Music Monday: 7 reasons why (I love this song)...

When I was living in the UK this song was in an advert for The Sarah Silverman Show and it was one of my favorites...the show and the song. I can't get it on Spotify now, but it came up in my social media memories yesterday and I had to listen to it and smile. Also, the lyrics make me think of some of my couples...specifically Luke and Scarlet, whom y'all haven't met yet. Enjoy. {The lyrics are in the captions.}

Music Monday: Right Outta Nowhere

Once upon a time, I was an interpreter who moved to a new state and, while dreaming of being a writer, hadn't gone in that direction. Yet.
Once upon a time, I was a fledgling writer who had published some fairly entertaining stories about my dogs but hadn't yet tried to write in the genre where my heart lives and thrives. Yet.
Once upon a time, I was a newlywed--again--who was moving to a new country and was utterly terrified and excited in equal measure. Okay, that part isn't really true, I was just terrified. But I remembered this song by an artist introduced to me back in those first days as an interpreter here in SC. 
This weekend I'm going to a brand new event, and while I'm not MOVING TO ANOTHER COUNTRY terrified, I'm pretty apprehensive. But this time, I revisited this song that my friend Katy introduced me to and found...hope. I found freedom. I hope you will too.
Leap...and the net will appear.

Right Outta Nowhereby Christine Kane
Midwest morning October snowfallShe packed her ChevorletAnd brushed her fear awayShe got a great big dreamAnd a history of playin' smallAnd everybody seems to thinkShe'll be back by Christmas dayWell, She hit that highwayWith every bit of faith she could summonWhen courage finally comes you never see it comin'
Right out of nowhereOpen your heart, that changes everythingYou're goin' somewhereAnd all you need to knowIs that you're free to go
Summer night the soft smell of seashoreAnd all the deadheads dancing out on the beachHe's got a 10-year tanAnd his own little junk store he saysSome people got a lot to prove and that's the way I used to beI'm just an old hippy with a half dozen PhDsSome choices hold you downSome chances set you free
Right out of nowhereOpen your heart, that changes everythingYou're goin' somewhere.And all you need to know...Is that you're free to go
And you dreamAnd the way will be clearAnd you prayAnd the angels will hearLead and the net will appear
Right out of nowhereBelieve in everythingYou're going somewhere And all you need to know Is that you're free Right outta nowhere You open your heart And have faith in everything You're going somewhere And all you need to know Is that you're free to go 

Music Monday: Of Arcs and Stone and Rifts and Storms

So, I'm still thinking about Em and Alex...and Lex today. This song speaks to me when I think of them, but it also makes me think of my own expat journey. To boot, it is just beautiful, speaking of wandering and travel and new lands and home. The best line, the one that encapsulates everything I'm thinking about as I start work on the next Arcstone novel, is the chorus: "In the cathedrals of New York and Rome/There is a feeling that you should just go home/And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is."

(This live version is particularly lovely.)

Cathedrals

by Jump Little Children

In the shadows of tall buildings
Of fallen angels on the ceilings
Oily feathers in bronze and concrete
Faded colors, pieces left incomplete
The line moves slowly past the electric fence
Across the borders between continents

In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is

In the shadows of tall buildings
The architecture is slowly peeling
Marble statues and glass dividers
Someone is watching all of the outsiders
The line moves slowly through the numbered gate
Past the mosaic of the head of state

In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is

In the shadows of tall buildings
Of open arches endlessly kneeling
Sonic landscapes echoing vistas
Someone is listening from a safe distance
The line moves slowly into a fading light
A final moment in the dead of night

In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is

Music Monday: Better Days

June is hard, y'all. My dad's birthday and my parent's wedding anniversary are both in June, and I'm still not far enough out that I can be certain that I WON'T burst into tears at the thought of either. On the good side, though, my Bryn turns 8 the day before my dad's birthday which is also Hubs's Welcome to the Thunderdome Day ie he officially began Life as a Permanent Resident in the US. I remember how pleased my dad was to "get a son-in-law" for his birthday...we'd been married for 2.5 years already, but the fact that Hubs now lived in the US was so important to both my parents. I really think they liked him better than they did me...or they were just glad that I wouldn't be whining about how much I missed him anymore. One or the other.
This song isn't from that era of my life, but it does speak to me about this very tumultuous month - as well as to my July Camp Nanowrimo project which sees two of my characters fight to find their way back to each other when they don't even know that together is where they were. Yep, vague, I know. 
They keep fighting the good fight as they always have but something is different. All they know is that maybe one day that weird awkwardness between them will fade, that strange longing for someone that they can't quite place will ease, and those all too familiar moments will finally make sense. Just a chance that maybe they'll find better days...


Better Daysby Goo Goo Dolls
And you asked me what I want this yearAnd I try to make this kind and clearJust a chance that maybe we'll find better days'Cause I don't need boxes wrapped in stringsAnd designer love and empty thingsJust a chance that maybe we'll find better days
So take these words and sing out loud'Cause everyone is forgiven now'Cause tonight's the night the world begins again
I need some place simple where we could liveAnd something only you can giveAnd that's faith and trust and peace while we're aliveAnd the one poor child who saved this worldAnd there's ten million more who probably couldIf we all just stopped and said a prayer for them
So take these words and sing out loud'Cause everyone is forgiven now'Cause tonight's the night the world begins again
I wish everyone was loved tonightAnd somehow stop this endless fightJust a chance that maybe we'll find better days
So take these words and sing out loud'Cause everyone is forgiven now'Cause tonight's the night the world begins again
'Cause tonight's the night the world begins again

Music Monday: New Month, New Music

 It's May, y'all, and that can only mean one thing... THE EUROVISION SONG CONTEST. To get in the proper mood, I watched the Eurovision Movie: the Story of Fire Saga and fell in love all over again. But the best part of my Europrep has come in the form of the soundtrack from that movie which includes this gloriousness: the Song Along. I was slapping the back of the sofa and shouting at the dogs, "Do you see that?? That was Loreena! LOOK IT'S JESSY MATADOR IS THAT JAMALA WITH THE LYRIC ABOUT WINNING THE WAR?" 

