Moving from America to England (From Hereford Times)

Moving from America to England

7:31am Monday 6th November 2006

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I’m going to tell you a true story. It’s a love story with complications (aren’t they all?) It spans two continents. It’s about how I met a wonderful man through a dating site on the Internet. I will tell you how four years of correspondence resulted in marriage and a life-changing move. I am also going to attempt to tell you of the adjustments my husband, myself and family had to make in order to cope with my new life all the while living in a foreign country. While the country I was about to move to was English speaking, I was going to wonder if I would ever understand the people around me.

The people you will meet along the way will be my husband Tony, his mum Thelma and step dad David, Tony’s two children by his first marriage, Juliet and her brother Chris and my two children by my first marriage Betsy, her husband Duffy, her children (my grandchildren) Cole age 7 and Cassie age 4 and my youngest daughter Tricia who at this writing is single. Between us we have four children. I find this to be amazingly ironic because when I was married the first time at the way too tender age of 19, I wanted four children. It was only because I had lost two babies in between Betsy and Tricia that I didn’t have four. There are others you will meet, Berta, who is my closest and dearest friend, Lindy, another dear friend and the woman what made it possible for us to have a lovely wedding and her sweet hubby Bobby. You will also meet There are others I will mention along the way who are real people and who won’t mind me including them in this story.

They say that the U.S. and the U.K. are two countries divided by a common language. Boy, ARE they divided! Along the way, in order that you don’t find it difficult to understand the many different British terms and words that don’t normally appear in American English, I have put the American English equivalent wherever necessary in parenthesis. In addition, I hope to entertain you with my trials and tribulations, as well as my most wonderful adventure. Don’t let anyone tell you life begins at 40 because for me it began at nearly 50 and 3,000 miles from home.

My biggest hope is that while reading this you will get a chuckle or what the heck, maybe even a big old belly laugh or at the very least be able to identify with my story in some way. Laughter to my husband Tony and me is one of the most important factors in the success of our marriage, and for that matter our success in life. We felt it was important enough to write it into our marriage vows. We left out the “in sickness and health” part because that bit really goes without saying. If you love some one, you are there for them no matter what but if you can’t laugh along the way at the stuff life tosses your way (and we were going to definitely have some ‘stuff’ tossed at us), you might as well crawl into a hole and let life pass you by because laughter is essential to living.

I also hope that my musings will encourage you to find your own adventure, to live life a bit more fully and enjoy whatever comes your way. We aren’t here on this earth for a very long time so we need to live and laugh and love to the maximum. I fantasize about a spot on the porch of whatever retirement home my children deign to drop me on a warm summer’s day rocking away the day and remembering what a great adventure my life was to live.

There was a time in my life where I thought life was only black and white. There were rules, rules and more rules put down before me that I was expected to follow. Along the way I found the people that made those rules were only human and as humans, very fallible. I had to learn the hard way that everything in the world isn’t black and white. There are lots of grey areas. Sometimes what’s right for you isn’t right for me. Sometimes a choice you make isn’t going to agree with the choices I make. Sometimes people are going to be critical of your choices but like me, you’ve got to learn to live for yourself and those you love even if along the way someone doesn’t agree with you. You will be a stronger, better person for it.


To tell you my story, you need some background about me and how I got this to this point in my life. Merry Olde England! Thirty years ago, I was a young woman growing up in Ashtabula and Conneaut, small Mid-Western towns in North Eastern Ohio. Should someone have asked me if I thought I would ever have the opportunity to visit England let alone live there, they would have heard a resounding “NO”! (But then life NEVER takes us where we expect it to does it! And how wonderful that it doesn’t, how dull it would be if we could predict everything that would happen to us along life’s path!)

The town in which I was born and the neighbouring town where I grew up were so small that everyone knew everyone else’s business. They knew what you did for work, where you lived and usually who lived there before you did. If you were a prospective boyfriend, your shoe size was known, if you get my drift and girlfriends always knew the timing of your menstrual cycles. (No doubt in order to avoid you at your crabbiest times of the month.) They knew who bought a new car and whether they could afford it or not. They knew whose husband was cheating on his wife and whether the wife knew about it and was pretending she didn’t have a clue just because it was a relief to get him to leave her alone. They knew who lived in the house next door 30 years ago. It goes without saying, no one had any secrets. To the best of my knowledge those towns remain the same today. Yes, they’ve grown and progressed but it’s still ‘small town life’.

Having grown up in such an environment, I had no need for a passport. I hadn’t even had the opportunity to see much of the neighbouring states let alone consider travelling to Europe. I’d once been across to Canada when I was a little girl but don’t remember it. Woohoo, standing on the other side of the U.S. border in Canada is like standing on the other side of the street in Anytown, USA. In my mind Canada seems like an extension of the USA. I am sure there are Canadians who would disagree with me but in my narrow little world, that used to be how I visualised Canada.

But wait, I digress. Why would I want to leave the good old US of A when there so many states to see and things to do? Why leave behind the sea, sun and sand of sun drenched Florida? Yet here I am, heading towards the end of my 4th year as a new (fairly new, only slightly used) bride and resident in a small market town that’s foggy, freezing and terminally damp called Hereford, England.

Now, let’s get on with our story. I was so, oh so very, wrong when I thought it would be easy to settle in to living in England and being married again. I’ve had to adjust to things I NEVER dreamed of or could possibly have anticipated when considering my move to England. Some of the details may be a tad exaggerated, but that’s how the best stories are told—the product of telling and retelling until no one remembers exactly how it happened but we all laugh just the same. Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent and the, well…not so innocent.

There are days, lots of days, when it’s cold and misty or foggy or pouring down with rain that I wonder what WAS I thinking? But I don’t dwell on wondering what I might have been thinking for very long. I know exactly why I moved here. I AM Cinderella** (right down to the scrubbing of floors and ironing mountains of clothing.) I met my prince charming via the Internet. Hurray for the electronic age. He just happened to be British. Thus begins the saga of how I got to England as an Internet bride. . . . .

**My name is Cynthia, Cindi to all but Doctors and bill collectors. When I was a little girl, my grandfather called me Cinderella. He didn’t even know he was prophesising my future when he called me by that name.

To be continued