Knitting for Syria

The daughter of a friend of mine from my Thursday morning knitting group is embarking on a very worthwhile Gold Award Community Service Project for Girl Scouts, and when I learned about it, I volunteered to help spread the word ... er, a month ago. (I apologize, K!)

But here I am, and here's what she's doing: it's a charity knitting project called Warm Hands, where knitted items are sent over to Syrian refugee camps in Jordan, Turkey, and other countries. Along with the knitted item -- which can be mittens, hats, sweaters, blankets, socks, whatever -- she asks that you include a handwritten note of encouragement for the recipient. The items will be sent to a school on the border of Turkey and Syria, where they will be gifted to families in need.

More details about Jules and her inspiring work here and specific details on what she's looking for here. I have already completed one hat and am hoping to get to a pair of mittens within the next week.

***

In other news ... what a month we've had around here! I've been running back and forth to Connecticut to care for an ailing family member, managing my son's busy social schedule, and trying to keep up with all the pressing household tasks that need doing, especially now that spring is officially here and I've got that burning need to tidy my life up. My knitting time has been reduced drastically, although I have finished a couple projects that I just haven't had time to photograph, and now that warm weather is here, I find myself heading to my sewing studio (a/k/a a corner of my husband's home office). I've sewn four tailored shirts so far, and this week started a pair of (drumroll) JEANS. Like I've been preaching here for the last year or so, I want to sew clothes for the life I have now, not the life I wish I had, so jeans make total sense for me. Plus, wearing an awesome pair of well-fitting jeans makes me feel like a million bucks.



I've finished the hard part of the project -- the fly front -- as well as the front and back pockets, so all that's left to do is seaming and topstitching. Unfortunately, my Viking 400 started suffering some internal distress while I was zig-zagging, so I packed it up yesterday and brought it to the sewing machine doctor for some TLC. I could have continued the project on one of my--ahem--four other machines, but decided instead to carefully pin all the seams together so I could try them on. The bad news? They were huge on me. The good news? They were huge on me. I've got a fair bit of work to do to get them to fit me just right.

The pattern I'm using is from Angela Kane's members-only website. I've been a member of her site for a couple years, and for $5 per annum, it's a real value. I'm also augmenting the instructions by watching Angela Wolf's jean-making class on Craftsy, which I also highly recommend. Angela Kane doesn't get into distressing the denim, so I've learned a lot of good stuff from Angela Wolf, who is the Distressing Diva.

If these jeans go well, I plan to make another pair ... with a decidedly Anglophile twist. ;-)

Upward and onward

Has it been a month since I've posted?

In August the knitting bug hit hard. It was around the time I drove up to Bath, Maine, and spent a few hours at Halcyon Yarns. Since then I've knit quite a few items, not all of which have been properly photographed, such as this pullover:



 

The pattern is Ysolda Teague's Blank Canvas, a simple, close-fitting pullover with some flattering waist-shaping. LOVE IT! I was a bit worried that the 36" size would be a bit snug on me, but I used a wool that has some alpaca in it (Valley Yarns Northfield in the color Tranquil Blue) so it developed a wee bit of drape after blocking. I have gotten so many compliments on this simple sweater -- the color, the shaping -- that I am making another in the same wool, this time in plum. I may even knit this sweater one size smaller since I'm still "shrinking." More on that later.

The other project I finished and photographed is a pair of Monkey socks I knit for my stepmother's birthday this month:



I haven't talked to her properly since I mailed them, but I gather through voicemails she loves them. They're knot in Classic Elite Alpaca Sox. I think the color is Turquoise; I don't have the ball band handy. My stepmother loves turquoise so I knew this color would be perfect for her. She also has Raynaud's syndrome, which means in the winter she has to keep her extremities warm or else risk circulatory system damage thus I always have a happy and appreciative person for whom to knit warm socks, mittens, and hats.

Fall is chugging along. I have been dealing with a particularly rough case of Seasonal Affective Disorder for the past two months, which has zapped my energy. It was bad enough that my husband brought me to our doctor and now I'm on medication for it and sitting in front of a full-spectrum lamp in the mornings. I'm starting to feel a bit better, although I'm still not up to my 100% Energizer bunny speed.