As you may have guessed, the dogs didn't answer nor care. But I do. Quick history: when I moved to the UK in 2009 I took my three greyhounds and my cat. One of my dogs died shortly after I got there, of osteosarcoma. The second one, her bonded pal and soulmate, left me, Daisy (greyhound number three) and the cat to mourn and cause my husband to wonder what he'd gotten into with his new American wife. He finally suggested that I should watch Eurovision because he thought it would cheer me up.

He was right. Eurovision is happy memories of doing a TIGHT 8 TO 10 on the train platform in Leeds. It is dancing with my workmates in the bookshop. It is searching for the BBC1 feed on the tiny telly in our hotel in Maison Lafitte on our belated honeymoon. I have missed watching it live since we've been back in the US and I'm again on the trail of a way to watch BBC1 with Graham Norton's commentary on the 22nd.

For now, enjoy the Song Along from the Eurovision Movie. It's everything that is fun and mad and glam about Eurovision, and it makes me smile (and get up and dance, but don't tell anyone).

Song Along Lyrics, including the performers in each section.

[Song 1: Cher – "Believe"]

[John Lundvik, Anna Obodescu, Both]

No matter how hard I try

You keep pushing me aside

And I can't break through

There's no talking to you

[Bilal Hassani]

It's so sad that you're leaving

It takes time to believe it

[Bilal Hassani & John Lundvik]

But after all is said and done

[Bilal Hassani, John Lundvik & Anna Odobescu]

You're gonna be the lonely one, oh

[Loreen & Jessy Matador]

Do you believe in life after love? (Sing with me, yeah)

I can feel something inside me say

I really don't think you're strong enough, no

[Song 2: Madonna – "Ray Of Light"]

[Loreen]

And I feel (And I feel) like I just got home

And I feel

[Loreen, Jessy Matador & Anna Odobescu]

Don't think you're strong enough, no

[Petra Nielsen, Anna Odobescu, Loreen & Jessy Matador]

And I feel (And I feel) like I just got home

[Petra Nielsen, Anna Odobescu, Loreen, Jessy Matador, Will Ferrell & John Lundvik]

And I feel

Quicker than a ray of light

Quicker than a ray of light

I really don't think you're strong enough, no

[Song 3: ABBA – "Waterloo"]

[Jamala]

Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war

[Erik Mjönes]

My, my - at Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender

[Molly Sandén]

Oh, yeah - and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way

[Erik Mjönes & Molly Sandén]

The history book on the shelf

Is always repeating itself, woah

[Anna Odobescu, Loreen, Molly Sandén, Petra Nielsen, Jamala & Jessy Matador, Will Ferrell]

Waterloo, I was defeated and you won the war (You won the war)

Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore

[Song 4: Céline Dion – "Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi"]

[Elina Nechayeva & Conchita Wurst]

Ne partez pas sans moi

La joie d'être libre

Vous qui cherchez une autre vie

Vous qui volez vers l'an deux mille

Ne partez pas sans moi

[Song 5: Black Eyed Peas – "I Gotta Feeling"]

[Netta, Will Ferrell, Molly Sandén, Erik Mjönes]

Tonight's gonna be a good night

That tonight's gonna be a good night

That tonight's gonna be a good night

A feelin' (Fill up my cup, mazel tov)

(Do you believe in life after love)

That tonight's gonna be a good night (Look at her dancing)

(Quicker than a ray of light)

(Just take it off)

[Netta, Loreen, Molly Sandén, Erik Mjönes]

That tonight's gonna be a good night (I can feel something inside me say)

That tonight's gonna be a good night (I really don't think you're strong enough, no)

A feelin' (Quicker than a ray of light)

That tonight's gonna be a good, good night (Do you believe in life after love?)

[Will Ferrell, All]

A good, good night

A spot of homesickness for a Yorkshire winter...

The sun sets too early in the afternoon.
Crunchy snow, slippy in places.
A creaking gate that always sticks.
Fumbling for keys and locks, mail frozen in the door.
Shed the coat, shed the day.
Start the kettle, spread butter and #jam on toast.
Home.
Yorkshire.#vss365 #expatlife 

— NancyD_writes📚 (@nancyd_writes) November 17, 2020

The Anxiety of Grief, and Other Rabbit Holes

As found in the Great China Cabinet Clearout...

Before I go any further, let me address something in this post: SCORCH did not launch at the end of January. There was just too much going on to get that done. Please see this post and this one as well for more information on the too much going on in question. My wonderful final beta reader and I are meeting this week to look at final edits, and then it should go up for pre-order next week.

Now then, on to more threatened derailment of my schedule - the Great China Cabinet Clearout in advance of the New Hutch Installation. Currently, the hutch and table that were in my mother's condo are in a storage unit, waiting to come home to my house in place of the Incredible Hulking Kitchen Set which has served a need but now needs to go. My amazing friend Laze went with me to Atlanta two weeks ago to retrieve said hutch and table, and I'm ready to make the change.

I spent most of Saturday and a great deal of yesterday cleaning out the seven years' worth of STUFF that has accumulated in the china cabinet - most of which consisted of Things the Wolfhounds Cannot Have and excess dishes and mugs. I did find a few gems, though, like my mother's recipe for her Andes Candies knockoffs (that I LIVED ON when I was a kid), and the note pictured here. That note to Simon from my parents came with a gift of some sort to commemorate his arrival in the US on Daddy's birthday...one of the best and worst days of my life.

