Life at University is  a waste of my creativity. I am unable to ‘create’ as I once was able to whilst living at home. Perhaps its the limited technology I have, or maybe the mass amount of work I have been given (probably not that one). But no, it is neither, it is simply the fact that University has a massive social aspect to it which cannot be ignored, especially for someone in my position. After leaving Kent to attend Liverpool John Moore’s University, like most human beings, fear of rejection and fear of having no friends is very apparent, and making friends becomes number one priority.

But fear not! It is not all doom and gloom, I have created some creative aids.

Like this green screen (second attempt) which I am quite proud of!

Pretty nifty eh?

Made out of an ex-printer box and a large piece of green card, pretty simple really. Now comes the hard part of getting the lighting correct, I currently have natural light from the tiny, cell like window in my flat, the flats ceiling light, and two little lamps. A bit more tweaking with the set up and I think I will start animating hopefully by January. My parents have been kind enough to let me borrow the video camera too!

I am finding it hard to remain ambitious on my University course. Because it is a Foundation course in Computing, it is completely what I am not interested in. I have to keep telling myself to keep it up and when next year comes, I can actually do some interesting, and to me, meaningful studies. For those of you who do not know, next year I will be moving onto the degree course of Computer Animation & Visualization, which I can’t wait for!

My modules I am studying at the moment are:

• Computer Fundamentals

This module is the only module that is slightly worth while, because I really enjoy learning, and this module is quite a complex one. Involving binary addition/subtraction, truth tables, adders and half adders, and other interesting, yet unimportant computing methods.

• Computer Application Tools

This module confuses me, not because it is hard, but because I do not think it fits in with the other modules. For example, our first in class test was on Microsoft Word. We had to follow about 30 steps, telling us to use various functions that Word possesses, instructions like: Print this document, Create a table, Insert a picture. Now I understand that if some people have never used a computer before (my Nan) this would be hard for them, but for students who have probably been studying ICT since year 7, this is..well this is year 7 stuff. And God help the students who are struggling in this module, I wonder if they even know what is going on in Computer Fundamentals.

• IT Project Case Studies

This is a hard module for me to stay focused in,  being a hippy at heart, I hate bureaucracy, and our first assignment was to portray System Analyst’s and help an imaginary business with some IT problems. A presentation was also involved, where, as soon as I started talking, I instantly turned into Alan Statham from Green Wing.

• Personal Development

Apparently this other annoying module is meant to be beneficial to us, so we’ve been told, so I will give it a chance. Yet there is also a presentation involved, bad times. Basically this module tells us how to win at life.

I havent written a blog for a while, it is 3:56am and I can’t sleep, or maybe this is a dream and when I wake up it will all…no thats stupid. Anyway I suffer from a messed up sleeping pattern, like many students. I feel more like an owl than a human. Humans are designed to have a nap around 2-3 in the afternoon, which is why, if you have ever noticed, you start to feel tired around then whilst at work, time for a 30 minute power nap! But because my sleeping pattern is way out of sync, my 30 minute power nap is around 8-9 pm, which I then wake up at around 12-1 am, then not being able to sleep for 4 hours, bad times.

Things I miss from home:

• Family

Of course everyone misses their family, no matter how much of a hard case they think they are. Families are awesome!

• Home cooked meals around the table

Living of Iceland ready meals cannot be healthy (Iceland the shop, not the country, I do not get my food specially imported from Iceland), but they are too easy and quick to prepare. Plus they kick Tesco’s ready meals up the arse!

• My friends

I have few friends, but I am not complaining, I prefer my company to anyone elses, no offence intended. But I still miss them.

• The countryside

I think there is such thing as ‘Countryside’ up north but I think they just call it Scotland.

• Old English pubs in the middle of nowhere

Going to visit an old English pub, in the middle of nowhere, the sort of pub that has a sign that says: ‘No kids, dogs, French’? What more can you ask for.

• My Dad’s Camera

*Sad face* I love taking photos, and being in a vibrant city such as Liverpool offers countless photo opportunities. I will have to put up with the camera on my phone until I can afford my own awesome camera… Photos are on their way!

Quite a long blog post this morning, I am hoping making this blog post will spark my creativity again. I plan to review a couple of films in my own special way very soon.

In my surprisingly stale life these days, I find I have little of amusement to report. My day-to-day life is still great, and I still have my fun, but I feel like I’ve entered that plateau-ish bit of uni (and adulthood?) where constantly working and constantly being skint prevent any sort of social life. Or fun spending. Both of which I could definitely do with.

I’ve recently made a list of jobs I’d be interested in post-uni. While I know that it’s highly unlikely that I’ll get any of them, or that I’ll get any high-paying job for that matter, I’ve acknowledged that I’m still stuck in the part of my youth that insists I will one day be rich. I had a discussion with two of my house mates about this and how money really shouldn’t be the point of working, but really, I don’t quite care. Of course it would be amazing to do something I love, and an even more extinct sort of amazing to get paid well to do it – but when it comes down to it, as unethical as it sounds, I don’t think I’ve really drawn the line for myself in terms of how much job enjoyment I would sacrifice in order to make good money. Right now I’m just telling myself I’m amazing as fuck and will find someone to pay me to simply be that way and write books. Little chance, I know, but if I can’t believe it at twenty, then when can I?

Then again, we have the fallback of marrying rich. Wouldn’t complain.

On a less financially-minded note: I got a first – and on a paper I wrote in one evening, the day before it was due, no less! It was a 75, which I am most proud of, it was my first first. This will make little-to-no sense to my American readers (unless they’re Laura Stricker or Maggie McBride) so I shall explain. The English university grading system works as follows: Anything above a 70 is a first, anything between 60-69 is a 2:1, anything between 50-59 is a 2:2, anything between 40-49 is a third, and anything below 40 is a fail. Firsts are really an achievement, especially in your second and third years, when they actually count towards your final degree. What am I talking about, do you ask? Well, when you graduate from an English university, your overall degree comes with an attached score – a First, a 2:1, a 2:2, or a Third. So basically, when you get your degree and then go to apply for jobs, everyone knows whether you slacked at uni or if you worked your ass off. Kinda cool, if you work your ass off. Granted that I’m now in possession of a second-year first, it’s looking pretty good. Here’s hoping my other coursework will go just a smoothly.