I can tell my mood is improving because last night my son suggested I start a podcast and I got really excited as we talked more about it. He likes to do sound editing, and that he shows any interest in my knitting or talking about knitting is like, wow, really? Sign me up!!! So we did a test recording last night, and as much as I hate hearing my recorded voice, it wasn't that bad so I'm thinking I'll give this podcast thing a try. What do you think? I plan to talk mostly about my crafting (knitting/sewing endeavors) with a bit of real-life and Anglophilia thrown in.

A trip to Bath

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="472"] Next month we'll be hanging a left for our Mt. Washington climb![/caption]

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="375"] Bath City Hall[/caption]

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="375"] I just noticed the sticker on this Subaru Outback![/caption]

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="375"] Beautiful ghost sign on the side of this building[/caption]

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="375"] This sign reminded me of what signs used to look like when I was a child in the 70s.[/caption]



[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="414"] Botanica Mittens, unblocked[/caption]

Last week while my boys were in Houston -- Texas in August? No thanks! -- I took a short break and drove about three hours north to Bath, Maine. Bath is home to Bath Iron Works, a shipyard that builds battleships, cruisers, and destroyers for the U.S. Navy. What I didn't know is that Bath is where the first boat the colonists built to make a return trip to England.

But I'll be honest ... I wasn't in Bath to look at ships or 19th century architecture. I was there for Halcyon Yarn. I've always wanted to visit and it was well worth the trip. What I loved about it was while it was a large shop -- they have not only handknitting yarn, but plentiful rug, weaving, and spinning departments -- it wasn't totally overwhelming like WEBS in Northampton can be. (My #1 piece of advice to knitters visiting WEBS for the first time ... shop off a list or know what projects you're buying for, otherwise you'll wander around like a art-sick tourist in Florence. That's Florence, Italy, not nearby Florence, Massachusetts.)

What I also liked about Halcyon is that the women working there were very helpful and kind. After I made my big yarn purchase (to be revealed in a future post), I needed a tea break so one of the women spent some time pointing out nearby cafes and other places I should visit. Fortified by a pleasant walk and a cup of very hot chai that wasn't really appropriate given that it was in the mid-80s that day, I returned to the shop for Round Two, where I purchased some yarn I'd been thinking about during my ambles. It was at this time a sample pair of mittens caught my attention -- I liked the colors and the picot edging -- so I bought the pattern and the minute I got home, commenced knitting.

Two nights later, I had my own pair of Botanica Two-Way Mittens, which look very preppy in green and pinks. The mitten on the right was knitted by following the instructions exactly, by creating the picot edge in the round, which I found rather fussy. So with mitten #2 on the left, I knit the mitten flat until the picot edging was complete, then joined the yarn to knit the rest of the mitten in the round. I also knit this mitten on DPNs. I normally knit in the round on two circulars, but I do have to admit my stranding looks better when I use DPNs. This picture was taken before blocking; after blocking my stitches look so much neater.

I'll post some pictures of my yarn haul in another post. I told my husband I hemmed and hawed about driving to Maine by myself -- I worried about leaving our geriatric cat alone, worried about the car breaking down, worried about...what a wuss I've become! -- then finally decided to heck with it! I'm going! And I'm glad I did. It was a wonderful visit. Next time, however, I'm bringing my boys with me. They can look at ships while I entertain myself with more yarn. :)

A Monty Python fan in the making

"Mom, tomorrow can we watch some Monty Python?"

No sweeter words to this Anglophile's ears.

(I have "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" from Spamalot on my iPod, and O told me one day he loved the song. I told him it was from the closing of the Life of Brian, thus his interest.)

Oliver

Friends and acquaintances often ask me if I named my son Oliver because it's a popular name in Britain. In August, Oliver was one of Britain's top-ten names for boys, right after Harry. Harry? Who would name a kid Harry? Ah, that's right.

So who would name a kid Oliver?

Well we did, way back in 2001 when Oliver wasn't a very popular name at all here in the U.S., and only a bit more so in the U.K. Here's the story: had we a daughter, her name was already picked out. We were going to name a daughter after my beloved paternal grandmother, Elizabeth Cairns Forrest. Everyone thought I was going to have a girl in the early months of my pregnancy, even the Chinese doctor who was treating me with acupuncture for my 24/7 morning sickness and who assured me she'd never been wrong predicting a baby's sex. I, on the other hand, had a sneaking suspicion there was a boy baby jumping on my bladder.

An ultrasound around month five confirmed there would be no daughter named Elizabeth.

