The morning fog may chill the air - I don't care!

Okay. So I said I wouldn't leave my heart in San Francisco. Said I'd left it in Crickhowell. Turns out my heart is a bit bigger than that and I'm leaving chunks all over the place these days.

Goodbyes are hard to say. Goodbyes between sobbing seven year olds are even harder to watch.

Our connection with SF is not over. Tom will return regularly for work reasons. We will be back for a holiday/vacation next year. And as for my friends, judging by the traffic on Facebook and Twitter, I won't get away that easily.

No! Thank YOU, Leonard R Flynn Elementary School!

I had an amazing evening last Thursday. It was a school PTA fundraiser which I had helped organize and the first of its kind for the school. A sophisticated evening in a classy bar, with a silent auction etc. And because it was the first of its kind, I was nervous. I really really wanted it to be a success or I was going to have to skip town under a cloud rather than leave on the crest of wave.

Well that part went very well I think. The party was buzzing, loads of fun and we seem to have made quite a bit of money. And then the speeches began. And I got a going away present and a wonderfully over the top thank you speech by my good friend Loretta. And I made a speech too! Which I think may even have been bordering on passionately political but hey, I'd had wine, a cocktail and I was up for it!

Anyway. My going away present - I have been given the most incredible treasure. A photobook filled with pictures of our time here at school and with friends, and with messages from parents, children, staff at school. Amazing messages of love and gratitude.

So here's my message of gratitude to the community of Leonard R Flynn Elementary School. 

Some of you know that just over 4 years ago, I lost my sister to cancer. She died shortly after I moved from London to our Welsh valley in the Brecon Beacons, and so I found myself trying to make a new life for myself in unfamiliar surroundings, and in a deep state of shock and anguish. Over the next two years, in that beautiful landscape and amongst friendly and kind people, I got back on my feet.

Wales allowed me to feel that life could be worth living. San Francisco and the community of Flynn Elementary have put the spring back in my step.

Thank you for being so welcoming. For allowing me to help in pretty much whatever way seemed to be needed. Thank you for providing me and my family with so many friends. Thank you for reigniting a passion for social justice and equality. Thank you for teaching my children about Cesar Chavez, and Martin Luther King, and Ruby Bridges, and Harriet Tubman, and fairness, and kindness, and understanding. The diversity of your community meant that we were able to be ourselves and feel at home. It has been an extraordinary experience for our family and one that will last all our lifetimes.

Public education in America and particularly in California is in crisis. It is underfunded, underloved. Middle class families routinely leave the city for safer environments in the suburbs or leave the system for private and parochial schools. There are ongoing budget cuts that result in shortages of basic materials, regular layoffs of staff, instability in the school system, fewer days in the school year.

But there are also dedicated staff trying to make things work for the children in their care. I have seen our Principal pick up a sobbing Kindergartner not yet settled in school and so gently comfort him. I have watched dedicated talented teachers instill a love of reading and learning in children from a huge range of cultures and backgrounds.  I have seen the school social worker help bereaved children manage crises in their lives. I have seen parents spending time helping teachers, working with children, raising money for important (frankly essential) programs and equipment. It has been a privilege to spend time in this school and see it transforming.

I think I may have gone a bit political again. But I think the main reason I spent so much time at this lovely warm welcoming school is because I couldn't do anything else. There wasn't anything else which seemed as worthwhile a use of my time.

So thank you, Flynn!

An email from our classic car loving (and sadly to be disappointed) friend

Dearest Eliane and Tom,

I am quite certain that by the time I have completed this e-mail both of you will have come to your senses. It is indeed important to have the proper ride for your family while completing a trans America tour (safety, efficiency, comfort should all be considered). Thus I will be expecting Tom to pick me up for a test drive in your new automobile. I am available any time after 6:00pm by appointment.

It feels great knowing that your American tour will be in one of the best damn American made cars ever, the Impala. I can now rest easy knowing your time will indeed be everything that it promises to be.