That coursework, by the way, is more than likely not going to be typed up on Konsuke. Nope, even as I write, it is on the foreign Apple-y laptop of Laura Wells. Why is that, you ask? It is because Konsuke has up an DIED. Yeah, DIED. Possibly in a resurrectable fashion, but even his temporary death is something to be mourned, especially considering I have around 6,000 words of writing that need doing sometime in the next twenty days. Fuck, writing that down makes it sound far, far more daunting.

On a better note, though, I still love having short hair. I’m promising myself right now that I’ll never go back to long hair, because honestly, every time I think of myself with it, I cringe a little. Generally speaking that means you shouldn’t go back. Having my hair this way makes me feel much more stylish as when you only have a few inches of hair it is about one-million times easier to do stuff with it and to make it look nice. Unfortunately, it also makes me want to go out and buy the entirety of River Island, specifically this bag, which I am in motherfucking love with:

Yeah. You might call it ugly, but I call it heaven. Along with every single piece of makeup produced by Urban Decay (all of which, coincidentally, I would also like to possess) and most every other item in stock at River Island. Essentially, I have realized something very strange about myself: if I had the money (which I most definitely do not, so I’m not even going to try) I would dress exactly like a younger, slightly edgier Cruella Deville (minus the crazy and the animal slaughter). Ridiculous, I know, but DEAR GOD HOW AMAZING WOULD THAT BE. I love animal prints, black, white, and red. I’m pretty sure the only thing I would miss would bet he color blue…but then I’d look at something leopard print and I would feel okay again. If I ever do get rich, that is seriously how I’m going to dress. As a matter of fact, I’m going to go see if I can find a copy of 101 Dalmatians and have myself a movie-tastic Friday night.

Thanksgiving was yesterday, and while it wasn’t anywhere nearly as epic as last year, it was still festive. There was pseudo-turkey (i.e. chicken) and there was pie, and there was an attempt at American biscuits. Sadly, the attempt was a failed one, as my ace recipe straight from my grandmother was thwarted by a small confusion involving teaspoons, tablespoons, and baking soda. Excepting that, though, and the fact that I wasn’t exactly at home in California with my family, it was pretty awesome.

So now, basically, it’s the wait for Christmas. I’m still not quite sure how basically this entire term has escaped this blog and my general attention, but hey, nobody is perfect, and time flies. Wish me luck on my 6,000 words – knowing me, you’ll be hearing from me soon on here. Nothing makes me hit up my transatlantic like the fever of procrastination.

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays because it’s all about family, relaxation, football and kicking off the joyous holiday season. But this year, Thanksgiving was even more special for me. Being away at college for a few months has created a deeper appreciation for being with my family and enjoying the comfort and luxuries of my own home again. Here is a short video highlighting how especially thankful I am to be home this Thanksgiving (for the WordPress Thanksgiving 2009 Video Contest):

“Never have I ever felt so thankful to be home now that I’m a college student. This Thanksgiving, just having the family together again is a special enough cause to celebrate. The not-so-glamorous college life makes me cherish the simplicities of home: a good cup of coffee, a fridge full of food, the joy of showering barefoot, our giant TV screen, a warm welcoming from our kitty cats… Yeah, I’m thankful to be home.”

Song: “Wake Up” by Arcade Fire
Programs: Corel Video Pro x2, Sony Vegas 6, Corel Paint Shop Pro x2, Adobe Photoshop 7

Dedicated to Mom & Dad <3

First and foremost let me wish a Happy Thanksgiving to all of my Faithful Readers here in the good ole United States.

To those of you in Canada, um, happy Thursday?!

Anyway, if you’ve followed me here at Blank Stares and Blank Pages for awhile, you no doubt are well-aware that I’m not a big football fan.

I enjoy the game well-enough, I just don’t live and die for it the way I do for baseball.

Yet, for some reason, every year on Thanksgiving, all I want to do is sit around and watch football.

Perhaps it’s just because I mentally associate a day full of football with the Thanksgivings of my youth or perhaps it’s just because watching other people run around makes me feel less lazy while I gorge on turkey and stuffing.

Either way, I just wanted to say that I’m thankful for Thanksgiving Day football.

…and pie.

I really f’n love pie!

Last Thursday night, I was sitting at my little desk in my little classroom that I use twice a week at our sister school. It was break-time, and I was grading papers. The classroom door was open, and Keith, an Irish gentleman who’s been teaching over here forever, leaned in.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” he said. “You’re American. Happy Thanksgiving.”

I sat back and had to think for a second. Was it Thanksgiving? I hadn’t become completely oblivious to life back home, had I? Were the Cowboys playing at 5 am the following morning? No, no they weren’t. It wasn’t Thanksgiving. That was next week. I related this all to Keith, but thanked him nonetheless for his charming well-wishes.

And then it hit me. No, this wasn’t American Thanksgiving – next Thursday was; but next Thursday would be the same as this Thursday – I’d be teaching English all day, eating rice or noodles when I got the chance, and coming home exhausted. And when it actually was Thanksgiving, Keith would probably pop his head in the door and extend his well-wishes again, and I’d be pretty sad that I was sitting in my little desk in my little classroom, instead of eating turkey, laughing with my family, watching football, and playing games.

I fully realized when I signed up for this adventure that homesickness would be part of the toll. And every so often since I landed here in July, I have gotten a bit homesick. It never lasts very long – maybe an afternoon or a whole day; certainly nothing emotionally crippling. But as summer has turned into fall, I have started to get that little twinge a bit more often. Seasons are changing back home (and here, to a far lesser extent, weather-wise), and I guess subconsciously I’m fully realizing that I’m gonna be away from home for a good long while. I do love this time of year back home, too. I miss taking walks with Bonzo in the crisp autumn air; miss being a 3-hour drive from my mom and my childhood home; miss going to the State Fair – there’s something magical about eating corny dogs, playing corny games, riding rides, and perusing booths selling everything from shampoo to the Sham-Wow; I miss playing with my friends, and watching football at normal hours.

And I miss the holidays. I love the holidays. I love Thanksgiving – the cool air outside, exchanging stories and laughing with my family, watching football, playing games, and, of course, the food. My God, the food. Taiwan’s fare is okay, but it’s got nothing on turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Sweet Jesus, I’d teach one of my classes completely improper English for a whole semester just to have Thanksgiving with my family. “Teacher like the Thanksgiving much a lot.”

