Fury


Jeremy hates watching Republican speeches with me. I hate watching Republican speeches with me. I squirm and gesticulate, trying to keep my protests on mute and either failing or else turning red and exploding with the effort. Oh and then following up my outrage with a blog post.

Clearly the Republican convention was not going to have a good effect on me. There they are, willingly misunderstanding and misrepresenting, waving their flags and chanting ‘we built it’ as if it means something (when really, if you look at its origin, it absolutely does not). But for the majority of it I’m able to sit back and relax in my socialist communist bubble (did I tell you I got called a communist this summer? All because I listen to NPR. Unsurprisingly by the same relative who told me the UK has a higher murder rate than the US) while I watch the spectacle of the thing. Until they get to talking about the American Dream that is, and Mitt Romney’s “Opportunity Society”  (that one was a while ago but I’m still smarting), and then I find myself dreaming of outrage and then writing a blog post.

First, let me say this: I don’t have anything against the American Dream. It makes for much less of a class focused culture – none of that disdain for ‘new money’ and far less of the general snobbery we have in England where accent and parentage dictate class even more so than profession or accomplishment. The belief that America is a country where success out of nothing is possible, is a good belief.

Except where it isn’t.

Because where, for me, apoplexy sets in and I have to go to bed or risk bursting a few blood vessels, is when people get all smug about the American dream and talk endlessly about how hard they had it growing up but look at where they are today. It’s not exactly that I have anything  against those people – well done etc – but I absolutely have something against the blindness that says ‘my family made it, therefore, everyone can make it if they work hard enough so we really don’t need to support them in any  other way’.

For example, Marco Rubio’s speech last night. He spoke of how his parents came over from Cuba with nothing and invested everything they could into their kids so that they could have the opportunities their parents never had and, oh look, there he is on the RNC stage.

And what I say to that is, yes:  if parents are able, have the capacity to, invest everything – their love and time and money (but mostly their love) – into their children then the possibility for success is absolutely there. But for so many, poverty is toxic. It lives alongside addiction and violence and the sort of trauma that makes people unable to fully connect and engage  with other people, with their children. Meaning that they’re unable to give them the love and care they need to grow into adults who can then do the same for their children. In the job I do, going into homeless family shelters and supporting volunteers who play with the kids, I've seen that it's absolutely possible for a parent to shield their child from the trauma of living in a congregate shelter - where nothing is your own and all space is shared and all sorts of things happen right outside the bedroom door - but only if that parent has the capacity to absorb and deflect and maintain calm and love and presence in their child's life. For most though, because of their own history, childhood and circumstance, that just isn't possible and the children are just there un-shielded alongside their parents, experiencing their fear, vulnerability and uncertainty as if it were their own, because it is and because in all likelihood it will be. 

 I’m not saying that this presents an impossible situation where nobody born into that can escape. I am saying that it demands those who are out of it, who have had the privilege of being loved and well-fed and housed, of having been raised into adulthood, to do something to help. To create programs that mean those less privileged children have access to decent education and health care and food, to nurture and counsel their parents out of addiction or despair and into jobs. To do all of the things the Republicans seem to think they shouldn’t need to do because opportunity is just hanging around, waiting to be grasped.

The stubborn blindness of it makes me so incredibly sad.

OK, I think I’m done now.

Self Care

I think 'self care' is likely an American term. It sounds like something they'd come up with. Not that they're particularly skilled at self-caring - not given their measly notions of vacation time (and the fact that there don't seem to be any rules regarding how much employers are obligated to give) anyway. And of course there's that whole section of the population without health insurance blah blah blah. Anyway, they came up with a term for taking care of oneself, even if they don't actually take care of themselves.

I'm also not particularly good at self-care. Well, not at all of it anyway. I'm very good at vacation - at taking it, booking it, using it all up. Excellent at that. And I'm fairly good at maintaining the old work-life balance (of course this is helped by my having opted to work in a field that generally compensates for its wages with less stress). Where I trip up on self-care is probably where Americans would pin the key definition of the term: anything regarding doctors, dentists, hairdressers, manicurists. Basically anything that involves me making an appointment and risking a situation where I feel out of place or embarrassed or unsure of the proper etiquette.

Hairdressers and Manicurists are easy enough to avoid - I just have appalling nails (not helped by said job involving stupid amounts of magic eraser usage on frequently gross toys) and split ends. Not the end of the world. Doctor avoidance on the other hand could actually result in the end of my world.

I was never very good at visiting the doctor in England. Mostly because they made the system ridiculously complicated and I could not for the life of me figure out at what time of day I had to phone to get an appointment the next day. Or the day of. Don't tell me to book ahead, because some bright spark in the NHS decided at some point that it made lots more sense to stop anyone booking any appointments more than 24 hours ahead in time. I mostly ended up going to their first-come-first-served clinic on a saturday where I had to queue outside at 8am.

