Fabulous Things About America: Mother's Day

This is the seventeenth Mother's Day that I have spent without my mother.

 And it is the first that my father has spent without his mother.

  
It is hard to imagine a greater priveledge than spending Mother's Day with my three sisters, who are now mothers themselves.

Fabulous Things About England # 30: Famous Landmarks

Solsbuy Hill of Peter Gabriel fame

 You know that Bath is famous because of Peter Gabriel, right? His recording studio is just around the corner in Box, Wiltshire. Box is, of course, less famous for housing Box Tunnel, which housed munitions and important people in WWII. More famous than Box Tunnel is Box Hill, which features prominently in Jane Austin's Emma. As famous as Austin has made Box Hill, Peter Gabriel made Solsbury Hill even more famous.

The Television Screen.

It's gorgeous outside. The sun has just dipped below the hills west of the house, so the fields below the are innumerable shades of green and the neighbors horses are gently grazing. I'm watching friends and thinking about everything that somehow must get done tomorrow. It isn't much really, but I'd like to finish the shawl I'm crocheting and that feels like a pleasure. As a child of protestant America, I'm not allowed to do the pleasurable until the work gets done. I'm likely to finish that shawl sometime next January--unless we're suddenly allowed crochet hooks on planes.

Sherry at Wherever She Goes  in Alaska has given up her family's home internet and television. They've not done it for the same reasons that so many essayists and editorialists seem inclined to mention. It isn't about saving her daughter from the red monster, nor is it about rejecting a modern way of life.  Rather Sherry and her husband would like to buy a house one day. Getting rid of the telly and the intermonster have done all of those other things for them, but it is also allowing another $100 a month to go towards that one-day home.

My current big purchase dreams are a sewing machine, a bed of my own, and dishes. It's difficult for me to remember that the Great British need to buy a home isn't part of my own experience or make-up. Culture here demands that one of a young person's goals should be to own a home. There are some good reasons for that that I may get to another day when I'm feeling brave. But it wasn't until I moved here that I ever thought that owning a home was important. I certainly didn't see renting as a problem, particularly since I didn't have children.

While I could now, given the right job in the right income bracket, afford a mortgage in the States, I carry a lot of student loan debt. Even at the height of the economic-ruination bonanza, I wouldn't have been able to get a mortgage for exactly that reason. So what money I do have to save goes in the sewing machine/new bed/dishes category. I'd happily give up the television for a sewing machine, but we don't pay for television. I can't give up the internet--I use it to do my job. And for me, there are many other negotiations involved.

When I moved into the flat, I only expected to be here for eighteen months. A year before moving in here, I'd given away or taken most of what I owned to the transfer station, left a few boxes with friends, and simply left some of it behind in the cabin. Giving those things up wasn't difficult; the reality of living out of two suitcases was. I no longer owned a bed or a chair, so I tried not think about who else had slept in the beds in my rentals. I tried to remember not to balance my coffee cups on a the couch cushions, and I was very careful not to obtain things I might want to keep. I did bring a skillet, a soup pot, cutlery, and bedding with me.

Back then, it made sense to move into a partially furnished house with a housemate who had enough kit to fill out most of it. Over time, my own belongings have begun to bulge from my room, off my bookshelf, and out of my cupboard. More than that though, I'm longing to make a home of my own. I don't want to need to apologize when I break a glass. I want to be able to put my headboard against any wall in the house rather than having to think about our shared wall, I want bowls that aren't blue. It all comes down to another desire--I want my life and decisions to stop being made on the basis of transience.

When I first moved into the flat, we didn't have a landline or internet. I did most of my work at the local or uni library, and I felt like I was allowed to watch telly when I got home. I did a three-year master's degree in the States. Inevitably, I had class on a Thursday night. For the following year and a half, I taught on a Thursday night. Those first six months of evenings in this flat were spent getting caught up on Friends two episodes at a time. I got into the habit (or back into the habit) of keeping the television on for the sake of noise and company.

It is looking increasingly like I am not going to find a job that pays enough to keep me in the country under the points based system. Still I need a job in addition to the teaching I do online to live out my UK visa days. As I said, the television isn't mine. I don't own it, and it sits in communal space. I'd like to see it gone because my own will-power isn't enough to keep me from turning it on and ignoring the things I need to be doing on the internet.

