H - Hometown Glory - Adele

My absolute favourite Adele song! Although London is not my hometown, it is certainly my favourite city in the entire world. I've never felt so comfortable anywhere as I did the times The Hubs and I went to London. This song makes me reminisce fondly about those days.

Btw, hope you all had a wonderful Easter!

X is for Xenophobia

Xenophobia is the fear of strangers or foreigners. I can honestly say that we have encountered our fair share of Xenophobia. Being in a relationship with someone from a different country and both of us having lived in one another's country opens you up to all sorts of prejudice. These two countries are not that different from one another, England and the USA, but, for some people, they might as well be on different planets and the people be different species.

Now, don't get me wrong, not everyone I met while in England nor everyone The Hubs has met in the US have been this way. In fact, most of the people we've each met in the other's country have been very nice. However, there have been the odd folks who would fall in the Supremely Xenophobic category. This post is about those people, not the ones who have been very nice. I say that now because I know some of my readers are from other countries and some of them are even friends of mine from England. I do not want to cause any offense to them. You guys know I love you! But I would like to share some of our experiences with you.

I'll start with my experiences in England. There are three main examples of how I experienced the prejudice behind xenophobia while in England. The first one happened very soon after I moved over. The Hubs was at work and I was taking the bus in to meet him that evening so that we could go out to eat and go to the movies. I got on the bus and was seated two seats behind the driver. There was an older man - probably in his late 70's or early 80's - seated across the aisle from me. I noticed that he (the older man) kept looking at me funny, but I couldn't figure out why. Well, apparently he had heard my accent when I got on the bus and paid the driver, because he muttered "D*mn asylum seekers! They need to stay in their own country rather than coming here and taking our jobs and living off our charity!" I looked around because I was trying to figure out whom he was talking about. There was no one else on the bus but me and him! When we got to his destination, he gave me one last disgusted look and then got off the bus.

I have to say I couldn't believe anyone could believe I was an asylum seeker! I'm American for crying out loud! Why would I go to England seeking asylum?! There is no need for me to seek asylum! I'm not from a country where my life would be in danger for my beliefs (not yet, anyway), so why would he think that? The ignorance just really agitated and frustrated me.

The next experience was also on a bus, but this time it was actually with the bus driver. At this point, I had been in the country a year or so and was familiar with the places I traveled to by bus. I was also familiar with how much it cost to get to where I was going. So, I would often get on the bus and order my ticket from the driver by saying the price rather than where I was going (this was actually common practice, at least in our town). This particular day, I got on the bus and said "60p (pence), please". The bus driver looked at me, rolled his eyes and said "Where you going, love?" in a very sarcastic tone. It irritated me that he acted as if I didn't know what I was talking about (the price of the ticket) but I told him where I was going and, sure enough, it was 60p to get there. I took my ticket and turned to walk down the aisle to find a seat and he muttered "F**king Yank!" Oh, my Lord! I couldn't believe anyone would actually say that where I could hear it! It made me so mad! I did report him to the bus authority, but all I got was a form letter from them (with my name spelled incorrectly, no less) stating they would investigate it and let me know their findings. That was about 8 1/2 years ago and, to date, I still don't know what the findings were because they never got back in touch.

The final episode for me happened when I had been in England for about 2 1/2 years. I was standing in line at the supermarket waiting to purchase a block of cheese (not sure why what I was purchasing is relevant, but it is a detail that sticks in my mind), when, out of the blue, the lady ahead of me in line turned around and started talking to me. That should have been my first clue there, because it wasn't common practice for people you didn't know to randomly start talking to you in a supermarket, but I didn't pay that any attention. So we chatte for a minute or so and she suddenly asked "You're not from here, are you?" I confirmed that I wasn't. She asked where I was from and I told her "Georgia, in the US." (This had to be differentiated from the Georgia in Russia in some instances, so I took to stating it that way for everyone). She said "Oh. Is that in the South?" I told her it was. Her response was "Oh." Long pause. Turning back to me with a puzzled look on her face, "Can you read?"

I was dumbfounded. I looked back and her and said "I'm sorry?" She repeated "Can you read?" I answered her "Yes, why?" Her response? "Oh, well, I just thought all Southerners were stupid." My jaw dropped open, but I recovered quickly and said "No. I'm quite intelligent, thank you!" Needless to say, that ended the conversation. She spent the next few minutes she was waiting in line glancing back over her shoulder and giving me frightened looks as though she thought I was going to attack her.

Those were my run-ins with xenophobia. Now onto The Hubs' experience.