I picked him up from the airport in my nearly dead but still fabulous Volvo wagon, named Clive, and we headed up I-85 from the ATL to meet my parents, sister, brother in law, and niece to celebrate Daddy's birthday at a Red Lobster...somewhere. I honestly don't remember because the space in my brain dedicated to such things is filled with memories of Clive ceasing to operate while we were coasting in the left lane doing about 70mph. Poor Simon had been on a transatlantic flight, was dressed for the weather in the UK and not Georgia in June, and was generally exhausted. I was mortified and embarrassed and generally unsure of how we were going to afford to fix Clive or get a new car or, most importantly, get home. To Greenville. In South Carolina.

We got the car towed and were picked up and taken to the restaurant by my family. We ate. They asked Simon about his trip. We were tired and didn't want to be there if I'm honest. I remembered that feeling as though it was still happening as I read the date on the top of this note.

But this note, written in my mother's perfect handwriting, reminded me of how pleased they were to have their foreign son in law living in the same country. I thought of how many times over the past seven years that one or both of them made a point to tell me how much they loved Simon and how happy they were that he was here and we were close. And I thought of how many times I didn't make time to ride two hours over to Cleveland to see them, or two hours down to Atlanta to see them after Daddy got sick.

That knocked me for about two yesterday - the British expression "knocked me for six/eight" refers to being unable to do anything but be vertical for six/eight hours, generally due to exhaustion, here modified for the two hours when Simon was working in the yard and I was generally moping around the house and crying. But I'm happy that I found it and happy for the reminder that I am not the only one that lost them when they died.

I'm really happy that the china cabinet is now cleaned out and ready to be photographed and listed for sale, too. That rabbit hole was deep, and even though I re-lived the anxiety of Simon's arrival and the grief of losing Mom and Dad again, I can't deny the happiness of accomplishment.

Now if I can just get SCORCH up and away...

A bit of sparkly, glittery homesickness - Tidy.

Waiting at Charles DeGaulle to fly back to London, May 2012.

This week has been a rough one at work - nothing at all to do with the students I work with, for a change, but more to do with personalities and issues that I thought had long since been put to rest. Ah well - that's the DayJob.

My #writerlife is going fairly well, actually - I'm still working on Rift and actively avoiding the editing that needs to be done on Ignite, so all in all, not too bad.

But today I've been thinking about who I was this time 10 years ago. I had bee living in the UK for eight months, and I was swinging madly between loving my new home and desperately missing people and places I'd left behind. It's funny, you know, how certain things can take you right back to where - and who - you were at a specific time in your life. For me, those things are the BBC series Gavin and Stacey, the Eurovision Song Contest, and the film Love Actually.

I'm going to tackle each as it happened in my life, starting with Love, Actually. I had been watching a lot of British films and telly for years, but after I fell in love with my Yorkshireman I asked him what he would recommend. Love, Actually, he says, of course. I remember sitting in my house in Montgomery, Alabama and watching that movie for the first time with my mouth hanging open. It was just so good! So since then, I have watched it a few thousand times and I love it more each watching. The scenes in the airport tear me up now because I remember being at either Manchester or ATL/GSP in those exact moments. You've been on a long flight, you're exhausted, and when you walk through the last set of doors and you see that face that you've only been able to see on the computer screen and EVERYTHING that was wrong is right - even the Norovirus that kept me from going to the UK for a few days at Christmas in 2007. I got there, I hugged the stuffing out of him, and he asked me to marry him.

We won't discuss my answer, except to say a lot of "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" turned into a yes, and it is still a yes today, 12 years later.

Secondly, there is Gavin and Stacey. It's a silly little Britcom that deals with Gavin, a lad from Essex, marrying Stacey who is from Barry in Wales. I've been rewatching the series on Hulu lately and now everything is in a Welsh accent in my head. Lush. Anyway, the two of them meet and decide to get married, and then have to deal with the distance between families and "home" as well as some cultural differences. It's the story of the start of my own marriage, but with the genius of Ruth Jones and James Corbin narrating. There are so many moments that take me back to living in Keighley.

Finally, the Eurovision Song Contest is not just a memory of living in the UK, but it reminds me of how young and sweet we were. I moved three greyhounds to the UK in April of 2009, and by the end of May, I had one, just Daisy. I can't imagine how awful I was to Simon. He did everything he could do to cheer me up and finally, he suggested that I should try watching Eurovision. The best suggestion he's made since getting down on one knee in the Arrivals hall at Manchester Airport. All that sparkle and pomp and circumstance will do a world of good for anyone.

So, just in cases, I'm going to watch Gavin and Stacey and then listen to my Eurovision playlist. Tidy.

New Year, New You? Nope.

So how many of you (admittedly, 5-6) Lettuce Readers have already given up on the New Year's Resolutions that you made a few weeks ago? Yeah, me too. The difference is that my resolutions were actually achievable this time - set out your clothes for work the night before, make sure that the coffee pot is ready to go before you come stumbling in for some liquid courage at 6:55am (wow, that might have been a little more disclosure than I meant to have this early in a blog post), make time to write every day and the time in between lunch and class doesn't count.

I'm writing this having just polished off two lovely vegetarian sliders with Palmetto Cheese on top, and I've come to work in a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans if that tells you anything.

Before the end of 2018, I started listening to a podcast by my sister-of-choice, Elizabeth Dunne. It's called #FLAW3D and it is brilliant, insightful, and funny, just like she is in person. I swear. But as with everything that occurred after 12 April of 2018, I was going through the motions with her podcasts and other content under the #FLAW3D brand. In fact - I will admit this if you swear not to tell her I said so - I am embarrassed to say that while listening to her podcasts on the bus on the way to work, I fell asleep. Every time. That has more to do with my level of exhaustion and nothing to do with her content, I swear. My life for most of last year could be represented by the photo above - a long hard slog down a cobbled road devoid of all color.

