not even the best part. Wait for it...The next day when a friend at work was asking about my date, I realized that we'd hit it off so well that I had no idea what his last name was!

Obviously, I figured it out (an interesting story for another time perhaps).

Anyways, being owned by three cats, I was concerned about his "hating cats." All guys say they hate cats. This one is lying...

If your audio isn't all that great, he is in fact saying "flying kitty coming in for a landing." I missed the airplane noises on the way through the living room. He's also been quoted as saying that, "Gracie is the greatest pilot of our time."

I'm glad he hates cats.

Keeping Busy

For those of you out there who were unsure about this, let me tell you. Being an ocean away from the person you love SUCKS! (I know, I know...that's not a very lady-like word, but little else properly describes the situation) While I realize that it's not 1630 and there's email and Skype and text messaging and cell phones and what have you, it still sucks. So, I'm trying to keep busy.

In keeping busy, I finally finished quilting the T-shirt quilt. Really, like an hour ago.


Backstory: While Ryan was packing up the first time to go to England, he ended up with that pile of T-shirts that we all probably have. The ones you don't wear, but you can't get rid of. My pile is much smaller, but it does exist. Anyways, he was contemplating just getting rid of them when I suggested making a quilt out of them. He seemed surprised that it could be done (this was before he knew what I was capable of...ha!). I'm not one hundred percent certain he understood exactly what I meant to do with them, but he went along with it. I sent pictures of the progress to him when he was first in England. He thought it was great, thought I was great.


This is a daunting task, though. Someone you care about hands you their favorite t-shirts and you cut them into small pieces and sew them back together. There's a certain EEK! factor to that alone. You drink heavily and then you quilt the whole thing (with help from your cats).

So, now the hard parts are done. I think. I have to bind the edges and wash it to get rid of the lines I drew for quilting (and the cat hair!).

He'd better leave some room in his suitcase next time he comes back. He's going to have to fit a quilt and a sweater in there! I'm doing my part to warm up the UK!

Never Knit Your Man a Sweater...

There's a curse among knitters all over the world (well, there's more than one, but now's really not the time...). Basically, you like a guy. Knitters are natural givers, so you knit him a sweater. You put in a lot of time, effort, and love. You give him the sweater, and HE LEAVES. Not only does he leave, but he takes your great sweater with him.

So, (female) knitters have implemented a rule. "Never knit your man a sweater unless you've got the ring." It's actually the title of a book. The book has all kinds of other things you can knit your beau...scarves, hats, gloves, blankets, beer cozies (I don't really know if that's in there, but I have seen them!), socks, even a vest. But NO sweaters.

I told Ryan about this a long time ago. I even showed him the book to prove that I'm not totally crazy. He respected this rule. He stole my brown alpaca hat. I made him a blue (suitably manly) scarf. He didn't push (too much) about a sweater.

Now his time has come. I have ordered yarn and new needles (darn...had to buy more needles, terrible thing, that), and found a pattern. Because...






= Sweater!

7th Grade Pizza

Today was the conclusion of the famous 7th Grade Pizza. Hearts were broken. Chicken was barbecued. Yeast was baked at high temperatures.

What?

My first class of the day is what they call "7th Grade Rotation." I have approximately 30 days to teach a dozen and a half 12-year-olds everything they need to know about everything and then they go to art or shop or whatever and I get a new batch (they're like Gremlins, don't get them wet!).

In the course of this class I have learned who the three most popular 7th grade teachers are, because they get the most pizza. It's become a highly coveted prize. Last year's Walmart Teacher of the Year was the only person (besides me, of course...they loooove me) to receive a piece.

This year's first rotation made their dough yesterday and cooked their pizza today. It was good. It helped make my week a lot better all of a sudden. It's been at least a year since Ryan left (and by year, I mean 5 days) and I've had a crap week (whoops...year). They did a good job. It helped...a little...it's a start.

