i’ve been debating whether or not to even mention this here, but figured if something goes wrong and i don’t reappear in this space, at least 2 people will wonder what happened

i’m having surgery tomorrow. it’s a very small, very routine “keyhole” surgery, leaving me with only a few stitches and a plaster. by the end of the weekend, i shouldn’t even be sore.

i’ve been very lucky in my life – pretty much the most invasive thing that’s ever happened to me was having my wisdom teeth out (after which i didn’t even get any good drugs! by law, you should at least get a few hits of vicodin!) consequently, i hate hospitals, and i’m rather nervous about all this “going under” stuff – the idea of having a blank space in my mental record freaks me out just a little. but what i’m even more anxious about is what happens to all the gas they inflate your stomach with (in order to see, supposedly) – let’s just say that the aftermath of the surgery may be more painful for jonno than it is for me

and the fasting! i can’t eat anything after midnight tonight, and nothing but water tomorrow morning. now, i’m usually not in the habit of late-night snacking… but the idea that i *can’t* makes me want to pop round to the kebab shop at some insane hour for a doner and chips. and lets face it – jen without her morning coffee will make for a very grouchy pre-op patient. java withdrawal plus nervous jitters just seems like an ill-advised combo, if you ask me.

also: i have to remove my nail polish, contact lenses and *all body piercings*.

that could prove interesting.

they also advise bringing a dressing gown (!) and slippers. do people still own dressing gowns? i wasn’t even sure what that was until someone told me it’s a fancy name for bathrobe. needless to say, i don’t have one, and even if i did, i wouldn’t bring one to the hospital to wear in front of a bunch of strangers.

so if you see some poor shlub wearing sweats, no makeup, glasses, random empty holes, shaking from caffeine delirium tremens and riding the northern line at 7am with a slightly panicked look on her face… that would be me.

see you all (hopefully!) on the other side

sheryl crow – the first cut is the deepest (cat stevens cover)

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it’s funny that even after all this time, i can still be surprised by the little things that make the u.k. different.

for example the other day i used the phrase “it’s like comparing apples and oranges”… only to be told that the customary phrase here is “apples and pears”. how did i not know that? how did people not tell me? i must’ve said it a million times before, and nobody thought to mention.

yesterday, someone described themself as a “data entry clerk”… only they pronounced it “clark”. how could i have gone all this time without having heard that word spoken? yet i’ve known for a long time that they pronounce the word “derby” as “darby”, so it shouldn’t have been such a shock. but what i was astounded by most was the fact that such a common word had somehow escaped my notice for so long.

like some sort of alien, or person living in a bubble, these things are as new to me as if i’d just got off the plane.

and the not-infrequent usage of racial terminology that is (generously) considered archaic and (less charitably) ignorant or insensitive still blows me away. my hyperawareness of all things race-related – a truly american trait if there ever was one – has not yet dulled, though by now i should be used to some of this stuff. just today, in fact, in an official training for my new job, the trainer used the common-but-grating term “chinese whispers”; this is what americans would call the game “telephone” or “gobbledygook” to describe when people miscommunicate, but the phrase “chinese whispers” really pretty insulting if you stop to think about it. i’ve heard it lots, and it still never fails to make me wince.

but you could have knocked me over with a feather when he later said, “of Negro descent” to describe black people. i mean, i was truly *agog*.

and for the record, there were no black or chinese participants in that particular workshop session.

(i did make a point of writing on my course evaluation form that the instructor should probably refrain from using such terminology in the future, and that while i’m sure he didn’t intend to cause offense, he should be aware that some might find it inappropriate. as a representative of the local authority, he should be more careful about such things.)

sometimes i really do feel like i’m from another planet. after more than five years, that i’m still so surprised, is in-and-of itself… well, surprising. i get the feeling that if i were to be here for another 20, i’d still be discovering new things and remarking on oddities. because i will still be the new one, the odd one. it interjects a startling moment into what would be an otherwise routine day – i don’t think i’ll ever get used to that.

this expat life is sometimes funny, sometimes shocking, always weird.

dr. dog – ain’t it strange

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wow.

woman = coffee table = utilitarian sex object. it would be outrageous if it wasn’t so desperately sad.

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unicef’s “unite for children, unite against aids” campaign has four primary aims:

as part of my commitment to run the royal parks half marathon, on behalf of unicef’s “born free” mission, i’ll be doing a weekly series here to publicise why i feel so strongly that this intiative deserves your support. please consider sponsoring me at my justgiving page, or simply click the widget in my sidebar. a big thank you for anything you can contribute.

born free: unite for children, unite against aids

i clearly remember when i first became aware of aids. i say aids, because we didn’t yet know what was causing it, hadn’t yet named and shamed the virus that would be called hiv. it was 1984, i was about 12 and my dad, who worked with cancer patients and would later become an aids educator, was watching a pbs show on this disease which was causing gay men (and it was only gay men at that time) to contract and die from a rare form of cancer called kaposi’s sarcoma. i had no idea at the time, nor did anyone, that hiv/aids would become one of the largest and most ruthless killers in human history. i only remember that these men were dying in agony, alone.

