Tag: New York City

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That Holiday Feeling

I love visitors! Please, however, do not take this as an open invitation to visit me. I do have limits; you know.

But here is the thing. Visitors get me out of the house and into London and surrounding areas and I am always amazed at what there is to see and do. I get that holiday feeling right here at home.

For example, during my niece Nikki and her husband Keydrick’s recent visit, off we went to tour the state rooms of Buckingham Palace, a place we had not toured since my sister, Carrie, visited with her son Chandler, who was eight at the time. Chandler, now 28, visited again at age 21, and likely opened other doors to us at that time, too.

In the last year, say August to August, we have visited the Tower of London, Windsor Castle, Hampton Court Palace, as well as Buckingham Palace, and a whole host of other places that visitors love to frequent.

I know. I know. These are all tourist hot spots, the last place where any local wants to be. Can’t argue with that. Anyone who knows me, knows that I don’t enjoy battling crowds. Nearly forty years ago, a longstanding friend and I got caught up into the New York City Fourth of July celebrations, firecrackers being thrown into what felt like a mob. Scary!

Thank God, we lived to tell the tale, but I have been wary of massive gatherings ever since. Over the years, I have only made a few exceptions, one being the Notting Hill Carnival some 20 years ago where I had a ring side view from my then hairdresser’s balcony just off Ladbroke Grove.

That was a wonderful experience, soaking up the colourful sights and taking in the echoes of steel bands, until we braved the crowds to make our way home. We were jostled and squeezed no sooner than we hit the streets, conjuring up the fear of a stampede ensuing.

A child at heart, I promised to never enter that magnitude of crowd again if I got out alive.

And maybe I have kept my word, barring sporting events and concerts, themed events and tourist attractions, which tend to be well orchestrated to provide enough order to avoid chaos. For example, when we last visited the O2 Arena, we ducked out early and was amongst the first to hop into a taxi. It was a smooth get away if I must say so myself.

Still, I am so glad we hit the tourist trail with our visitors some of the time. We do leave them to it most of their holiday unless they really need company. Anyhow, aside from taking in many intriguing lessons in British history, we have seen countless gems and jewels that are not displayed elsewhere. As for art, the walls at castles and palaces are lined with Vermeer’s and Rodin’s and other famous originals, too, much like a popular museum.

Admittedly, however, I could not tell you who created the most memorable paintings I saw hanging in Buckingham Palace. These life-like beauties featured Queen Charlotte, wife of King George III, and Queen Alexandra, wife of Edward VII, especially Queen Alexandra’s painting. There was something about her style that felt eerily modern. Apparently, to hide a scar on her neck she made the neck choker famous.

How lovely I thought, overcome by that holiday feeling, even if the temperature was uncharacteristically hot both in and outside.

Alas, the holiday is over, the English summer of great and inclement weather all in one day has returned and has turned its face towards autumn.  Even more reason to leave it with the tourists, right? Enjoy, weather and all!

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Women Influencing Without A Single Word

Gosh! It is has been far too long since I raised my head above the parapet. Nonetheless, head down, so to speak, doesn’t always come with negative connotations.

In my case, I have been working towards an exciting project to be announced in the coming weeks, which will no doubt bring us closer to you, our teenage girl audience, for whom we exist. In this closeness, our goal is to be there for you, for whatever it is that you need at this time in your life, which is a good segue to the topic —women who have influenced me positively.

Though UIO celebrates girls and women year around, Women’s History month is a wonderful time to reflect on the women who have influenced and shaped my life—too many to name in this space but I do want to highlight just a few, starting with the first women who set the stage for my life.

Of course, my mother took the lead on this, and in many ways shared this role with aunts and grandmothers, and other close women relatives and those in the wider community.  But out of this lot—it was my mother and her only sister, Dorothy, who I pay homage to today.

Without ever saying a single word, they both taught me lifelong lessons about being independent. It was all in the way they lived.  I, along with my siblings, called these women Tid and Auntie.  The latter name comes as no surprise to you but the affectionate name Tid—given to my mother by my oldest sister—determined what the rest of us would call her.

Though both Tid and Auntie are gone from this world, their footprints are stamped all over my life.  For example, Tid always worked, even when her generation of women were forfeiting work/careers for one reason or another.  Not Tid, she worked diligently both outside of the home and inside of it.  She never seemed to feel any ways tired, not that I could see.