And Christmas. Due to financial reasons, I won’t be coming home for Christmas or New Years – my 30th birthday, by the way – either. Now before we go blaming Phyllis and her bloodthirsty zeal for my money, it’s not all her fault. Certainly, she made it impossible for me to return to the states; but I don’t think coming home was a great idea, money-wise, to begin with. Plus, I mean, I’m living in Southeast Asia, and flights to Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, the Philippines, China, and Japan are super cheap here. I’ll actually be in Thailand over Christmas and New Years. So that’s cool.

But still, I’ll miss the holidays. I’m an incredibly nostalgic human. I get this entirely from my father. He loved Christmas. Absolutely loved it. And so do I. I’m a huge Christmas dork, and I don’t mind the world knowing it. I love Christmas decorations; I love Christmas trees and Christmas carols; I love Christmas lights and secretly harbor ill will for any house that does not display them. I’m just a nerd like that. I love the BFC (Boeglin Family Christmas); I love having Christmas Eve at our house, and I love Christmas Day with my mom’s side of the family. Christmas this year is going to be tough. I’m going to miss my mom and sister – not to mention the rest of my family and all my friends back home – more than I ever have before. But again, I knew this came with the territory of living overseas.

But still. I’m in Taiwan. I’m living in Southeast Asia. And I will be in Thailand for Christmas. So that’s pretty damn cool.

And so, here I am, on the night of the fourth Thursday in November. In America, it’s Thanksgiving. Here, it’s a Thursday. I taught all day and made myself a grilled chicken salad for dinner. It wasn’t a bad day by any means, but still, today I am homesick.

But it is Thanksgiving, and by nature, I’m not the brooding sort. So despite my homesickness, let me count the numerous things for which I am incredibly thankful.

I’m thankful for my health. I’m a month away from 30 years old; I have had periods in my life where I’ve drunk too much and other periods where I haven’t worked out enough. Sometimes those periods have coincided. And yet somehow, I’m doing quite well.

I’m thankful for making myself come on this adventure. There aren’t a whole lot of Americans who can say they picked up and moved to Southeast Asia. I’m glad I have. It’s been an adventure so far, and the adventure’s really only in its infancy. I can’t wait for everything else I get to do and see while I’m here.

I’m thankful for my kids at school. Every day, their exuberance, their desire to have fun, and their laughs make me smile. Despite the fact that they regularly test my patience and wear me the hell out day after day, I have never once come home upset that I’m their teacher.

And, I’m eternally thankful for my family and friends back home. There are way too many to try to list here by name; but all of you, please know that I think of you all the time, and that those thoughts usually end with a big smile. I miss you all dearly, and that’s the main reason why I’m homesick today.

In a way, I’m truly thankful to be homesick.

Please, have a wonderful Thanksgiving, everyone.
Thank you for indulging me.

Well, it’s not like I didn’t know it would happen.  I’ve just been busy enough that I haven’t noticed it.

I miss home.

I think it’s because of Thanksgiving. It’s the first Thanksgiving that I haven’t been with my family.  Because the newspaper prints both today and Friday, it means I can’t make the 14-hour round trip home.  My dinner tomorrow will be single servings of breaded chicken, instant mashed potatoes, frozen corn and crescent rolls.  And I’ll be eating it by myself in front of the Discovery Channel.

I’m really enjoying the new job and my new apartment.  But I think it’ll be much better when my fiance moves down shortly after Thanksgiving.  While I’m busy during the day, and sometimes in the evenings, I find coming home and being by myself all the time is really… lonely after a while.  Because I work at all times of the day and have to head to bed early, it means my coworkers and I can’t hang out during the week.  A lot of times, we’re doing stuff for work on weekends, too.

Now, this is not a sob story.  Most of the time, I’m too busy or tired to really think about being far from home.  And I’m happy here with my new job and the area I’m living in.  I’ve already talked to some amazing people.  Just today, I interviewed a 9-year-old girl who shot and killed three deer over a 20 minute span yesterday.  Clean shots too; no tracking involved and without multiple shots.  She’s adorable and quite precocious, rubbing her dad’s nose in the fact that he has yet to make a kill this season.

But I’m hoping that my dinner tomorrow, though it’s not home-cooked turkey, will suffice for the day.  I’m sure it will taste good anyway.  May all your dinners be tasty, and happy Turkey Day!

9am outside our house

In the neighborhood

On our last day in Imatra we awoke to a cold, clear and dark morning.  It was still dark at 9am, and my husband and I held each other for a while, hating to get up as it was our last morning in our new home for a while.  He had to work on a few things for a meeting he had this morning – one of the many ways in which he is truly earning the salary.  It’s not a 9-5 Monday – Friday type of job, although he thankfully will not be travelling on a weekly basis anymore.

Last night we ate at Rosso’s downtown, a popular local restaurant known for their wood-fired pizzas and exceptional salmon.  In restaurants here you seat yourself as tipping is not expected for the most part.  I had the roasted salmon with tomato sauce – not a marinara but almost like a concentrated spread that was delicious.  We had salads and my husband had the mixed grill of filet, chicken and sausage.  I shared my pesto spinach mashed potatoes all around because it was such a huge mound.

I broke down a bit at home later; the thought of leaving my husband for another 4 weeks was very painful.  But I known I have a lot of work to keep me occupied and that it will fly by quickly.

I practiced yoga for a while this morning as it will be my last opportunity until Tuesday to get some exercise.  My daughter and I went for a walk around the neighborhood while my husband went to his meeting.  The neighborhood is quiet with lots of trees and walking paths through the woods.  The houses are small but mostly charming and small winter birds flew amongst the trees.  It was colder than it has been the last few days but it feels crisp and refreshing as long as you’re dressed for it.

Friendly Bear

Hopefully my husband will get back for one more walk before we take the 2:20 train to Helsinki.  We will eat dinner in the hotel restaurant and get to bed early as we have to get up at 4am.  Our plane leaves at 6:30am, so it will be a long day, and very difficult to leave a place that already feels like home.  I’ll leave part of myself here, along with most of the clothes I brought, and I’ll count down the days until December 21^st, when my husband will return to Charleston for Christmas.

Our backyard 9am

Across This Vast Ocean Pt. 1

Today marks the second day of my vacation to Wisconsin. Today we did one main thing which was going to a party for my aunt leaving to serve in Iraq. It was a lot of fun.