Anyway, I digress.

While my doctor avoidance in the UK was primarily linked to laziness and an obscure but essentially navigable-if-prepared-to-wait system, in the US the obscurance (not a word) goes to a whole new level.

I don't know the language - what to ask for or what sort of doctor to get. I have to OK things with my health insurance before I even look for a PCP (That's "Primary Care Provider"... I got that far). And there's that annoying aspect to my character where I really hate looking like I don't know what the heck I'm doing. Oh and in America people mostly do not understand what I say to them over the phone.  Jeremy is no help because he has a fancy schmancy health insurance where he just books himself in to see surgeons if he has a twinge in his ankle (I kid you not). My insurance is more along the sensible lines where I see a GP type first before I get to bother the super-doctors (although I'm pretty sure referrals don't take months over here... if you have good insurance, and that's a ridiculously big if).

And then there's my hypochondria. I am forever diagnosing myself with illnesses. Cancers, viruses, parasites. Working with kids has upped the ante on my parasite paranoia actually and I currently own treatment for headlice and ringworm (bought on amazon) just-in-case. I'm not sure what I'd need for scabies, but I'll likely buy it at some point. But I've nowhere to go with these concerns, as I'm too stuck and stupid to find a doctor, so I ask Jeremy, whose response is: "find a doctor" or, occasionally, "you're probably dying" - but I think that's mainly just code for "find a doctor and stop bugging me".

It's a problem.

Anyway, there's news. I actually took steps along the self-care road and made a phone call, talked to a perfectly helpful and nice receptionist who understood my accent and helped me find a PCP and book an appointment and it's all on its way. In about a month but I think that's the new patient wait time, not the normal wait time... I hope.The poor doctor does not know what she's in for because I have at least 2 years of paranoia ready to burst out of me.


Now I need to find a dentist.










Industry

So what's Jeremy up to today? My friend Helen asked in our recent g-chat catch up.

framed photos - on the floor


We'd already established that since our Saturday beach plans had been thwarted by rain, I'd gone shopping for yet more frames to continue on my framing kick. I now have many many beloved pictures in frames waiting to find a home on our walls. That's all down to Jeremy though because I do not trust myself to bang holes into walls I own. When I've historically banged holes into walls I don't own, sizable bits of wall have fallen off.




Anyway, while it would have been nice for Jeremy to have been banging holes into walls for my newly framed photos, that isn't what he's been up to. Instead, my husband has today:

- Brewed beer

- Baked bread

- Torn up a supermarket's worth of gone-to-seed arugula from the garden and suggested I make pesto (I didn't).

- Sun-blushed about 40 home-grown cherry tomatoes with the residual oven heat after the bread baking.

And now he's sat playing a game (likely checkers, possibly robo-tower-defense) on his phone.

This is the industriousness I'm married to. It makes me sleepy.


One of those catchy-uppy posts

1. I loved the Olympics - I've never really bothered about it before but being here and seeing London looking all smart and English was pretty amazing.And of course Team GB went and outdid themselves given our teensy weensy island size, which made it cooler (although somehow between NBC coverage and my sporadic watching, I don't think I saw us win a single gold). I could write a long moany post about NBC's coverage but a) I can't be bothered and b) it's already been done. Suffice to say the swimming was still on AFTER the closing ceremony.


2. Summer is amazing. If America wants to keep me, it should just be warm and sunny all year long. Here's my stein of iced tea on a particularly warm day:




3. Our nameless cat continues to be awesome. 


4. I'm still working on the new book. It's not as quick now I'm also working on an actual job, but I'm 33,000 words in so it's coming along. Hopefully.

5. This article  was written and made my friday (which wasn't hard - friday wasn't going so well)

6. We're planning a trip to China to visit our buddy who's moved to Shanghai. Problem is I keep thinking, well, since we're out there, maybe we should go here... and here... and here. Well, no, problem is my vacation allowance.


Never Never Land

Somewhere out there, far far away from here, I am married with a husband and a cat and houseplants. I drive to work in ridiculous traffic everyday and complain about things like lack of natural light. It's hot and we  (this husband and I) debate things like whether to have the air conditioning on and how thick a duvet is really necessary in July.

But right now, I'm not there, I am here - England - for 36 more precious hours I am back in the homeland. Where it rains, a lot. And where I don't have to repeat myself a thousand times (except I'm still unnaturally quiet so sometimes I have to repeat myself a few times). But when I'm here, rather than there, 'There' adopts a quality of unfathomability. How is it possible that I have this other American life, separate to these people here, where drizzle isn't particularly usual?

