A glimpse into my future

Proud to report that I'm gradually conquering most of the technological mountains in my exchange house. Still haven't tackled either of the TWO dishwashers, but when I figured out how to get the oven to work -- and it actually yielded a hot entrée -- I did a Happy Dance worthy of "Dancin' with the Stars"!

Another victory: a hot shower at night rather than 6:30 a.m., which is the default setting of the water heater. The clothes washer was dead simple by contrast. And I finally purchased a clue and pieced together that the space-age chimes wafting from the computer room was an incoming TELEPHONE call!

Next up: The microwave.

After all, I'm an American, right? And reasonably intelligent. This house shall not defeat me. Failure is not an option. If I could only get that ding-dingy sound to hush up in the car...

Anyway, I've settled in reasonably well and am thoroughly enjoying this latest British sojourn. I don't identify myself as a tourist so much as a temporary resident. As such, I'm doing more of the stuff that the locals would do, and less of what visitors might expect. A perfect example: The coach trip Monday with 45 other retirees to a flower fete in a church in Walpole, a village about an hour north here.

My presence on the coach, or bus, dragged down the average age by several years. I got a glimpse into my future.

I was invited by a neighbour who's a very robust 86 years old. She lived in the U.S. a long time but has resettled back here in Burston where she was born. Her daughter lives in Huntersville, NC, of all places, so she's quite familiar with Charlotte. Dorothy is quite a lovely character who remembers vividly the American soldiers stationed here during WWII. Her stories are fascinating. Anyway, she was very gracious to include me on this outing with her and her friends, which in hindsight was an anthropological expedition as much as a trip to see some beautiful flowers.

Walpole's flower show is an annual fundraiser for their church, built in the 13th Century. Each year they choose a theme for floral displays in the sanctuary. This year it was "Proverbs," but was expanded to include pithy phrases like "A woman's work is never done," "Don't count your chickens before they hatch" (complete with live chickens!), and "He who dances must pay the piper." One old geezer was wandering around with a jar of jelly beans ("Don't take candy from strangers"), and there was the outline of a body drawn on the floor in front of the pulpit with a flower-draped mannequin above to illustrate "Look before you leap." All very clever and fragrant. These people do love their flowers, and as I've often seen over here, they're second to none in creating brilliant displays.

Tents with homemade refreshments, plants, handmade crafts and books for sale were set up on the church grounds. After everyone had had their coffee -- which they call their Elevenses -- and a wander through the stalls and the sanctuary we went across the road to the community hall for the standard midday English fare, a ploughman's lunch. And several cups of tea. Then we loaded back onto the coach to go into King's Lynn, where we had two hours to kill before heading home.

As it was Monday, most things of any interest in King's Lynn were closed. Had this been an American outing, there would have been widespread mutiny and loud obnoxious grumbling, but nobody uttered a whimper of complaint (except for me, who had the gracious good sense to keep my exasperation to myself -- for once). To pass the time, much more tea was consumed.

After what seemed like days and days, the coach finally deposited Dorothy and me back in the vicinity of home. It was all velly, velly English, but now that I've done it, I'm not sure whether I need to do it again. Our American impulse would have been simply to jump into our own car, motor up to Walpole, see what there is to see in about half an hour, head directly back home and get on with our lives. I just don't do groups very well. This gentler, more civilized way has its charms to be sure. But I do admit I was about ready to jump out of my skin before the long day was over.

Or maybe it was all that tea and coffee. Caffeine tends to do a number on me...

Tuesday I headed to the prominent Beth Chatto Garden near Colchester on my own. It was exceptionally beautiful, with a riot of color and textures against a background of birdsong, but I felt that something was missing somehow. Perhaps it was a herd of retirees.