LET'S CALL THE WHOLE THING OFF!

Despite my aversion to assimilating in some areas, it is impossible to resist in others. I have a long way to go before I can say I have spent half my life here, and half my life 'at home'.  I cannot live here and avoid measuring in 'cups'.  In fact, dare I say, it is sometimes more convenient than 'pounds and ounces'.  I never converted to metric when in England, so the fact that recipes are in 'imperial' here is really not so much assimilating as continuing.  I cannot avoid speaking the language, which is only fair if I am in a country whose variation on the original English is spoken daily.  The reason for this line of thought is because my daughter drives a truck!  Although she has been driving the large red beast for quite some time, it suddenly occurred to me, as in sunk in that this is her vehicle of choice, and basically, her car!  I cannot fathom any reason, other than for work, why she would consider buying such a method of transportation if she still lived 'at home'.  Perhaps an SUV, or hybrid, but unless she was employed in a field where she needed to transport 'heavy goods', she would be driving a more traditional vehicle. I know that when I lived 'at home', if I saw a driveway upon which sat a truck, a van, or a lorry, it was indicative of the persons occupation.  Here, it is just another means of getting from 'A' to 'B'.  However, I digress!

Awaiting my 'ride' Monday morning, I was thinking about the week ahead.  Several birthdays were being celebrated on Tuesday.  My sister, Elise, my daughter-in-law, Steph, my friend, Cyndi, and of course, it was Texas Independence Day.  The latter is not celebrated per se, and not everyone appears to remember, (no doubt not all Texans are birth-Texans,) and often people look at me as if to say, "How do you know?"  I wanted to make something special for dinner on Wednesday to celebrate Cyndi's birthday, and was considering the options.  A special dinner.  Perhaps a roast!  Roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire Pudding, and ....stop!  What does a Texan like for dinner?  What is a Texan celebration meal.  I doubt it ever contained Yorkshire Pudding!  There is a 'thing' called 'popovers' which is basically the same, but without the angst!  "Heat the butter, and pour in the batter.  Bake for thirty minutes", or words to that effect, complete a regular popover recipe.  There are no, "Don't or else" factors.  Yorkshire puddings have, up until recently, been out of my jurisdiction!  It was whilst I was thinking about the possibility of once again trying to succeed in the art of making the delicious accompaniments, that my mind wandered to 'the truck'.  "My daughter drives a truck", I said to myself and laughed.  Here am I, resisting all things that cause me to 'blend in', and I am taken to work, high heels and all, in a truck!  

"Tinkerbell!" said the voice over the phone.  "I have missed that British accent!"  Our server from the 'north east' was calling to speak to Grant, but before he was transferred, he wanted to hear what was news in the 'old country'.  I told him there was not much to tell.  My mum was doing well, and my kids were doing well, and my family was doing well!  He seemed happy with the report.  His surname, however, would indicate that England was never his home country, and whilst his family were probably from south of the border, his ancestors were no doubt from Spain.  Perhaps he did mean the 'old country', as my ancestors originate from the Mediterranean surrounded region, but I doubt I told him that.  I was not the first in my extended family to emigrate.  I would, however, imagine that my daughter was the first emigrant to drive a truck!  I am not sure from what occupation my ancestors derived their income, but I doubt it was a plumber, carpenter or electrician.  I be

lieve they may have been tailors, or market stall holders, and later shop keepers.  Perhaps they would have driven a van if vans had been available in the seventeenth century!  Again I digress. Out came the English recipe books, and as they predate the conversion to compulsory metric, I weighed in pounds and ounces. "A tablespoon", can make or break the recipe!  Here, a tablespoon is a dessert spoon, and a 'measurement', like a cup.  Along with my 'cups' came a variety of spoons.  They are an exact measurement.  "Do they mean a real tablespoon, or a measuring tablespoon?" I often hear myself ask the paper that is sitting on the countertop.  "Who are you?" I ask the writer of the piece that is staring back at me.  If the word 'cup' appears, then I know, it is the smaller measurement.  I started to hum.  "If you drive a truck, you use a cup", or should it be the other way around!  

Joe was working on Wednesday, and we were in need of coffee.  I managed to find my way to his new premises without a hitch, and returned just as easily.  It is much better when you know where you are going.  We swapped 'horror stories' of the 'great freeze' and although I was not surprised to gain a few pointers from him, as how to survive in a 'post apocalyptic' world, (perhaps a little over the top, perhaps not,) I was amazed that he had not thought of a couple of pointers I brought to the table.  Simple things like curtains, or drapes as they are more commonly known when referring to the thicker window covering.  Sheets are a good insulator!  Several sheets are better!  Hopefully, we will not have to use our new found knowledge for a long time!