I also listened to them out of order, because I had started doing that with another podcast I am addicted to listening to called And That's Why We Drink, a Paranormal and True Crime Podcast. The personal information that MUST BE LISTENED TO IN THE ORDER IT WAS RELEASED SO THAT YOU CAN CREEP ON THE LIVES OF THE PODCASTERS is not the point of the podcast there. But with Elizabeth's podcast, it is.

I mean not the creeping part. I would never. I'm having too much trouble remembering to call her Elizabeth rather than 'liz, as I have known her since uni, so there's no way I've got an ulterior motive here. Plus, she is the mother of my eldest niece, so I am versed in the real Elizabeth.

And y'all, if you will just listen to #FLAW3D you will hear the real Elizabeth. She is unabashedly open about everything that she chooses to share - and what she doesn't.

Anyway! So I listened to the first episode of #FLAW3D today - the topic was becoming a digital nomad and working with your spouse - and it was terribly relevant to me not because Hubs is going to quit his job and we are going to open up THE NEXT BEST BIG THING anytime soon. It was terribly relevant because it was just the dose of, "You want to do that? Well, why not?" that I needed. Yesterday was a hard day in the universe of my day job - so bad, in fact, that I couldn't even bring myself to escape to Orana like I normally do when the waters get rocky. I did manage to finish a chapter in the next Clobberpaws, but that was it. One chapter.

Did I mention that I started said chapter LAST NOVEMBER? Yeah. Not my best day as a writer.

But this morning's listen left me with feelings. All the feelings. Why not give up my cushy 37.5 hr/week job where I know what I'm doing and how to do it...if others would just stay out of my lane and let me do it. Why not just keep writing as a hobby and sort-of side gig...even though seeing that three of my books sold all in one day makes me so happy that I literally cried for a few minutes. Why not do what I love, rather than working at a place that I don't love as much as I used to do so that I can afford to do what I love? Things to ponder.

The best bit was probably when her guests, Erin Booth and Tannia Suarez (co-founders of efftheoffice.com) talked to Elizabeth about how for couples that both work jobs outside the home, they have only a few precious hours in the evening to spend time together. Then on weekends they are planning to spend time together but are either too exhausted or want to pursue things that make their individual souls happy - cue the entrance of guilt and resentment.

Hubs and I do that very thing. We get home late. We struggle over what to eat for our tea. We struggle over when to eat or to actually eat at all. We collapse on the sofas and watch an hour or two of television and then go to bed. That is not a life well lived.

So while I'm still processing episode one and moving on to episode two, let me again recommend that you go to FLAW3D.com and check out the podcast and Elizabeth. You won't be sorry. Now if you will excuse me, I need to completely rethink my entire life. New Year, New Me? Nope. Just New Me - a work in forever ongoing progress.

#tenyearsdunne

Like it was just yesterday. I still remember you on one knee at Manchester Airport (if you want me to say yes to something, asking when I'm jet-lagged and just getting off an 8 hr flight is a good time to ask), and I remember Louise looking concerned that I might have said no when we got to the car. I can still feel the loose buckle on my left shoe that made my leg wobble throughout the ceremony. I can still taste that first sip of Yorks Tea at the reception. 

How are we ten years older in the picture on the right than we were in the one on the left? How have we had ten Christmases and Easters and moved house twice and country twice? How has our house been home to seven dogs and a cat in that space of time? Didn't I just arrive at Heathrow and have my visa stamped? Wasn't it just a few minutes ago when we drove to Atlanta to get my biometrics done, or to Berea to sort out your social security? I'm certain it was only a week or so ago, maybe a month, that I picked you up at Hartsfield right after you collected me at Manchester when we were basically living at various airports and train stations. Wasn't it?

I'm so grateful for the macaroni and cheese, the shared nerdiness, the willingness to put up with my shenanigans, the flashlights bought for me to take to faire, the resolve to get up when the girls are howling so that I can lie in, the whispered, "love you, bye" when I think I've managed to get out the door without waking you, the love of travel and history, the debates over whatever has just been said on telly, the ability not to laugh in my face when I think I'm speaking Yorkshire, the shared love of Greenville, the support and encouragement to be a writer, the shared - and different - expat experience, and all the other things that I have been given over the past ten years that I most certainly did not and do not deserve. 

Ten years done and dusted, and as many more as I can get to come. Love you to absolute bits, Simon.

Impostor Syndrome, la maladie du jour.

What?!?

So with my last post, I covered some pretty heavy topics and unpleasant truth, and this time is no different, really. Last time I still had faith in my country and my senators to do the right thing. No, I didn't, that's a lie. Last time I still thought that maybe enough of the people elected to represent us would want to represent us and listen to us. No, again, that is a lie.

Let me start again. This time I'm going to talk a little bit about something that I face on a regular basis, in all facets of my life - sometimes with a bit of help from colleagues and co-workers that I am positive are not doing it on purpose. I didn't cross that out, but it's still not 100% true.

I found an email today with an excellent article on impostor syndrome in academia from the Chronicle of Higher Education, linked here. While this article specifically speaks to academia and even more specifically to the faculty that work in this field, I found some points that were salient to my own life, both my professional life (as a nationally certified sign language interpreter) and my avocation (a novelist or an author or whatever you want to call me - well, not whatever you want, that could get a little ugly). 

You see, I am really good friends with Impostor Syndrome. I'm sitting here right now - having finished working hard to get my software ready to provide real-time captioning in a class on campus and arrived at said class to find no one there and nothing in my email about why - worried that because I decided to use the time I should be typing 

Female Student: [cannot hear him/her] 

into my software I am blogging, I will be seen as a fraud and fired. Rational Adult Nancy thinks that is ridiculous. But there is another me living in my mind that not only does not share that opinion but spends a great part of our conscious hours working on plans B-Q for what we will do when we are found out to be the fraud we are.