Frankly, I am better for her influence. Though she was not delighted when I took off for New York at the tender age of 23 (my goodness),  it was in part due to her example that I had the the courage to do so. And then when all roads led to London, though emotions welled up again, she came to appreciate my independent spirit and must have wondered if she had anything to do with it.

Now that brings me to Auntie, who often, asked me where in the world did I get my courage to leave home and live in a place where I didn’t know a single soul—okay I knew one, Paul, of course, the reason that I upped and left the country.

You, I teased, reminding her that she had left Georgia, the only home she knew as a young woman to seek a better life in Ohio. So, what if she had the company of close kin for familiarity when she first arrived, she made her own life and still returned home to Georgia every chance she got.

As a little girl, I remember her sending me packages (coats, clothes) from afar and then the excitement of waiting for her to visit. She and some close cousins would drive for hours to arrive at our house sometimes very early in the morning or late at hight but no matter what time it was, Auntie looked refreshed.

Though I would often find myself wiping what little sleep I had gotten from my eyes as she exited the car, she exuded happiness and enthusiasm.

And when the two women got together, they exemplified togetherness, though they lived miles apart.

So here we are. I am miles apart from my own siblings and in some ways worlds apart too, but thanks, in part, to Tid and Auntie, I am thrilled to be me and have never shied away from an opportunity to step into independence.  And pre-Covid, you couldn’t keep me away from Georgia, remember!

Anyhow, independence and interdependence are inherently linked and no one has to say a single word about it. It just is and is influencing a whole lot of folks in the meantime.

Are you one of them? Do tell. Share your stories here.

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Rising Above Odds In Unexceptional Situations

We’ve been talking about rising above odds since last October when we did Series 2: Episode 3 – Rising Above Odds with Hannilee Fish. It is a huge topic.Sometimes the odds are stacked against us owing to economics, a disability, or other complicated conditions. Hannilee talks about growing up in poverty and how she overcame. Other times, however, the odds are stacked against us in situations that are consequentially, such as when Hannilee’s  mother attempted suicide. How does a teenage girl overcome such dire circumstances? Still, we sometimes elect situations in which the odds are stacked against us such as joining an all-male sports team, joining a club where the majority are a different race to ours, or dating someone from a different background or even moving to a different country. Nothing wrong with any of these choices, which often bring personal growth opportunities, if nothing else. This gets me thinking back some 21 years when I left my cushy life in Atlanta for a new start in London. Much like when I went to New York City at the ripe young age of 23, the odds were stacked against me and more than a few people thought they ought to warn me of the dangers which stealthily might be ahead. In my 20s, it was the temptation of sex, drugs and rock n roll, so to speak. Moving to my mid-30s, the stakes seemed even higher to some. I had a good job, a lovely apartment, even if I was renting, a fast red car, virtually a life of independence. And here I was giving it all up for the unknown; worse yet, without a job to secure independence. What if it didn’t work? What if…what if? Fast forward to the ripe middle age of 56, it did work, but let’s face it not without challenge. Make no mistake about it, I have nothing to boast about, but I do have a few bits to share on how I rose above odds in what was actually an unexceptional situation. I say unexceptional because people have been picking up and moving across the world for yonks. Nonetheless, I do understand that such an effort is not a mundane thing and without challenge. Still, it was just as well that it wasn’t new; I didn’t have to start from scratch, hence the first tip on my list.
  • Speak to others who have been there and done that, preferably someone who won’t take a cynical approach. And if there is no one on hand, read a book. Fortunately, I knew someone who had recently moved to Holland to wed a Dutchman. I loved talking to her before making the move and in the early days of living in London.
  • Have a plan. Honestly, you might think. That doesn’t sound very adventurous. That is the key. Electing a life change need not be looked on as an adventure but rather a new life experience. Thus, I latched on to the advice to have a plan, even if I did ignore the many warnings and the what ifs firing away at me.
  • Stay in your comfort zone. I know, I know, there is all sorts of advice out there against this. But one step at a time is quite enough. For example, rather than to change my hair radically, according to the stylist in my neighbourhood, I branched out and found someone who spoke my hair’s language and mine, too.
  • Get acclimatised as quickly as you can. This does mean venturing out and trying old things that amount to new things in your new situation—things that encourage, instil confidence and give you what you need to exist happily. In my case, it was independence. I learned to drive in the UK pretty early on. And yes, I had to overcome roundabouts, a big odd stacked against me, but I persevered.
  • Stay in touch with what is familiar, making your transition a little easier. For me, I kept close to my family and a few good friends. My mother wrote to me regularly, and I wrote to her and we chatted on the phone, her teaching me how to make cornbread dressing, even if I had to go to extremes to source the cornmeal. Also, my best girl spoke to me daily, came on the journey with me spiritually, and visited when she could as well.
  • In addition, I looked for home away from home in church, went to gospel concerts, and made friends with other American women living in London under similar circumstances.
  • Embrace your new life. This is the grandmother of all the tips. It’s all about seeing the opportunity in any situation. Even when I longed to return to the US because I missed my cushy life there, I held onto building a new one here, appreciating the new experiences, the new ways of doing things. For example, I took a master’s degree to build credentials here.
Again, these tips are not about bragging or long suffering or suffering in an untenable situation. They are about rising above the odds against you, ensuring personal growth, which often leads to happiness in the space where you actually are. For more tips on rising above odds, check out Series 2: Episode 3 – Rising Above Odds.
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Two countries divided by a thing or two