If by chance, Tom, you have not completed your purchase of the Impala, get to fucking work, man. As to safety, efficiency, and comfort all will fly out the top of the kick-ass rag top Impala. As to the temperature in Montana in May, you are English for god's sake (and if Montana in May is not warm enough then try Nevada, in an Impala it is just a couple of hours away) Just imagine … 40 years have passed and the girls are now regaling someone with stories of their trip in a Hyundai … just does not work. Now try the Impala, ah yes that is it.

Cheers,

Brian (made in America and proud of it)

Wheels!

This morning I was lying awake wondering if Tom was awake enough to talk to about the car. Poor Tom. He hates doing this kind of thing, but in this case, he really has to be the one to do it. So I rolled over and mumbled something about could he please start thinking about this as it's been worrying me.

And lo and behold, this afternoon our car is parked outside our house.

Big thanks to My Car Guy SF without whom this kind of quick decisive action would not have been possible. Also thanks to my long-suffering mother who took a call after supper and spent time looking for paperwork to photograph and email it to me.

What did we get? I wish I could say it was this car. I know at least one man who will think we should have got this car. There has been much (drink-fueled) discussion amongst the blokes of our acquaintance in San Francisco who think we should have a classic Cadillac or equivalent with lots of chrome and a seat you can slide across on, and no doubt the Beach Boys on the radio. But I want to know that we will  get across America, and that we will be warm inside our car in Montana in early May. So we got a whoppingly large SUV. Oh the guilt! Still, it seems very comfortable for our long trip and has a huge boot/trunk for all our stuff.

So that's one big task done. I do love my decisive husband.

Taken out to the ballgame

We've been here almost two years and going to a baseball game has been on our list from the start. And then I realized that we might need to get on with this particular task, as the Giants aren't having such a great season and it won't be going on to Hallowe'en like last year's when they won the World Series.

So about three weeks ago, the girls and I wrapped up very warmly - thermals and everything - packed a blanket and hats and mittens, and headed down to Tom's office to meet our guides for the evening: Henry, a tall droll Brit with both cricket and baseball knowledge, Aaron an ever-smiling even when booing baseball nut and later Todd, quiet and calm even when sitting next to small surly unimpressed English girls.

Discussing the finer points with Henry (orange) and Aaron

Now before I go into any details of the game, a disclaimer. The following post has been written by a British woman who knows only slightly more about cricket and rounders than she does about baseball. And any knowledge she does have of baseball was chiefly gained from the film Bull Durham which is rather more about sex/witty romance than baseball (thank God).

Fog!

AT&T Park is in a brilliant setting. Right in San Francisco, by the Bay Bridge, near enough for balls to get hit into the water - they keep count of how many during the season. Gets chilly though. This being an August night, it got really cold, with billowing fog sweeping through the stadium and us.

We were sitting near a really big glove and Coca Cola bottle, and far away from the pitcher/batsman part. Basically, where the batsman is aiming, if he can actually aim with his bat. There was a discussion on this which concluded that cricket involves much more control by the batsman than baseball, where the bloke just tries to whack it really hard out of the park. In fact I've concluded that the real skill in baseball resides with the pitcher as the fielders seem to find catching ridiculously easy. Happens all the time. Then again they are all wearing those huge gloves.

It's a funny game. Not much happens but it doesn't happen much faster than in cricket. So a bloke steps up, tries to hit the ball, fails and after three strikes is out, or succeeds and gets caught out. Only very occasionally does anything of moment happen and then it's over really fast and everyone else stood up and cheered and the small clueless British contingent said "what?". And sat down again. And the score changed. On our night, the Giants were playing the Houston Astros who are apparently rubbish (possibly biased opinion from Giants fans) and were wearing very unfetching grey. Must be horrible playing away in baseball as no one travels to support you, so there's you and your team mates in a stadium full of Giants fans in panda hats, and bright orange snuggies, all bellowing at you. Like being harangued by 40,000 Honey Monsters at once.