This class is a source of constant amusement. Things I have already learned from 7th graders...

* "I wouldn't buy her a gift until we were married."

* "You can't date your friend's sister." But the girl their friend is "in love" with is okay.

* "The boy should pay (when you're out to dinner)."

* You can burn Velveeta cheese in a microwave if you try hard enough.

* Their favorite subject is lunch.

* Most of them would rather be wise than rich...because they figure they could make money that way.

* They're really bad at Charades.

* They think Hoss's is a fancy restaurant.

* They're excited to cook eggs...and bacon...and French toast. Really excited.

* They help start my day...them and two cups of caffeine.

You can't get there from here (part 2)...

And now the exciting continuation of the expedition to Gatwick Airport (much like previous epic journeys such as the Kon-Tiki expedition, Hilary's climb of Everest, and navigating a Walmart on a Saturday morning)...

When I left off, Ryan was just getting his first dose of the Henneman travel mojo. This rare condition afflicts my mother's side of the family. It does, however, come with the bonus of always finding a parking spot in the front row near the door and generally being right about everything all the time.

At any rate...The train from Brentwood went as far as Stratford (I think...It was awfully early). We took the Underground, ran across some station, hit the Gatwick Express, took a kayak, rode a camel, traveled back in time, and finally arrived at Gatwick Airport. Funny side note...Ryan really is the whitest fast man alive. Even carrying both suitcases (one of which weighed something like 60 pounds...hmmm, I wonder who that belonged to) he had me running to keep up.

Now the real fun begins. Apparently the fine people at Gatwick Airport have some trouble figuring out the basic art of communication. In that, when one person tells you to go to this line, three more tell you you're in the wrong one. It's a very good time, especially when Ryan wakes you up at 4:30. They did however (eventually) manage to seat us together, so I can't complain too loudly.

Some of you may recall the earlier story of the 18 miles I walked to get from the plane to the terminal when I arrived in England. Apparently, the same is true in the opposite direction. After another 18 mile long trek and a Starbucks kiosk manned by one lone (and flustered) employee, we reached the right gate. Of course, we were searched again, because I look incredibly dangerous. Finally, some 6 or so hours later we were on our way.

Of course, I could detail the 8 hour plane ride, but I'd like to keep our readership high...so I will refrain from describing in great detail the 3 or 4 episodes of CSI I watched or the absolutely fantastic chicken-like sandwich we were served.

Up next in the epic tale of our perilous journey...we will answer the questions that have plagued mankind through the ages:

Why is Newark, New Jersey so incredibly fabulous?

Why would anybody accept luggage from a stranger?

Why can't Ryan get a smaller Sam Adams?

Why is it my bag that gets lost on its way to Pittsburgh?

Why don't I have any American money?

Why does Papa John's pizza taste so great at 9:30 at night?

You can't get there from here (part 1)...

Oh, where to begin. I guess the beginning is as good a place as any.

It's already been implied (perhaps more strongly than necessary by some) that I am not a morning person...so when Ryan revealed his 'high level' plan to get up around 4:30 on Sunday in order to get to Gatwick and come on home to Erie, I was understandably less than enthused.

His plan...leave Brentwood around 5:30. The train's plan...leave Brentwood at 6:35. That's the earliest train that leaves on Sunday. In a way, I kinda respect it. I wouldn't get up early on Sunday if I didn't have to either. ( I would like to point out now, because I didn't do it then, that I did not take this opportunity to point out to Ryan that I could have stayed in bed...that took a lot of effort...ahhh, the things we do for love.)

So we left Brentwood station on time (well, the train's time...not Ryan's time). Of course, we couldn't travel directly to where we wanted to because of work being done (aren't Sundays faboo?). This is fairly standard procedure in London and I think the locals just get accustomed to never travelling directly to where they want to go.

What Ryan didn't understand is that this is all part of travelling with me. For those of you who missed the fantastic beginning of my trip...let me explain.