A Walk in The Woods

Last week, I met up with an old friend and her two boys. We went on a walk to find a wood. We were looking for a particular wood, but we only knew it existed because my friend had accidentally found it while lost a few summers ago. This time we had to find it while not-lost. So we went in search of the wood that we knew existed somewhere near enough to walk but far enough away to have once lost our way. It was a rather perfect day for a journey with two small people, two big people, a packed lunch, and a pushchair (stroller). Pushchairs, by the by, can be lifted over kissing gates.

Like this one, many built-up areas in this part of the UK, have protected green space for wildlife, socializing, and long walks. We did manage to find the wood by looking up high for a copse of trees and walking toward them. We sat on this log and had our sandwiches. This cat followed us in and rather begged to be photographed. The floor (ground) of the wood is covered in bluebell plants. They should spring out sometime this month.

We saw the many places the Wiltshire Wildlife Trust had begun to make habitat for birds and hedgehogs and children inclined to playing house. The wood is rather small, if you consider that I used to live in Alaska, but like all planned wilderness in England, it has been perfectly formed to make long walks possible. The trees have been coppiced. It's a rather brilliant way of cutting back trees almost to the ground to create quick and thick regrowth and assures more wood for future use. One of the things people will tell you here is that island nations learned early the necessity of renewing resources--even if they are now having to remember that heritage. Coppicing and copses have a long history in the UK, and the British are particularly fond of their woods.The human need for a bit of nature seems a foregone conclusion to them.

I suppose that is rather obvious as so many of us grew up with the stories of Pooh and Tiger who lived in a wood. I have it on good authority that this is Piglet's house. Piglet, of course, couldn't climb the tree. His door had to be down and close to the ground. We did knock, but he wasn't in. I suspect we should have rung first, rather than just calling in. Surely then he would have been expecting us.

I can imagine spending a rather perfect childhood here. Doesn't it seem that this path leads to a long journey to just about anywhere? There is no poison oak or ivy here, and if you stand quietly enough, you can imagine noise from the motor way is simply a nearby ocean.

Even perfect days have to end. I've tried objecting and running alongside a small boy on a bicycle and sitting quietly reading books, but those things only extend the joy before dusk settles in. These are early spring flowers. I've been seeing them on people's lapels recently. What are they? What do they symbolize?

Warning: Census Exacebates Existential Crises

I'd been relatively excited for the census form to come through the letter slot. It landed in the hallway many days ago. It's a little like those Christmases when all I asked for was a scarf, and I was given warm socks, gloves, and stacks of books. I'd feel so tremendously grateful, but my neck would still be cold. My cold neck would keep telling me about the wind chill factor, even as my feet thanked my sister for the new wool socks. It wasn't a lack of gratitude, just a niggling whinge. I'd send my neck to bed without supper. That usually solved the problem.

At first I wondered if my great nieces and nephews would take the time, a hundred years from now when the specifics are released, to track down my name. I wondered if they would try to piece together who I was and perhaps why I was here instead of in the States. I wondered what they would know that I do not yet know. Do I remain? Can I be found in the 2021 census U.K citizenship in hand? Or, will they have to search for me in Australia or Canada or America or Belize? Will I finally be the maiden aunt that my three nephews and niece recalled seeing once every few years but not much after my fiftieth birthday? Will they know that the book, any book of mine, had finally been published? Will it seem odd to them that I hold an Academic title or will they know already? What will they make of the scattering of information the census will give them?

 They most certainly will not know that my pen hesitated and hovered when it came to giving my country of birth. It is an easy question. I am, by birth or otherwise, not English, Welsh, Scottish, Northern Irish, or from ROI. I am without question from Elsewhere, Write in the Current Name of Country. Black tick mark, USA, and I am forever listed, by my own hand as foreign.

When did you most recently arrive to live here? How long do you intend to stay? Are you in good health? Do you help family and friends? Is your national identity: English or Irish, Scottish or British, or Other Write In? And your ethnic group: English / Welsh / Scottish / Northern Irish / British, Irish, Gypsy or Irish Traveller, or  Any Other White Background Write In? What passport do you hold: United Kingdom, Irish,  Other Write In?

I'm grateful to the UK for a lot of things. This year's census isn't one of them. So here is the story I would have told had I been given enough space.

Household Questions:
H6: Name of person 1, Name of Person 2
Actually our names haven't changed since question H3.

Individual Questions:
1. What is your name?
Actually my name hasn't changed since question H3 and H6.

