On Friday I'm traveling back to America, after a year away from my homeland, for a 6-week visit. I find it slightly ironic that I've needed to purchase UK travel insurance so that I'm covered in the event of illness in the United States! I'm really looking forward to my time at home, but am actually a little bit nervous after so long away. I'm realizing more and more how England is becoming home. Will I feel like a foreigner when my plane touches down at O'Hare? Will I be excited with the convenience and familiarity? Most likely I'll just be tired! Last year the first thing I did was order a tall glass of iced tea and it tasted incredible. I may repeat the experience this year.

Thanks to all of you who sent your good wishes on for my UK driving exam. I must admit that I failed the test--through a stupid mistake born out of old driving habits! I am now in the majority of 60 percent of Americans who fail their UK driving test the first time. What I am pleased about, however, is that even though I made the mistake in the first 8 minutes and instantly knew I'd failed (it falls into the category of "serious fault" and is an automatic fail), I managed to hold it together and drive very well for the remaining 40 minutes. Had I not messed up early on, I would've passed the test with flying colors, and I'm sure I'll do so when I retake it in October

It was frustrating to fail but the test really was a good (if expensive) experience--and I was impressed by how comprehensive the exam was. The instructor took me on busy roads, little roads, large roundabouts and dual carriageways, had me demonstrate various types of manouevres and turns, asked me about how to run my car (how to test power steering, for example), and many other questions. There is no doubt that when I do pass this test I will be a better driver than before, especially when driving a manual car! The only trick will be getting back into the British driving mindset after six weeks in America.

Thank you to all of you who've posted your own transatlantic driving experiences on my previous entry. I feel your pain! And, yes, the driving lessons are very expensive, as are all of the parts of the licence process. I've spent literally hundreds of pounds when including exam fees, and that's with only about 8 lessons total (not bad, really, as my instructor assures me I'm now capable of passing the test). I don't know how British parents who pay for their children to learn every aspect of driving from an instructor ever afford it!

I should note, however, that my competitively priced instructor Tim Elmer has been fantastic and that I am definitely a better driver now than I was before (but come on, I drove for 14 years in the States with no problems, so I wasn't that bad). In order to pass the UK test, drivers here do need to reach a high standard, which is only a good thing.

We'll see if I manage to pass the first time ... I do hope so as my pocketbook can't afford another booking for awhile! I also hope that my slightly dody little secondhand car (a gift from a wonderful friend) actually survives long enough for me to take it out solo on the roads. What a day that will be!

Punting down the River Cam in Cambridge with my work colleagues on a very fun Team Day Out (it's pretty cool to live in a country where you can day trip it to Cambridge).

An ivy-covered college along the River Cam.

I attend a very English wedding, held at Thrumpton Hall in Nottinghamshire. While the bridal party poses for photographs, guests are free to explore the first floor of the house, wander about the extensive gardens and play cricket--all with glasses of Pimms in hand, of course.

The beautiful bride Jen defends the wicket (bats) in cricket as her groom Tim looks on.

My friend Ruth and I drive to the Sherwood Forest visitor's centre near Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire--let me mention with great pride that I am actually the one who did the driving (my UK driving exam is in two weeks)--to see parts of the old forest. It's filled with beautiful 900-year-old trees and their fallen friends, like these stumps here.

The Major Oak which, legend has it, was the tree that sheltered Robin Hood and his Merry Men when they retreated into the forest to escape the evil Sheriff of Nottingham. Although the tree is propped up with sticks, it is beautifully alive and is reckoned to be around 900 years old.

The 11th-century keep inside Cardiff Castle's Victorian walls, a fascinating old motte and bailey castle.

And finally, this made me giggle, especially as it followed a special sandwich called "The Chicago Experience" or something along those lines (I grew up on the outskirts of Phoenix).

After leaving Edinburgh Castle, we ducked into what looked like a little storefront selling tartan blankets and scarves and turned out to be a massive showroom with fun little weaving exhibits set up throughout.

Weaving tartan (plaid) fabric at the Scottish Tartans Museum on the Royal Mile next to the Edinburgh Castle gates.

