A Tale Of The Fourth Of July In Pictures

My neighbor pointed at the American flag that was hanging from our balcony and blowing in the wind. "What is up with the flag?" she asked. "Fourth of July," I responded. To that she said, "Sabrina, it is July 3rd. What would Thomas Jefferson say about that?" 

I really don't know what Thomas Jefferson might think about celebrating 24 hours earlier. However, I think he would be proud! I still smile when I remember the BBQ we had with friends. The house was dressed in red, white, and blue (American style) thanks to my mom who sent decorations from the US last month.

The view from the garden

The flag from our balcony

Us

He really did wear that hat!!

Equal representation? Our English friends brought this bunting.

I am aware of how far I have come with regard to settling into  my life in England. Last year, I was in the throes of getting acclimated and I had not cultivated many friendships. This year, as we feasted upon chicken skewers and sausages, my eyes wandered around the table. I was so grateful for the people with whom we have chosen to share our lives.

Father's Day 2011

It is a bit strange to move to a new place and integrate your old life with the new one. I want to show my father this life. Our our lives diverged when he died over ten years ago. It was as if an old film was playing and suddenly the film reel snapped. The disconnect was startling. And so, I wandered for several years trying to metaphorically knit the plastic film pieces together in my mind.

I still grapple with how to integrate his absence into my life. I keep talking to my father...in my head. I need to show him my life--everything about me in the present. It isn't just England I want him to see. I want him to see the woman I have become. When he died, I was a 23 years old. Brash and spunky, I was on a mission to change the world. With a sharp mind and quick tongue, I was going to instruct everyone (including God) how this should be done. I digress....

On this Father's Day, if I could have it my way, I would bring him to England for an afternoon.....

First, I would introduce him to my garden. I would stand between the bean plants and the roses. “See Dad, this my garden. I've been growing vegetables for two years. Remember when you and Mom grew tomatoes, beans, and corn next to the wild flowers in the yard? I did the same. Except, I don't have wild flowers, we have roses. English roses.”

I would then take him on a drive, not unlike we did when I was a child. I would show him the places in this little town that bring me joy. I might take him to an elevated and leafy position above the estuary. I would point out that just to his left he could see a wide expanse of muddy water that extends toward Wales. “This is where I come to think and meditate,” I would tell him.

On our way home, I might tell him about my work and what I now think about saving the world. I would tell him I no longer think demanding change from the world while kicking and screaming is effective. I would softly mention that I no longer want to save the world. Rather, I want to gracefully contribute to it. I want to abate suffering through beauty. I might even admit that I don't think the world needs to be saved. I think he would smile.

Next, I would bring him back home---to our home. I think he would understand us best if he saw our bookcase. I would make him a cup of tea and leave him to wander through our books. He would learn about us by seeing the topics we hold close to our hearts. Science fiction, music, politics, psychology, art, travel, DIY, history, and fiction to name a few.

Last, my husband and I would prepare a meal for the three of us. I can imagine myself eating slowly and feeling grateful for them both. As I reach across the table to gently allow my hand to brush across my husband's wrist, I would feel satisfied. In this moment, all of this would be enough.

Let's Talk About the Weather

Rainy afternoon in Bristol

I jumped into the front seat of the car. “What is up with the rain in this country?” I whined. “It doesn't even look like it is raining. As soon as I get outside, I am drenched.” I sighed as I pulled the visor down to assess the damage that had been done to my perfectly blow-dried hair. My husband laughed. “That is England for you.”

Despite living in England for over a year, I remain dismayed by the weather. It is constantly changing. Past experience should have taught me to make an umbrella a regular wardrobe accessory. Recently, while searching for a new purse, it occurred to me that I should look for an attractive umbrella. “Maybe I would use it more often if it weren't black,” I muttered to myself. Despite my best intentions, I always leave my 'brolly' at home. The result is looking like a stray dog that has been caught in a monsoon.

The temperatures here swing from sunny and warm to damp and clammy in a matter of moments. Last weekend was no different. I kept peering out the window as I watched mother nature's indecisiveness. In preparation for a trip into the city, I slid into my brown wool sweater and a pair of jeans. I plunged my foot into one of my boots. “Those boots look like they need a polish,” said my husband. The soles were scuffed from treacherous walks along cobblestone streets. I massaged the toe box in an effort to remove a deep scrape. He didn't realize that they weren't usually worn in the Spring. The sweltering summer months came much earlier in Washington and they brought an extended sabbatical for my favorite shoes.