Getting at the Party: We were some of the first to get to the party. While the guests were coming in I didn’t recognize anyone. I saw a few of my main aunts and uncles as well as cousins. A few I didn’t even know were part of my family so it was interesting to see the new faces and personalities of some of my family members.

Eating, Shopping, Losing: After we got to choose from a big variety of food to eat, my uncle came with my two five-year old cousins. I haven’t seen them in four years but right when they saw me they just knew it was me and screamed, “Dieter!!!” then ran and gave me hugs. They are twins so the whole day I confused them and it was fun to spend time with them. They told me to count to eighty and when I did they were so amazed and thought it was the coolest thing. It was hilarious. After playing for a while my uncle wanted to take me to get me a little present. He asked what I wanted so I wanted to keep it simple and told him I wanted a Ecko shirt. Ecko is one of my favorite brands and he knew what it was so he said “ok”. We went to a shopping strip and they didn’t have anything except for Gap and Old Navy. You could imagine what me and my uncle’s reactions were. Since we were with my aunt and my girl cousin they acted all like they loved it to make  us feel bad. My uncle commented and said “I didn’t see one guy walk in here” Even in the men and boy section there weren’t any guys, just girls! Haha. When we were in Old Navy we saw a shirt that said “Cereal first. Questions later.” ME and my uncle had NO idea what the heck that ment. We even asked about five people and they just looked at the shirt in a weird face. Kinda like the time when my brother found out that watermelon isn’t a type of candy. We finally found a store called Nike Factory or something like that. That was a pretty decent store and I found a nice hoodie (I’ll try to get a pic) and I got some nice shirts for my brothers. After shopping we went to Dairy Queen. It was amazing. Since there aren’t Dairy Queens in New York I was amazed at what I was missing out on. I got a blizzard with Oreo. When we got back to the party I played with my cousins and started to try to win a stuffed animal for them at the grabbing machine thing. I got them a stuffed penguin and they loved it.

Swimming: After the party I went to my aunts hotel room she was using for the night. We went swimming and it was so relaxing to swim after closing my pool for a while. I had to help my cousins swim since they don’t know how to swim yet. I did a thing that my dad always did when I was a kid to me. I picked up my cousin in the pool and started to spin him around and around. He loved it and thought it was fun. Before I knew it I had to leave.

Dairy Queen, Cops, and Home sickness: I decided to go spend the night with my grandparents instead of my aunts tonight. My mom stayed with her twin sister (my aunt) so I was feeling kinda lonely and homesick because I am so used to having three brothers around and my parents. I soon felt a little better when we stopped at Dairy Queen (again) but this time I got a slushy and popcorn. The popcorn was awesome. When eating in the car we heard and saw five cop cars go by. My grandparents wanted to check it out which I thought was dangerous and I was getting kinda worried. It turned out just to be some cops going to the hospital.

-

-

Well that concludes my fine day. tomorrow I am going to the Packer vs 49ers game! (North American Football)

I’ll post tomorrow. Bye!

Until My Next Post,

~Dieter~

Having been at the library since 9:00 am, by 4:30 I was too tired to keep up the mental contortions necessary to  convince myself that I don’t sometimes miss the South, not even a little bit. Lucky for me, my school is in Harlem.

Harlem is like a larger, busier version of a typical Southern downtown, and not just in the trite sense that both are home almost exclusively to minorities. Like the anonymous downtowns of the South, Harlem exhibits a kind of reserved dignity in its stubborn pride amidst underdevelopment and social ills. And then there’s the shared phenomenon of the lone, anodyne skyscraper, built in a fit of civic optimism but glaringly out of place decades later, the expected urban renewal having never materialized.

So, missing home, I did what any decent Southern man would do and bought a half pint of Bourbon and a lottery ticket. A guy in the liquor store told me to meet him there next week, same time, so I could buy him a drink if I won. It kills me to disappoint him.

I sat on a bench facing Broadway and made myself a drink, watching folks pass with the measured casualness of the chronically underemployed. Hoping to beat the worst of the rush hour crowding, at 5:00 I boarded the 1 train train at 137th street, drink in hand. It’s legal if it has a lid on it, right?

As the train went above ground over the 125th street valley, the skyline jutting into the refraction of the sunset in the polluted sky was at once both poignant and exhilarating. By now I was feeling philosophical, and opined that Southern culture is kind of like that dirty sunset. Cultures are the complex result of innumerable factors and processes, and in the South this includes nasty things like hate, ignorance, and entrenched poverty.  When coalesced into culture, however, the result is a maddening, inspiring, inexplicably beautiful paradox.

I’m sure my shallow observations are of little solace to the South’s victims, but I miss it.

By the time the train reached 66th street, Robert Earl Keen was on my iPod Feeling Good Again, and dammit, so was I.

October 17, 2009.

Mile 10,025.  Ashley Lake, Kalispell, MT.

I passed the 10,000 mile mark on this trip without noticing.

Montana is beautiful

I am in a bookstore when the cheerleaders call.  They are at homecoming.  They pass the phone around.  They give me the play by play of the game and of the current squad.  I occasionally have to take the phone away from my ear because of the cheering.  My heart fills and overflows just a bit.  I miss them.  I want to be at homecoming, wearing my blue and white, and cheering for my beloved lions.

I do not know what to do.

A couple weeks ago, I was talking a fellow (in Montana).  He was from Hawai’i originally, but moved to Montana because he loved it so much.  He understood the traveling, the seeking.  He had given me this advice, “if you ever don’t know what to do, take off your shoes and stand in the dirt.”

The sun had gone down.  The road was unpaved and slick with mud.  I pulled the car over, cut the engine, stared at the sky.  I pulled off my boots, then my socks.  I rolled up my jeans.  I opened the door.  I stepped out onto the cold mud.  I shut the door.  I stared at the sky, then closed my eyes.

I felt better.

I still didn’t know what to do.

I got back in the car and kept driving.  Ahead of me, there were flashing lights across the road.  An accident.  I hurriedly pulled on my boots, grabbed some gloves, and went to see if I could be of assistance.  It is at least 40 miles to a town big enough to have a hospital.

I approach the group standing around, ask if I can help.  J lost traction on the mud, tires slipped over the bank, then his truck crashed into trees.  The helicopter has come and gone (standard procedure, apparently, when the population is this sparse).  His friends have just finished pulling his truck out of the woods and got it on a flat bed.  Looking at the wreck, I am impressed he survived.