My husband and I spent months going back and forth on boys' names. It seemed he loathed every name I liked: Andrew. (Too common). William. (Too boring, too many nickname possibilities). James. ("Di, what is it with you and Scottish kings? Give it up!"). And then there were his names: Calvin. (Syllables didn't work with our last name.) Neal. (Eh.) I can't remember the rest, but nothing stuck. We thought about our father's names, but we were already using his father's middle name (another long story) for our son's middle name. As for my father's name, it's nice but I couldn't go there for personal reasons that have nothing to do with my dad, who's a great guy with a great name.

One hot late summer evening we were in bed with the baby name books and suddenly my husband said, "What about Oliver?" I was about to screech, "Oliver? OLIVER? Are you nuts? That's a terrible name!" But just then, the boy in my belly gave me a god-awful kick and I paused. I poked my tummy to get his attention and said to it, "Hey kid, what do you think of Oliver Sheldon?" And he gave me another almighty kick. So that was that. Today when Oliver complains about his name (which isn't very often, to be honest), I tell him, "We consulted and you approved."

Most people said they loved the name, except two members of our family. One I won't discuss here. The other was my mother, who has name issues because of her own moniker--Agnes. She insisted kids would make fun of him at school and call him
Ollie or Oliver North.

"Mom," I reasoned, "Kids in ten years won't know who Oliver North is. Kids today don't know who Oliver North is!" She was so upset over the name choice, she actually hung up on me! (She insists she didn't hang up on me, but I swear, she did.)

The night our son was born, nurses kept telling us, "He looks like an Oliver!" I still hear that today. I can't imagine Oliver being anyone but an Oliver, and no one has ever called him Ollie. Oliver is a name that's figured prominently in my ancestral family tree, and I love that its Norman roots come from the word for olive branch, signifying peace ... and for me, good food. ;-)

Last week he came home and said, "Hardly anyone at school calls me Oliver."

"Oh really?" I said.

"When I walk into class, everyone yells, 'Hey Ginger!'"

Thank God we didn't name him Harry.

 

Thistle stole

[caption id="attachment_2480" align="alignnone" width="480"] (Photos posted with kind permission of Mary Scott Huff)[/caption]

Like most knitters on Ravelry, I am constantly adding patterns to my queue. The problem is there's not enough time in the world to knit everything I would like to knit.

But now and then, a pattern comes along that stops me in my tracks, and I tell myself, "I must knit that NOW. If I get to my deathbed without having knit that, I will enter the afterlife with a very unhappy soul."

Thistle by Mary Scott Huff is one of those soul-stirring patterns for me.

Huff is one of my favorite knitting designers, so it's not really a surprise that I fell in love with this gorgeous stole. She specializes in colorwork, and her patterns are stunning. I'm pretty sure the pattern for Wedding Belle in her book The New Stranded Colorwork got me back into knitting.

What I love about the stole of all stoles: obviously the colors--the bright green edging, the multi-shades of purple. But that it has thistles, the national flower of Scotland, made it irresistible to my Anglophile sensibilities.

Huff writes in the pattern headnotes, "Legend has it that during the King Haakon's Viking invasion of Scotland, the Norsemen tried to surprise the sleeping Scottish Clansmen. In order to move more stealthily under the cover of darkness, the invaders removed their footwear. As they crept barefoot, they came across an area of ground covered in thistles and one of Haakon's men unfortunately stood on one. Shrieking out in pain, he alerted the Clansmen to the advancing enemy. The Scots then defeated the Vikings at the Battle of Largs, saving Scotland from invasion. The important role the thistle played was recognized, and it was chosen as Scotland's national emblem."

And while I'm not a huge fan of tassels, here they work. My stole shall have tassels, too.

I have to wait until January to begin this project as I have so much holiday knitting/sewing to plow through in December. I've sent my mother a picture of the pattern, and I'm sure I'll be getting a gift certificate for yarn in return. My mother is such an enabler; I, on the other hand, encourage her! ;-) Meanwhile, I continue knitting up my Christmas gift list of cowls, boot socks, and hot water bottle covers and dream of Thistle.

Operation Holiday Glam

Every year my husband's company holds a holiday party and every year I find myself down at Marshalls or TJ Maxx desperately trying on dresses. In my early 30s when I was single and had a corporate career, I owned a closet full of party dresses. Now my closet is filled with jeans, stripey t-shirts and a whole lot of wool sweaters--clothing befitting of a suburban stay-at-home mom. Glamour gets short shrift at Casa HailBritannia. :-/

Last year a few of the women dressed to the nines: gowns! Sequins! Cleavage! By comparison I felt under-dressed in my sweater dress, tights, and boots. I made a vow that night for holiday party 2013, I'd dress in something a little more glam.