The place is a maze and you have to walk through huge rooms and shopping areas to get out (they obviously want you to buy) but I was very happy to buy a lovely thick, tartan wool blanket that was woven right in Edinburgh. I've wanted one for ages, both for picnicking and as an extra bed blanket (they're soft and warm over a duvet on cold winter's nights) and I was glad to get an authentic one at a good price.

We then walked down a hill that was alive with spring flowers and grabbed some lunch, which we ate hillside looking over the Old Town.

After lunch we headed back to the National Galleries of Scotland (at the bottom of the hill we'd descended from the Royal Mile), which had a rather fabulous art collection with many famous pieces, such as the Skating Minister. My mother is an artist and going to art museums together is a favorite hobby, so we spent several hours in the place (taking a nice break for tea and cake in the gallery tea shop) until they shooed us out of the galleries for closing. We then spent a long time in the gallery shop until they shooed us out of there, too. "You could've made a lot more money if you'd let her stay longer," I muttered to the shopkeeper, as my art-dazed mother hurriedly brought a few more things to the till.

We strolled about the city's old town a bit more, watching sunset over the hills and ancient streets, before enjoying a great Italian meal. After this we walked up to the castle one more time, just to see the Royal Mile and city below with its nighttime light display.

Finally we caught a bus back to our charming little B&B a few miles away for a well-deserved rest before getting up the next morning for a hot breakfast and sojourn to Stirling.

Pausing on my way across a railroad bridge in Edinburgh

It'd be easy enough for me to post a few comments and links about the fascinating political revolution that's going on here as newspapers publish quite shocking details about expense claim abuse by elected members of parliament (the Speaker of the House was forced to step down for the first time in 300 years...longer than our Constitution has been in existence).

Or I could post solely about the amusing cultural differences between America and Britain, some of which still have the power to shock me and others. A recent example is when a male American visitor found a piece of litter on the floor and offered to "toss it," thereby sending all listeners into gales of laughter--except for me, who was thoroughly confused until a friend explained under her breath that, over here, that statement does not necessarily mean throwing the litter in the trash can. (Sorry, can't write the slang translation here, so look it up).

However, the last two weeks have been especially intense for me because of a few frightening family illnesses back home in Arizona (which I can only follow from afar and with anxious phone calls and prayers) and also because I've had to make difficult decisions about the future.

I'm happy to announce that both family health situations seem to be resolving in a hopeful manner for both my grandmother and my as-yet-unborn baby niece. I can also now announce that I've made a major decision for my future--I intend to settle in England for the next several years. I actually made this decision quite awhile ago, but have been waiting for several matters to resolve so that I am able to do this in a way that fits my visa and economic needs. I'll post more about that decision in the future (trust me, it wasn't easy....leaving one's home is never easy, no matter how much one feels called to a new home), but I hope it explains why posting light, frothy comments on this blog that was supposed to follow my one year abroad in England has become increasingly tricky.

Yes, life has been an adventure since I came here in September 2007, but adventures always come at a price, as I'm sure most people who've had them will admit. However, I can solidly testify that, despite all of the pain, frustration and homesickness, this adventure has been absolutely worth it.

The approach to Edinburgh Castle, at the top of the Royal Mile.

We were there in mid-March and I couldn't believe how wonderful the weather was. Temperatures were probably around 40-50 Fahrenheit (not bad, trust me) and it was sunny every day. The daffodils and crocuses were just starting to come out around the city and the grass was green. We loved it, and views from the castle were stunning.

Looking out over the city from the castle, which is built on an extinct volcano.

Edinburgh Castle is a fantastic site, maintained by Historic Scotland. Most of the buildings are from the 1500s, but St. Margaret's Chapel is a surviving 12th-century structure.

Windows

But it's not just a bunch of old buildings. There are scores of fascinating exhibits, including the Honours of Scotland, Scotland's crown jewels. Alongside the Honours of Scotland you'll see the Stone of Destiny, the ancient stone used in the coronation of Scottish and British monarchs. Seeing that stone felt like being in a legend come to life.