George Bernard Shaw is often credited with saying that “England and America are two countries divided by a common language,” although some sources claim it was Oscar Wilde who coined the phrase and others Winston Churchill.

In any case, I’ve never felt the phrase to be more accurate than now, having recently returned from the US after a two-week visit with family and friends for Thanksgiving.

From the glitz and glamour of New York City to the warmth and hospitality of the Atlanta, rather Albany, Ga., I lived it up and managed to spend a few days in the nation’s capital somewhere in between.

However, with my experiences but a distance memory, I’ve come in for a hazy landing. No wonder I’m being teased about using such words as Jell-O for jelly, and cookie for biscuit. Honestly. And shop assistants are repeatedly asking where I’m from and struggling to understand me.

Let’s just say I’m feeling a tad bit alien. Nonetheless, I’ll stay put and reorient, since I’ve made London my home for nearly sixteen years.

Bridging the language gap, however, is only one aspect of re-entering the capital. There’s switching back to the English coins from the chunk of American change I managed to collect, and the mobile phone,  the credit cards and the chequebook, etc. Who still uses cheques? Never mind, you never know.

And then there is adjusting to the major drop in temperature. Dressed for late spring rather than early winter upon arrival at Heathrow Friday, I felt the chill coming on, not only in the air but also in the state of the airport, even it if is one of the busiest in the world.  Having been described as a zoo, certainly by me, Heathrow and those running it manage to maintain a quintessentially British equanimity, at the worst of times, making the rest of us bonkers.

Lucky for me this time, I arrived at the best of times and breezed right through. But the same time the next day, others weren’t so lucky, as Heathrow practically shut down because of a computer glitch.

Outside of the airport, the atmosphere felt bleak by comparison to the warmth of Atlanta, though the weather has turned frigid in many parts of the US, including NYC and Washington, DC. Anyhow, I soon accepted the bleakness as part of what makes London, London—formal and steely at times yet familiar and enchanting.

Speaking of formality, sometimes it comes with excessive complication. Never mind that the parking app on my phone assured me that I was paid to park today for a few hours, yet my credit card had apparently expired. Furthermore, the customer service people had no sympathy for me and robotically referred me to the automated machine repeatedly.

I know, I know, it happens everywhere. Sure it does but you have to experience it in London to conclude that shouting and pleading are futile. Futile!

As for driving, it comes second nature to me here, even more so than it does in the US. Strangely, my brain thinks driving on the left side of the road makes more sense than driving on the right side, even if it is outdated.

Now for some sleep. Hang on, hang on, at writing of this, it was not even close of business yet, even if it was pitch black outside. Worse yet, it was only around lunchtime EST. Umm, another divider, wouldn’t you know it—time, a significant part of re-entry, absolutely nothing alien about it.

In that case, I’ll catch up on my Bo Peep (rhyming Cockney) later, I mean shut-eye, or shall I say sleep, a word we can all understand. Righty ho.