Writing is more

I have taken a year long sabatical from writing. I've done this for all of the proper reasons, of course:

I am tired.
I have a new job.
I moved across the ocean.
I have a four year old.
My job is too much.
My time is too little.

And here I sit.
Believing it.

And because I believe it, I hid. I hid good. I hid behind insecurity and self-doubt, behind the guise of a simple Texas girl who moved to be among the international intellectuals in a school where people in the staff lounge talk about "What will happen politically in Kashmir" or " which theoretical 'such and such' is proof that 'such as that' is possibly real". I watch them pick up The Times and The Guardian, and make opinionated comments on 'this article' and see them laugh at the buffonery of 'that character'. They recite poetry, little snippits of Keats, for example, over their curry lunch, and discuss the relative validity of Margaret Thatcher in light of America's almost heretical worship and, as we all know, Reagan..

And I hid deeper.
Burrowed even.

Tonight, on a whim (read, an attempt to avoid ridiculous marking load under the pretense of 'seeing if my blog was still there, even') I looked back at some of my better blog posts. I found a little one, one that didn't get very much attention from my virtual community, but one that was most endearing to my heart.  In the comment section, I found this:
 

"You know how on those rare occasions that you'll admit to another living, breathing human being that, yes, you sometimes write a little bit, you almost always follow that with a demure look to the floor and say something self-effacing that sounds like 'it's just a hobby' but really means 'I think I'm only good enough for it to be just a hobby'? You know that moment? The next time you have one of those, you need to read this post.

'cause damn. You're good."

And then I cried. Because I can't hide anymore. And I can't be afraid. And tired is just stupid. And work is.. well intimidating.. but writing is more.

Not dead yet.

I realize this is all vanity but..
Yesterday I went to a Texas bar and grill and while I awaited the arrival of my darling family for the grill part, I had a drink in the bar part.
A man - a complete stranger - bought me a drink.
Yes, my friends. This 35 year old mamma's still got it. :)
And then I introduced Ken (yes, that was his name) to my fantastic husband and beautiful son. All were very gracious.

British v. Texican

British people say, "I hope you are well."
In Texan we say "How the hell are ya'?"

KT Tunstall - Uummannaq Song

Listening to this song as I sign my contract! You're my muse of the mo, KT! :)

Letter to my family

Hi,
A lot of folks asked me if I was going to watch the royal wedding, some with their tongues in their cheeks, others as serious as coronary angioplasty. The answer to that question is yes. Of course I watched it. Not in real time.. I did have to work the next morning. But I TiVo'd it and watched all of it, including the balcony kiss ( correction: kisses! scandalous)!

There was tons of British patriotism bandied about leading up to the glorious day in several communities, including celebrations at my new school. Here is an article from one of London's papers, The Guardian, a more liberal publication. ;) Look for the ACS Cobham section here.

If you want to hear the accompanying song by students from my future school, check it out here. Love you,

g

What to Pack

What to Pack:
Books.
First and foremost.
Books.
And Winter Clothes, Linens, Photos,
Nostalgia.

What to Sell:
Everything else.
Except for the things I can't imagine leaving.
Most of my stuff.
Furniture?
Fake plants?
The mosquito repellent backyard torches?
Indecision.

What to Store:
Mimi's blankets,
Nana's quilts,
Pictures and albums from yellowed college days when I fell in love and began this adventure.
Who I am, the folks who graciously contributed to who I am,
and the girl I will be.

What to take:
Summer clothes
A warm hoodie (in case)
Music,
Poetry.
Benodryl.
A pot and pan to get me started.
A passport.
Cash.
My best friend on the next flight over.
A sense of adventure,
and the notion that all will be well..

All will be well!

Yes.

"Right. Yes mam. I see. That is now confirmed. The box is ticked in the affirmative. Here we go. Onward to the next question," UK Michael said.

The original question was simply, "Upon arriving in the UK, will you be purchasing a car?" My very short response was "Yes." Every question was confirmed in this way - a rambling affirmation on his part to my very brief "yes or no" response.

I think this may be something I'll have to get used to when I move to England this summer, the ratio of ten minutes of proper English to one second of my crude American vernacular. So...

OH MY GOD. I'M MOVING TO ENGLAND THIS SUMMER!!!

Thought you might want to know.