And yet there are signs of this other life. Apart from the tug of missing towards my 'husband' and 'cat', which I can feel I have and love, despite the fogginess of unreality. I don't have a coat, for one thing - that's right, this Englander managed to pack for a week in England without packing a coat - a sure sign that the other world has some sort of hold over me. And I haven't once managed to try and get in the right side of the car - I get confused every time. And I think I may have finally learnt which way to look when I cross the road in the US because I definitely got it wrong here.

But oh, England, I love you so. Despite the ridiculous amount of rain you are capable of precipitating. Your accents and sense of humour. The fact of clothes stores selling all-in-one pajamas adjacent to bikinis and pubs that still have things like 'prawn cocktail' on the menu for my grandparents to order. Your buildings made of stone and your roads with actual visible painted lines and lanes on them. Your interesting flavours of crisps (which is the only way I'll be eating anything called prawn cocktail btw). And of course my family, who are entirely English and entirely enmeshed with everything I am.

I find these trips confusing. Not because of how strange and culture-shock-y it is, but because of how normal and comfortable. How familiar. Even as Jeremy and Kitty and Sunshine draw me 'home', this other Home remains. Damp and lushly green and absolutely mine. Fogging up reality and reminding me that I'll always belong here. Bugger.

I accept

Here are a few things that I, on the verge of turning 30 (I'm 28, but 30 is only a year and 4 months away and I figure I may as well come to terms with it now), am accepting about myself:
  1. I will never be instinctively neat. Nor will I ever have matching underwear. I will likely always hate putting clothes away and delay emptying the dishwasher for as long as possible 
  2. It is highly improbable that I will ever be a runner. Or enjoy exercising. I live in hope that some day I will exercise. 
  3. I will always act as if I were starved as a child when faced with free food. Always. 
  4. Similarly, I will never be able to refuse ice cream.  
  5. My hair will never be sleek. I will always look ever so slightly disheveled, if not out and out disheveled 
  6. Talking loudly/audibly will probably always require effort. Often more than I can be bothered to muster.
  7. Put me in front of a crowd of people and my body will likely always decide to visibly shake with nerves, even if my head says I'm not nervous. 
  8. Mornings will never be bearable before coffee. 
  9. Following recipes is most probably not something I'll ever do adeptly (meaning reading the whole thing first, making sure I have all the ingredients and then following the steps without making up steps unintentionally)
  10. I will never have long polished nails. Clean and only slightly nibbled, maybe. 
I'm not yet ready to accept I'll never be great at parking. Or that I'll never have the body of Gisele Bundchen. Although, points 1, 2,3,4, 5 and 10 certainly point in that direction. I'm also still holding out hope that regular exercise might be in my future - even if I never enjoy it. 

Behind in Time

Have I mentioned that I hate Time Difference? How about that I loathe and detest it?

Well if not (which I highly doubt), I do.

Yesterday, an important day in our family, I was planning on phoning my mum. I was in my mind while I sat at my desk that as soon as I was no longer at my desk, I'd call her.

But then I forgot - it slipped out of reach as I drove home, further still when I decided that stopping at Walmart for CD players, baby wipes and disinfectant (for work... my job is not the most conventional) was a good idea. And by the time I got home it was too late.

But I called anyway.

And woke my Mommy up.

Oops.

I told her to go back to sleep - that I'd phone her today, and that I love her. I put the phone down and paused to let the nose tingle (does everyone's nose tingle when they're about to cry?) and throat ache (how about throat ache?) to die down. I blinked a few times and went to get dinner started. It's not like it hasn't happened before.

Living on this side of the Atlantic, behind rather than ahead in Time, you (I) hold the calling power. Phone calls are made in the evening and my evening is later than their evening, so it's up to me to call them in theirs - to find the time in my day when their day has already ended.

When I was ahead in Time, I used to find this all very frustrating. I'd be ready for bed, aching for sleep, and it would only be 5pm in Jeremy's world. I'd either have to stay awake until gone midnight to talk to him or else I'd snatch a few words while he was at work - conscious that I was sharing him with math code and work phones and evening plans. Generally I stayed awake until after midnight. Generally I was exhausted. I resented him for my lack of sleep - surely it's easy enough to find time in the day, or immediately after work...

Now I'm behind in Time I understand. You mean to call and want to call but then something else comes up and it's still daylight outside so how could it possibly be night somewhere else. And then you check the time and realise it's let you down - that to phone now would mean waking them, stealing precious rest from them, and another day has passed.

And that is why I hate, loathe, detest Time Difference. And why without it the Atlantic would be that much smaller.