Aaron booing. He's rather good at it.

What can I tell you about the game. We won. (Obviously I am now a Giants fan despite this being my first actual game.) The score was as low as a football score - 2-1. Everyone I had heard of was injured apart from the superbly named Madison Bumgarner, who buys cows for his wife when not pitching. There was a double play which involved - oh hang on - can't remember. Was that when we got two people out at once and there was lots of slipping and sliding into bases and what not? Oh whatever.

What I liked was the family atmosphere - we went in the evening so there weren't that many children but there were lots of women and it was a friendly place to be. Also their chants are way less obscene and offensive than at football. Never been to a proper cricket match so I can't tell you if the shouting at Lord's is Anglo-Saxon. But I have seen Arsenal at home and they can come up with something riper than "What's wrong with X? He's a bum!" or whatever it was.

And the food. The food was really good. Garlic fries with parsley! And really excellent sausages in the hot dogs. And Ghiradelli hot chocolate. But then this is the foodie capital of the USA. Apparently the Giants are known for their nosh.

It was Irish night. No I don't know why either.

And the odd stuff that happened between innings. That was fun if a bit strange. The kissing camera - old people kiss much more passionately and for longer than young people. The crazy dancing old guy with the hot young thing. The seal mascot driving guests around the park. Everyone getting up to sing "Take me out to the ballgame". Now that was very strange. But rather charming.

Bemused Englishman surrounded by singing Americans (including Todd, in non-Giant green)

All in all it was a good night out as far as the adults were concerned. The girls had no clue what was going on and endured it rather than enjoyed it.

Do you like my smile?

Big day today. 7th wedding anniversary. And My First Proper American Dentist Experience. It's taken me a while to get this sorted out. Last year we had insurance of the HMO variety - which basically means that you have insurance but can't choose your dentist except from a particular group. Turns out this means you can't find a dentist within 50 miles for love nor money because dentists don't like taking HMO insurance. Lesson to learn if you're moving here. Choose PPO. It'll cost more but you will be able to find someone to treat you.

Luckily last year we switched to PPO and thus I could choose my dentist and so I chose my friend Phyllis. She's a parent at my daughters' school, very nice, friendly, funny, easy-going. Which is good, as it's been a eon since my teeth were last investigated properly and that was in the UK - land of bad teeth. So I wanted someone friendly who would feel obliged to cover her horror and not say as a dentist did to a friend of a friend "You've got barnacles growing on your teeth!"

First up, X-rays. Lots and lots and lots of digital x-rays. Then huge questionnaires. The usual stuff - who are you? where are you? the confusing insurance ones and then the funny ones: do you like your smile? What? I was also shown a "smile book" today. I declined. Wish I hadn't, just so I could find out what it is. I sort of envisage something like those hair style magazines - but with teeth. Seriously? Do you get to point at a smile and say can I have a Rachel?

Wasn't all bad. I have cavities. The depth and capaciousness of said cavities was established with a nifty painless light that made Clanger like noises (for US audience The Clangers was a cult UK kids TV series about knitted aliens that made whistling noises - it's genius). As each tooth was checked the noise whooped up and down - the more whoopy the worse the cavity. Sort of like finding a big cave and checking for a good echo. But given the lack of proper maintenance it could be worse. I have a treatment program and the insurance will help me half way there this year by paying 80% of costs up to a $1000 cap and then I'm on my own. That's the thing about insurance. It is not as simple as you have it and you're covered, or you don't and you're not. You have it, and you might be covered for some things, but you still have to pay part of the costs. And working it all out is tricky and time consuming and confusing. And at the end of the day, you've paid for insurance and you still have to pay out quite a lot of money.

But the costs are not dissimilar to UK private practice - I think. And we can fortunately afford it. And then I shall have shiny happy teeth though I shall not be returning to the UK with a Hollywood smile. Costs way too much. And apparently Tom Cruise's teeth are used as a case study in American dentistry schools (they weren't always as perfect as they look...).