On any given day, I know that what I do for a living isn't easy.  It doesn't matter that I have been actively thinking in and about a visual and spatial language since I was about 12 years old. It doesn't matter that I love languages so much that I fell in love with the process of working between two languages and can't crawl back out. It doesn't matter that I have a Bachelor's degree in American Sign Language/English interpreting from a top university in that field of study - the first one to offer said degree, if I am not mistaken (Hello Maryville College! Go Scots!) - and I was nationally certified as a transliterator (spoken English to a signed form of English) and interpreter (spoken English to ASL) by the Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf, Inc. in 1997 and 1999, respectively. It doesn't matter that I have interpreted for celebrities, politicians, authors, Broadways shows, and for students attending Oxford and Cambridge Universities in the UK.

None of that seems to be enough to make me feel confident about who I am and what I do. Currently, I'm sure that the fact that I am the only one in my family of origin without an advanced degree (my father had two of them!) doesn't help. When you're surrounded by grad students and people with all sorts of alphabet soup following their names and all you have is BA, CI/CT to show for it, you can feel pretty less than. But the author of the article I linked above had a great bit of insight into that part of the syndrome:

Learn to see yourself in context. If you feel like an impostor because you don’t know or can’t do a particular thing, think about that thing. Is that skill or content crucial? If so, can you acquire it? Not because you want to belong but because it may make you more effective or productive. And if it doesn’t actually matter, think about why it is that others have it and you don’t (assuming you really don’t and aren’t just being hard on yourself or inflating other people’s capabilities). Maybe there are real and good reasons why that wasn’t part of your background or education.

I don't want a master's in interpreting. I don't see the point in it, to be honest. I learn on the job, every day. I go to workshops. I study other signed languages. But then I see someone sign something so perfectly, so succinctly, with so much meaning packed into such an economy of movement and handshape and I just want to turn in my letter of resignation and go home.

But I don't do that. Of course I don't. Not even when - on various occasions, from the beginning of my career to present - colleagues that either don't sign at all or don't sign well enough to interpret or aren't really even sure what it is I do try to make decisions for me about my work. I should be incensed! I should be furious! I should stand up for me and what I know!

Instead, I scuttle back into my place in the universe and wait for the inevitable revealing of me as a fraud. Writing has done nothing to help this syndrome, either - if anything, it has made it so much worse. I give my manuscripts to my beta readers, breath held, heart rate on par with a disco beat - and I fully expect that they will look at what I have done and know that I am not a real author. My sentences are run-ons and full of too many ellipses and dashes. My characters are stock, storylines/plot so ridden with outdated tropes that you almost don't have to read them to know where they are going. My dialogue swings madly from stilted to entirely too much in the vernacular of both South Carolina and West Yorkshire that it makes no sense to anyone.

And while we're at it - international expat? Ha. You lived there two years, and you let the death of your pets in the first two months color the entirety of your life in the UK. You're no expat. You're just a frightened child. You're a fraud.

WOW, who let her out? The author of the article goes on to mention a specific piece of advice that I am trying to follow in my daily life - something that would be hard even without the aforementioned voice screaming in the back of my head. (Interesting side note: to those that have read my fantasy series, this is where the idea for how Ben communicates with Gin came from: THIS RIGHT HERE.)

Stay concrete. Impostor syndrome feeds off vagaries and generalities. "I’m not good/smart/charismatic/funny/self-assured enough." What’s enough? Who is all of those things? What is "good" anyway?

What happened politically in the US this weekend has cranked up the volume on the impostor syndrome, let me tell you. Remember the woman I mentioned last week? All of those feelings, all of those experiences - they not only lead to a strapping case of this syndrome but they help feed it and make it worse. Everything from why would you think anyone would listen to you to the ever present you must be remembering it wrong because why would anyone want to do that to YOU?

All this to say I don't have an answer for this yet. I haven't found a magic pill that will take these feelings away and silence that inner voice that delights in waiting until I'm about to fall asleep to remind me of all the reasons I'm going to be found out very soon. But I'm still looking, and in the mean time I'm trying to keep her as far as I can in the background.

FTH Oopsie Daisy, 14 August 2004 - 2 December 2016

She truly was transcontinental.

You know, I'm sitting here staring at the blank screen and can't even bring myself to type the words that she's gone...and she's been gone for two months now.  I still expect to come home and hear her whistling from the bedroom, demanding that I hurry up and let her out. But the whistle has fallen silent.

I listen for her toenails on the hardwood floors and remember how, when we lived in the UK, she made no sound at all on the carpet and could sneak up on me, suddenly jamming that needle nose into my ear and exhaling. There's nothing in my ear now, no cold nose or loud exhalation of warm doggie breath. It's just silent.

I call the other two dogs by her name and they look at me, with a mixture (I think) of confusion and sadness, wondering simultaneously who I am talking to and where Daisy is. I wonder that too.  Is she with the Fab Five Plus Clowny? Are they now the Magnificent Seven? I don't get answers, though. As always, my Bridge Pack is silent.

We see things that she would have loved, go to places that made her happy, and the memories are sometimes so strong that I can smell her Frito Feet and feel her nose pressed up against my neck, as she would do to make sure of me. I think for a moment that I can hear her Snappy Jaw that should have struck fear, but didn't, not in me...but there is no snappy jaw, not anymore. Everything is silent.

She was a larger sized female for her breed, but she was Bryn's Little Big sister.  She was a good foot taller than Willow, and lorded that size over her Little Little Sister. They still run and play and I can hear their tags jangling as they bound up and down the stairs. But Daisy's tags, still on her purple dragonfly collar, remain silent.

I want a do-over.  I want more time. I want for her to not have suffered through the heart murmur and the heart disease and the Lasix. I want to take her to Ireland and to Canada. I want her to have the jacket with all the little patches from everywhere she was able to visit. All these things I want...and all she wanted was to be able to rest.  Rest well, my world traveler, my Psycho Puppy Girl, my Angel...my Mei Mei.  You earned it.  I just wish it wasn't so silent around here.

Lost...but not in translation...