View of King Arthur's Seat, another extinct volcano at the opposite end of the old town, from Edinburgh Castle.

You also learn scores about Scottish and British military history, and one unexpected treat was visiting the former prison, which displays graffiti and handiwork by American prisoners who were held there during our Revolutionary War (though in Britain they perfer to call it the War of Independence).

View of the city from an old gun hole (probably not its technical name).

While exploring the castle, I highly recommend buying a personal audio guide to help you understand the site. The explanations on the guide are simply packed with fascinating history, trivia and architectural information, and improved my visit immeasurably.

A row of guns, picturesque now but extremely important during the days of sieges and wars.

If you are visiting Scotland for less than 10 days, I also suggest purchasing a Historic Scotland Explorer Pass. Our 3-day passes gave us free access to all Historic Scotland sites for just 21 pounds per person, as well as 20 percent discounts on audio guides. As we visited both Stirling Castle and Caerlaverock Castle over the next few days, it was a bargain, indeed.

Castle walls.

Finally, I recommend spending an entire day at the castle. We were there about four hours and, even though we were a group of history buffs and keen explorers, there was just so much to see and take in that our eyes started to glaze over about 1:00 and we left for lunch and an afternoon of continued sightseeing.

"Fair fa your honest sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin race,
Aboon them a ye take yer place,
Painch, tripe or thairm,
As langs my airm."

Charles is confused, so he just grins and moves on to the next patient. The patient responds:

"Some hae meat an canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat an we can eat,
So let the Lord be thankit."

Even more confused, and his grin now rictus-like, the Prince moves on to the next patient, who immediately begins to chant:

"Wee sleekit, cowerin, timrous beasty,
O the panic in thy breasty,
Thou needna start awa sae hastie,
Wi bickering brattle."

Now seriously troubled, Charles turns to the accompanying doctor and asks "Er, is this a psychiatric ward?"

"No," replies the doctor, "This is the serious Burns unit."

(FYI: Robert Burns)

The release of U.S. sea captain Richard Phillips and related Somali piracy stories have dominated headlines here in Britain. Have they done the same in America?

After we spent a few days here with friends in Nottingham, we hired a car (and put 1,300 miles on it in one week!) and drove north towards Edinburgh, probably about a 5-hour drive from Nottingham. But we took our time on the way up, stopping first in the historic city of Durham (It's England. It's all historic). Durham's city centre is a charming little warren of twisty, narrow streets winding up a hill and past intriguing shops. Park in the city centre car park for a few quid (pounds) and wander up the hill. Within 10 minutes you'll arrive at the park bordered by the castle and cathedral.

My dad and friend Ruth in front of the Norman-era Durham castle, now part of the local university.

I didn't take any good photos of the cathedral, first built in the 11th and 12 centuries, so go here to learn more about it and see photos. I was very impressed not only by the building, known as "the greatest Norman building in England, possibly in Europe" but also by the wonderful sense of local community and history housed within. Although it is a grand building it is also a parish church, and memorials to local boys killed in the 20th century wars and also lovely modern artworks only enhance the experience. I highly recommend this tourist stop.

For those who are able, I also strongly recommend paying a few pounds more to climb the very long, very steep, very winding staircase up to the roof of the cathedral dome. Climbing hundreds of old steps is an experience itself, but the view from the top is incredible.

I think these are buildings of the adjacent Durham University, as seen from the roof of Durham Cathedral.

We climbed back in the car and an hour later passed the turn for the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, which is reached by driving on a causeway at low tide. We checked and were there just about at low tide, so we drove across and spent another hour exploring the island.

It was windy but lovely at the old Lindisfarne priory grounds.

This friendly horse came up for a pat as we walked through its paddock on the public footpath leading through the the 11th-century priory ruins, past a local parish church and then down to the beach.

We didn't have time, sadly, to visit Lindisfarne Castle, a stunning 16th-century property maintained by England's National Trust.