The original plan involved silk Shantung and a vintage 50s ballgown pattern, but I've had to scale back Operation Holiday Glam as I recover from my herniated disc. I've always wanted a long, swishy taffeta skirt, and since a skirt is fairly easy to make, plans have been modified. I had a Living Social gift certificate for Fabric Place Basement in Natick, so last week I braved the chill and pre-holiday shoppers so I could get a small jump on things.

It took me two hours of walking around the huge, cavernous store to decide. I really wanted a tartan plaid, but come on--that's not glam, that's just giving in to my Anglophilia. Then I fell in love with some gold double-weight silk charmeuse...until I saw the $49.99 a yard price tag. Yikes!



I finally settled on three yards of iridescent gold/green taffeta. It's not silk but the fabric manager promised me it sews "like cotton." I even had enough money on my gift certificate to buy some gorgeous dark green Bemberg rayon to line the camel windowpane plaid wool cape I'm making...you know, so I can look like a female Sherlock Holmes out on my bike. ;-)

The plan is to make the skirt over the next week -- I'm pretty sure I can do it without a pattern. (Pattern? Who needs a pattern!?!) I'm thinking gentle gathers with a waistband--not too poofy--with a matching sash to tie around. I might even be able to get away with an elastic waistband, especially if I go with the sash.

As for the top, I have an Anne Fontaine blouse (white, of course) I bought in Paris: it's pretty but a wee staid. So now I'm wondering if I have time to whip up a simple short-sleeved sweater out of something like Rowan Kid Silk Haze? Perhaps the wiser course of action is to look for an angora sweater I can buy off the rack before my 2014 ready-to-wear clothing fast begins.

 

 

Settling in

Has it been nearly a month since I posted? Unpacking has taken much longer than I suspected it would. We've moved to a house with less square footage, and although we have a large storage container on our 2 acres to hold our overflow of "stuff," we're stuck doing a lot of sorting and deciding. It seems that every day I'm dropping flattened cardboard off at the recycling center or donating household items to shelters. It never ends.

Some random photos:



My cookbook collection, about 80 percent of it. There are a couple more boxes of books out in the storage container. Sadly, this is my collection after culling -- I donated roughly 100 books before our move.



The livingroom is looking a wee bit more settled, but still there's a lot of work to do. This is the scene that greeted me this a.m. after my son's raucous playdate from yesterday and some furious knitting (mine) from last night. The sofa has been stripped of its slipcover for a washing, thus contributing to the disarray. The rattan chest a/k/a coffee table is going to be replaced shortly, and our tv stand, which is not in the photo, is awaiting a coat of paint. I can't wait to do the big reveal on this project!



Lastly, I've discovered our Victorian-style wall sconces are excellent tools for sock blocking! This sock is one half of a pair destined for my step-mother down in Connecticut, a pair of Elizabeth Zimmermann Woodsman's socks.

I've been doing a fair bit of knitting but unfortunately most of it is holiday related so no pictures. I cast on Thea Coleman's Irish Coffee a couple weeks ago, but had to put it aside to focus on gift knitting. However as a reward for knitting three four hats over the last week, I purchased Anne Hanson's Fartlek hat pattern a couple nights ago and will be knitting myself a nice warm cap for the holidays. Ok, yes, I find the name "fartlek" amusing (and so does my son), but I really like the design and have the perfect yarn for it:



It looks a bit more colorful in the photo than it really is. The lighting today is quite poor.

In other Anglophile news:

• My hopes for the coming season of Downton Abbey on PBS next month have been dashed by this review in the Telegraph. SPOILER WARNING: Read at your own peril.


• Speaking of Downton Abbey, this Daily Mail article about Julian Fellowes' decidedly unaristo ancestors is a fun read and shows us the class divide in England is still alive and well.


• Did you know that November was Wovember, a time to wear and celebrate wool? (I know I dug out my woolies!) Here's a fascinating expose of retailers who erroneously label clothing or fabric as "wool." I think this mostly happens in England; in America, wool means fabric made from the fleece of sheep or other fleecy animals or it refers to yarns spun from animal fleece. Will double-check on this!