Meanwhile, 7th Wedding Anniversary. Which rather surprisingly this year meant chocolates. Yup. Dentists and chocolates. Oh well.

Torn

Tom and I are both feeling a bit homesick at the moment. We're around half way through our time in the USA if everything goes according to plan. Long enough to feel at home. Long enough to miss our families and friends back home, and to realise how far we are from the people we love. And that all comes into stark relief when things are happening back home that you are very worried about. Thousands of miles, an 8 hour time difference, make being able to be a support for family in hard times, very difficult. Neither of us like feeling this useless.

We have booked tickets for our trip home this summer and our time there can't really come soon enough.

But we're also conscious that soon we will be leaving the US permanently. And there is a real sense that the clock is ticking and have we done enough exploring, are we taking enough advantage? And won't it be awful when we stop seeing the lovely people we've got to know. Children we now see all the time will grow up and forget us. I find this really hard because I have spent so much time in my daughters' classes this year, that I get big hugs whenever I turn up at school. Of course, we're not going yet. But I definitely feel like we need to make the most of what time we have left.

And added to that, is the fact that this city is a lovely place to live. So we are torn. We want to be home with our families, and we miss them, and we worry about them. But we're having a good time here and I'm a terrible one for imagining permanent lives that just aren't going to happen, wandering around thinking - "what if we bought that house?", "I wonder what Berkeley is like to live in", "wouldn't it be great to have a cabin at Tahoe or a beach house" and so on.

Yesterday was Sunday Streets in the Mission. One of my favourite SF days. The event moves around the city during the Spring, Summer and Autumn. Streets are closed to cars, and opened to pedal power and feet. Cafes serve food on the pavement outside. Bands play at cross streets. There was yoga, taiko, capoeira, and a very Mission car show on Harrison. Tom and the girls were wheeled so they soon disappeared down Valencia, and I was left for dust, pottering about behind them. So if I used my abandonment to spend a reasonable amount of money on a posh frock, then they only have themselves to blame.

Turn the volume down!

It is a cliche, I know, but some Americans really are very loud.

To the woman half way down the street in Monterey, I'm sorry that you stay home most nights and read and that you have thought about online dating but aren't ready yet, but I'm not sure why you chose to confide in me and the rest of the pedestrians on the street.

And to the young man today on the phone, I'm pretty sure that whoever you were talking to, didn't really want to know that you were late because you needed a crap but had run out of toilet paper so had to borrow some first. I'm certain I didn't want to know that.

Other people's holidays: Thanksgiving

This year we were invited to lunch with a Franco-American family we know from school. They are American citizens but they are still very French so our lunch involved an excellent casserole and I provided pudding in the form of an English apple crumble. No roast turkey and no pumpkin pie. We had a lovely time. 

But I did think then and also every time someone asked what we were doing for Thanksgiving, that you can't adjust your cultural calendar in a year. The celebrations that mean something to me - Christmas, Easter, Bonfire Night - are not just dates in a calendar but are times in the year that get built into you. You anticipate them and you know your own family rituals and you can't just drop them and adopt others over night. Or over a year. 

So while I did get dressed up in a pink Afro and wings on 31st October, I can't say that Hallowe'en has a strong resonance for me. I rather missed the noise and sausages and soup and fireworks on 5th November. And Thanksgiving is a lovely idea, but it isn't our holiday. I'll join in with yours but I won't be roasting any turkeys at home anytime soon. It would feel like Christmas a month early.

Now of course we are heading for Christmas. So I must once more head off on a hunt for a pudding and mincemeat.