during the 80s and early 90s, we began to hear about hiv/aids everywhere – activists, politicians, celebrities. there were fundraisers and marches and ribbons and safe sex campaigns. it thoroughly permeated the cultural consciousness. almost everyone became aware of what it was, how it was contracted, how it could be prevented. there were movies made, and public figures speaking out. yet still, people were dying.

remember all that?

then suddenly, about 10 years ago, they discovered the miracle drugs called antiretrovirals.

and now, more than 25 years since the beginning of this epidemic, more than 25 million people worldwide have died of aids – it is the second most deadly epidemic this world has ever seen, second only to the plague. in spite of everything, the numbers keep rising year after year, faster and faster.

so why is it not still part of our everyday awareness?

the answer to that is that in most western countries, people have largely stopped dying. thanks to antiretrovirals, most people today can manage their hiv infection as a chronic illness, not a death sentence.

and we all got on with thinking about other things, like terrorism and global warming.

yet today, there are more than 33 million people infected with hiv, more than ever before. but nearly 70% of people infected with hiv, and 75% of people dying of aids live in sub-saharan africa – the world’s poorest region.

sub-saharan africa makes up only 11% of the world population, but bears the overwhelming majority of infections and deaths. eight countries in this region have hiv infection rates between 15-25%. that’s one in four people. imagine if that were happening in america or europe today?

the aids epidemic we westerners were all able to put out of our minds, has not gone away. in fact, it’s more devastating than ever, with whole generations being affected – it’s just changed location to somewhere we don’t see, and don’t often think about. once again, this disease has shown its penchant for opportunism – preying on the poorest and most vulnerable.

and to an even greater extent, it’s preying upon women and children. *more than 60% of people living with hiv in this region are women.*

and only 9% of pregnant hiv-positive women get the antiretrovirals that can save their babies – because if born with hiv, most of these babies will not live to see their second birthday.

yet every minute of every day, a baby is born with hiv. how do we prevent this?

(more to come in further postings…)

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those of you who are regular readers of this blog know that the hiv/aids epidemic is a cause near and dear to my heart.

and you’ll also know that i’m a long-time runner.

so this coming october, i’ll be combining the two and running the royal parks half marathon, on behalf of unicef’s “born free” campaign working to prevent mother-to-child transmission of hiv in poorer countries.

i’m pretty nervous – not about the running, but about the fundraising! having completed 3 marathons previously, i’ll be challenged to stretch myself in other ways for this cause. this comes from a girl who was kicked out of the local brownies troop at a young age for my inability to sell girl scout cookies, mind you.

so i’m turning to you, dear internets. i’ll be using this blog regularly between now and 12 october to speak out on why this issue is so incredibly important, and i’ll be asking for support in the form of donations/links to my justgiving page/encouragement.

please help any way you can.

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seen over at the noble savage, answer forty questions with just a single word.

Where is your cell phone? bag
Your significant other? smokin’
Your hair? tired
Your mother? missed
Your father? crazy
Your favorite time of day? evening
Your dream last night? forgotten
Your favourite drink? fizzy
Your dream goal? doctorate
The room you’re in? sunlit
Your ex? kind
Your fear? sharks
Where do you want to be in six years? elsewhere
What are you not? patient
Your favourite meal? delicious
One of your wish list items? sunshine
The last thing you did? yoga
Where you grew up? burbs
What are you wearing? sweats
Your TV is? ugly
Your pets? cute
Your computer? essential
Your life? full
Your mood? quiet
Missing someone? definitely
Your car? imaginary
Something you’re not wearing? shoes
Favorite store? none
Your summer? dreary
Your favourite colour? orange
When is the last time you laughed? today
When is the last time you cried? unknown
Your health? lucky
Your children? furry
Your future? expansive
Your beliefs? immutable
Young or old? youthful
Your image? dependable
Your appearance? quirky
Would you live your life over again knowing what you know? definitively

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women in countries where abortion is restricted are getting abortion meds from the web.

which just goes to show that when desperate women are denied accessible, medically supervised, safe abortions, they will do whatever it takes – no matter how frightening, isolated, or potentially risky carrying out abortions on their own may be.

i wonder if they ship to south dakota.

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and somewhere in the kerfuffle of a new job, and our holiday… i completely missed my 3rd non-smoking anniversary.

which, in many ways, gives me even more reason to be pleased. it just reinforces that i never, ever think of cigarettes any more. i’ve now been quit long enough that even being around smokers (like jonno ) doesn’t make me miss smoking.

a few eye-opening statistics:

– quitting before age 35 has added between 6-8 years to my life.