Hey Anne?  This is the purple sofa I wanted to
marry and bear children....

This is going to be a fairly personal episode of the Lettuce, so if that sort of thing makes you twitchy you might want to hit the back button on your browser.

Ever since I moved back to the US on 19 May, 2011, I have been lost.  At first I was lost because I was back in my foreign home.  Let me give you an example.  One of the first things I did was go to Walmart with my parents to pick up some things I needed.  After about ten minutes in the store, I had to go outside and ring My Mister (who was still in the UK and, sadly, didn't get it) and take some deep breaths because it was just too much.  Too much choice.  Too much colour.  Too much light.  Too much.

I had come back here to stop being lost in the UK.  But what I've found is that I wasn't lost when I was there at all.  I was me, the me that doesn't have to be the best greyhound parent or the competent seamstress or the flawless interpreter.  I didn't have a lot of the distractions or responsibilities there that I have here. There weren't as many people there for me to disappoint.  My Mister and I spent a lot of time together because basically we had...each other.

Don't get me wrong, he had friends and family there, but because I was not as outgoing as I could have been, I only had a few friends and my inlaws.  But My Mister and I are different in that way...he doesn't depend on his friends to define him like I do.

I thought that the things that kept me from being lost were in the USA:  Greyhound Crossroads.  The Hounds of East Fairhaven.  Follow That Hound.  My Deaf and Interpreter friends.  Wrong.  Since I've been back, I've had to take a job that isn't really what I wanted to do so that I could afford to bring My Mister and Daisy over from the UK and adopt Clowny.  I'm still in that job because there isn't anything in my field that would offer a comparable salary.  I see things every day that make me regret the cowardice that led me back here two years ago.

I wish I could wind up this post with a happy and confident "but now I'm no longer lost" sentiment, but I can't.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe Christmas if we make it over to visit my inlaws and my adopted home.  Maybe not.  I try to remember that "not all who wander are lost" and see myself as wandering instead...but that refrain is getting old.  Very, very old.  Is this the curse of the repatriate?

One of my expat/repat friends has a statement on one of her signature graphics that says something about coming home to find what has changed is you...maybe that is what's going on after all.

Quickie...Cross your fingers, please?

Proud Racer: An American Greyhound
in Yorkshire, by Nancy E. Dunne

Just wanted to give you guys a little heads up that Daisy's second book, An American Greyhound in Yorkshire, has been entered in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest for 2013.  I don't expect that it will go anywhere but...you never know.  Three cheers for Daisy Mei Mei, international dog of mystery...and for her mommy for finally sprouting a pair and going for a contest.  Fingers and paws crossed!

One more...a sort of a flashback post...

Daisy's Eyes, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

See that look there?  That one is how my Daisy says, "Seriously?" as in "Mommy, seriously, take the camera out of my face and give me the whateveritis that you're holding over my head to make me look at you, already."

That is how I felt when I posted this back in August of 2011:

Okay, for the last time... 

I was still fairly newly repatriated and I was still fairly raw about the entire experience, mostly due to the fact that the three most important souls in my universe (Hubs, Daisy, and Mills) were four thousand miles away from me.

I'm reminded of that post because now, a year and change later, Simon is here and I've been back from my expat adventure almost two years...and I still have moments where I'm not sure where I am or, even better, where I belong.  I still have moments where I struggle to make myself understood and have the urge to go all Tanzanian Chimp (see?  There is a Big Bang Theory reference for EVERYTHING) on someone that giggles if I say wheelie bin instead of trash can.

We have a new captionist on staff here who loves all things British and I have to say I'm probably rambling on and on to her more than I should, bless her, but she gets it and that's cool.  Andrea, if you're reading this, ta very much. I still say lift sometimes, I still say mobile, and I still ring people up if I absolutely have to do so, and I don't imagine that will change much.

But last night there was a new experience to add to my list of "only other US/UK expats will get this" weirdness:  Last night we saw the Black Watch and Band of the Scots Guards at the BiLo Center and as any good British programme does, it included Jerusalem, the hymn that is the unofficial national anthem of England.

Y'all, I got teary listening to it.  I almost let out a choked sob.  The feeling of belonging but not belonging, of home and homesickness all happening at the same time was just overwhelming.  Hubs got a bit of a giggle out of it, not of my distress but of how surprised I was at said distress, I think.  These were "my people" due to my Scottish ancestry, but they were also "my people" because they were British and I feel like I was getting close to that, for a time anyway.

I said on Facebook: "Well, it happened. I teared up at 'Jerusalem.'"  The only people who have liked the comment are expats or have them in their lives.

And did those feet in ancient time.
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

I would like to say when, but for the time being I will say if...IF we make it back to live in the UK, they will have to burn me out to make me leave a second time.  It is my second home...and I can't wait to go back for a visit, at least.

My Post-Election 2012 Stump Speech

(Disclaimer: This should not shock anyone that really knows me well.)

I'm here today to post as a very happy American.  I've made no secret of the fact that I voted, again, for President Obama and that I'm pleased and relieved and all that sort of thing that he was re-elected on Tuesday.  

Let's do a little factual posting first.  Mr. Obama was elected not only by a landslide in the Electoral College vote, but by a reasonable margin in the popular vote as well.  I'm pointing this out in order to remind those that think that it was some sort of vote counting conspiracy or nefarious business within the Electoral College that won him re-election, that it wasn't.  It was simply that more people cast their vote for him than for his opponent.  Pure and simple.  Your candidate may not have been elected, but mine was elected fairly and according to the election process in our country.

Now then, here's the part that may get me unfriended on Facebook, unfollowed on Twitter and possibly even disparagingly commented about here at the Lettuce.  Friends (and those that unfriend/unfollow), I can take it.  Do what you have to do, that's what I'm doing here, and by hiding posts/people in my Facebook feed until after all of this rancor dies away a bit.