A visit to the opticians and the aftermath

I finally got around to having an eye test and ordering some contact lenses. Much of this experience was identical or thereabouts to a visit to a British optician. I saw a man who used various standard ways to test my eyes. You know the drill - look up, look at my ear while I shine a light in your eye, can you read the bottom line, is this clearer or that? Then I used my insurance to cover the cost of the eye test, though not the complete contact lens test which cost me $55. I was a bit surprised about that as $55 is a bit more than I would have paid in the UK, where I didn't have insurance. What I wondered was the full price of the eye test?

Well today I found out because I got a sheet of paper from my insurer showing what had been spent in full. And sit down if you're British to read this. The full cost of a standard eye test and a contact lens test was nearly $300. That's just the test. The lenses were extra.

Are they mad?

If you're American and you're reading this, the reason I am incredulous is because having your eyes tested in the UK isn't part of the NHS unless you are a child, on benefits or elderly. I have never needed insurance for my eye examinations before because the cost of the test, with no subsidy, no NHS involvement, no insurance, is less than $50 (actually right now you can get a professional eye test at Boots the Chemist for £5 or $7.50). And I haven't noticed any opticians with begging bowls or sleeping on the streets. They make this work for them. They sell their frames and their contact lenses and so on and sometimes if you buy your lenses from them then you don't have to pay for the tests at all. So how is it that Americans have to pay nearly $300? What if you don't have insurance?

Oh and before you ask, this was a not particularly swish opticians or whatever you call them here, on Mission Street at the foot of Bernal Heights. I wasn't in Pacific Heights or even Noe Valley. And he really didn't do anything my Welsh optician didn't do.

Seriously. America. You are being had. Big time.

Everyone has them

Mice that is. Apparently this is the case if you live in San Francisco. My mouse now has celebrity status and I am receiving advice from all over the place - thanks to Facebook and Twitter. An ex has offered, not entirely seriously, the services of his cat. Not entirely seriously because the cat is based in St Paul, Minnesota. This morning, in the schoolyard, a formerly thought of as mild-mannered dad starting discussing traps which break mouse necks in a rather blood-thirsty way. There appears to be consensus on peanut butter if not trap types - we have a selection currently not doing their job at home, and I think more may be added soon.

I can tell you this though. I have had mice in my house before. Mice who did want to be there in London and who left horrible droppings and ate things. Mice who didn't want to be there in Wales but had been released into captivity from the wild by our easily-distracted cat, Archie. But this mouse is a puzzle. It can't reach any food in our house as it is all kept in wall-mounted cupboards or the fridge. There is no sign of droppings. There is just this cheeky mouse, who comes out and wanders around the kitchen and then buggers off again. It has even popped into my bedroom to have a look at me before leaving on its wanderings again.

A week of celebrations: Part III Dia de los Muertos

Our third celebration of the week was unlike the other two. Dia de los Muertos is a Mexican festival which has been adopted by the San Franciscans. It is a holiday for families and friends to celebrate and remember their dead loved ones. Surrounding it is a whole culture of art featuring quirky skeletons, model of skeletons dressed and carrying out everyday activities. In San Francisco there is a parade with many people, wearing beautiful costumes and with their faces painted as a skull. We didn't make it to the parade this year as it starts at 7 and it was a school night.

But we did go to Garfield Park which is the centre for the celebrations. Here people come to create beautiful shrines to their loved ones, shrines which were varied, deeply personal and incredibly moving. There were traditional Mexican shrines for whole generations of families with lovely old photographs, crucifixes and pictures of saints. There were Buddhist shrines with flowers and statues. There was a rock musician's shrine with a whole skeletal rock band and lots of music. There was one with two piles of handwritten letters amongst the flowers and candle holders. Another had poems and quotes surrounding a picture of a handsome sleeping young man. Another was a series of pictures of a vibrant young woman, a dancer or acrobat - she had lush hair except in the striking central portrait in black and white where all the hair had gone. There were stories told, and stories to be inferred. Some were undoubtedly tales of loss too soon, but not all. All were celebrations of people, presented to the world by those who knew them best.

I'm not religious. To me there is no afterlife, except that within the hearts and minds of those still living. And these people celebrated were still very much alive in their loved ones hearts. Perhaps next year, I will also set up a shrine for mine.