I left Erie on Sunday, July 1. My mom drove me to Cleveland (thanks, mom!) and left very early to humor me (which is a good thing because, apparently, as they were leaving the airport there was a huge backup that we would have been stuck in...see, I told you). I waited around in the manner of most at airports all over the world after being thoroughly searched (because, God knows, I look dangerous) . Now, even not having flown often, I knew something was wrong when they hadn't started boarding and there was only 10 minutes or so until the flight was supposed to leave. Of course, it was cancelled. A crew member had gotten sick (read, drunk...no, I really don't know that for sure) and they couldn't find anyone to fill in.

After a lovely night in the Cleveland Airport Marriot (which was actually pretty nice, all things considered...try the stuffed mushrooms at Jack's steakhouse if you ever have the misfortune of being in Cleveland) I was back at the airport. I was back at the airport 6 hours early because I had to check out at noon and my plane left at 6:00. Yay! Nothing like 6 hours in an airport.

I'm sitting, waiting for the second start of this journey when my new friend Scott Z. from Delta (the guy who had set me up after the failed flight the night before) grabs me and very quietly ushers me to the next gate. Scott was making me a little nervous as he started typing furiously on the computer here. Then I hear the guy at the gate I was supposed to be at announce a delay that would have made me miss my connection in New York. Our hero, Scott, is putting me on a flight to Cincinatti, so I can make it to Gatwick (hooray for Scott from Delta). All of this was accompanied by much hurried texting to (a half-asleep) Ryan and my mom. Very nice. The flight was okay (as okay as any 8-ish hour flight can be) and I was on my way.

The flight was a little early, so, of course, Ryan was a little late (missed the train he wanted to get). Now, remember...I've had a rough start and I've barely slept and this is my first trans-Atlantic flight and I can't find the only person in this (bloody) country that I know, so after the tenth person I hit with my bags, I'm getting a little anxious. Then, this guy runs into me. Just bumps right into me. I've got two big bags and I'm obviously a little stressed and he just runs right into me, but because I'm a nice person, I turn and start to say excuse me to this jerk. Instead, I give him a huge hug, because it's Ryan. He ran into me on purpose. Dork.

This was followed by some subway and train rides of which I have almost no recollection whatsoever (even though they were firsts, too!) and Ryan substituting carrying my (rather heavy) bags up and down all the stairs in London for his workout that day. When I asked him if I could at least carry something, he handed me the umbrella. Still a dork.

As Bill Cosby always said..."I told you that story so I could tell you this one..." The rest of our trip back make sense in light of my travel mojo.

Stay tuned for the continuing saga of our return trip in which many trains don't go where they're supposed to, many people from Continental don't know what the hell they're talking about, and my bag gets to Erie a day behind me (hopefully).

The Rat Pack..Live (in a manner of speaking) and Swingin'

Another Friday night in Canary Wharf...this one cut unfortunately short by what was supposedly a summer shower (quite frankly it felt more like October, but...hey). Featured this week were the performers from a West End tribute the immortal Sammy, Dean, and Frank. As quite a big dork, I mean fan, of this music for a number of years, I can tell you they weren't half bad. The gentleman impersonating the legendary Francis Albert Sinatra was the best, even with a bit of British peaking out from under his adopted Hoboken accent. The big band from Brighton that accompanied them was spectacular. They played a great Soul Bossa Nova (both Quincy Jones and Austin Powers would have been proud).

Bruce and Caroline, formerly of New Zealand, were present once more, but had much better seats than we did. Instead, proving how small the planet really is, we were sitting in front of a group that included some Americans. Not only were they from Columbus, Ohio, but one plays hockey for a school that competes against Mercyhurst and another has friends in Saegertown (what are the odds?). The latter took this picture...