Later that afternoon, after dousing our bladders with vast amounts of Earl Grey tea and coffee, we meandered around the narrow and congested streets of Bristol. The constant drizzle and the leaping between puddles didn't please me. I tried to convince myself that the grey was palatable... even pretty.

Moments later, something caught my attention in the park across the street. I was captivated by the shades of green vegetation and stepped across the the road. “Yes, please take a picture of that,” I said to my husband. We stood in silence. I was struck with the notion everything in nature has a purpose. I often forget that life brings opportunities to see beauty in the experiences I do not like. The thing that irritates me the most provides me with nourishment. As my husband and I stood shoulder to shoulder, we took a few moments to breathe. “Ready,” he said as he touched my hand. “Let's go,” I whispered softly. 

Victoria Square, Clifton, Bristol

 Images: Sabrina 

I Know This Place

When we visit my family in Ohio, we stay with family friends. Their house, while not my childhood home, is a very vital part of what I consider to be home. It remains relatively unchanged since the days of my childhood. I awoke our first morning after a heavy and delicious slumber. As my eyelids fluttered into the morning sun, I heard a wind chime outside and I felt myself smile. I had forgotten the clinking and clanking sound and it reminded me of striking cowbells during a music class in elementary school. I seem to remember hearing the wind chime over the years as I came in an out of this house. Without another thought, I swung my hips around so that my feet dangled over the side of the bed. I plunged my toes in the plush brown carpet and set out for my day.

Later that morning I encountered the wind chime again. For some reason, when I visit Ohio, I move at a rapid pace—rushing from one place to another. I always seem to feel as if I am running out of time. I opened the front door and braced myself for the wall of icy air that would sting my nostrils and tighten my lungs. As I skidded my feet over a patch of ice, I grabbed the car handle. Shocked by the cold on the palm of my hand, I started to pull it away until I heard the wind chime. I felt as if I was caught in a trance and squeezed the handle tightly and closed my eyes. The frigid wind caressed my brown hair and I took a deep breath.

It was at that moment that a carousel of images began turning in my mind. I remembered myself at the age of thirteen as I learned to sew a dress made of rose printed fabric. I saw myself several years later when I was learning to drive. My mother was coaxing me to back our enormous Chevy Lumina down the driveway. Last, I saw my husband and I, weary and jet lagged as we hauled our luggage into the house. We had returned home for the first time from England as a married couple. “I know this place,” I whispered to myself.

There are moments in our lives that we need to sip from the cup of familiarity. Most of the time, I enjoy the adventure of my life in England. Moving here has been a winding and twisting journey that is filled with new experiences daily. I seem to thrive on being in different environments. It is probably why I happily choose to work or study in places such as Greece, Cambodia, and Costa Rica where I didn't know anything about the language and customs. However, the addiction to new experiences can be exhausting. There is only so much that one person see, touch, feel, and taste in a period of time. There is a deep need to become nourished with that which is known. To come home and to rest....

America Calling....

Tim Beach / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

As the wheels curled up into the belly of the jet, I sighed deeply and placed my hand on my husband's knee. I allowed my head to rest on the back of my chair and exhaled slowly. I needed to go home so badly I ached. The weeks prior to our departure were filled with joyful distractions, including holiday gatherings, Christmas shopping, and packing for our trip. However, my attention was not diverted from a sensation of being thirsty for my family. Every time I pictured myself walking through the door of my mother's house, I felt my mouth go dry. Parched. I knew as soon as I returned to that which I knew, I would be satiated.

After speaking with several friends who have chosen an expat lifestyle, I realized that I was not unique in feeling this way. One friend, who has lived in Europe most of her adult life, shared how pulled she felt to the land where we grew up. She described it as a build up of tension. As she spoke, I watched her lips move and pictured the strings of a guitar being plucked. I saw them vibrating as a faceless person stroked them. The tone of the strings, pulled so very tight from end to end, emanated a resonating call to come home.

I have tried to explain this feeling to people who have not lived overseas. They often respond by asking, “Don't you like living in the UK?” In response, I respectfully press my lips together and give a quick shake of my head. “It doesn't have to do with liking or disliking my life in the UK. It has to do with the deep need to return to where you belong.”