We chat.  They compliment my boots.  I am introduced.  I am hugged.  I am the only person not to grow up around Ashley Lake.  They welcome me.  Everyone stands over 6 ft tall.  T sings a Maria song to me.  This group of 20-somethings invites me back to the house with them.  It is now after midnight.  I accept.

The farm-house is 200 years old.  The coffee is fresh.  There are loaded rifles propped against the door, loaded pistol on a shelf with car keys.  Dogs underfoot, the remains of dinner (lasagna) still on the table.  The boys wrestle like the boys in my family wrestle.  Everyone is blowing off steam and stress.  No one thinks it’s strange for a girl from New York to have suddenly shown up in the middle of the night.  I don’t even think it’s strange.  I feel oddly at home, as if in the childhood home of an old friend.

I learn that most of the cousins are lumberjacks (this is a sprawling, quite extended family).  Girls too.  And they ranch as well.  Someone (unrelated) whispers how many head of cattle and acres of woodland they have.  [This is juicy gossip--for they are telling me exactly how large the family fortune is.]

One of the girls offers me a puppy.  I have been lonely for days.  I am in the midst of family, not my family, but a family.  There is a puppy I can have if I only say yes.  It is 1:30 in the morning.  I have a personal rule that I don’t make decisions after dark.  I turn down the puppy.  (In retrospect, I might have taken it.  It would be nice to have a dog.)

We go to the hospital.  I climb up in their truck.  I am the only one to wear a seat belt.  I stay in the waiting room.  M comes back first.  I stroke his hair.  T arrives.  We all talk gently.  When we leave, someone throws his arm over my shoulders as we walk.  I wrap my arm around his waist.  The familiarity is sudden, but not unwelcome.

It is closer to morning now.  They offer me a bed and breakfast in the morning.  I decline.  They clarify: a bed to myself, in their parents’ home, nothing that even suggests a less than honorable arrangement.  I still decline.

I wake up the next morning next to Ashley Lake.  It is as beautiful and clearly blue as the boys told me it would be.

Sunrise over Ashley Lake

Coastline from my campsite.

This is the lake they love.  They would never leave.  As I once again put the car in gear, I envy that feeling.

Dear Coming Home,

Well. I’ve been in Seattle less than 24 hours, been awake for less then 10 of those.

And the thing is, I’ve never visited Seattle as a person who does not live here. I have always lived here. I have never arrived on a plane and not been “coming home” from a “trip.”

Anyway, in those short hours that I’ve been here, I have: well ok first of all, I spent some serious time petting the dog. What can I say? She and I really like each other. I have also slept in my old bed, taken a shower in the shower I grew up taking showers in, been to Paseo like nobody’s business, and at the moment? At the moment I am wearing a softball sweatshirt from high school and sitting at the kitchen table where I grew up sitting when doing homework.

And it is pouring. POURING. And the grass is so so GREEN here. And when I went outside today I wore boots and a big scarf and a North Face jacket…I AM BACK, BABY.

I can actually hear the rain. Also, there’s a leafblower going in my neighbor’s yard. And bus #25 just went by. Oh, inner city suburbia.

And I’m going to my favorite Chinese restaurant tonight and tomorrow I’m going to study at Zoka. Anyway, the point is, it is both strange to be back and not strange whatsoever. And it is really, really nice to drive in a city without thinking about where I am going or the best way to get there.

Thanks for having me back, Seattle, and it’s nice to be home. Don’t worry, sunshine kids, my return ticket to the land of nice weather is nonrefundable. At the moment, my cities and I are all in this “open relationship” together.

So yes, it’s possible to come home again…and possible to miss the rain, be glad to see it, and be perfectly happy to know that I will see the sun again before May. And yeah, sometimes that’s a real question when you live in Seattle. But hellooooo green! Hello hello hello.

Love,

MM

I’m going home this weekend. I don’t live very far away so this isn’t totally unusual except that lately I’ve been avoiding it. Where a year ago I would ‘escape’ to *insert town*, it was the place I could hide from the world, where I could really feel like my age and not deal with the responsibilities beyond my years,  now I just want to avoid it at all costs.  This bothers me to no end because here’s the thing, I’m home sick. Very very home sick. But I’m homesick for a place that doesn’t exist right now (notice how I say right now because I can’t bring myself to write anymore or ever again).

For the week leading up to the visit I begin to think endlessly about it, it sort of creeps up until I realize that it’s all I’m thinking about. Generally by Friday I will have convinced myself that it’ll be ok this time, this time I’ll go home and my real parents will be there. Last visit they were arguing by the time I got into the car, arguing about how my dad called me over to the car. It was a fairly short-lived hope.

Next week is Thanksgiving and so begins the Holiday season that I’ve been dreading. I HATE dreading he holidays because I generally love the holidays, I’m all about getting lost in the Christmas (as that’s the holiday I celebrate) spirit. I love getting people gifts and agonized over getting something they’ll love and wouldn’t buy themself. I love the idea of decorating my house and my parents house where we have at least 20 boxes of sparkly, memory filled things.

The problem is that the holidays are also tough, they tend to be stressful which of course is a trigger for a bipolar person. Since she has (or at least believes she has to because otherwise they’ll judge her) to put up the ‘face’ of being totally fine for so many extended family members at that time we in her immediate family feel the brunt of it, because when you’re pretending for entire days you don’t have the energy to pretend at home to. Holidays mean cleaning the house obsessively, buying gifts, arguing over who to buy gifts for, arguing over why we have to go to ‘blank’s’ house, why ‘blank’ doesn’t come to us blah blah blah.  It sucks the joy right out.

I’m not sure that this would bother me so much if I wasn’t such a planner, I can’t help but think about the future, it’s just how I roll. I know that I can take these stressful holidays, I’ve done it before I can steal myself for the next one but I think  about the future. One day, God willing, I will have kids, and I will not accept a stressful holiday for them. One day I want to be married but I am scared to death of bringing someone else into this situation, how will I protect that person and make it so that they don’t notice the crazy? I don’t know if that’s possible.

And so today I steel myself, I get ready to put on my happy face for 72 hours, to make my dad feel better and to pretend nothing bothers me because in 72 hours I get to escape again.

Although I have always known my nationality – and more recently discovered that I am English as far back as I can trace, I have never been so fixed in the idea that England (as my home country) does things the best way.

