The Story Begins

Every story has a beginning. I guess the cricket club in the little English village of Barlaston is as good a place to start as any.

We came here today to celebrate the Queen's Diamond Jubilee.  Elizabeth became Queen of England at the very young age of 25.  I wonder what it was like for her to loose her freedom at such a young age, to be bound by tradition and formality in a way that is beyond imagining.  

Today is not a time to focus on these things. The parish council put on a lovely event which included a picnic for the children and free commemorative mugs for each.  It makes sense that a tea mug would be included given that Barlaston is the home of Josiah Wedgwood - yes, that Wedgwood.  

The skies stayed mercifully clear, unlike yesterday when the nation was drenched in an autumnal blitz of wind and rain.  It can't have been pleasant out there on the Thames as all those boats rowed past.  Not being anywhere near London, we watched the boats process from the safety of our living room.

Today was just perfect, however, and it did appear as if the entire village was in attendance.  Many were dressed in red, white and blue and more than a few balding heads had been decorated with Union Jacks.

In addition to the children's picnic, there were stalls and games galore, a hog roast, and the cricket club bar was open for business.  It was middle England at it's finest - a once in a lifetime opportunity to come out and celebrate being British.

For me, it was the beginning of a long good bye.

California born and raised, I have always been fascinated by England.  Where California is hot and dry and an unrelenting brown for most of the year, England is, to borrow the phrase, a "green and pleasant land".  California is fault lines and jagged edges while England is rolling hills and pastoral fields.  In California, a building more than 100 years is really old.  In England, a building that is 100 years old is Edwardian, and that, my friends, is the recent past.  To be old, a building has to track back at least to the 18th century.  Better still if it pre-dates the the last Queen Elizabeth.

I have always wanted to live in England.  Even when I was a young girl, I dreamed of coming to this country and becoming a part of the landscape.  For almost 9 years I have had the pleasure of making that dream a reality.  I have done so many things - dined at a Cambridge college and at one of the Inns of Court as the guest of a senior judge.  I walked across moors and the battlements of more castles than I could name.  I even have a child with an English accent.

But it is time to move on.  One dream is coming to an end and it is time for another to begin.  For our honeymoon, Lee and I drove across country.  We loved it.  Now we want to share that love of the road with our children.  We are tired of the grind of jobs and mortgages and spending our free time in crowded supermarkets and chained to the table while the children do mindless homework.

There is so much of this world I have yet to see.  I fear I'll never find the time to see it all - to share it with my children - unless I decide to just go and do it.  

As I've watched the Jubilee celebrations, I have wondered about this Queen.  She was so young when she came to the throne.  Her choices were taken from her by historical forces beyond her control.  I wonder what she would have done with her life had she not been Queen.  

I am sure she is happy with the cards dealt to her.  But unlike Elizabeth, I still have many choices left to make.  I want to live - at least for a little while - free from the pressures of middle class life.  I want the freedom of the open road and a chance to know my children and husband in the most intimate ways possible.

I don't want to be 60 years in one place.  

I am so thankful that the choice is mine to make.

Every story has as beginning and this story - the story of our new life and our new journey - begins now.