Fourths and Fortnights

The cross-cultural experience just keeps getting better. Today, I found a legitimate purpose for a word that I never thought I'd use - fortnight. A fortnight is a two week period, so it's not terribly obscure. But honestly, when would you ever need a convenient term to describe that period of time? I haven't had a bath in a fortnight? As it happens, most tennis tournaments last a fortnight, so "Wimbledon Fortnight" is a perfect description for the famous tennis tournament by the same name (called "The Tennis" here).

We had a nice day today, though it didn't start off that way. I've had a chest cold for a few days, so I've been even less pleasant to be around than usual. It rained all day yesterday and I (and the kids) didn't leave the house. Why is it that our kids follow us from room to room where other people's children seem to skitter away the moment an adult comes in range? I should be grateful, I suppose, that our kids like us and want to play with us, but at 5 am? No, I would much rather you go entertain yourselves with, well, just about anything, than play with you, thanks very much.

So after a day of fending off requests to do anything but lie on the couch and feel sorry for myself, I was ready to get out. Only, despite the sunny start to the day, it rained in the morning. Grrr. I used to think that Londoners were obsessed about the weather. I remember being on conference calls with them and hearing them marvel at our stories of how hot/cold/snowy/rainy/dry/humid it happened to be that day. Now I understand. They need to experience the weather vicariously, as they have very little of their own. Well, they do, but it's exactly one type. Rain.

OK, I'm exagerrating a little. The afternoon cleared up nicely, and it's a glorious evening. But so what? I have to go to bed in a little while, and it's not like it'll be like this tomorrow anyway. I've noticed that it always seems to clear up here in the evening, and then cloud up in the morning.

On top of feeling lousy and sorry for myself, and guilty for having done nothing on Saturday byt blow my nose and yell at the kids, I started thinking about all the fun things that people back in the States will be doing this week. Going to parties. Cooking over smoky barbeques. Drinking beer in the sunshine. Mowing the lawn. Watching the flare of distant fireworks just over the horizon. Sweating. I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss the raucous sauna of a July night.

But I did have a good day in spite of myself. We had arranged to have lunch with Caroline's friend from school and her family. Afterwards, we spent most of the day together at a park. The kids had a ball, we got some fresh air, and we spent some time with nice people.

OK, I'm happy again. But what I wouldn't do for a charred hot dog and a beer in the sun...