shaving!?! EEK!

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laughing softly This is not what you think…I’m sure. Tomorrow I’m shaving my head. Those guineverian locks, as Maenad used to call them. The strawberry blonde hair will be a memory.

A woman in my department was recently diagnosed with a very severe form of breast cancer. She is having radical chemo and was told that her hair would definitely fall out. To be graceful, she decided to shave her head.

We are a close knit family in this department. We have to be…we’re the computer/phone department of the whole county (largest land wise in the US) and put in many hours every week together. We have to like one another…we spend more time with each other than with family and friends.

So, we (the other members of the department) decided to shave our heads with her, in support of her. When we told her, the look in her eyes told us all we needed to know. It was a moving moment…one that I will never forget. Then she quickly covered and said that we didn’t need to shave our heads. But our minds were made up.

The tv station has been called. The newspaper has been alerted. Tomorrow at 5 p.m. in the parking lot outside this building, we will all be shaving our heads in support of our friend. Our treasured friend.

Am I nervous? You betcha. Am I worried about sunburn. I’m a redhead…what do you think? Am I worried about the looks, the stares, the comments. Not in a million years. This is something so special to me.

So, please, tomorrow at 5 p.m. PDT, please think of my friend. She is a wonderful and beautiful person.

…and so it goes…

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Three+ months away from the place I’ve always known as “home” has taught me a lot about myself and the ways that I interact with others. Sometimes, more often than not, this is more painful than I would have hoped. And sometimes, it’s like a door is opening up for me to step through into a different way of life. But it has all given me new insights into who I am and where I would like to be.

I haven’t ever known these things. I grew up as the oldest, type-A personality in a large family. I was the one who was going to go far. Well, things fell apart when I got to college. There are many reasons for this but most of it was that I realized there is an entire world out there for me to explore and I didn’t want to limit myself any longer. There used to be a time when I wanted to “grow up” to be a lawyer, a judge…even the President. Then I wanted to just get my degree in English and move on. Then it was the sciences…and English again. Now…I realize that what I need to do…the things that touch my soul and make me proud…are things like working with disadvantaged people, writing about them, working with them, helping them help themselves. My chosen field tends to be working with women in a somewhat controversial subject that I won’t go into here. But now that I’ve realized what it is that moves me, I want to pursue that role.

I’ve learned that it’s damned lonely being so far away from everything I’ve ever known in life…family, friends, my beloved dogs, and just the land and wide open skies of the American West. I miss these things. I miss them because I haven’t learned how to adjust or find a way of substituting for it all here. Great Britain is lovely…it’s spectacular. But it’s so lonely for me.

I’ve learned that shyness is difficult for other people to cope with…that no one ever really understands the depths that it can go to. For me, I am afraid of people. My shyness tends to manifest itself in many different ways and it’s so hard for people to understand. I actually hyperventilate in large crowds. I start to shake and cry and can’t even think of anything to say. It’s even more pronounced when I’m in the company of a group that has one thing in common and I haven’t a clue about that subject. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know how to start conversations and it’s by luck at all that I even go out of the house to meetings. All of this comes from having been a gregarious person in my past life and having that turned against me when I tried to trust those people with the fact that I was being beaten. When they ran to my “partner”, laughing at me and calling me hysterical, I forgot how to trust and how to feel safe around others. I’ve forgotten how to be a friend.

I’ve learned that when someone says “I love you” it’s not necessarily the same way that you mean it. Everyone loves in different ways and you can’t go around expecting to be loved the way you need to be loved or the way you love because it just may not be out there.

I’ve learned that because I felt like I lost control of my life many years ago, I now seek out and hold on to little things that give me a sense of control. I need things to go my way with certain things in my life because it’s the only way that I can hold on to my sanity. Stupid things…things like having the dishes done when I want them done or having the house quiet when I need it quiet. Just little things. I’ve let go of many of them but some still haunt me.

Mostly, though, I’ve learned when to say it’s time to move on. I’ve learned that when I start to feel small or insignificant, it’s time for me to move on to a place that gives me more of what I need in my life. When I feel disconnected or don’t feel like I can give anymore to a place, I know it’s time for me to go.

It is that time now.

You have all been wonderful for me. I have enjoyed every second that I have spent with all of you. I just don’t feel like I’m a part of what is going on anymore. In many ways, I never did feel like a part of it all. This is all because of me and has no reflection on all of you. You are wonderful.

culture shock – the london journals

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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.

she walks in silence

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This was born out of a conversation with a friend regarding the proliferation of abused citizens in online BDSM communities. We were discussing the strength it requires to survive a devastatingly abusive relationship (parental, spousal, etc.) and how so many who are truly abused don’t really want to talk about it or share those intimate details because it’s too painful, to personal.

She Walks in Silence
(with apologies to Lord Byron)

She said
“It’s my pain.
My hurt.
You wouldn’t understand
and I don’t have the
strength to tell you.
I’ve used it all up
trying to survive.”

And so it goes.

She moves through life
as if living in a dream,
blurry and undefined.
Nothing is as it seems.
There is no past,
no future.
She’s not even sure
who she is anymore.

She is the
walking wounded.
Shell-shocked,
having been under
attack for longer
than she cares to remember.
Her cries unheard.

Yet, she realizes
there must be something
that made her live.
Something that gave
her the power
to get out.
To start anew.
To begin again.

A newborn babe
in a grown body
trying to learn
how to live
once again
in a different
type of world
than she’s
been
accustomed
to
in
the
past.

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