This is despite all the usual Anglo-centric media/history programmes, nature programmes on the BBC.

So it has come as something of a shock to me that I now find myself craving those things that previously I would not have chosen, were I living “back home”.  My latest extraordinary discovery is chips.  Yes – the chips here are the fries variety – that’s fine – it’s just that for a long time I have eaten them with mayonnaise.  In England.  Now I find myself craving salt and vinegar on them, a l’Anglaise…

I find myself craving the English blends used in stock cubes – the Dutch equivalents have different tastes.  Heaven help me when we run out of my English tea bags – I *know* they cannot be purchased here.

I miss the retail culture of England – and I am by no means a person who spends hours shopping.  I mean that customer service – that esssential “customer is always right” mentality that you find on the high street (if not always with utility companies).  That never ending (unless something is wong) desire to help the customer be parted from their money, in as efficient and pleasing way for the customer, so that they will turn up a few days later and repeat the experience.

There are many things that make it difficult to move to another country. Finding somewhere to live and dealing with not having a credit rating any more are two that spring to mind. Ikea is another. Then there are smaller, but still annoying things – like the fact that your DVDs won’t play on your DVD player.

There are many things I miss about living in the UK. My friends, family, and Smart car of course spring to mind. At this time of year, the more temperate climate is a big one.

There are good things too – it’s a challenge! Meeting new people. I get a big kick about how people dig my accent – a double, because they like the English-English one and the French-French one. Change of scenary. Nicer summers. Beautiful fall. Different attitude. Different lifestyle. Great Asian food. All in all, these outweigh the things I miss.

Sometimes though, I get a little homesick. The first time it happened my roommate (who later went completely bonkers, but that’s a whole other story) came home to find me in tears because I couldn’t order pizza – I’d called the two big international pizza companies and after much kerfuffle with them not understanding my accent/not knowing where I lived because I lived in a new building/me not knowing where I lived in relation to wherever they were talking about, I’d given up.

My roommates and I would celebrate/commiserate/relax with pizza and a girly movie. Any movie in that period you’d be ashamed to rent from Blockbuster, I’ve probably seen. And liked. We also watched a whole lot of Charmed. So whenever I’m feeling a little overwhelmed or run down, I want to kick back with my roommates and a double-decker with extra cheese, bacon and chicken and BBQ sauce. But I don’t have roommates, I have a boyfriend who loathes these kind of movies and we don’t order pizza, because Greek food is healthier.

Finding new habits, rituals, is hard when you’re starting from scratch. Finding people you can turn to when you’re having a bad day who’ll listen, and sympathize, or just watch a terrible movie is hard, and I know I feel like I don’t want to impose. But little by little, I’m building a life here. It’s scary, and it’s stressful, and it’s hard… but the adventure is worth it.

sunday night. thirteen minutes past eight and it’s dark outside. the street lights have cast a dim amber glow across my living room. my living room is upstairs. it is windy and cold outside. i am glad to be indoors, by the fire. warm and dry. safe and sound.

downstairs, in the kitchen, my boyfriend is cooking dinner. roasting chicken and steaming veggies. smells good.

my cat lies beside me. cats are peculiar critters – they enjoy their comforts as we do. he seems content being inside with me – upstairs in the cosy warm living room. he stretches out his front paws to touch my arm, peeking at me through sleepy half-closed eyes and comforting purrrrr. i enjoy his company. we enjoy our moments of silent accord and closeness.

the wind whistles down the chimney and a street light outside flickers… my cat stirs, then sighs and nestles back into place.

it’s beautiful.

stress free.

i can hear the drone of the television that’s been left on in our bedroom… i will turn it off. there is nothing worse than the sound of distant canned laughter. it gives a sense of artificial hope. an empty room. empty laughter.

oh joy.

my shoulders ache. i need to feel hands upon my shoulders, massaging the knots and stresses of the days that recently passed. i need to feel worries dissolve and dissipate into nothingness. so i can, once again, feel unburdened with family shit… free of debt and other stupid material concerns…

everyone has it. stress and strain. that is what life is.

pleasure and pain.

i need a massage.

when i was in new york city, i went to a chinese woman for an hour long full body massage. oh what i wouldn’t give to visit her again. to walk up the stairs from the street in Chelsea enticed by the smell of incense and fresh flowers… to slip within the curtained room and undress. to lie, naked, face down on the table and wait. then feel warm oils being poured upon my skin. and to feel and hear the silence. all i could hear were sounds of the city down below… muted and faintly soporific… the sounds of her movements, my breathing and the sound of a fan circulating the warm fragrant air and slowly lulling my deep down into a more pliant state of relaxation… to feel her manipulate my knotted and stressed muscles with her fingers, her toes and her elbows would be divine…

… the smell of chicken is now strong and i feel compelled to get up from this comfortable armchair and head downstairs to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine.

it has been a lazy lazy sunday. i did not get out of bed until three pm. i did not wake up until two pm.

it has been a contemplative day. a restful day.

i must go eat now. i hear a holler from downstairs…

sunday dinners are just the best…

lazy times

… lazy lazy times…

(c) Kat McDonald 2009

Dear Seattle,

I’ve lived within your city limits for so long now that as I prepare to move away from you for the first time in my life, I’m flooded with thoughts of all the things I’m going to miss. I’ve driven down your streets the last few days and every passing building, park, and intersection brings back a memory and reminds me that this place is utterly unique, beautiful, and filled with people who, in spite of their idiosyncrasies and passive aggressive tendencies, are in fact *my* people. I am homesick before I’ve even left.

You are the backdrop where all important moments in my life have played out, from losing my innocence to learning to stand on my own and weather every challenge with confidence instead of the anger of a spoiled child. From quiet mornings when the Space Needle would disappear from the skyline entirely in a thick fog to raucous nights on Capitol Hill started innocently with sandwiches at the Honey Hole, I’ve always appreciated your subtle poetry and how you inspire the people who live here without even trying.

