Ok so the lady who calls Karen called again today. I told her that Karen doesn’t live here. Again. I think next time I’ll say yes I’m Karen and see what happens. Or maybe I’ll try, “I’m sorry Karen’s not available right now; is there something I can help you with?” That might be a good one. All I know is the “Hi, Karen?” “No, Karen doesn’t live here.” “Hi, Karen?” “No, Karen still doesn’t live here” conversation leaves a bit to be desired content-wise. Heck - I have nothing else to do before I start working, so I can afford to spend a little quality time on the phone with Friend-of-Karen.

It’s about time I share about the animal. On Sunday night, Andy and I were sitting at the table playing chess (I always get completely SCHOOLED, in case anyone is wondering), when we started to here what sounded like debris falling down the chimney. Our fireplace is decorative (read: fake), and the opening where one would send smoke, etc., if it were a working fireplace, is blocked by a very well hidden piece of cardboard. (i.e. we didn’t find it until this incident occurred). Anyway, debris, debris, debris . . . little space . . . Debris . . . space . . . lots of debris . . . etc. We started thinking something regarding how this might not be a good thing, so we decide to call in the troops, a.k.a. Physioman. Our neighbor, Physioman - whose name is Charles - is the only neighbor who has introduced himself so far. He’s very nice and he has a particular affection for the roses in the front yard, which it turns out that he actually planted at some point. We chat sometimes through the window. So anyway, by the time Physioman came down, it had become clear that along with the debris, or perhaps the reason for the debris, was an animal of some sort, which was now quite clearly trying to escape through the aforementioned cardboard barrier. We thought it might be a cat, but then decided a cat would probably meow. Thought it might be a bird, but it wasn’t thwaping. Physioman was firmly in the “it’s a rat” court, which is NOT good, so Phsyioman came to the rescue with a piece of board to tape up in front of the fireplace, just in case.

By the time we were done taping the board up, the animal stopped making noise, and we have not heard anything from it since then. This means one of two things. Either animal got out safe and sound, or animal is kaput behind the taped up board and cardboard barrier. I have made two decisions about this. One - bugs of previous entries are not gone, so bugman might come back. If bugman comes back, I might ask him to have a look behind the cardboard for me. Alternately, if animal is kaput, I’m thinking we’ll start to notice some olfactory evidence of this within a few days or so. If we don’t have stink, we don’t have kaput animal. That’s how I see it, anyway.

We’ll see how it goes.

News:
1. I have been informed by one of my more English relatives that I am a Middlesex fan, cricket-wise (for reasons that make me very cool which I’ll write about some other time), so now all I need is a rugby team and a football team, and I’ll be good to go.
2. Brooke and Min have reserved their flights to come see us, so the rest of you have officially fallen behind. Go team!
3. Happy anniversary Mom and Dad. You two are wicked old.

The 4th of July was always quite the celebration in my family. My dad is an Englishman, and I seem to remember quite a day-long joke about him personally losing the war and us personally beating him. He would then remind us that in his history classes, he remembered something vaguely about the “Struggle with the Colonies,” but that he caHn’t even think of what WAR we might be thinking of. . . Everyone wore some combination of red, white, and blue clothing - employing significant effort to ensure that each of the three colors had its proper representation. We spent the day teasing my dad about losing the war, and he spent the day referring to us as “bloody Americans.” We often had a little grill-out - burgers, hot dogs, potato salad, pasta salad, and the quintessential American flag pound cake, which improved with each year’s new method. We always found our way to a big fireworks display, spread out our blanket, and settled in for an evening of kapows and kabangs.

Celebrating the 4th in England is a bit anti-climactic, but also kind of fun. I felt a little cheeky wandering around town yesterday. I donned my red, white, and blue with pride, and I sort of kept hoping that someone would somehow notice that I was American and put together that it was also American Independence day and then maybe we could have a nice little chat about it, but no. Pretty much just some blonde girl in a red shirt buying hoummus.

SO, how did I spend my 4th? Well. . . cold. I was cold. Our high yesterday was a chilly, windy, cloudy 64, so I had on jeans and long sleeves, and I was chilly enough that I came back and put a sweater on. I really think it would have felt more like the 4th if it was hot. It’s supposed to be 90 and sunny on the 4th, and I’m supposed to get sunburned shoulders.

The day was redeemed, however, by a wonderful dinner of barbeque sandwiches, sausages, chips, and apple crisp in the company of other raucous Americans - complete with country music to set the mood. Oh, and there was hoummus. . . . a uniquely American selection by yours truly.

The only other news of yesterday was that I managed to hurt my shoulder while running. Who DOES that? HOW?
me. don’t know.