• Lastly, I've been enjoying -- nay, loving! -- the CraftLit podcast, which I listen to when I'm slogging though stockinette hell or walking our local bike path. Why it rocks? Half the podcast is taken up with craft talk, mostly knitting, and the other half is a recorded book from the public domain ... and yes, my Anglophile friends, the books are mostly British! Host Heather Ordover has the most evocative voice and spot-on delivery. I'd listen to her read the ingredient list on a spray bottle of Roundup. And the lady knows her literature. I love that she prepares a little introduction to each chapter, offering tidbits on the social history of the time, explaining political history and etymology of words. (Who knew that Bram Stoker got off on the word "voluptuous"? I didn't.) Anyway, it's definitely worth a listen, and I heartily recommend Dracula, even if you're not a fan of horror fiction. The readers are excellent and it's truly a scary book.

Thoughts on the royal wedding

Today my friend Peg wrote on my Facebook wall, "Why oh why have we not seen more from you on the royal wedding? Are you not buying into the hype? Too busy? Will you be watching LIVE at 5 AM?"

I've been thinking about this a lot. The truth is, I'm just not into it. But why? You'd think that a rabid Anglophile such as myself would be all in a tither over this -- the fanfare, the pageantry as only the British can do, the sense of history being made, the fashions, and whether or not William and Kate/Catherine will smooch on the Buckingham Palace balcony as his parents so famously did in 1981? -- but I'm not. And this week I finally figured out why.

You see, I was 16 when Charles and Diana got engaged and married and thought it was all so romantic. Diana was just a couple years older than I was, and seemed so innocent and yes, very princess-like in that there was a lot of talk about her excellent bloodline (because back then you had to be an aristocrat to marry a prince) and whether or not she was a - gasp! - virgin. And we all know how that marriage worked out. Thirty years later, the world has changed. William led a very different life from his father and his courtship of Kate was thoroughly modern. They lived together in college, have lived together after college and during their engagement, and while there's some snarky talk about Kate's humble origins, there's no talk about her "purity" (or his, sheesh). They're just a young couple, like many others, who seem well suited to each other.

When I was 16 and watching Charles and Diana marry, I was starry-eyed about men and marriage. Today, I know that marriage is a lot of work, even for royals. (Men, too, are a lot of work. Many are a piece of work, but I digress.) This week will be all pomp and ceremony, but the real road is ahead of them. I'll be more interested in how they relate to the public in the coming years, given that anti-monarchy sentiment is high. Will they continue to live a normal-ish existence in the coming years? How will the monarchy change as a result? Those, to me, are the interesting questions ... not who's designing Kate's wedding dress.

So will I be up at the crack of dawn on Friday to watch the festivities? Probably not. Instead I'm going to sleep in (my son has the day off from school) and I'll come down and watch all the videos posted online at the BBC, CNN, and more. I'll be in my jammies, drinking chai, and no Philip Treacy millinery in sight.

What about you? How do you feel about the wedding? Do you plan to watch it live or will you catch the highlights when it suits your schedule?

Following a domestic explorer

I'm not sure how or when I discovered Lisa Giramonti's Anglo-licious blog, A Bloomsbury Life. All I know is that I was sad when she decided to take a break from blogging a few months ago.

But now she's back from her sabbatical and will soon be offering a weekly webisode on her blog, sample above. Be still my Anglo heart! Her blog is already like a candy store, both visually and wordwise, so adding video? Heaven.

A new day

The last year has been a difficult one for me in so many ways. I think of Queen Elizabeth's Christmas message in 1992 where she spoke of her Annus Horribilis, and that pretty much covers much of 2010 for me sans the castle fire. On top of the many challenges thrown at me, I seemed to have lost my way as a writer, too -- not good when your writing isn't merely a hobby, but a major source of income for the household and a source of inspiration for other writers.

I did make some positive changes last year. I "retired" from the Renegade Writer blog, allowing my co-author Linda to take full control of the content and upkeep. I simply didn't have anything meaningful to say about the writing life, given that my own writing life teetered on three legs. How hypocritical, I thought, to tell others how to buckle down and get to work when I piddled away most days staring at my keyboard. I also began to knit again as a way to help me cope with my anxiety; knitting is one of those activities that both demands my attention (counting stitches, keeping track of patterns) and allows my thoughts a short leash. In the end, I get a sweater for my son, a pair of socks for myself, a gift of fingerless gloves for a close friend. At least I can create something from my anxiety and worry, and as a bonus, feel a sense of accomplishment, which I've come to discover has been key in helping me rediscover my "mojo."