4. On 27 March 2011, what was your legal marital or same-sex civil partnership status?
Never married and never registered in a same-sex civil partnership. It's terribly redundant by the way. The courts have been very clear that same-sex relationships cannot become marriages and dual-sex relationships cannot become civil partnerships. As for my marital status, I'm not married. Or if you prefer the term my grandmother used to use, I'm 'still single.' Yes, I know that I just told you that I'm thirty-three. Yes, I know that this government would let me have some extra dosh if only I'd go ahead and get hitched. Yes, I'm aware that there are a lack of marriages, if you ask some, and my singleness will lead to practical starvation in my old age. If you must know, no one will have me. And even if someone would have me, I'd have to ask permission of the government to get married seeing as I'm foreign. It's been months since I thought about it, so thank you for reminding me.

9)What is your country of Birth?
Elsewhere, write in name of Country, USA. I'd have spelled it out, but those whole nine spaces you've left me to do so, were oh so helpfully too short. Clearly, I am an American. Don't you read the blog?

10)If you were not born in the UK, when did you most recently arrive to live here?
12/2005. And in a few months time when the current government stands up in parliament to whinge about all those people who have outstayed their original visas, had the nerve to pay for a new one, filled in the all of the paperwork, sat in processing centers, and been given permission to stay longer, I'll know that you mean me. Never mind the countries actual need for highly educated persons. No, I know that you'll spit me out as one of those statistics that imply that I am clearly taking advantage.

14) Do you look after or give any help or support to family members, friends, neighbors or others because of long-term physical or mental ill-health/disability. Problems related to old age?
Yes. Do you think that you could mention that alongside question 14, please?

15) How would you describe your national identity?
American. I'm foreign. I'm pretty sure we covered that before. I really want to describe myself as British, but I suspect that that isn't really what you mean.

16) What is your ethnic group?
Any other white background, please write in. American. Can we please, please, please only use the word ethnic when it is definitionally appropriate? And maybe you could consider that ethnicity does not exist except as a way to define the other. Someone remind me to address the ethnic group debate here and in the US.

22. What passports do you hold?
Can we talk about this? Would it worry you if I said Martian? I'm an American. I'm foreign. I am here legally. I get that I am not a British citizen. Can this be the last question that highlights this, please? It is. Good.

25. Which of these qualifications do you hold?
So I told them, but then they wanted me to tick a box if those qualifications are foreign. But only part of them are. Hmmm. I do feel for the statisticians.

34. What is your full and specific job title? Hourly paid lecturer. Yes, it is exactly the same job I held before coming here and spending a lot of time obtaining a PhD. Yes, it is true that I thought a PhD would get me a full-time permanent position. No, I couldn't have predicted that I would ever live through such a deep recession as this. Yes, I should have predicted that the humanities would be considered a convenient line item i the budget here and abroad. Yes, I see that I should have followed my mother's advice and become and engineer. No, becoming an engineer now will do me zero good, since new engineers are making a pitance.

38. In your main job, what is the name of the organisation you work for? The University of ________. Um Yes, I do see that that is not in the UK. Did I mention giving up a shop job to take another job and the new company going bankrupt? Did I mention that I love teaching online, but it doesn't actually pay the bills? I get that I am a complete failure in the obtaining work paying 35,000 pounds a year in order to fulfill the points-based system requirements. I get that that number is 11,000 pounds a year higher than it was 18 months ago. I get that I am more ancient in the land of the points based system than I am on the marriage market. I get that I am well qualified for work that you are desperate to have filled, but that work does not fulfill the 35,000 pound requirement. Thanks for bringing it up.

42. In your main job, how many hours a week (including paid and unpaid overtime) do you usually work? That depends on whether you ask the university or you actually add up my hours. Do you really want to have this conversation?

Declaration.
My name, today's date, and my telephone number are exactly the same as they were an hour ago.

I must sound even more bitter to you all than I do to myself. The purple form has been filled in (out) and popped in the mail. I'm reasonably certain that I'll not see another census form for at least nine years. By that time, we could all be living on Mars.

As for the above photograph:  All government forms in this country have a pastel main color with bright color highlights. Those of you who work in design can perhaps tell me why it is Easter year road in the government forms department. The census is no different. It's pastel purple with true purple highlights. True purple is also the universal color; it looks good on all of us. Boy does it stand out with the other mail. I feel like it should have been what we called diarrhea green when we were kids. Maybe I'm being unfair  because Census 2011 made me want to blow chunks (wasn't being a kid fun?).

Edit: Kym of the Kanon Collective in Denver points out that purple, as a royal colo(u)r, seems appropriate for any form which counts the Queen's many citizens.