A week of celebrations: Part 2 The Giants

Hallowe'en coincided with the 4th game of the Baseball World Series in which the San Francisco Giants were taking on the Texas Rangers and at that point leading 2-1. You could tell some people's hearts weren't quite in the trick or treating and would have rather been at home watching the game (which SF won). The following night, the Giants made San Franciscans ecstatically happy by winning the 5th game and therefore the Series. They pretty much trounced Texas who were favourites at the start. And they did it with a motley crew of players who are distinctly characterful. The catchphrase of the series was "Fear the Beard" after one pitcher's striking black beard - which is now seen all over the city on other people's chins.

So the second big celebration of the week was on Monday night when the Giants won the Series, far away in Texas. The noise at that moment was immense. The whole of SF was whooping and as we have a top floor flat overlooking whole swathes of south-east SF we could hear a lot of it. Things got a bit out of hand down in the Mission - rumours were flying that a bank was looted and a bus set on fire. Two days later, over a million people (that's more than the total population of the city itself) converged on the downtown area for the parade. I didn't go.

But did I get into it? Well sort of. It was hard given that I (a) don't have television (b) don't understand the game very well and (c) am not exactly a big sport fan at the best of times. But it was hard to escape the city's buoyant mood and it became infectious, so I will admit to having followed the games as best I could online and being pleased when they won. It was after all the first time the Giants had won since they moved to San Francisco in the 1950s (see, I've even checked on historical stats...). I may even go to a game or two next season.

A week of celebrations: Part 1 Trick or treat?

They really take Hallowe'en seriously over here. Really really seriously. People have been preparing for weeks. And asking us whether we are "ready" since early September. I have kept explaining that back home Hallowe'en is seen as a bit of a commercial American import, and is often just an excuse for the scarier elements in the area to come knocking. I will admit to having hidden in the house in London with the lights out on several previous Hallowe'ens and so would you have, had you lived where I did.

Anyway. Round our way - America that is - it's a big deal. Houses are decorated, people are even more decorated. The teachers turned up in full costume on the Friday beforehand. In some cases this also meant facepaint for the whole day. They had a Hallowe'en parade at school which I didn't go to. I'm a bit bah humbug about the whole thing. But the children like it so we blagged our way into a friend's home for the evening and tagged along with her family, getting a lesson in the whole trick or treating thing on the way. I was planning to go as, and I quote, "a grumpy European with no sense of humour" which was actually how M the Hallowe'en fanatic friend described her (also British) husband. But M wasn't having any of it. Said husband was Perseus. Tom was vaguely Sheikhish. And I was a sight.

We wended our way through the streets of Bernal Heights collecting absurd amounts of sweets, past spooky houses with spooky residents. There were haunted vans (two), pumpkins galore, at least one gladiator, several bumblebees, a vending machine (that's a person dressed as a vending machine), many fairies, a lot of ghosts and quite a few ghouls. I like that everyone is so goodnatured even when faced with hordes of overexcited pint-sized devils, and that people don't necessarily dress up as scary things. The girls had a great time and got thoroughly into the swing of things, rushing up front steps to grab the goodies. They are rationing themselves and should still be working their way through Skittles and Reese's Cups in late February.

It's been a year

A year ago, we got up horribly early on a Friday morning to take a taxi to Heathrow and our flight for San Francisco. The Bay Bridge had arranged to close itself just for our arrival so we spent an inordinately long time with a very patient driver finding our way up the east side of the bay to a warm welcome in North Berkeley.

After that things happened very fast. Within 10 days we had found a great apartment, a school for the girls and within 3 weeks we were installed with huge amounts of flat pack IKEA furniture. It all seems like a very long time ago.

