Unlucky

After four months living in England, I've collected quite a few new turns of phrase from the British lexicon. Some worth pondering, some worth putting away, and some that I'll pick up and carry with me. 

I came across, 'alright?' very early in my working relationship with the Brits. It was used as a greeting, set in a more despondent, worrisome tone. At least that's the way I heard it. 

You. Alright? 

Me? Alright? 

It took me awhile to respond. I actually didn't know if I was alright. I had just packed up my family of seven and moved to a new city, in a new country. I felt in over my head in a big girl's job, didn't know anyone, and it was pouring rain, and I was soaking wet from it because I forgot an umbrella. No, I don't think I'm alright. I'm far from it. So what should I say? The first couple attempts at answering this salutation were awkward, and much more truthful and transparent than any Brit is used to. There was one day when I walked into the office and four different people sequentially asked me if I was alright. It was like my hazing. Would I finally answer in a normal way? By the fourth I just said, 'yep. You ok?' I got a 'yep' back. So that's how it works. Presto. Pondered. Put away.   

In the early days, I also came across the difference between 'fine' and 'brilliant'. An idea that is fine is terrible, won't ever work, please someone send her back to the States pronto. 'Brilliant' is brilliance and hey, we might just adopt her. I think my People Officer told me something was fine early on. 'Just fine?' I asked. My Corporate Affairs Officer told me something was brilliant a little later on. I AM alright! Eventually I got more brilliants out of the other sides of the business. 

In the middle of a leadership team meeting, my Supply Chain officer told me, 'I don't want to teach you how to suck eggs, but ...'

I interrupted her, 'what did you just say?' 

'It means, I don't want to teach you something you already know.' I already knew what she was talking about, except for the turn of phrase. That's one I will be putting away and never using. 

My Technology Officer told me that the building's cables were knackered, next to another brit that commended him on his word choice. Knackered cables are not a good thing. But I love how the Brits appreciate good use of language.   

I was asked by a franchisee if I fancied a brew over an afternoon meeting in his restaurant. A brew was not a beer. It was a tea. I declined both. 

Perhaps my favorite is the use of the cheer, 'unlucky' during a sporting match. Namely, my daughter's field hockey game. And it's not so much the word itself, but how it's used that is just so British. 

A girl dribbles down the field, is wide open in front of the goal, doesn't look up to see that, shoots and misses by a mile. 'Unlucky!' Another girl doesn't stop a ball, it whizzes past her, the other teams gets it and goes to goal. 'Unlucky!' The team takes 7 shots on goal in a 60 second flurry of activity, and yet none of them go in. 'UNLUCKY!' Mary ended up scoring a goal because she was in the right place at the right time, and had a stroke of luck. I literally yelled onto the field, 'LUCKY!' 

As I reflect on Christmas this year, there is one British phrase that seems all too fitting. And it's not fine. Or brilliant. It's unlucky. 

It started with Caroline and then Jacqueline getting high fevers when my parents came for a lovely visit. Unlucky. 

It got unluckier, when Mary vomited on Saturday night ... which then made Jacqueline and I vomit early Sunday morning. Double unlucky.  

Tuesday the 23rd felt like the height of unlucky because Jacqueline went from fever, to norovirus, to pneumonia, to the doctor, to the pharmacy, to bed rest. 

Tuesday night, and we had the unlucky trifecta: Peter, Margaret and Caroline vomited. Caroline won champion chucker though, making an absolute mess all over her bed and bedding, never trying to aim for the toilet or even bathroom once. Mommy was unlucky the next day cleaning it all up. 

Christmas Eve was unlucky because 4 out of 7 Schultzes were too sick to go to Mass. Or eat a fish dinner. 

It was unlucky that Charles came to visit when all of this was happening. 

Somehow Christmas Day came and passed with luck. 

But then Bobby got sick the day after. Unlucky. 

And then Mommy got sick AGAIN the day after that. UNLUCKY and I'm not ALRIGHT! At about 2:00 AM on Saturday morning, I told Peter to take as many kids as he could on our vacation, and I would catch up. No, Bobby and I would catch up, because Bobby still had no energy. Fine.  

So on the 27th, while Peter and the girls landed in Rome, I laid in bed, thinking how unlucky. How despondently British have I become, crying over watching Love Actually wrapped in a blanket, trying to sip water. I'm worser than worse. Curseder than cursed.  

Until I woke up the next day, boarded a flight with Bobby to meet up with my family, put away my 'unlucky' bug, and realized just how incredibly lucky I was.  

As all matters of thoughts crossed my head while I was sick, sick, sick, I realized 30,000 feet in the air, that yes, we are doing life differently. And yes, it's not tried and true, and the American ideal. Yes, I'm coaching five kids on being resilient. Yes, things are hard. Yes, it was different celebrating Christmas away from my family, getting all the pictures of dinner tables where we weren't present. And yes, everyone had the sickness in sequential order. But as we have wandered around the streets of Rome, all I can think about is how entirely blessed we are, and how lucky we are to have this experience living abroad.  

I'm reconnecting with language lost in Rome now. And as I learned back in 2002 while living here, I loved how the Italians express themselves. In bocca al lupo. Et mille grazie per una vita bella. 

Lo.