Shortly after we moved to the US, The Hubs started a job selling life and health insurance. We had some fliers to put up with his information on them so that people could contact him if they wanted to set up a consultation, which we were going around town trying to find places to disburse the signs. We entered a local business, a place I have known my entire life and the people who own it know me. They, however, would not let The Hubs put one of his fliers in their store. They told him "We only advertise for local businesses and people." The Hubs explained to them that he lived in this town, that he was married to me, who his mother-in-law was (my mom knows EVERYONE), all to no avail. They told him they didn't advertise for "out-of-towners", which could only mean they wouldn't advertise for him because he wasn't American. It made me so angry and I wanted to say something to them, but The Hubs asked me to just let it go, so I did.

I loathe xenophobia. Not one of us (apart from those of us who are Native Americans) were originally from this country. We all came from foreign stock. The ignorance and fear that permeates the country really aggravates me. Does this mean I think immigrants should be allowed to come to this country illegally? Nope. But I do think anyone who chooses to come here and follows the legal pathways to get here (or, in fact, to any country) should be given the same advantages those who were born here have.

A Dream of the Past

I had a dream last night. I was walking through the mall that was in the town where The Hubs and I lived in England, but none of the stores were open. There were no people in the shopping centre either. It was peaceful. I wasn't trying to get into any of the stores, I was just walking around the place. I could feel myself really missing being there.

When I woke up, I found myself thinking about the dream. I still felt that sense of loss that comes with missing something. I was missing England. The place we lived, the stores we shopped in, the home we lived in, the restaurants we ate in, the experiences we had.

But the more I thought about it, the more I felt that it isn't any of those things I really miss, but the life we had there. The freedom from everything that existed there, in that time. Let me explain...

When we lived in England, it's true that I missed my home terribly. It was the first time I had ever been away from home and, even though it lasted 3 1/2 years, it was still very difficult for me. I missed my family and wanted to be closer to them. I thought that the overt childish treatment I had been given by my family all my life would have disappeared. I felt they would have grasped the fact that I had grown up in my time away from them. Sadly, that is not the case. My mother still treats me as though I'm a teenager. She asks about our finances, where we go, what we do....and not in an interested parent way, but in a "you need to ask my permission" way. She tells me what she thinks we should and shouldn't spend our money on, where and when she thinks we should go and what she thinks we should do. And if we say we're going to do something she disagrees with, her response is often "I said you're not" as though she has a right to dictate our every move.

Don't get me wrong, I do love my mother, but I need space from her. The Hubs and I need the freedom to be adults in charge of our own lives. We are 34 (The Hubs) and almost-32 (me) -years-old, if we aren't capable of running our own lives by now, surely we are in a world of trouble!

But that is only part of what I miss of our life in England. I miss that we were financially secure in a way we've never been here. As I explained in my previous post, we're okay money-wise for the area we live in, but it's nothing like the income we had in England. There we were able to put several hundred GBP per month into savings. That's how we were able to move to the States. I can't help but look at the inevitable: had we stayed in England, at this point in time we would be in a house that belongs to us rather than one we're renting from my mother; we'd already be much farther along with our TTC journey than we are now; we'd almost certainly be happier than we are now with our lives.

In England, The Hubs had held his job for 7 years and he loved it! I had a job I really enjoyed working with a Financial Advisor. We were both happy in our careers and they were lucrative. I felt unhappy there because I missed home, but we were able to visit the States at least once every 6 months. Since moving here, we've been back to England only once. It will probably be next Christmas (2011) before we're able to go back again. I hate that I can't give The Hubs the same support he gave me when I was living away from home.

In fairness, I have to say that, had our plan for moving to the USA worked the way we intended it to, I probably wouldn't feel the way I do about life in it's current incarnation. However, we never intended to settle this close to my family (we live right next door) and we never intended to be doing the jobs we're doing now. Our grand plan was to settle in Savannah and find jobs we loved. Naively idealistic to a fault, it never occurred to us that this would be too tall an asking.

It's soul-destroying to dwell on what-could-have-been and I know that. I know I should leave it alone and be happy, or, at a minimum, accepting of, the life I have now. But I'm currently in a self-deprecating and self-pitying frame of mind, so I'll simply apologize once again for feeling sorry for myself and retreat to my own mind with these thoughts. Sorry for laying this all out for you to have to sift through as well.

Sad News and Celebration of a Life

We got some sad news on Saturday. The Hubs' Grandmother passed away Saturday morning.