So what's it like, living in America? Well for starters, I'm not sure we do live in America. We live in San Francisco and these things are not always the same thing. There is something island-like about this small city on the edge of the west coast of America - almost surrounded by water and often separated from much of the rest of America by a huge gulf in opinion. I have yet to meet an "out" Republican. The people I hang out with are a cosmopolitan bunch of Americans and non-Americans, distinctly left of centre,  green, not noticeably religious. No major culture clash there.

In this city, you can live a "European" lifestyle. So we haven't rushed to live like Americans - we have  no car, no television. We don't go to Walmart (they don't have one in San Francisco) or Costco, or in fact supermarkets, that often. We don't eat burgers but we do eat burritos and chinese and sushi and wonderful bread and fresh fruit and veg, and organic meat. Of course that just goes to show that the stereotypical American lifestyle is just that - a stereotype.

The changes to our lives have been more about moving back to a city from the countryside than moving from one country to another. My wellies have a paisley pattern now and aren't covered in mud or chicken muck. We don't own chickens. I don't garden. Or make jam. Or bake bread. We eat out much more often. We go to galleries and museums. We travel on public transport. And Tom commutes a long way on a train each day. Life is more hectic and tiring.

People on both sides of the Atlantic have asked if we'll stay. And we haven't changed our minds. It's still a sojourn if a long and enjoyable one. I wouldn't want to go home yet - too much still to explore and do. But one day I will be ready for a return to the Usk Valley and the Brecon Beacons.

Weather: we all have our breaking point

For the British, an inch of snow is enough to throw the whole country into a tizz and grind all transport to a standstill. For the Californians, it's rain. We have a weather warning in force this weekend here in the Bay Area. Must be serious! I checked. We're expecting between half an inch and an inch of rain but as it's "the first significant rain event of the season" they are warning drivers to be careful because obviously they've forgotten how to drive in rain in the last four to five months. 

Reminds me of the BBC correspondent, David Willis, writing about the serious storms in LA last Spring which were causing "end of the world" statements from the forecasters. As he said then "six inches of rain is really only a concern if you happen to be less than six inches tall. Otherwise there is a pretty good chance you will survive." So from a British perspective, it's a bit showery right now. Not downpours exactly but certainly damp. You might want to check where you last left your brollie. And if you're Californian, "be careful out there".

A lovely weekend: fundraising and pumpkins galore

Saturday was a big day for our school, raising emergency funds for a budget shortfall. We had a cake walk, dunk tank and BBQ. I'm still not totally sure how the cake walk works but it seems to be a mixture of musical chairs with roulette and you win cakes. The dunk tank is a ducking stool. Or maybe in the UK it is also a dunk tank and I just didn't know it. That was very popular at least with the dunkers. The dunkees seemed to enjoy themselves too but they took a little persuasion. I know this because persuading them was my job, and most of them were staff at the school including our very sporting Principal who also showed off some mean dance moves later in the afternoon (probably in a bid to get warm again after several dunkings). Anyway, we all had a lovely time and raised a few thousand dollars for the school.

Sunday we met up with friends who took us down to a vast pumpkin farm which was a superbly kitsch place kitted out with Roman soldiers, a Minotaur, Egyptian statues and a display of swordsmanship by what I think were conquistadors but their costumes were a bit vague.

There was an enormous maze made of hay bales which was really really difficult to get out of. We lost two boys first. Then we lost one mother and her daughter. That left the four of us and Eric, the dad to go round and round and round in circles, meeting the same people over and over again, each time with a slightly more world-weary, oh it's you again how the hell do we get out of here expression on our faces. It was really good fun. And we did all find each other again, even if some of us had to use an emergency exit (not us, hurrah!).

Then we bought pumpkins, large and small, and rode ponies, and watched the sword-play and headed off for burritos at a nearby tacqueria.

On friendship and support

One day it is going to be really hard to leave San Francisco.

