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.

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.

Spring...in February?

My Mommy is a geek. Seriously., a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

I went across the way today to grab lunch at the student center and was struck by how WARM it is. WARM, y'all. Like open the sun roof and put Kid Rock on the radio, warm. Like I can't believe this time last year I was freezing, warm!

I was reminded in that short walk of one of the reasons why I wanted to move our family to the United States. While there are many, MANY lovely things about the UK and England in particular, and I do miss parts of it every single day...the weather is not one of those things.

61F in February. 16C. That's the great British Summer if you live up north like I did. I had to TAKE OFF MY SCARF outdoors because I was TOO HOT. (I didn't even bring a coat today!)

Oh, and in other news...she's coming home. Very soon. Like next week soon if at all possible. And then she can think I'm a dork and a geek and whatever all in person, and it will be okay, because she will be HERE. With ME. Mei Mei. Life might be starting to get a little bit...good?

Okay, for the last time...

Uh, clearly I need coffee. NOW!!
Originally uploaded by Nancy Dunne

1. I've started calling it a lift. Deal with it.

2. I'm going to use British words sometimes instead of American ones. If you understand what I said, why do you feel the need to correct me? It really makes NO sense.

3. I just spent two years of my life over there. Some things are going to rub off. They may or may not go away after I've been here awhile.

4. Just so you know, laughing at how Simon pronounces things, unless you're me and allowed (because he can laugh at my pronunciation) is rude. End of. Yes, I realise it's a double-standard. I don't care.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled mocking. (It's been one of those days...)

There and Back again...and again...

The Dunnes
Originally uploaded by Nancy Dunne

Well, it has been two weeks shy of two months since I've seen that handsome devil in the picture with me (taken in May 2010 in York). I was losing hope that I'd see him before Christmas. I was losing my mind. I was losing my grip on politeness and definitely losing my composure.

Today we found a cheap flight...and now my world has righted a bit. I will be back in the UK to visit from 16-31 August. Back with no car. Back on the buses and trains and in taxis. Back at Sainsbury's and ASDA and eating at Nando's. Back right next to Mr. Dunne, and you'll be hard pressed to pull me away from him, at least not for very long.

I can't wait. I can't wait for the English voices on the tannoy. I can't wait for Daisy to be curled up on me on the sofa and Mills to be purring in my hair as I go to sleep at night. My family is the most important thing to me in the world, and I can't wait for all of us to be on the same continent, even if it is only for two weeks.

Roll on August!

Reverse Homesickness on Allen Mountain

Daisy at Bolton Abbey
Originally uploaded by Nancy Dunne

So it's been just over a month since I left my husband and critters and returned to the US, and I'd love to tell you that the weird reverse homesickness is gone and life is better than ever.

I'd love to tell you that, but I'd be lying.

For the most part, all of the sensory overload that IS life in America has died down to an acceptable level. I've had loads of freelance work, I've gotten a fabulous new (to me) car, and we've learned that the embassy is now processing petitions for immigrant visas filed just 30 short days prior to when ours was filed.

But there are still moments so awful, so loud, so unbearable that I find myself running into the virtual arms of online travel agencies, desperately searching for a flight to Manchester that I can afford.

While I'm on that topic, if anyone wants to loan me the dosh for a ticket, I wouldn't turn it down. Moving on...

I've had to make some big decisions this weekend about what path my life (and Simon's, bless him) is going to take here in the US, and I'm not sure that I've gotten it right but I think I'm at least facing the right way.

I do, however, desperately miss that little face in the picture up there. I went looking for her a brother this weekend, and thought I'd found the perfect dog, but on careful consideration (and once I'd gotten away from those big brown eyes) I'm not sure he's a good fit for my family, at least not while 3/4 of it is 4000 miles away.

So that's where we are so far. I'm here, I'm desperate to see my husband and critters, and I'm taking it one step at a time. How disturbingly grown up of me. When did THAT happen?

On Coming Home...Again

love
Originally uploaded by Nancy Dunne

I've been thinking (since before I even left the UK) about what I wanted to say here at the Lettuce about my latest adventure: re-patting. For two years the handful of you that read the Lettuce have been subjected to my homesickness, my struggles, my challenges and my sorrows as well as my triumphs and successes living as an expat in the UK. You've sent me messages of encouragement and sometimes of envy, and for those little moments when I felt not quite so far away, I'm grateful.

I was hoping that the moment would arrive, inspiration would strike, and I could write an outstanding final chapter to the expat part of my life that would be worthy of all of you that shared it with me. Well, if you know me, you know my tendency to Griswald everything in my life. Really, the moose out front should have told you.

So what we're left with is this: I don't know how I feel about being here, now. So I'll start this dialogue by sharing with you the events of the past two days...amazing to think that just 72 hours ago I was in Keighley, and now I'm here.