We were blessed with sunny, warmish weather almost the entire two weeks that my parents visited. They--used to the Arizona desert sun--wrapped up on the gusty island, but my English friend and I were delighted to shed our coats and enjoy the spring warmth as we set off on our adventure.

But, alas, it was raining all day. And so I hung my clean, wet washing on various radiators around the home, making the usual mental calculation to figure who'd be entering by the front door and if it was safe to hang underwear there. Yet a shift has occurred within me...I no longer mind this task! This is definitely a change, as previous entries here, here and here all attest.

I didn't realize how English I'd become in this regard--proud to save energy by hanging up laundry instead of using a dryer--until I read this excellent feature in National Geographic's March issue about saving energy at home. It's long but full of great advice. If you don't have time to read it, just look at this photo. I will note, however, that one of the families who undertakes the energy-saving challenge in the article decides to go back to using their dryer after all, because they have 3-year-old twins and do 15 loads of laundry a week! Sounds like a good plan to me.

But I had to laugh while watching live BBC footage the other night of Barack and Michelle Obama's meeting with Queen Elizabeth II after the presenter solemnly announced that President Obama had brought for the queen ... an iPod. Now it should be noted that it's a very nice iPod, with photos of Her Majesty's 2007 American visit already uploaded and also accompanied by a rare songbook signed by great American composer Richard Rodgers. But an iPod? Really? After all, the queen is a rather elderly woman and, as technologically savvy as both of my emailing, texting grandmothers (both younger than the queen) are, I can't imagine either one of them joining the iPod revolution. My friends and I had fun the next morning imagining the queen and her iPod.

"She'll be the same queen," Trevor said, "it's just that in all photo shoots from now on you'll notice her subtly bobbing her head and tapping her feet to the music nobody else can hear."

The L.A. Times says we should give Obama a break on the gift gaffes because, after all, we all struggle with gift giving. But I'm more enamored of this idea by Chicago Tribune cultural critic Julia Keller--from now on, the president should give only books.

P.S. I like the breadth and humor of the Daily Mail story I link to in the first paragraph, but the story does contain a cringeworthy error, referring to that "famous line ... from Casablanca, 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.'" Casablanca? Hello! You don't even have to see the film to know that it is from Gone With the Wind. Maybe the Brits need those DVDs after all.

Their visit and our adventures have already produced enough stories to fill a book, not to mention a whole heck of a lot of photos, many of which will soon be on these pages. One thing that I've really noticed since they've arrived, though, is how much England has become home. I see my Mom and Dad trying to navigate the grocery store, understand terms of speech (like "homely" for "homey" and "wind me up" for "annoy me") and I suddenly realize how far I've come. I'm trying to help them out by sharing my hard-won knowledge about English culture, but sometimes I forget. My dad, for example, only likes his eggs cooked over hard, and it wasn't until his soft-centered egg arrived at our Edinburgh B&B that I remembered they always come here with runny yolks.

I've also been struck by the sheer number of good friends who've wanted to meet my parents and have us round for a meal. All of these experiences have really helped me realize that, in almost every way, England has become home. For now.

And now I must pack my little suitcase once again because we are off to Cardiff and Swansea!

Winter sunshine on the Thames, from the Millennium Bridge

When we were preparing to go out for a meal, my friend Ronnie said, "There's a pub just down the road from St. Paul's that looks all right."

"Really, what's it called?" I asked.

"Ah, it's probably Ye Olde London Pub or something like that," Ronnie said, and we all snickered at those tourists who would want to find a place named that. We set off in a large laughing, chattering group towards this pub, but I stopped short when Ronnie shouted, "Steph, you're not going to believe this! It really is called "Ye Olde London Pub!"'

"No way," I said. "You just made that up."

But sure enough, the sign said "Ye Olde London Pub."

"OK, so you knew it was here," I told him. "Nice one."

Ronnie was laughing so hard he could barely speak.

"No, I didn't," he said. "I just tried to come up with a cheesy name that would appeal to tourists, and here we are."

We trooped into Ye Olde London Pub and had a blast.