Last week we hit a problem at my daughters' school - one which affected my family personally but one which had implications for the whole school. I won't go into details - if you know me here in SF then chances are you already know about it, and if you don't know about it, you don't need to. What I want to write about is the response to the problem. I found myself discussing it after a meeting with some other mothers from the school. And I was frankly overwhelmed by the feisty and energetic response I got from them and then from others the next day. "This can't happen." "We have to change this." "I'll come with you." "I'll write." "I've called/emailed/written." "Here's what we do next."

People asked me if this would have happened back home in the UK. Well to be honest on the one hand, I am not sure we'd have had the particular problem in the first place. But I'm also not sure we'd have that many energetic parents stepping up for children who aren't their own and just pitching in.

People were wonderful. And they took time out their days to help. And they just got on with it. And in a day of substantial parent pressure coming to bear, we sorted out and resolved the problem.

So thank you all. You know who you are. And I know that one day I am really going to hate to leave you.

Democracy American-style

It won't have escaped your notice that we have less than a month to go before the US mid-term elections. Obviously there's an enormous amount of coverage in the US but the UK is covering them too, partly I think because they can be so very entertaining. We don't have anybody quite like Sarah Palin or Christine O'Donnell in the UK and they are just the beginning.

But what I didn't realise before I moved here is quite how many decisions the American voter has to make when they head to the polling booth. Or at least the San Franciscan voter. Come November, they are going to have to decide on

• a Senate seat and two House seats in Washington
• the composition of the California State Executive - that's 8 different posts ranging from Governor to Insurance Commissioner
• one State Senate seat
• one State Assembly seat
• Judicial positions - yes they vote for their judges here
• their local councillor/supervisor
• their school board members
• the Director of the Bay Area Rapid Transit
• 9 separate propositions which are statewide ranging from the legalisation of marijuana to the suspension of air pollution control laws until unemployment falls to under 5.5% to adding an $18 surcharge to the vehicle license to pay for state parks
• 15 separate citywide propositions ranging from allowing non-citizens to vote for the school board if they have children at school to changing the formula for working out the MUNI worker salaries to prohibiting people from sitting and lying on pavements in the city during the daytime

I make that at least 40 decisions they have to make but I may have that wrong is it is pretty confusing. And some of those decisions have far-reaching implications - Proposition 19 on marijuana or Proposition 23 on air pollution control or Proposition 25 which wants to change the majority needed to pass the State budget (only just passed 17 weeks late) in the State legislature from two-thirds to a simple majority. 

On the one hand there is something admirable about people engaging in the process. On the other hand, the turnouts at American elections are low - lower than our low turnouts back in the UK, so clearly a lot of people are put off voting. And of course they sign off on things which have knock-on effects in unintended ways. The inability of California to raise its taxes without a 2/3 majority in the legislature is having a direct impact on the state's ability to pay for its roads, schools and so on. All too often the US political system seems to end in impasse. 

As an outsider, I am attempting to maintain a wry smile while watching the shenanigans - witness the Whitman maid controversy of last week - though it can be hard when I know that budget cuts in California have a direct impact on my daughters' schooling here. 

Life is not the movies

So here's the thing about living somewhere exciting. You still have to get on with life. I am in San Francisco but I still have to go to shops, banks, schools. I still have to make breakfast and pack lunches, and drag tired children to after school activities. I still have to go to PTA meetings, wait for Tom to get home from his long commute, cook supper, pay bills.

And I'm not doing this to some poppy soundtrack of Indie or hippie tunes while waving and smiling at improbably friendly locals. Though it has to be said there are some quite improbably friendly locals round here. But no. I am living life.

The annoying thing is that when you live in a film set that you've watched many times over - be it Paris, New York, San Francisco or whereever - you sort of think you're not quite doing it right because you still have to do the cleaning and laundry. And some days you are very tired and do not leave the house, even though out there is this whole exciting other-side-of-the-world-place-you-won't-be-in-forever just waiting to be visited and appreciated before it is too late.

Well that's my excuse for today and come to think of it yesterday's lack of adventure and excitement.  Life just gets in the way sometimes.