Posted: No Visitors or Friends on 27 March 2011

It is census season in the UK. In theory, we all fill in our census forms on 27 March 2011. This means that any overnight visitors on that Sunday night must also appear on our form. The form is long. I have no desire to fill it out on a Sunday night. We've gone ahead and filled in the thing. I do not want to have to fill it out any further. So while I love each and everyone of you, you are absolutely not welcome here on census night.

Thanks for your kind wishes and thoughts. I haven't disappeared, but I have had the sickness bug (stomach flu) and a pile of marking (grading)  keeping me far from the blog. Oh, and the census form made me cry.  I will learn to post well in advance. I will learn to post well in advance.

Bleh

Last Spring

We are still gray sky and blah. Here in Bath, we had short periods of sunshine yesterday. None of them lasted long enough for me to get my trainers (tennis shoes) on and go soak up some vitamin D. I am not really certain why this winter seems to have lasted so long. I've lived through longer, colder, and darker ones--often all in the same year. I hated those too.

I am reminded that by the calendar spring isn't quite here. The vernal equinox isn't due for another seventeen days, and our average temperatures are not that much lower than in a typical year.  And all of the signs of spring are showing their glorious faces. The snowdrops and across the road the forsythia are in full bloom. From the bus in Box, I saw my first lambs of spring. Those last were by all accounts a bit early. Usually the Corsham lambs are the first to catch my eye, but soon the countryside behind my house will be feeding hundreds of them.
 
When I'm done with winter, but winter is hanging on to me, I am given to fits of impulse. In college, I'd fill my car with petrol (gas) and drive until my tank was half empty. I don't miss being a driver, but I do miss driving seventy on my way to wherever I end up.  Sometimes when the gauge hit half-empty, I'd decide to just keep going anyway. It's how I saw a lot of Tenessee, most of Ohio, and more than a bit of Kentucky. It's how I memorized all of the songs on John Mellencamp's American Fool. Petrol was cheap in those days.

When I first started writing here, I didn't tell anyone I knew about the blog. I saw it as a place where I could be whatever version of me I wanted to be. I saw it as a place where I could complain about my family and be uncouth in my wording. Then I started writing things that I wanted seen by the people who have known me for most life, and some of those people started dying. It was then too that something extraordinarily nice began to happen, people I didn't know started reading. I supposed that it was a combination of those two things--the loss of old friends and the meeting of new ones--that made me think that I'd like the comments here to be more of a conversation. But the new Disqus system was most definitely a product of a spring fever induced impulse. I don't know how I feel about it yet. It's entirely possible that I'll change my mind about it this evening. In theory, it should tell you when someone replies to your comments. We'll see.

In the meantime, a friend has kindly offered me a ticket to a reading tonight. I'm off to try to get out of the bleh.

Fabulous Things About England #28: Bus Stops

I used to drive. During my last winter in Alaska, I taught at a high school, the university, and the community college arm of the university. My close friends lived ten to twenty miles in the other direction. It was the rare day that I put less than sixty miles on my car, and the rarer day that I did not drive at all. I was last in the States four years ago; I haven't driven a mile since. Now when friends text and ask where I am, the answer is almost invariably on the bus, waiting for a bus, or wondering where the bus is. I do not miss the driving. It would take me much more time to travel from home to town if I took a car, but there are days when I tot up the hours spent queuing at the big blue and white signs.

Bath Abbey, February 2011

I stand nowhere more frequently than in front of a bank, looking out at Bath Abbey. I must have hundreds of photographs of those same flying buttresses. Very little changes. The same buses drive by me. The tourists ask for the same directions, and the clock turns or does not turn the time. It's easy to forget the happy luck that brought me here to look not on strip malls but on architecture greater than any I had seen before. It is as easy here as it was in Alaska to forget to see what I'm looking at, to forget to appreciate this city for what it is. I'm trying to remember to note that the abbey, aided by the light and sky, has moods of it's own.

I've lived here for five years now, and it has only recently occurred to me to photograph the back of the Abbey, to take the time to stand back and take in the whole of the building, to wonder what it looked like before the taxi rank twirled around it. What, I wonder, did those hundreds of years of tired people think when contemplating their place below its towers.

The Weather Two Weeks From Here

Generally speaking, Bath gets New York City's weather two weeks later. Often their snow manifests itself as freezing cold rain, and their rain manifests itself as a deluge. Soaring temperatures in New York mean balmy afternoons and generalized whinging about 27 (80F) degree days. I suspect that we are just a few weeks away from freezing temperatures, and perhaps the beginning of spring is further out than I want to believe.

In the meantime, in the detritus of autumn the first blooms are beginning to show.