My friend Sarah, who blogs at http://www.ilsters.blogspot.com came over to check out my new blog. It was great to hear from her and to know that she is now aware of her role in my blogging venture. She commented on my love of the British accent. How right she is! At her blog I can link to a site where I can actually listen to her delivering sermons and then hear it translated into Latvian.
I love hearing a Brit speak. I love it so much that I have been known to be downright aggressive with reticent Brits I meet in passing. There was a British woman who substituted once for the kindergarten teacher I worked for. She was there one day and I spent roughly two hours with her. But after those two hours, I felt this insatiable desire to get to know her better (or maybe just hear her accent more), so I left a little message on the desk saying, "It was lovely to meet you ('lovely' -now that is an appropriate word to use with a Brit) today and if you are ever interested in getting together for coffee (I don't even drink it - while living in Britain they were only successful in teaching me to drink tea the way they serve it to children, with lots of sugar or honey and milk), give me a call." Not only did she NEVER call, but every time she subbed in our building again, she seemed to go far out of her way to avoid looking or walking in my direction. Ah, we forward Americans. Too bad, too, because I really did want to know more about her. What made her decide to move to America and then ... stay?? Another UNSOLVED MYSTERY!
I should explain, too, how I met Sarah and why I'm so thrilled that she is still willing to get together for tea or coffee (even though we can't because she lives in Latvia - groan). In the fall of 1987, after graduating from college, I secured a student work-visa and lived in South London for six months working at The Salvation Army's International College for Officers (this deserves many more blog posts). I also attended a local Salvation Army corps there and met Sarah that first Sunday. She was so effervescent and spunky that we were like two Magna-tiles. We had to get together. Her family blessed me to the tips of my toes when they offered to have me in their home for Christmas, since I could not afford to return home for the holidays. They bought me "prezzies" and even gave me a pillow case stocking. It was one of my most memorable Christmases to date and for a long time after, we would take turns calling each other on Christmas day. I returned to the US on Easter morning (after Sarah's wonderful father, David, fulfilled my great need for a life-long routine and took me to a sunrise service on a hill near their home).
A few years later, Sarah came to visit me in the States. I was eager to show her as much of the mid-west as I could. I took her to Starved Rock State Park and we climbed the trails together to look out on the river below. This was her favourite, I believe (another side note: I also seem to enjoy using British spelling for things. When I was in counselling, my counsellor thought I was just misspelling, until I explained that I spell things with the British spellings from time to time). I wanted to give her a real flavour for American life. I decided to take her to a special concert at the music camp in Wisconsin which I had attended during my teenage years. It was a Salvation Army camp and I knew that she would enjoy meeting other Salvationists here in America. Well, I gave her more of the flavour of American life than I intended to.
On our way to this camp, I was so busy enjoying our time together that I failed to pay attention to my speedometer. As we pulled away from a small town on the road we were travelling, I noticed flashing lights in the rear view mirror. The police officer kindly informed me that I had resumed the speed of 55 mph while still within their small town limits. It was my very first ticket and Sarah had the privilege of observing the whole process "go down," shall we say. I was mortified, but doubly so when Sarah took this opportunity to give me a lengthy dose of her British narration. She must have read the entire ticket out loud for my benefit (if I knew how to do that whole cross out over words thing, this would read: to totally tick me off - or as the Brits say, "wind me up"). That has been the only time in my life that a British accent was NOT THOROUGHLY APPRECIATED!
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