Archive for March, 2002

My Girls

I don’t usually use the term “girls” when referring to women my own age or older. I rarely even use it when referring to most females unless they actually are little girls of about 12 or under. Part of that is the feminist movement, part of it is about the sexual harrassment training I’ve gone through as a government employee, and part of it is about respect.

This weekend, though, I used the term often.

It was my way of trying to show my bond with certain women. Kindred’s saevitia and freak have been in my life for so long that I can barely remember a time that they weren’t. The minute any of us are together, it’s like coming home. Adding Deadeye’s stalker to that mix was natural because she’s so much like us.

I’m quite shy and rarely go out to bars or dancing or anything like that. We went out this weekend. I danced, laughed, and joked around. I behaved in a crazy way.

At the end of the evening, I was sitting at a table after my girls had left to go home to go to sleep, waiting for my Master to finish playing pool, and was talking with ~feigned innocence~. I apologized to her for not speaking too much. Sometimes my shyness gets in the way. She said she didn’t think I was shy, that she had seen me out there dancing. I said, “But I was with my girls.”

And it was true. If I were a gangsta, they’d be my homeys. I feel safe with them. I can do anything, say anything, hug them, kiss them, blushing deeply even look at clit piercings, and it will be ok. I’m home. I’m safe.

They are my girls.

This is for them, my girls, my sanctuary, my heart, my soul, my protectors. This is to those 3 women who loved me, cuddled me, teased me, laughed with me, cried with me, and have been my friends.

I love you.

Culture Shock – The London Journals

There is reason integration into a foreign society is termed “culture shock”. I actually feel like the walking wounded whose recovery is slow and sometimes painful.

I’m an infant in the realm of international travel. I have had short jaunts into Canada and Mexico but nothing could have prepared me for this move to the United Kingdom.

Living in the United States, I never really considered that England could be that much different than my own country. We spoke the same language, afterall. I had grown up reading the English novelists and English history and
their world was my world. Much of English history is also my history. We have close political ties. How different could we really be?

How naïve could I really be?

The obvious differences have even had an impact on me. I knew that we drove on opposite sides of the road and that British vehicles tended to be right-side drive. It’s easy enough to acknowledge this cognitively. However, I cannot begin to count the number of times I have gripped the door handle,
closed my eyes, or gasped loudly in fear when I thought we would be hit by any of the oncoming cars. The driving has, in reality, terrified me. And the whole notion that this entire country can live without stop signs leaves me speechless. What is with that? They have something like a yield sign (road markings) at every intersection or roundabout that does not have lights. Every time someone enters a new road, there is that chance that someone else will come whipping around a blind corner on the roundabouts at about 80-mph and there will be a huge collision.

I am getting better about the roads and the driving, though. I was actually dreaming about driving on the opposite side of the road the other night and it’s starting to look normal to me. I’m even remembering to look the right way before crossing a road.

Other differences, however, have not been so easily overcome.

We may speak the same language. I’m learning quickly, though, that there are so many different dialects of English that I can’t even comprehend what some people are saying. In the United States we have many different dialects and we tend to take them for granted because we often hear them in the media, TV and movies. But here, there are many that I haven’t ever heard. They aren’t all the Liza Doolittle or Queen’s English that we hear in the media. There are other considerations such as the Welsh, Scottish, and Irish influences. In addition, there are the Continental immigrants who have brought their own versions of English with them. This is a study of linguistics that fascinates me and leaves me pondering many things at once. I don’t understand ½ of the jokes that are told on the radio or on television. They are said quickly and with slang that I just haven’t picked up yet. In addition, when listening to the Scottish, Welsh, and Irish, I hear many of their own languages thrown in for good measure to add colour to the conversation. And these, I definitely don’t understand. Language isn’t usually a barrier for me and this has left me feeling as if I’m in an alien world. I don’t quite belong here and I don’t quite understand what is being said at all times.

I am also having some difficulty with directions. I’m not usually directionally impaired. I can find my way anywhere with a good map or good directions from someone. Even so, when I get lost, I usually figure my way out of it without having to call anyone for help. Here, though, there are few street signs and streets end or begin with no warning (to an inexperienced eye). I get confused about where north and south is if I’m too far from the Thames or if I can’t see a known monument. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wandered around the same block without figuring out where I’m going until it’s getting dark and I’m starting to get scared.

These things are all getting better. It is taking time but they still leave me with that feeling of feeling like such a foreigner in a place I thought I would feel at home in right away.

I love London. It is a magical and wonderful city. I’m even learning my Tube directions as time goes on. I love the multi-cultural influences and the different lilting accents that I hear hourly. I love the food that I’ve been experiencing (but NOT black pudding, haggis, or steak and kidney pie!). I love walking down the cobblestone road that is in front of our flat. I love walking up to a wall that has been standing for 1000 years and actually feeling the history ooze out of it.

There are things in life that make us feel like we belong. Finding your way to a grocery store (supermarket) is a safe feeling. Being recognized by neighbors makes you feel like you belong. Giving directions to someone with a local accent definitely makes you feel at home.