Yesterday I had something of a breakthrough. It was as if I turned down the right path and the universe started sending me all kinds of signals and messages that yes, this was the right turn to make. I had pulled out an old manuscript for a novel I'd started several years ago. As I started reading through it, this frisson of excitement traveled down my spine. It was good ... quite good! I ended up spending several hours making notes and rewriting some passages, then closed the document up late at night, feeling as if ... I don't know ... there was a new possibility for me here. (Good news, my friends -- the novel is an Anglophile's dream.) When I'd discussed the novel idea with my agent, she was pretty excited about it and recalling her enthusiasm spurred on my own enthusiasm.

Then I went through my e-mail, where I found two e-mails from friends whose messages mirrored the same feelings I'd had as I read over my manuscript. On top of this, I also received a phone call from a co-author and we decided to make some changes together that really have me reinvigorated about my non-fiction writing. Although I was feeling pretty good and decidedly non-anxious, I ended up sitting up till 1 a.m. to finish my Tangerine Marmalade socks, which I wearing right now. They're my new lucky socks! (I'll post pictures later on today of these miracle socks.)

I woke up this morning feeling better than I have in a long while. For the first time in months, I couldn't wait to get home to my computer after dropping my son off at school to write (er, that's write after I blogged!). Then I realized it's the first day of March and in three short weeks, it'll be the official start to spring. On top of all this, I checked my e-mail and found out that I won two knitting patterns in last week's Yarn on the House giveaway. Yippee!

It's a new day, and watch out world -- I'm on fire!

On celebrity mothers and tiger moms

It has been quite the month for motherhood. First, we have yet another annoying missive from Chris Martin-shagging Oscar-winning Anglophile Gwyneth Paltrow on her website GOOP about how we busy mothers can find balance in our lives. (She claims -- or rather her interns writing the newsletter claim -- that this question came in from a GOOP "reader," but I suspect it was a joke question from Gawker and GOOPers played right into their hands.) Toni from Expat Mum wrote a very funny opinion piece on Powder Room Graffiti about Paltrow's advice and I do agree with her -- the GOOP post is patronizing to mothers who don't have the benefit of money, personal chefs, a phalanx of nannies, and personal assistants. Had Paltrow made mention of her privileged life -- that she realizes most busy moms don't have these luxuries -- she could have related more to the masses. (At least one mother she interviewed, Stella McCartney, admitted she has nannies, although I was puzzled when she said her nanny left at 6:30 p.m. yet McCartney went out with her friends after the kids went to bed. Does she have a night nanny? Was hubby Alastair watching the sleeping angels?)

Here's who I have more respect for as a busy, working mom. Amy Chua. OK, before you come at me with picks and axes, let me explain. Chua, the author of the hotly controversial Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, which was released in the U.S. last week, is a Harvard-educated Chinese-American attorney who teaches at Yale Law School and is the mother of two teenage girls. Her memoir shares how she raised these daughters the "Chinese way," by pushing them relentlessly to succeed in nearly every aspect of their lives -- from school to (and especially) music. Her methods of getting her daughters to perform border on cruel and excessive: she would make them practice music for hours and not let them get up to eat or use the bathroom and she threatened to throw out toys. Ooof. Chua is getting bags of hate mail accusing her of everything from racism to child abuse. Yes, I found her parenting style extreme - that said, I read a lot of humor in this book and by the end, Chua gets her comeuppance. I really enjoyed the book and think she made some valid points about how coddled children in the West have become through overly permissive parenting.

What really impressed me was how hard Chua worked to raise her daughters. There was one section of the book where she described how she was running office hours for her law school students, then excusing herself to run home and drive one daughter to music lessons before coming back to finish office hours. Then she went home to supervise more lessons until the early hours of morning. All this while teaching, writing books, and managing a speaking schedule that often had her on the road. (Yes, Chua and her Yale professor husband live an upper middle class life, but I could see throughout the book they did such mundane things like walking the dogs, washing floors, etc.) I got exhausted just reading about her day! Chua was nonchalant about her sacrifices -- if she needed to get by on less sleep to achieve her goals, she would. As she wrote, "I am tough."

Sorry, Gwynnie, but Tiger Mom puts you and your rich friends to shame.