You may not realize it, but there are people out there in the world that have opinions that differ from yours.  There are people out there that worship a different Diety/Higher Power than you do.  There are people who eat meat, people who hate greyhound racing, and even people who believe with a strong conviction that if you think differently than they do you are, to quote my Facebook feed, morally inferior and/or corrupt.  The truth is, though, that there is NOTHING wrong with those people, they are just different.

I just wanted to post here to let everyone that reads the Lettuce (yeah, I know it's like five of you, but still) know where I stand so that you can make an informed decision about how you and I proceed from this point rather than jumping to the conclusion that because I support President Obama that means I am made of Satan.  Because, to be fair, I'm really not.

I am a Democrat.  I am a Liberal Democrat.  I am in support of equal work and equal pay regardless of gender, sexual orientation, age, ability, and anything else that might differentiate one person from another.  I am firmly in support of the notion that we are here on this earth (not this country, mind you, but the whole earth) to take care of each other and support each other.  I believe that support includes helping others any time that you can.  I believe that support includes sharing what you have with those that don't.  I believe that if you work hard and live a good and fair life, you will not only succeed but have the means to help others succeed.

I think that health care is a basic right just like food and shelter.  While I am not so sure I agree that you should be taxed if you choose to go without health insurance, I'm very sure that sometimes the end justifies the means and that everyone should be able to go to their doctor when they need to go, and not just when they can afford to go.  I believe in Medicare and Medicaid and Social Security.

Need to take a break to hit unfriend?  Because this is only going to get more personal and probably make some people more disgusted with me as a human being (again, another FB quote).

I believe that my religious beliefs are none of anyone's business but my own.  I believe that whether or not I go to church is no one's business but my own.  I do not believe that Go Make Of All Disciples means Get Every Pew In The Church Filled.  I believe that everyone is on the path to their own understanding of the Divine.  I believe that the Divine is one entity that has many faces.  I believe that it is not my place to judge because I don't want anyone judging me.  I believe that in my religious tradition there are mandates such as "Do Unto Others" and "As you have done to the least of these, you have done to me" that are not just suggestions.  

Still there?

I believe that people are born gay/straight/lesbian/bi/whatever, and that is between them and the people with whom they share their lives.  Further, if someone finds another human being that they want to spend their life loving and supporting and being with, then they should have just as much legal right to do that as anyone else does.

I believe that this body my brain is sitting in right now is MINE, and that no one has the right to tell me what I can or can't do with any working part of it.  Further, I believe that every other woman in the world has the same right to make decisions about her own body as I do.  Those decisions include the use of contraception and the ability to make decisions about pregnancy, especially in cases of incest, rape, and other trauma.

I believe that exclusion is a smoke screen for nefarious purpose, and that inclusion is the only way to be a true member of our global community.  And while we're on the topic of the world community, I wanted to just point out that there is a HUGE difference between the "Israel" of Jewish tradition, mentioned in the Bible and other scripture and the Israel that exists as a country today.  One is a body of people, beloved of their God.  The other is a country that is just as guilty of terrorism as any of its neighbors in the middle east.  I believe that the US should seriously re-think its devotion to Israel.

I don't think the US is the best nation on the planet.  We have all kinds of problems.  People are starving.  People are homeless.  Animals are abused.  Schools don't have the money to educate students, let alone produce future leaders.  I think that if the US would stop trying to prove its imaginary superiority and would focus on its own people at home for a change, we might be healthier and happier.

I don't think Republicans are evil.  I think that they are people with a differing opinion than mine.  I don't think the Tea Party should have chosen that name because I believe that in doing so they are denigrating the original act of rebellion that took place in Boston.  Their issue isn't lack of representation, it's changing your mind after you elect representation and then crying that no one represents you.

I believe that President Obama was born a citizen of the United States just like I was.  I also believe that a great lot of the outcry against him is a smoke screen...I think it all boils down to the fact that our country was not ready for an African -American president. 

I have always been proud to be an American citizen and I still am.  My time living abroad gave me a new perspective on what that means and what it should mean, and that's what I'm working to emulate.  The world is not laughing at all of us, Mr. Trump.  If the world is laughing, it's at cartoonish buffoons who declare the end is nigh/gather your guns/prepare for the apocalypse because of the election of one man to power.

Huh, that just gave me a thought.  It reminded me of all the people that were threatened by another man who came to the table talking about love, inclusion, supporting each other, and sharing what we have with each other.  Interesting that some of the loudest voices claim allegiance to that man yet clearly have no understanding of his message.

Yeah, so that's what it's like inside my head these days.  Take this information and do with it as you will.

Again, for Cathie and Leah...

Daisy in Orange, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

...I've got my blogging face on! Well, I had it on last Thursday, as well as my Sad Dog Owner face AND my I'm Trying to Avoid Homicide face.

Daisy came back "home" to the US last Thursday. She flew all by her little self from Manchester, England, to Atlanta, Georgia. Simon and I made arrangements via a pet relocation service to get her on her way, and we were assured of a certain number of things upon handing over almost $1600 to them.

On the day, everything started well and Simon and his dad got Daisy to the airport and checked in on time. She was xrayed and then sent on her way, and apparently her flight was fine and she actually got to Atlanta 10 minutes ahead of schedule.

My friend Joanne and I headed down to pick her up. We were told by the relocation folks in England that all I would have to do is turn up at the Air Cargo warehouse, pay my import fee of $50, present them with an airbill number, and they would then hand Daisy over to me. That is not exactly what happened.

The very very very nice man at the warehouse told me that while Daisy was on the ground and on her way to the warehouse, I wasn't going to be able to collect her that night because she'd arrived too close to the time that the customs officers at the warehouse leave for the day. I assured him that we'd been told that they were there 24-7. He assured me with a very sad look on his face that they left at 5 every day, and any animals that arrived too close to that deadline would be taken to a nearby kennel for the night and their owners could collect them. I told him that we hadn't sent any food with her and he said they would feed her. I told him that we feed her raw and further we'd paid a lot of money to get her on that flight and I was not leaving without her. He looked like he was going to cry but told me he couldn't do anything. I went in the bathroom, cried a little, swore a lot, and then got on the phone to Delta.