Thursday morning came far too early. I don't think I really slept Wednesday night because I wanted to remember every single thing about sleeping in that room, next to my incredible husband, with my precious princess Daisy on her bed by the window and my little hearthrob Mills curled up and purring in my hair. The alarm sounded at 4am and I was up and heading towards a new start in an old country.

Everything about Thursday morning was unremarkable, and that was just as I needed it to be. Even the taxi driver who turned up 20 minutes late got us to the train station in time for the 0601 train. We made it to Leeds, and then to Manchester Airport. We had coffee and then I left Simon to head to my plane.

Yeah, so it wasn't quite that easy. There were lots of tears and begging to stay and bargaining to move to Canada together between the alarm and the full body scan. Anyway...

The plane was full to the gills, and I was lucky enough to sit in front of a small boy who is destined to be a striker for a Premiership team one day. Two Angelina movies, a Dawn Treader and something else I couldn't be asked to watch, the end of a Percy Jackson and the beginning of a Harper Connelly, and I was on the ground in Atlanta. No lines at security, my bags arrived safe and sound, and I was whisked off to my sister's house for the evening.

Have I mentioned how much I adore my niece Joy, how much of a superstar she is? Even when she's slapping me in the nose with my own sunglasses, the urge to tuck her under my arm and make a run for it is strong. What a special, incredible, unique soul she is. Anyway, moving on...

Friday we visited the town home that my sister and her family will hopefully be moving into soon and then headed north to where I am now, with my parents. All of this seemed no different than any other time I've come home on holiday, and I was feeling quite proud of myself for manning up and getting on with things as far as moving back home goes.

You know what I did, don't you? I "Days of Our Lives Jinxed" myself. On Days, when a character makes a proclamation of all clear, such as "nothing will ever tear us apart again," the third member of their love triangle will immediately arrive in town. I felt like I had a handle on the re-patting, and the universe decided to tell me otherwise.

It was so simple: go to Walmart on the way into town, pick up some face wipes and a toothbrush. I'd been to that Walmart before and even knew where everything was. Easy peasy.

Not.

I can't really describe what it was like to stand in front of a section of that store, staring at the shelves full of sixty-eleven different kinds of mouthwash, staring intently in the hope that the one you recognise will magically appear on the shelf. I gave up and moved on to the face wipes. Were there really that many brands two years ago when I left? Were any of them the same as the Boots own that I've been using for what seemed like forever? I finally grabbed a green packet of face wipes, LITERALLY because it was green and my Boots ones are green, and tried to find the sugar section so I could get my Splenda.

I'd like to say that I was just a little turned around, but at that point I was totally lost. I stood in the middle of the Walmart and fought back big tears. I found the Splenda. I gave it and the wipes and a grapefruit for the next day's breakfast to my mom, and fled the store to find my mobile, call Simon, and just feel a little normal again.

I've recovered from that shock to the system, but I'm sure there are more to come. My America doesn't exist any more. The me that lived here for the first 37 years of her life has gone into hiding. The me that is here now wants this to be home, but it isn't. Wasn't that the whole point of moving back?

I just hope that those of you that know me in person and not just through the tinterweb (that was for you, Liz) will forgive me wincing when a car zips past on the left, or my looking for loos and lifts, and you'll love the new me as much as the one that left. Thanks again for your support to now...I couldn't have made it back home...again...without you.

From the Inside, Looking Out This Time

in the labyrinth at chatsworth house
Originally uploaded by Nancy Dunne

The days are counted. The boxes are being filled...okay, really, they're being mentally filled and the clothes are being mentally sorted and so forth and so on. My first expat experience is coming to an end very very soon, and a month from today I will be watching the Eurovision finals and thinking about my impending flight back to the US.

I'm happy about the move. I want to get back to my career and my life in the US. I want to be closer to my family. I want to start making up for the missed time in my now two year old niece's life. I want to get back to me, and be the person that my husband fell in love with and married. I don't think she's been around in a long time.

That said, there is a large part of me that doesn't want to leave. I don't like change, but then who does. I feel like I'm giving up, but I'm really not I suppose. I gave living in Keighley a go, and while there have been some lovely bits it just wasn't the right fit.

Will I ever find the right fit? I don't know. I'm going back to be a freelancer rather than a staff interpreter. I'm going back to be Joy's Auntsy, rather than just Susan's sister. I'm going back to be a member of the Hounds of East Fairhaven, rather than the director. In a lot of ways, I'm going back to just blend in rather than be in charge and stand out...and that's pretty fabulous I think.

The photo above is from my first ever foray into the United Kingdom, back in 1995 when I lived in Scunthorpe for six weeks. I remember leaving at the end, not knowing if I'd ever be back to this tiny island, but being thrilled beyond belief to be going back to my life. This time I don't have a "my life" to go back to, exactly, but I'm thrilled beyond belief to be going home and to have the opportunity to show my husband what real life in America is like.

Soon and very soon. How odd it will be to look back at the UK and not belong here anymore. Maybe this time I'll find out where I really do belong.