In my never ending attempt to keep my heritage firmly in my head and on my lips, I try to complete, if not fully, a few crossword clues on a daily basis.  I have collected, over the years, several editions of the magazine, Puzzler, (English edition) and once all the favourites have been completed, I feel obliged to complete those about which I am not overly thrilled.  They contain English spelling, and English-isms!  Definitions are sometimes so very different, the words of George Bernard Shaw ring in my ears.  Divided by a common language we are indeed!  Apart from the 'tin of tomatoes', being a 'can of tomaydoes', descriptions lack depth.  However, a truck is a truck!  Or is it?  Samantha drives a truck.  If I were to say to any of my friends or acquaintances on the other side of the pond that my daughter drives a truck, they would immediately (I believe) think of a cab with an open bedded back, rather than a boot. (Trunk.)  A truck, here, can range from a small 'pick up' to a giant 'semi'.  (The 'i' is pronounced, 'I' and not 'ee'.)   A truck, like a Stetson, is a way of life, and very, very personal.  However, again, I digress.

I made a 'roast'.  Roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire Pudding and broccoli cheese.  I am not sure if the last item is traditional or not. I believe that the cauliflower cheese originated in Cypress, in a British colony, where béchamel sauce was apparently created!  As it is the sauce that really makes the dish, I shall treat it as British fare.  No doubt there will be some that disagree.  On Wednesday, I cared not!  "What are York puffs?" asked one of my guests.  "Yorkshire Puddings" said Dana, putting the emphasis on the 'I' in shire, to make it 'igher' as in 'higher'.  "They are popovers", said Cyndi.  "They are Yorkshires", I corrected, with the more traditional, 'sheer', pronunciation.  "What is the difference?" she asked.  "The stress factor!" I answered!  I am not sure anyone watches popovers rise!  They just do.  Yorkshires have to be 'willed'.  However, the great thing was that I did not set my oven alight, as I have done in the past.  The last three attempts have worked well!  I never considered that butter just browns, then burns, rather than just burns and sets fire like oil!  Perhaps....but no, tradition is tradition although traditionally the beef dripping is the fat of choice.  Can I call it traditional if I have used a modernised simulation of fat?  I doubt it if I want to remain true to my roots!

The dinner was enjoyed, and followed by cheesecake.  Although I am English, I will acquiesce to being called British, and very, very rarely don the title European, if we are talking 'greater continental'.  As Cheesecake is thought to have originated in Ancient Greece, I am happy to be part of the 'greater continental', and include the British, which includes the English.  Perhaps the Americans perfected the adopted delicacy.  (I feel I may be in a little bit of hot water here!)  My coffee surprise, as I called it, was a successful birthday cake, and the origination was not called into play!  It was made using imperial measurements, and a 'cup' was nowhere to be found!  Neither was the word 'truck'.

As always, the week progressed.  "Love the accent, ma'am", said the  cashier at the taco restaurant.  I went into the 'full blown' appreciation of his appreciation, using the 'so much' suffix after 'Oh thank you!'  I was even more gracious with my "You are most welcome", when he thanked us for "Stopping by".  I did not add that my daughter drives a truck.  That may have killed the moment!  

We went in the big red beast on Saturday, and joined all the other truck drivers who were going shopping.  I bought another unit for the the cupboard inside my sun room, which could store pots and gardening items, if there was sufficient shelving.  I have often considered it a total waste of space but did nothing about it until now.  There are a few shelves to one side, but the main area had one six inch plank about five feet high.  That was coming out.  Much as I resist assimilating, I sometimes feel a little bit Texan. It is impossible to resist altogether! I have heard that there are two types of Texan women.  Those that have a 'honey do' list, that 'honey does' at the weekend, and those that are called 'pioneer women'.  I don't have a 'honey do' list.  I am not sure how 'honey' would react!  I am sure there would be some things that 'honey' would 'do', but my list would be outrageously long and probably require us to buy a truck rather than borrow one from someone whom we know!  I started the project and realised that it would take longer than a day, as I had ideas for the sunroom.

Sometimes I think my neighbours wonder if I have a 'honey', as I was carting things to the dumpster.  I am impulsive, and the 'honey do' list would probably be obsolete by the time it was read!

'Honey' and I did have a lovely evening on Saturday.  I think the only time I have ever referred to my husband with the aforesaid term of endearment is in an accentuated accent, and often preceded or succeeded by something rather sarcastic.  Like a lot of things, assimilation does not always fit!  

Sunday morning was beautiful.  I walked and then made breakfast.  The water was much too cold to swim, even though I was tempted!  I did put on my swimming costume, but my legs froze as I lowered them in.  Instead, I sat in the sun and read.  One of my neighbours came down to catch some rays, and was rather surprised that I was not in the shade.  "November to April, I sit this end of the row", I thought to myself, without verbalising as I did not want to set a precedence, for another 'Tracie's chair'.  I assimilate very well to the sunshine!

Despite my aversion to assimilating in some areas, it is impossible to resist in others.   I cannot resist the local taco bar, Cabo Bobs, and although I think they should add my preferred taco to their board of favourites, I will continue to visit their restaurant.  I cannot resist Pok E Joe barbecue.  I really enjoy Tex-Mex!  Whilst I am quite happy with the traditional Sunday roast, any day of the week, and a proper English breakfast, chicken and waffles are always acceptable!  Language on the other hand, well that is ...... another story!