Sure, we haven’t always gotten along. I’ve cursed your public transit and how your drivers camp out in the passing lane driving 55. I may have even, on occasion, cursed those gray skies in the dregs of winter when even I, the true native, questioned if the sun would ever reappear. Still, from my living room in Lower Queen Anne as I watched the elevator go up and down and up and down, I’ve watched you woo newcomers with the breathtaking view from atop the Space Needle. If only they knew that view was only one of so many others out there to appreciate…

It was here that I learned to appreciate the nature of true friendship (and not so true friendship) over beers and shuffleboard at Big Time Brewery. I learned humility from every uneven sidewalk and moss-covered stair you threw in my path. And you inspired me with more live music than I can even begin to describe, from the old Croc, and dare I say as far back as DV8. You even taught me to play nice with others as I learned to share Death Cab and Modest Mouse and my other favorite indie bands with the rest of the world. You baptized me by fire when I needed it, from live television to parallel parking in a tiny space while someone was waiting behind me. You even taught me how to hold my liquor with Earl’s Long Island Ice Tea.

I keep thinking how I’ve been a fool to take you for granted, the impeccable films at SIFF, amazing bands at Bumbershoot, and inexplicable delight of Archie McPhee’s. If only I knew I would leave someday, I would’ve paid more attention.

You’ve nourished me with Red Mill Burgers and Nasai Teriyaki and the greatest beer selection a girl could ask for. You indulged me with incomparable Yakima wines and Tom Douglas’ coconut cream pie, not to mention many a brunch at Dish and the 5 Spot. You even nourished my soul with late summer evenings at Golden Gardens and Greenlake and potlucks at the Interbay p-patch. You’ve spoiled me with Easy Street Records and KEXP and I don’t know how I could’ve ever been so dense as to take them for granted. A website just isn’t the same, you know?

My first real job, my first apartment—everything important that’s ever happened to me, it all happened here and that is why you will always be an inextricable part of me; the very core of who I am. I’m a Seattle girl, a Husky alum, and someone who will always love this city no matter how much it changes. When people ask me, “So does it really rain in Seattle all the time?” I will tell them yes, because god knows the last thing this town needs is more Californians moving here. It’s my way of showing you I still love you even though I’m far away.

I know I have many more firsts ahead of me and it’s necessary to try new things, but I take with me the best parts of this town, this amazing place where I’ve become the person I’ve always wanted to be.

Your face will change and I know that when I come back and the Gates Foundation is done, not to mention all the nonsense construction in SLU, you will look so different than when I left you. And I’ll look different, too–mostly because Bash at Vain won’t be lending his mad scissor skills to my locks anymore, but I have the highest of hopes that you will grow into the tremendous city I’ve always know you capable of being. I know someday all the progressive ideas will become reality.

It is so hard to leave you, Seattle. You are home to me. You are home to my ex-boyfriends and childhood friends and my family, and I hope you take good care of them while I’m away. And I hope they take really good care of you, too. You deserve it.

When you leave your university in the United States and embark upon your journey to a new university in a foreign country, most likely your home university will warn you of the inevitable homesickness you will experience. They will tell you of the not-so-pretty physical side effects: travel’s diarrhea, nausea, agoraphobia, insomnia, loss of appetite… etc. etc. They will give you a neat and tidy handout detailing these conditions and steps to take to counteract homesickness and precautions to take to avoid getting physically sick. And you, being the young, strong-willed, stubborn and excited college student that you are, will ignore EVERYTHING they say. As did I. Here are some personal quotes I remember expressing only a few months back….
“Homesick? I’ve never been homesick in my life!”
“Diarrhea? Ew!! I won’t get that, duh! Just drink bottled water…”
“Insomnia? Who cares! I’ll be partying all night anyways!”
“Loss of appetite? Yeah right! I love to eat!”
… there’s probably more, but you get the idea. Man, was I wrong. For me, the homesickness set in approximately two months after arriving here in Spain. Just like that damned handout predicted… I’ve really never experienced homesickness before. I grew up attending summer camps, traveled alone to many places, been on tons of vacations, and lived in a few different cities… and yet- I never truly got that deep, incessant feeling of missing home. It swells up slowly inside you, and perhaps that’s why it takes about two months to start feeling the effects of it. But once it swells up to the point of notice- it encompasses your entire train of thought. For me, it made me lose the desire to get out of the house and go see things, lose the desire to go to class, it made me think about the future with an almost obsessive-compulsive attitude, it gave me insane insomnia and made me a home-junkie (meaning, I only wanted to see and hear about things going on at home, back in the US). Well… this lasted about one to two weeks, and then after annoying my boyfriend to death with sappy emails and long phone calls and wallowing in my sadness during my sleepless nights… I snapped out of it. Yay! I survived the homesickness! Now I’m back to normal, excited about classes and school and the mere fact that I’M IN SPAIN! It was a strange thing, to miss home so much. I still miss certain things, of course, like family and friends and my boyfriend… but in a healthy way. I think when most people get homesick, their immediate reaction is to give up, get on a plane and come home. But, that doesn’t solve anything, really, and you never increase your mental capacity to accept other cultures and you never truly develop that desire for adventure and that love of newness. So, I’m a survivor of the evil curse of homesickness. It’s a great thing, and I look forward to the rest of my year abroad in Spain and traveling the beautiful countryside of Europe. If you’re ever away from home and get that gut-wrenching feeling of homesickness seeping into your body and mind… just embrace it, indulge in it, and then forget it! Missing home should make you happy and make you love your country and family and friends and significant other more… it shouldn’t make you sick!

Yak. Dah lm bgt gw ga update. Fuuhhhh…..

Trlalu bnyk neh yg mau gw critain. Wkwk.

Yak..prtama2, biarkan gw ngedumel dlu..homesick gw masih blom sembuh neh. Trus skrg bkn cm ma tmn2..ma kluarga gw jg. Hueh. Tp skrg dah lmyn sih. Hehe Can’t wait till December~ Wait for me guys~!!

Trus akhir2 ini gw juga makin sibuk neh, pr makin lama makin numpuk…essay gw bhkn gw ga mau sentuh sama skali..makin bnyk beban rasany. N gw blom trbiasa tinggal di apartemen gini. Repot masak sgala macem yg makan bnyk bgt waktu. Bnr2 ga ada wkt buat krjain pr ato apa. Pressure dr ortu jg ngelayang2 mlu di kpala gw. Huah. Tp dah ckup deh ngomel2. Dah hrs trima n bradaptasi aja dh. Hohoh. Have to get used to it sooner or later anyway.

Enough with my rantings. Time for funny things. Teehee.