More, though, the little things make me feel like I belong. Coming home to a man who loves me and never fails to tell me that I’m adored makes me feel like I belong here and nowhere else. Having a tour guide, who called me “neighbor” because my address is around the corner from him, reach out and touch me on my shoulder tell me to enjoy my life here made me feel like I belong. When the clerk at the post office says, “Hello, love.” every time I walk in, I feel like this is my home. The lady at the flower shop comes out to say hello or waves to me when I walk by and makes me feel like a local.

It’s the pieces of “human-ness” that make me feel like I’m beginning to belong. It’s the effort that I make to say hello to a neighbor or to greet the store clerks and their return of those efforts that open the world up for me. It’s recognition in a smile when I walk into a shop that leaves me smiling in return. It’s learning the language and actually getting a few of the jokes that make me relax and enjoy my life here. It’s being able to come home, shed the tears of the loneliness on his shoulder and know that I’m not really alone because I’m loved and cherished.

It’s being a part of this world that revolves around the sharing and giving of ourselves every day that reminds me that I belong. I wouldn’t change this life lesson for anything in the world. It has been the clearing of a mist that I’ve been waiting for and it has opened up new vistas for me that I can’t wait to explore.

Musings

When I left home, it was under 30 degrees Fahrenheit…we had a white Christmas. It had snowed all day long and well into the evening. By the time I reached the deserts, the temperature was nearer to 90 and ice chunks were falling off of all of the semi trucks, spraying the roads and the cars surrounding them. A man at the border crossing was wearing a coat. He told me it was a chilly day. I just laughed and shook my head. At that point, I had stripped off my flannel shirt and was down to a tank top, sans a bra. It was just too hot.

The desert is an amazing place. I never tire of it. I’ve lived in several parts of it, from the Phoenix area to the Colorado River area. Everytime I cross over the river, I am once again astounded by it’s beauty. There, at the crossing, it is a beautiful blue-green…not the rusty red it was up-river where it went through the red cliffs of the Canyon. Here, it flows smooth and quiet, like a gentle giant. I am always moved by it’s power…the gift it gives to the people of the west. We use it until it has nothing left to give and drains into the mudflats of Baja. That is one of the most disturbing sites I’ve ever seen in my life. Crabs, jellyfish, and sea cucumbers drying in the hot desert sun because the water drains so quickly now.

Birds were out in force today. I saw a roadrunner. If you’ve never seen one, they don’t look like the cartoon character. chuckle They are, actually, very small, but pretty dang fast. They are neat little birds to watch. I saw a red-tail hawk. It was flying into the wind gusts (up to 50 mph) and it was amazing. Those things are so powerful. It alighted on a bush just as my car passed by so I got to see it up close. And the ravens, there were so many ravens out today.

I once passed an entire afternoon sharing folklore about ravens with the RavenMaster at the Tower of London. He had been to the southwest U.S. and had spoken to many of the tribes about their folklore involving the ravens. It was, perhaps, one of my most enjoyable events in London.

I live in an area that is abundant with wildlife. It’s a rare trip that I don’t seen some type of animal. I’ve been fortunate enough to see javalina, coyotes, deer, elk, rabbits, all kinds of lizards and snakes, lot’s of gophers, and, when going north, I tend to see sheep, cattle, horses, goats, and other domesticated animals wandering along the roads or even in the roads.

Some things from here stay with me for a long time. Everytime I listen to music, especially while outside, I think of Infidel. His story touched me very deeply. I can’t help but think of how the loss of hearing would impact me. My mother has nearly lost all of her hearing and she’s not even 55 yet. It’s hereditary, she inherited it from her father. Things don’t bode well so I’m going to listen to everything I can while I can.

I watch people as I drive. I will turn and look at them while they pass or while I pass them. I smile usually. I want to make some kind of human contact. On my last trip, I got caught in a 70 mile long traffic jam. There had been 3 rollovers spaced 20 miles apart. I was next to the same cars for most of those 70 miles. It was nearly impossible to get ahead so we all just stayed where we were within the rows. I had my music on. I make CDs for these trips, and play them in my 6-CD changer. I wasn’t playing it loud, don’t want to annoy others in their cars. But I saw a guy out of the corner of my eye straining to hear what was playing. I turned it up and then smiled at him. He looked away so fast. He drove ahead, about one car length, and then did a double-take. I was laughing. I couldn’t help it. Then when I pulled up to him again, I just turned my music up and didn’t look at him. It made me laugh, though. They want you to notice them and when you do, it’s a shock.

Traffic was going my way this time. Everyone was fleeing the city, or perhaps just going back home. From Barstow to Los Angeles the northbound lane was one long traffic jam. The southbound, which I was in, rarely slowed down. I was surprised to beat rush hour, too.

My family laughs. I tell them that I’m not bi-coastal, but bi-statal. I’ve gone back and forth so many times that I could practically do the trip with my eyes closed.

But I’ll spare the others on the road and drive eyes wide open.