Oh, easy, the lovely representative I spoke with said. You get her paperwork from them, take it to customs in the actual airport, they will approve it, and then you bring it back. I told the guy that, he grinned and got to work on her paperwork. He asked if I knew where to go, and I said that all she had told me was "customs."

All of you who fly regularly...where is customs in an airport? Yep, you got it, inside the secure area where you need a boarding pass to get through. A boarding pass assumes that you are BOARDING a flight. See a problem yet?

I got to the airport and NO ONE could tell me where I needed to go to get a gate pass to get through to customs. I spent an hour just finding out that I had to go on my own to find a TSA agent to get a gate pass. Only, that's NOT what I had to do at all, I needed to go to DELTA to get a gate pass (where I started, an hour prior). There is something about telling a ticketing agent that TSA sent you that makes them very snarky, just so you know before you try it. Finally, I had my gate pass and I was going through security.

One full body scan later, I was on the train under the airport to the concourse at the complete other end of the airport for international arrivals/departures and customs. I spent most of hour two since leaving the warehouse getting to that concourse and then sitting while the customs agent checked her paperwork and finally stamped it. Back through security (thankfully no full body scan this time), back on the train, back to the car and by 8:40pm we were waiting on them to wheel Daisy's crate out. For those keeping score, that was four hours after she arrived in Atlanta, and a whopping EIGHTEEN hours after she was put in her crate at Manchester Airport.

My baby girl hadn't made a single mess in her crate. Bless. I was so happy to see her that I just sat there and held her for a minute, big stupid tears rolling as she wiggled to get away from me and glare back at her box. And now she's here, she's learning about being one of five dogs in a house instead of the only one, and she's taking most of it in stride. I think I've seen her snarl more in the past two days than I have since I've had her.

A strongly worded complaint will be issued to Delta because that was just unacceptable. Not only did the right hand not know what the left hand was doing, but I don't think it knew there WAS a left hand.

There is a positive, though...Simon's visa was approved at his interview a week ago today, and on this past Friday he got his passport and the Mysterious Brown Sealed Envelope that he has to take AS IS to customs when he arrives in the States to stay.

Well...to stay until I've had it with my life here and feel that old need to move on...but hopefully that won't be for a long time yet.

You Days of Our Lives Jinxed It, Didn't You?

Mommy, did you say GO?, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

If you are not familiar with the Days of Our Lives Jinx phenomenon, let me briefly explain. I watched Days from the time I was in pre-school until about four years ago, so I consider myself somewhat of a home-grown expert on soap opera plot construction, at least for American soaps. I also should mention that I just did the math on that, and I spent an incredibly HUGE chunk of my life in the fictional town of Salem...and I'm not sure whether I'm impressed by my own loyalty or horrified that I've just admitted that in public.

Right, so on to the Jinx: You can always tell on Days that a major plot twist is coming when a character utters something in terms of absolutes. I'll give you an example. "Nothing can ever come between us again!" is the signal that the third member of the love triangle is about to arrive in town. "Your prognosis is beyond excellent and I'm sending you home today!" means that this character will be in hospice by the holidays. That sort of thing is the Jinx, and I have a hard time avoiding it in my real, non-soap life.

I seem to have done it again, on a grand scale. Remember that post before, about how we had sold our house? The buyer backed out. So, all of that "we are on the path to happiness" business of last week is now replaced with "hello, Square One, fancy meeting you here, AGAIN."

I chose today's picture because it's a visual reminder of the Days of Our Lives Jinx which is loosely related to the adage about counting chickens too early...and because it's my Hunky Man, whom I miss desperately. Ugh. I need a do-over.

SOLD! Almost...

Top of the World...well, okay, the Moor..., a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

Yep, after almost four years of waiting and tidying and waiting and chasing down estate agents for feedback someone wants to buy our house.

Let me say that again, because I'm not sure I believe it yet... SOMEONE WANTS TO BUY OUR HOUSE IN KEIGHLEY!

I'm not sure how I feel. I'm overwhelmed and overjoyed and when you add in that I'm probably overtired I find myself to be a little bit...sad. Yep, as much as I used to scream that I hated that house, I'm sad. It was our first house after we were married. It was the house where I stayed the first time I came to visit Hubs.

But at the same time, everything is coming together in a way that I admit I never thought it would. Hubs has his interview at the end of February, almost a month from today. The buyer wants to take possession of the house in four weeks. I may very well be picking Daisy up from Atlanta in less time than that. It's all more than I ever thought would happen.

Now to find a place to live so that the four of us aren't continuing to squat in Anne and Damian's house...

Hey, did I mention I'm now working at Clemson University? No? Oops. Next blog post. Swear.

Lurve

Lurve, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

Well, my bags are packed (not really), it's early morn (in the US), the taxi's waiting (he's here for a neighbor I guess), he's blowin' his horn (not really, that's just someone jaywalking)...

I don't leave till tomorrow, but I am trying to go on and process it today so that tomorrow isn't so awful. Flying days SUCK, but at least there are some bright spots this time:

I start a new job on Tuesday. More details on that later, as I'm not sure they've told everyone else that applied for the position.

We are an interview (and possibly a piece of documentation or two) away from Simon having his green card.

I will be living with my ClownA at least M-F and hopefully more if I can find a place to live that I can afford.

But still, something is tugging at me. This tiny island grabs hold of you with all it has when you let it, and it is so very hard to let go. One day I'll be back for good, but for now we are ready to start a new chapter living in America. I've been ready to start that chapter since May!

See you guys on the other side of a big ocean and a tin bird.