Someday My Prince Will Come (or will he?)

Several weeks ago, a publicist at Penguin Books asked me if I'd be interested in receiving a copy of Someday My Prince Will Come: True Adventures of a Wannabe Princess, about a young American woman whose goal, for most of her life, was to marry into the British royal family ... specifically, to marry Peter Phillips, Princess Anne's son. I'm not enamored of the royal family, but I do have to admit, my curiosity was piqued to read about how one goes about snaring a Windsor.

Jerramy Fine, the author, was raised in Colorado mountain country, a place where rodeo, not polo, ruled, and where she spent her first 18 years convinced she'd been switched at birth. Her parents were bona fide hippies, but she imagined her real parents were English aristocrats on vacation in Denver. From her earliest years, Fine was fascinated with England -- specifically, the British royals -- and when she was six or seven, she saw Peter Phillips' name in the line of succession and decided he'd be her prince someday, never mind that technically he's not a prince. Thus began her quest for princessdom.

Ok, let's stop. I  just don't get princesses. At. All. Although I loved reading about queens and princesses when I was a child, it was because they tended to get their heads lopped off (Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard, Marie Antoinette), survived awful childhoods (Elizabeth I), or became pawns in intricate political intrigues (Mary Stewart, Jane Grey ... both of whom also lost their heads. Literally.)  I've never wanted to be one, and instead, fantasized about a life in letters. I don't like fluffy pink frou-frou. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I spotted a penis on the ultrasound at my four-month pregnancy checkup and thought, "Thank God -- no princesses!" Sure, being a princess looks glamorous -- lots of designer clothes and jewels, first-class travel, gorgeous digs -- but the price for all this seems to be a loss of privacy and a highly restrictive life where you can never just be "normal." No thanks.

In the first few pages of the book, Fine admits that everyone in her life knew she wanted to be a princess. She never hid or shied away from her intentions. When people told her she was living in a fantasy world, she writes, "My question was this: What's so wrong with living in a fantasy world? Seriously. What's so wrong about ignoring the conventions and practicalities of the so-called real world, and actually pursuing your childhood dream? Sometimes I think the 'real world' is just a phrase invented by adults to give credibility to the miserable lives they've created for themselves. Feel free to call me delusional, but I was someone on this planet who, no matter how silly it seemed, was actually listening to my heart -- I trusted it, believed it, and followed it. And in my opinion, there was nothing more 'real' in this world than that."

Hmm. As someone who'd frequently heard growing up I should give up on my dreams of becoming a writer for something more "practical," I could identify. So I kept reading.

Unlike most girls who dream of becoming a princess, Fine's desire never waned. All through high school, and even college, she kept a tattered picture of Peter Phillips taped to her mirror, and immersed herself in everything British and royal. Fine brilliantly contrasts her interests with her "real" life ... a father with long hair who eventually becomes a cannabis priest, a mother who refused to wear a bra and rails loudly in supermarkets about food additives (my kind of woman), a skateboarding younger brother named Ezra. And it's hilarious. As well as frustrating because I think we all know the horror of being young and stuck with family who just doesn't get you.

Fine eventually makes it to England during a junior year abroad program, and sets the wheels in motion to meet her future husband. She makes a few friends in aristocratic circles, actually meets Princess Anne (her future mother-in-law!) at an event, and feels even more certain that the path she's chosen is the right one. She returns to England as a graduate student, and this is where things get interesting. Fine begins to see that the England in her fantasy life doesn't quite measure up to the England she's living. First off, she's at the London School of Economics, a haven for foreigners, not Brits, so she finds it hard to meet the natives. Then she discovers how very different Brits are from Americans ... whereas Americans tend to welcome new friends, the British are far more reserved and prefer to hang out with people they've known for ages, interlopers need not apply. Yet Fine does manage to ingratiate herself into an aristocratic Oxford set, and participates in some hi-jinx with British men that further confuse her. During her stay, she experiences some highs and lows in her pursuit of Peter Phillips: she discovers he's got a girlfriend (low), but she's American (high), which means there's hope for her.