It wasn't unexpected. She was 95 years old and had Alzheimer's. She'd been on a downward slide for several years, but it still a difficult thing for us. Apparently she had a fall at home (where she still lived by herself - she had carers who came by everyday and The Hubs' Mum drove down to visit several times a week) on Friday and was taken to the hospital. She was stable Friday night, but had a massive heart attack Saturday morning.

The Hubs and I were up getting ready to go out of town for the day when his Mum texted him to call her ASAP. I told him to be prepared because I felt like his Gran had probably passed away.

After he spoke to his Mum, we had to decide whether to continue with our out-of-town plans or to stay at home. The Hubs decided there was really nothing we could do at home and that he felt his Gran would want us to go ahead with our plans, so that's what we did.

We went to Valdosta, GA for the day where neither of us had been before. The Hubs commented repeatedly throughout the day how much Valdosta reminded him of Sheffield, England. Valdosta was an old mill town and, even though its much more of a built up city now with the university there, the city has still managed to preserve some of its history, so The Hubs was able to see the chimneys from the mill and the water tower. The cityscape was very much like that of Sheffield with its water towers and chimneys left over from its days of being a huge mining town.

At one point, we got mislaid (to use The Hubs words - we weren't lost, just mislaid) while trying to locate the renovated mill and, in the process of retracing our steps, I happened to notice something interested set on the main road, but back from the road, so had I not been looking right at it, I never would have seen it. It was the Queen Victoria British Pub! Since The Hubs had been reminiscing all day and we were both feeling a deep loss for his Gran, I pointed it out to him and suggested we have dinner there. He readily agreed, so several hours later, we made our way back to the place.

When we walked in, it was like stepping back into England! The pub had proper English beers (although we didn't partake - The Hubs was driving and I don't really drink beer)! There was proper English food! There was proper English tea! And - in a rare moment of authentic recreation - there were proper English flags (not the Union Jack British flag, but real English flags)!

It was an astonishing and welcomed experience.

We ordered a Sprite for me and a Dr. Pepper for The Hubs and we then toasted his Gran. She loved pub meals. We always took her out to eat at a pub when we went to visit her. The Hubs ordered bangers and mash with seasonal veggies for his meal. I had Steak Diane (NY strip steak sauteed in Worcestershire sauce, sherry, shallots and mushrooms), mash and seasonal veggies. We finished off our meal with cheesecake (white chocolate raspberry for The Hubs and Chocolate Turtle for me) and a pot of hot tea.

We met and had a conversation with the owner of the pub who is also the chef. He's a Londoner and the former Executive Chef to the White House during President Ronald Reagan's time in office.

It was a wonderful evening and a most fitting tribute to The Hubs' Gran.

When we got back in the car to travel home, they were playing a Beatles' song on the radio, followed by a Wings' song. That's when we really knew. Gran had led us there. She had given us a chance to grieve for her and to celebrate her. There's no way we would have found the pub had we not gotten lost. She led us to it. Then, she wanted to make sure we knew it was her, so she had the Beatles and Wings playing for us. She was that kind of woman. She knew finances would not allow us to go to England for her funeral, so she gave us a celebration of her own.

So right now, wherever you are, please do me a favor and raise a glass in toast to a woman who meant so much to her family and friends. She's the last of her generation of friends and family, having outlived her husband and son, her best friend and all her siblings.

To Mary!

Show and Tell - Vol. 4

During my time in England, one of my very favourite (favorite) places to visit was Newmillerdam. It was a beautiful little area with a lovely lake and lots of trees where we used to take Isabel to walk. It was a 35 minute bus journey for us to get there, but we'd often go on the weekends. It reminded me a lot of home.

Beside the lake there was an old boathouse that was so gorgeous! Everytime I saw it, my fingers itched to paint it. I swore one day I would gather my easel, watercolors and painting pad and set up to capture the beautiful lines. It truly was my plan to record those memories for when I returned to the US. But, as time went on and I didn't gather the supplies and go, I realized that it, like so many dreams and plans I've had in life, was floating away like a feather on the wind, until eventually I was out of time to paint it. We moved without me ever having done what I promised myself I would do.



Now that we live in the US, my chances to paint the boathouse are very limited. We've only returned to the UK once in the almost-four-years we've been here. I hope when we go back next, I will make time to go sit and finally see my plan come to fruition. However, it won't feel the same as before. It will feel as though its missing something without Isabel being with us. That's what happens when I put things off - I find myself longing for the past.

See what the rest of the class are up to here.