Inglaterra, cómo te quiero

Or, England, how I love you.

Hard to believe that a whole year has flown by so quickly. Hard to believe that twenty-four hours from now, I'll be twiddling my thumbs in a taxi in traffic (yes, Mom, I checked with the company and they've got me all booked!), or twiddling my thumbs at Heathrow Airport.

Hard to believe that just one year ago today, I was anxiously awaiting the start of my adventure in England, wondering what would happen, who I'd meet, how I would fare.

You all know that it has been a hell of a year for me. I travelled so far outside my normal boundaries, and I learned so much about myself. Some final thoughts...

The Music Room

I walked in about 20 minutes ago and my first thought was, "Wow, I won't let myself into this room again..." Before I could feel sad about this, I looked around at the place I've built and I had a huge burst of pride. This room was a disaster when I first arrived (I wish I had pictures). Books, papers, rubbish, strewn everywhere. No rhyme or reason to the tables and chairs. Two pianos stuck back-to-back in the middle of what has become my teaching space.

To look at it now, you would never believe it was in such bad shape. I put a lot of muscle and even more heart into this room. I have made it an attractive, safe environment for learning. I have taken pride in its upkeep, ensuring that my students cleaned up after themselves and kept the room looking as it should. I still find assorted spit wads in strange places, but for the most part, these kids started to realize that this was not a room to be abused. For that, I am proud. I won a crucial battle!

The School

I made a difference here, and making a difference at St. Peter's High School, in only one year, is a hell of a feat. To take a subject that had been neglected and abused by the two guys who were here last year and to make more kids respect it was not easy. All I have to do is go back in my blog and read about the battles I've had, and the victories I've had. The kids now seem to respect me. As per the conversation I had with Dad a couple of months ago:

Dad: It sounds like they respect you.

Me (crying): Humph. No they don't.

Dad: I think they do. They may not like you, but they respect you.

Some of the hardest kids have come around and by the end of this year, they knew not to mess with me. They didn't like it, but they definitely did what I told them to do, most of the time.

This lovely little town

No doubt about it: I adore Burnham-on-Crouch. I have since day 1, when I set out to explore and found sailboats bobbing on the river, white-washed buildings gleaming in the sun, and friendly little shops run by people who like to chat.

The Post Office is run out of a pharmacy building. The co-op is a social center. The riverside park is actually used. People smile and say hello. Kids are safe riding their bikes around.

This town is like nothing I had experienced before, and I will miss walking along the High Street, knowing I might run into people I know. I hope that it is never spoiled by Boots and WH Smith. I hope they stay far away from this town and let it exist as it is. It's perfect the way it is.

Essex

I have a magnet that I've kept in my classroom that says, "Essex, County of Hidden Treasures..." This is true in so many ways.

Before I left, a gal from a Kevin Spacey message board I post at told me about the reputation of Essex Girls. They are known for dressing like it's still the 1980s, and for being a bit tarty. It's a terrible stereotype, really, the girls here are no more tarty and badly-dressed than anywhere else in the country or world.

I have grown quite found of Essex and its people. I think I'll always be able to pick out an Essex accent. I'll actually kind of miss putting "Allright?" in place of "Hello, how are you?" and "Cheers" in place of "Thank you, have a nice day!"

England and the English

Where else in the world can you not only drive on the wrong side of the road, but have to navigate roundabouts?

Who else would think to put a dollop of marmalade on a shortbread biscuit, cover it in chocolate, and name is a Jaffa Cake?

Where else do people get so excited about a cup of tea?

What country gave us Robbie Williams, Elton John and the Beatles?

Where does Kevin Spacey choose to spend his time?

Who gave the world Bridget Jones, Cadbury chocolate, Bobbies, Beefeaters, the Tube, red double-decker busses, black taxis, Harry Potter, Paddington Bear?

Where else am I going to hear (and use myself), "Allright?" and "Cheers!" and "Cor Blimey!" and "Bloody hell!"?

What other country resolutely holds on to its traditions and history even as it modernizes and moves along with the 21st century?

There's no place in the world like England.

And so I go...

I'm strangely at peace with leaving now. I had to go through the really rough part, but it's past, I think. I know I'll be sad tomorrow, hugging Kathy and Derek, climbing into the taxi. I feel a twinge of sadness looking around my empty bedroom. All of the cards, etc. are off the walls, packed and ready to go. The only items in the wardrobe are my leather coat, a t-shirt, and a hat. I have a couple of clean pairs of underwear and socks ready for use. They'll be stuffed into my luggage early tomorrow morning and hauled all those miles to Washington.

Washington, where Mom and Dad will be waiting with open arms. Where Millie will cuddle and purr and be happy that her mommy is back. Where my CDs and books wait for me, and my scrapbook beckons. Where I'll shop at Target and eat authentic Mexican food for the first time in months. Where I have a car and free access to a gym.

Washington, where a new adventure (wild and absolutely true!) awaits.

Bring it on.

Cheers,

Meg