Nah, krn gw br pindah ke apartemen (yg fotony bkl menyusul, very very soon i hope!!), jd gw ma si Charis prlu macem2 barang. ….gw bnr2 ngeblank wkt itu kita prlu apa aja, tp yg psti bnyk. Bbrp cnth: peralatan masak, pembersih toilet, dst dst.

Jd, gw ngajak Om Martin buat blanja sm kita. Hm..dia minta jgn dipanggil om sih. Tp whatever lah. Dia itu mantan karyawan bokap gw, n skrg lg bljr masak di Melb buat dpt Permanent Residence di sini. Orgny konyol2 gt dh..haha..trus dah ngebantuin gw bnyk bgt di sini Ok, kr2 gini convers gw ma Charis pas ngasih tau dia ttg si om Martin.

Me: “So. My friend, Martin, is going to take us shopping tomorrow.”
Charis: “Oh ok. So who’s this Martin guy, actually?”
Me: “He’s my father’s ex-employee. He’s 33 “
Charis: “33?????”
Me: “Yup. And he’s a shopping devil.”
Charis: “A wha..?”
Me: “He’s a shopping devil!!! I usually don’t shop much with you guys, right? But with him….I don’t know why, but he keeps convincing me to buy things!! Geez.”
Charis: “O…kay…”
Me: “Seriously!! And what’s more……he shops 5 times more than me. He’s a shopping devil.”
Charis: “….really?”

Ingetan gw pas shopping dah rd samar2 yh..kita prgi berenem. Gw, Charis, Anne, om Martin, om Ronald (tmn om Martin yg dah jd tmn gw jg), trus si Andy ada nyusul belakangan. Si om Martin ini slalu ngelucu n kita pasti ngakak2. Hahah. Tp yg paling gw inget pas yg ini neh…

*lg diskusi mau bli toaster yg mn*
Martin: “But with just several dollars more, you can get a nicer one!  So, why not??”
Charis: “But it’s expensive!!”
Martin: “Well, but then you’ll get one with a better quality!!  Even though you buy a cheaper one, but it’s going to break in a while, what’s the use??”
Charis: “….seriously. Did the company hire you to advertise or something!?!? Feli…I finally got what you meant by the shopping devil. I finally got it.”
Me: “See!! Told ya..be careful of the shopping devil :p”

Kira2 gt dh. Wkwkwk. Emang si om Martin ma om Ronald (yup, dia jg) ini bnr2 apa yg bs dibilang shopaholic. Gosh. They can shop like/worse than women. I’m amazed in a way. LOL XD

Ok dh..sgini dlu dr gw. Saking bnykny yg mau gw critain, gw jd bingung mau ngomong apa lg. Kpn2 gw crita lg dh. Heheh.

TTFN~

Ringrazio innanzitutto l’entità ultraterrena che si è alzata dal mio umore, sul quale era rimasta seduta (a momenti distesa) per più di una settimana. Sono stati giorni tristi, che mi hanno tenuto lontano dal blog e dai contatti in genere, nuvole pesanti e scure sembravano accompagnarmi dovunque andassi.
Uno spropositato senso di nostalgia. Un senso di solitudine, amplificato dai cambiamenti di questo ultimo periodo: io e Aria ci vediamo soltanto un paio di ore al giorno, lavorando lei di mattina e io di pomeriggio. Per fortuna il weekend è ancora nostro e ci permette di ricaricarci, ma lo shock del distacco in terra straniera è stato notevole.
Comunque tutto è passato e mi sento di nuovo entusiasta e combattivo, grazie anche ad Aria che ha saputo starmi vicino, rassicurandomi su certezze che nemmeno lei può avere.
Non siamo soliti parlare troppo di sentimenti su questo spazio sul web, ma sarebbe ipocrita far sembrare tutto sempre una passeggiata, sebbene godiamo spesso di buon umore.

Tutto procede tranquillo, da ieri abbiamo l’assicurazione sanitaria olandese, un altro passo verso la regolarizzazione della nostra posizione qui. Non sono soldi che diamo volentieri, abituati alla gratuità del servizio italiano, ma sembra almeno che la qualità sia all’altezza del costo mensile. Speriamo di non averne bisogno, in ogni caso.

Al golf tutto normale, la nuova gestione dimostra di puntare molto sulla qualità e l’estetica, tanto che finalmente non vedo più solo etti di burro che si dibattono in una pentola rovente prima di avvolgere tranci di carne e dadi in polvere rivitalizzati con acqua bollente. Ora vedo cremine preparate sul momento, dessert da fotografia, pane fatto “in casa” e mille decorazioni curiose.
Il nuovo capo serve ai tavoli in giacca e cravatta in un ambiente illuminato da candele e luci soffuse, il gestore precedente se ne andava alle 17 e non toccava nemmeno una posata.
Rex è scappato. Doveva lavorare al golf sabato e domenica, ma è scomparso dai radar. Qualche maligno lo crede scappato in cerca della sua vecchia padrona, trovato il portone della gabbia chiuso male. Di sicuro c’è che sono andato io a farmi qualcuna delle sue ore domenica scorsa. Speriamo si presenti in fretta un sostituto perché la domenica ha riacquistato per me l’intoccabilità che aveva ai tempi della scuola e intendo rifiutare proposte domenicali. In ogni caso devo riconoscere che B., il nuovo boss, è stato molto corretto e mi ha ringraziato più volte per il favore fatto loro in quell’occasione.

Ieri, consegnando la posta, mi sento chiamare da qualcuno alle mie spalle. Mi volto e vedo il mio vecchio capo dei giornali in consegna. Mi chiede come sto, perché non lavoro più con loro, mi racconta che la morosa portava le lettere per DHL come me, ma che ora non le porta più, non è neanche più sua morosa ed è fuggita con un altro in una regione a est. Conclude il racconto non richiesto sulla sua vita rassicurandomi sul fatto che ora ha un’altra donna. Mi augura succes e ritorniamo entrambi a lavorare. Rimango allibito per la quantità di parole, ma altrettanto per il piacevole incontro con quello che è stato il mio primo datore di lavoro qui in Olanda. Non è da troppo che siamo qui, ma è già un po’ storia, no?

Ora vado a fare qualcosa da mangiare per affrontare poi l’ultimo pomeriggio pre weekend al golf, prima di due giorni di relax!
E le nuvole pesanti sono ormai all’orizzonte, viste da dietro mentre se ne vanno.

|Ste|