The Friday nights at Canary Wharf have become not only a (free) good time, but an opportunity to hone my picnic skills. This week's menu included sandwiches of brie and hand-carved turkey breast (deli meat means something very different here) a la Christie's Baby at Figgie's, the now-famous stuffed mushrooms, more cherry tomatoes, more fruit, chocolate eclairs (from the bakery I want to live at), a bottle of German rose, and (of course) the obligatory Toblerone. (I would just like to note that I got exactly two pieces of the Toblerone.)

Ryan has expressed some feelings of inferiority in the face of my culinary prowess...I would like to state, for the record, that, under the circumstances, his picnic was superb...I had all day to stuff mushrooms and make sandwiches...Now, if he'd just stop eating all the Toblerone.

During the "interval" the rain that had been threatening all night started to fall. We stayed for a bit in the cover of one of the many huge buildings that ring the park as they started singing again..."Singin in the Rain" and "Stormy Weather"...very clever. We left after a medley of West Side Story songs by "Sammy" to the accompaniment of a bongo.

Canary Wharf Take 2

Back to Canary Wharf Friday night for Moya Brennan (the mother of contemporary Irish music)! Bono said of her voice, "It's the most enchanting sound that any human being will ever experience" :-) We agree!! And in an enchanting place...or at least as an enchanting as it gets in "Big City" London ;-). I'm a sucker for a skyscraper and the whole thing is surreal (see pic at left for an idea).

OH THE IRONY!!! Moya on the big screen singing so beautifully in Irish and strokin her harp just 20 yards from the site of one of the biggest IRA attacks in history!

Last week I pulled off one of the best impromptu picnics in the long and distinguished history of British Picnics (caps). This week, once again, Lynnsey proved her culinary prowess (outdoing herself and me in the process); this picnic was FABUSCRUMPTUOUS! Everyone who passed by our blanket (parked about 15 yds from stage btw) was droolin: garlic herb tortellini in a marinara sauce, fresh ripe cherry tomatoes, roasted chicken, ciabatta and olive oil, fresh berries, a bottle of fine french chardonnay AND TIRAMISU...oh and...the Toblerone thief struck again!

Chilly night but we kept each other warm after killing the bottle of vino. We'll have to blog soon about the weather (I know Lynns has touched on it a bit already but it deserves a whole dissertation. Reeeedickulous! But you just start to roll with the punches after a while. Next time it rains I'm gonna bring my camera with me so stay tuned :-). The sum of it is that its A LOT cooler here than in the US.

The coolest part of the evening (like that transition) though was meeting Bruce and Caroline Le Gros. Interesting couple from New Zealand of all places who live aboard their boat, came here 20-30 years ago and stayed. Not sure what they do exactly (we didn't get that far) but he was deadeye dick with a camera and took this shot of us :-)...hopefully we can feenangle our way into dinner on their barge on the Thames :-D!

Off to watch the first Pyrennean mountain stage of the Tour!

Yours Truly,
--R

A study of the Ryan in his natural habitat

Today we take a look at the Ryan in his natural habitat. These never-before-seen photos bring to light the strange, but fascinating, daily routine of this mysterious creature.

In the photo below, we see the Ryan on his 'computer.' The Ryan spends a great deal of time throughout the day seemingly attached to this strange device. He seems especially attracted to something called "news."

Here we see the Ryan in his most natural state. He is holding what researchers initally called a 'blackberry,' but have renamed 'crackberry' because of the Ryan's apparent addiction to it. Interestingly, when the device is taken from the subject, he gets increasingly anxious. Researchers are debating the ethical questions of depriving the Ryan of his 'blackberry' to further study the effects of its absence.

Again, the Ryan is captured on film with his 'blackberry.' This time, however, he seems to be using it as some sort of primitive communication device. Perhaps he is looking for more "news."

One intrepid photographer, at great personal risk, startled the Ryan early in the morning at his most dangerous. Here, we see him with a cup of some sort of caffeinated beverage.



Researchers are excited to continue their studies of this Ryan and will be periodically releasing new findings to the public as they understand more about this intriguing specimen.