As the plane pressed further into the atmosphere and a surly flight attedant served me a cup overfilled with orange juice, I felt the tension release from my neck. The ice cubes hit the front of my teeth and the bits of orange pulp stuck to my lips. I pondered why I so badly needed to return to Ohio. I needed to ground my feet in the place I knew myself best.

With every massive life change comes a shift in identity. Marrying my husband was one experience that altered how I related to the world. My life in Bristol and Portishead was about being a married woman. Conversely, my life in Ohio was based upon my identification with being a child. The American Midwest provided nourishment and safety. I yearned to be with the people who had known me for all of my life. It felt natural to go there to “fill up.”

The flight attendant placed a package of stale pretzels on my tray. I felt a ripple of anxiety course through my abdomen. I ran my fingers nervously over the shiny red and blue foil packet. “What if I don't want to come back to my new home,” I thought. Unable to draw a full breath, I looked to my right at my husband who was engrossed in his new book. He briefly glanced at me and noticed the unsettled look on my face. “You alright?” he asked as he touched my shoulder. “Yeah. Just fine,” I responded.

I soothed myself with thoughts, not of my departure from the US to the UK, but rather what we would be doing once we arrived. The corners of my mouth curled upwards as I thought about coffee dates, shopping, and time with my mother. I slid into the back of my seat and anticipated breakfast at my favorite restaurant, watching American movies for half the price, and driving on the other side of the road.

Within a few hours, our plane touched down in New York, my stomach danced again. My husband and I carried out a ritual that we began early in our relationship when we travel internationally. Whoever is not in their home country rushes to get through customs. “Bye. Go. Go. Go, ” I muttered as he gave me a quick peck on the lips. “See you on the other side,” I whispered. “Yeah,” he said as we locked glances and smirked. A moment later, I watched his silhouette getting smaller and more faint as he sprinted down the jet bridge. Our return to the US together for the first time in over a year had finally begun.

Please keep an eye out for future posts that will share more of my experiences and perceptions of returning home.

And....I am Back

It is early morning here, and as I sit writing, I can hear the ticking of my husband's old clock. The rhythmic pattern comforts me as I gather the my thoughts to share with you. My hands caress the warm mug of coffee sitting before me, and I am aware that much time has passed since I last touched in with all of you.

While passing my drivers test was a high priority (and frankly, I am amazed that I did it), it seems so long ago. Since then, I traveled to the US for the holidays. We spent three glorious weeks with friends and family in Ohio. On December 31st, while you were celebrating the New Year, we were traveling from New York to London. Upon our return, life became quite busy and we were swept up in what I call “the daily mish mash” of life. I was pleased to settle back into a familiar routine of spin classes, coffee dates with girlfriends and tending to the house. Despite being horribly jet lagged, I was comforted by the desire to return to our life here.

As January fades away and February can be seen on the horizon, I feel eager and ready to write again. Life isn't quiet right now. I am doing some freelance writing and a bit of work for the National Health Service. In addition, I continue to volunteer with a non-profit in Bristol. We also have decided to place our house back on the market as my husband and I are ready to make some changes. However, despite the contracting and expanding activities of our lives, I promise to make time to come back here to share with you. My perceptions of this country are different now that a year has passed. Time has begun to give me the gift of perspective. I am eager earmark a bit of time each week so that we can “chat.”

So, please do continue to look out for my posts. I am looking forward to connecting again......

Acing the UK Practical Driving Test: Mission Accomplished!!!

Nine months ago, I couldn't imagine getting in the drivers seat and often refused the opportunity to drive. With some nudging, I drove for short distances. Seven months ago, I couldn't drive on the left side of the street without feeling physically ill. Nonetheless, I drove despite feeling nauseous. Five months ago, I almost wrecked our new car on a roundabout the first time I ventured out alone. I pulled over to the side of the road, took some deep breaths, and went around that roundabout several more times....just to get it right. Within the last month, I drove long distances along crooked and narrow roads. I endlessly practiced parallel parking, turning in the road, backing around corners and parking spots till late into the evening in the grocery store parking lot.

This week, I passed my practical driving test! I am now fully licensed to drive in the UK! At times, preparing for this test was more daunting than studying for my Master's degree. On the day of the test, I told the driving examiner how to check the oil levels and tire pressures in the car and performed a three-point turn in the road. I even drove through town for 30 minutes with the examiner without killing myself (or anyone else) on a roundabout.

This accomplishment was a global effort. I am so grateful for the support of my friends and family in the US and England. From reviewing the highway code to pep talks on Skype, I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you.....