Since we know that Peter Phillips ends up marrying a Canadian (and is, in fact, about to become a father and make Queen Elizabeth a great-grandma), we know that Jerramy Fine doesn't get her prince. Or does she? You'll have to read the book to find out. I thought Fine's single-minded pursuit of her prince a little ... well, mercenary. When she's in England, she refuses to hang out with anyone who doesn't have a British accent; then when she realizes variations in accents are indicative of social class, she becomes even more discriminating. But since the book has a satisfactory ending and I felt that Fine had learned something during her journey, her earlier behavior didn't bother me. Indeed, what I liked about her was her refreshing honesty. She never hid her intentions from people who were sure to knock her down. And even if you have no interest in royalty or princesses, this memoir has enough commentary on Britain and British life to appeal to most any Anglophile.

Have you read Jerramy Fine's memoir? What did you think? Add your opinion to the comment section below.

Does the Benny Hill theme make everything funny?

My soon-to-be 9-year-old is starting to show signs of Anglophilia, the most troubling sign of which is that he loves watching the more tame clips of Benny Hill on YouTube. He explains what makes him giggle is the music, "Yakety Sax."

I've discovered there's a video mashup culture devoted to mixing "Yakety Sax" with movie scenes that could hardly be described as madcap. Do a search on "Benny Hill theme makes everything funny" and you'll see what I mean. While I don't think  clips of Adolph Hitler's rants set to "Yakety Sax" are particularly funny, there are some mashups that amuse me:

1. Scarface. I believe the Scarface script holds the record for the most mentions of the words "fuck" and "fucking." I couldn't get beyond the motel room scene in the beginning, but I do know Al Pacino goes down in a blaze at the end. (Sorry, can't embed this video from YouTube.)

2. Casino Royale. And they don't even have to speed up the video!



3. Friday the 13th:



4. Star Wars. My son's favorite:



5. And here's something interesting. Look how creepy Benny Hill's "sexy" skits are when set to music from The Omen:

Hail Britannia's busiest month yet

Although April has only 30 days, this April has been my busiest month on Hail Britannia -- more page loads, more first-time visitors, and more repeat visitors -- than any other month since October 2008. In fact, for the last year my readership has been steadily increasing each month.

And for that, I just want to offer a heart-felt thanks. I don't run this blog to make oodles of money or to compete with Perez Hilton. I simply like to share with other like-minded Anglophiles subjects and stories that I find interesting, and hope there's a connection or two (or okay, 200,000!) I can make. I've met new friends through this blog, and I've found out that some old friends were closet Anglophiles.

From that perspective, this blog is a wild success. Thank you!

The Gentle Art of Quiltmaking by Jane Brocket

Last week I blogged about my obsession with British writer and crafter Jane Brocket's book The Gentle Art of Domesticity. I've just learned that she has a new book coming out -- it's already out in the UK! -- called The Gentle Art of Quiltmaking: 15 Projects Inspired by Everyday Beauty. It looks like it'll be released the second week in May.

I'm a novice quilter, but I'm much more confident with a needle and thread (or sewing machine) over a pair of knitting needles. And even if the projects are above my skill level, I'm sure I'll love looking at the pictures; one thing I love about The Gentle Art of Domesticity (and Jane's blog) are all the photos of flowers, food, and fabric. Yummy!

So this and Elizabeth George's latest Inspector Lynley mystery in one month. So much to read, so little time. What's on your Anglophile reading list this spring?

Cookery Books: Britain's Gift to America

As many of you know, by day I'm a professional writer, so it's especially thrilling when I can write about my obsessions (cookbooks, Anglophilia) for a publication I adore. Today, a piece I wrote about my obsession with British cookbooks is up on The Atlantic's Food Channel. Enjoy!

Want to learn how to social climb in England? Hire English Mentors

I thought it was a joke when I read in the Daily Mail that the Duchess of York participated in an advertisement for English Mentors, a service that promises to help children of foreigners fit into upper-crust British society.

It's no joke, folks. This venture has a website, which includes details about the mentoring they offer, as well as must-see video. (Love the military guy!) If you've got an extra £100,000 sitting around, you can pack off your nose-picking Dmitri or chavvy Brittny to an English country house where a member of the British aristrocracy will show them the proper way to dine, dress, interview for boarding school, and stumble out of Mahiki at 3:15 a.m. without looking bleary eyed. Well, that last one I made up, but you get the idea. Around the halfway mark, I fully expected John Cleese to step in with, "And now for something completely different ..."

Here's a link to the video for English Mentors. Let me know what you think. I loved the little slip of Manchester United near the end of the vid -- was this a subliminal message for the Beckhams and the Rooneys to sign their kids up pronto? Or children of Russian oligarchs or Arab sheiks need only apply?