Year: 2009

Oh glorious day – my passport arrived! I am real again!

To celebrate I removed myself to London, where I decided that I should live at the Barbican. Or at least, that I have the wardrobe for it.

David Cameron, PM Heir Apparent (he calls himself a Liberal Conservative – huh?) says “every child should have the chances I had.”

Ooh! Gimme!

I also want his fabulously expensive dining room chairs. K? Thanks.

Lessons have been suspended for the day as the class was ‘taking a flutter’ on the horses at Newmarket. In the company of Cambridge professors – so the whole thing must be a sensible wholesome treat, right?

The ‘flutter’ earned £26. Now that is… an education?

If you were enrolled at the Bee Lavender Academy of Etiquette, lessons of the day would include punting, puppetry, and Don Quixote.

It appears that locals call homeschooling “home education.” Despite the fact that I dwell in the center of intellectual life, in a city where private tuition enjoys an illustrious history, nobody as yet has claimed any vague understanding of what we are doing. Acquaintances just look startled and uncomfortable.

The average resident of any Pacific Northwest neighborhood is more conversant in the history of radical education.

Summerhill is in England, people!

In other educational news, you might recall that my eldest has only attended school for approximately eighteen months of her entire life, while periodically acing cognitive and placement tests. She dropped out of art school a couple of years ago but decided to return to the academic trough to finish up A levels in preparation for university…. and is now enraged to find that she is an “Oxbridge candidate.”

For those far away from such niceties, this means that her scores and aptitude and demeanor have placed her in a defined track, where she is expected to apply to either Oxford or Cambridge. And if you can, then you should, says received wisdom.

Except she doesn’t want to. She says they are both shit, and beneath her contempt.

This is so far from my experience of life I can’t do much except laugh.

Following a long and illustrious family tradition, my youngest has elected to drop out of school.

This is very exciting; my offspring are … lively.

I had expected my son to spend a week or several meandering around before we started any sort of ambitious educational schedule.

Instead, he negotiated a multi-faceted curriculum including writing, reading, languages, music, physics, biology, and maths.

To the extent that he has managed to finish an entire year of advanced algebra work…. in three days. While blazing his way through a couple of tomes of classic literature. Interspersed with his habitual allotment of P. G. Wodehouse, obviously.

He says that he feels happier and more fulfilled now that he is able to do proper work.

I shouldn’t be surprised; my offspring are excessively difficult and eccentric and twitchy, but they do have some mad skills.

Literally.

If you were enrolled at the Bee Lavender Academy of Etiquette, lessons of the day would include letter writing, filmmaking, and David Copperfield.

Natalia is visiting! Jealous, Seattle?

I’ve made a habit of living in towns only while the library is closed for renovation, and this place is no different.

So I suspected it was an urban myth but no! The Cambridge Central Library is really and truly open… for the first time in years!

Summary: the new facility is bigger, uglier, more confusing, and features a cafe implausibly selling wine.

Though it is definitely open, and that is better than closed.

While thinking about the old neighborhood (and new Buy Olympia store) it struck me that wherever I travel, my book is always stocked, but never included in the ‘local writer’ section…. regardless of the city. Even in the locations described in the text.

It would appear to be official – no town or region presumes or pretends to claim me.

When I moved to Portland, the neighborhood (like my house) was boarded and derelict…. now look! The streets are clogged with boutiques and cafes!

Oh, how I miss the NW. But anyway: go here when it opens. Buy lots of stuff:

Land

I spent the morning lurking around Kings Cross waiting to be interviewed for a documentary about health care reform. Glamorous? Not.

Though I discovered once again that I have no problem disclosing all of my darkest secrets for the entertainment of a national broadcast audience.

While giggling maniacally.

Of course you knew that, but it always surprises me.

Finalizing my punishing quest in search of good coffee and it is official: Savino’s has the best in Cambridgeshire, AND they play Jens Lekman mixed with wacky eurorap before 10am, AND old men steal my copy of the Daily Mail when I’m not looking.

Too perfect.

Ten days worth of strike-delayed letters, packages, and newspapers showed up all in a rush…. including presents from Sara K in Portland! Mmm, Stumptown coffee.

There was also a package from my mother with marvels including a valid driving license!

I officially exist again.

Sort of.

Because of course, the bounty did not include a passport.

Tick, tock.