Ronnie, his wife Sam and our friend Kristen point gleefully at the sign reading "Ye Olde London Pub" (which sadly is not in my snapshot)

View of London from the top of St. Paul's Cathedral

This sculpture look familiar? It's an oversized styrofoam (polystyrene) version of Alexander Calder's "Flamingo," the red steel sculpture that stands in Chicago's Federal Plaza. It's part of the fascinating multimedia exhibition TH.2058 by Dominique Gonzalez Foerster, now on exhibit at the Tate Modern.

St. Paul's Cathedral by night

In my old life as a full-time journalist, this news would have affected me cerebrally, although my emotions would certainly have gotten involved if I'd been assigned a story on the crisis and worked to faithfully tell the stories of those I'd interviewed.

Now, however, working as a part-time journalist but also serving full-time at a church, I am confronted nearly every day with the reality of these difficult times. One of my jobs is working as a support worker for Christians Against Poverty, a national charity that offers free money management courses and comprehensive debt counselling programs, and I'm constantly speaking with clients who are desperate to get back on their feet but can't because they simply can't get enough work. Even if they have jobs, their hours are falling as the ripple effects of the recession spread through the economy.

The financial woes were brought home to me last Saturday, as well, when I joined a regular team of church folks who offer prayer on the streets of Nottingham's city centre. It sounds crazy, I know, but we offer to pray for anyone's physical or emotional needs, and I was pretty surprised the first time I tried it by the number of people who sat down--Christian or not--and asked us to pray for them. We usually do pray for people with physical needs, but last Saturday I was approached by a man who said, "I'm jobless. I need to find one. Can your team pray for me?"

I recently saw a 2007 episode of Dr. Who where the Doctor and his lady Martha traveled back in time to 1930s Manhattan to discover that the evil Dalek race had infiltrated the city's infrastructure. I think I need to watch it again, because at least in that show the good guys win.

I was on my way to a presentation for work and, as yesterday's post made abundantly clear, I am not yet able to drive myself there (and I freely admit this is a good thing, too!). I was laden with expensive video equipment, so I enjoyed the luxury of a cab ride instead of a string of buses or my bicycle. En route to my destination, the chatty cab driver asked what part of America I was from. When I told him I'd lived most recently in Chicago, we got into the usual conversation about the weather.

"You get lots of snow there from the lake effect, don't you?" he said knowledgeably.

I was amazed.

"How did you know about lake effect?" I asked. The usual reaction to Chicago is generally along the lines of, "Isn't that somewhere in the middle?" or "Yes, I've seen it on ER."

"I actually spent six months in America a few years back," said the driver.

"Really?" I asked. "Where did you go?"

"Everywhere," he said modestly. "I drove to each state."

"That's really cool," I said. "No wonder you took six months."

"I also drove to each state in alphabetical order, even Alaska. I had to do some flying for Hawaii, though. " he continued. I think at this point my jaw literally dropped.

"Alphabetically?" I asked. "That's absolutely incredible. Are you serious?"

The driver, whose name, by the way, is Harry Keeling, was serious. The year he turned 55 he decided to make his year, doing exactly what he wanted, and the goal he set for himself was driving to the state capital of all 50 states--in alphabetical order, of course. That meant going from Alabama to Alaska, from Nevada to New Hampshire.

Harry and I chatted a bit more, and he passed on his Web site with stories from his travels. He was also the subject of an ongoing BBC Radio Nottingham feature during his adventure.

"You're like Stephen Fry, only without the London cab and the production crew," I said.

"And the money," he added.

Soon we arrived at my destination, but not before Harry had given me a leaflet advertising an upcoming production of "The Graduate" at the Nottingham Arts Theatre.

"I always like talking to Americans," he said. "It helps me work on my accent for the part. I play Mr. Robinson."

Harry describes himself as a jack of all trades, master of none, but it seems clear to me he's more along the lines of a Renaissance Man.

"I still can't imagine visiting all of the states in alphabetical order," I said, climbing out of the cab. "That's a lot of driving."

"Ah, but I like driving," Harry said with a smile. I shut the door and he pulled away.