Way back on April 6th, the British government announced a hosepipe ban for most of the south of England. “Hosepipe” meaning garden hose, and “ban” meaning no washing your car, watering your garden, etc, after two dry winters in a row. About a week before that announcement, it started to rain. And it has rained every day but three since then. (Today is day 3 of sunshine here, though there are some ominous looking clouds in the sky.) We are all more than a little sick of rain, gray skies, and temperatures that only reach about 56F. (Especially when I see people at home posting pictures on Facebook of themselves wearing shorts and running around outside while we are still bundled up in sweaters.)
Inside the house, we had a leak from the kitchen roof, waking up one Sunday morning to water pouring down the wall thanks to torrential rain and high wind blowing the roof shingles around. Last night I opened the cupboard under the sink to throw something away and discovered a pool of water. On pulling everything out, I spied a gushing pipe at the back. I stared at it in disbelief for a minute, then realized it couldn’t wait the two or three hours until Simon got home from work, and sent my children next door to get their grandfather, who was able to turn the valve off. We now have no cold water in the kitchen but the plumber comes later today to (fingers crossed) fix things back up.
Yep, I’m feeling a little waterlogged.
We’re looking for our next place to live and are about 98% certain where we will be next. This means I have been researching microwave ovens, pricing furniture, and contemplating packing, as I was exactly one year ago. Yippee. (I despise packing.) We’re putting our Ohio house back on the market, so everybody, keep your fingers crossed for a quick sale and a price that isn’t too depressing. We have our first school appeal for Charlotte on the 22nd of the month and should receive papers today to tell us about a second appeal. Fingers also crossed, please, that I don’t stand in front of any or all of those appeals panels and burst into tears. I’d say 98% chance that I will burst into tears. Which will probably not help my case at all.
Last week we passed the 9-month mark of our move here and while I can’t say England feels like home, I can see–almost–that maybe one day it will. I’m not certain of that, the jury is still out, and we still have so much settling to do but I want to feel settled again, to know my place here. To have a purpose rather than feel at such loose ends. These things take time, but I am not feeling especially patient. Sooner or later, it will come. (Won’t it?)