– as a previous pack-a-day smoker, i have saved myself more than £5460

– by staying quit for more than a year, i have cut my risk of heart disease in half.

and all of that is wonderful stuff. but what really scared me as a smoker, was the prospect of developing emphysema. the idea of not being able to breathe, needing oxygen cannula in my nose, dragging around a tank, requiring a scooter to get around, drowning in my own fluid, gasping for air… the thought sent shivers down my spine.

back in february 2005, i wrote about having bronchitis to kim:

every time i get the flu or a bad cold, it turns into bronchitis – these horrible, endless coughing spasms that will not stop, to the point where my eyes and nose are streaming, i can’t breathe or speak, and i sometimes cough so hard i even gag… i was up all night with the horrible coughing jags, waking me up. it’s really distressing – you feel like you’re never going to breathe again, not to mention the embarrassment if it happens in public.

anyway, because i needed a same-day appt., i got the junior doctor, who suggested i wait it out for the next week or two! i suggested an inhaler, and he wasn’t going for it. and I started to get so upset at the thought of suffering along for another few
weeks, that i started crying and basically begged him for one. which did the trick.

i’ll never forget that feeling – the desperation at not being able to breathe, the intense sleep deprivation of not being able to lie down at night, the humiliation at crying in the doctor’s office. and the absolute incredulity that even as miserable and short of breath as i was, i was still smoking.

i was determined that i would never go through that again. unsurprisingly, i’ve not had a single respiratory infection since quitting.

now if i can only persuade my husband.

the juliana hatfield three – addicted

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i recently finished a book called children of the revolution, by dinaw mengestu. it turned out to be one of those books that i began to ration towards the end, wanting to draw out the last pages, prolonging the ache…that deep down ache of an expat that comes from being a square peg in a round hole. the protagonist of the book is an ethiopian refugee who has spent 17 years living in the u.s. – to all eyes outwardly assimilated, but unable to find the settled peace that comes with truly being at home. the unease of always being the outsider caught between two worlds, belonging fully to neither, stuck in a perpetual limbo… he captures it here brilliantly, in all its sad beauty.

over at nicole’s blog, she talks about the range of mixed feelings that come with being an american who no longer fits in america, someone who can no longer call the place where they were born “my country”, and the muddle of emotions that comes with that love/hate relationship.

and i found myself saying: being an expat is a bit like being a war veteran – no one ever tells you when you leave, that you really can never go home again. not as the same person, anyway.

we are, and forever will be, changed by the shift in perspective that stepping permanently outside our country of origin brings. and because of that, we can never see it or love it in quite the same way again.

no one ever tells you that – and you probably wouldn’t believe them if they did.

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this weather is driving me batty!

when i got up this morning, it was sunny and warm – i was wearing a t-shirt and some cropped trousers. getting ready to head to amity’s place, it got cool and started to rain, so i changed to a long sleeve shirt and jeans. i even wore my autumn jacket.

got to amity’s and the sun was out again. by the time i’d walked to her place from the train station, i was boiling.

on the way home, i stopped off at kim and andy’s to drop off a video. sitting out in their back garden, i became truly schizophrenic – when the sun poked through the clouds, i’d take off my jacket. when the clouds thickened and became threatening, i got chilly and put it back on. the clouds blew over with the breezes and i’d take it off again.

it’s the end of july, and the temperature barely cracks 20C (68F) most days. sunshine barely bothers to put in an appearance. the papers are already forecasting the rest of the summer as a total washout, with talk of it cracking the top five wettest on record.

and so, in true british form, we were moaning about the impossible weather.

andy: “chilly and damp nearly every day… when i lived in california, we called this ‘winter’.”

yo la tengo – the summer

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so this is what my workday schedule used to look like:

6:30 – get up, have leisurely coffee, read email and gently surface into alertness while jonno gets ready
7:00 – kiss j goodbye, hop into shower
8:00 – head out the door
8:30 – arrive at work

4:30 – leave work
5:00 – arrive home, feed cat, check email, relax
6:00 – yoga
7:00 – make dinner
7:30 – eat dinner
8:00 – blog, watch telly
12:00 – bed

my commute was 30 minutes door to door, allowing me sufficient time to both wake up and decompress before and after work

my commute now takes 45 minutes if i catch the fast train, 55 if i get the slow train. you wouldn’t think a few extra minutes would have such a huge effect, but this is what my schedule looks like now:

6:15 – get up, hop into shower (because j and i are now getting ready to leave at the same time, i have to get in and out first thing)
6:30 – make coffee, get ready
7:30 – walk out the door *on the dot*
8:15 – arrive at work, grab breakfast on the way in to sit down at my desk for 8:30

4:45 – walk out the door *on the dot*
4:53 – catch fast train or
5:11 – catch slow train
6:00 – walk in door, feed cat, change into yoga clothes
6:05 – do yoga
7:00 – make dinner
7:30 – eat dinner
8:00 – unwind, check email, maybe blog, finally relax
11:00 – bed

my morning routine feels hectic, and the only way to slow it down would be to wake up earlier. my days are fuller, i’m more tired rushing home, and i feel like i have no time to decompress until much later in the day… but before i know it my evening is almost over, and i am so knackered that i’m heading to bed earlier.

i’m sure i’ll get used to it, but this first full week is kicking my ass.

all of which is by way of say, sorry if blogging is a bit light while i make the shift and absorb the impact.

pavement – rattled by the rush

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it made me sick to my stomach to read about britain’s shameful vote of support in allowing china to now become a legal buyer of ivory.

put simply, china has neither the capacity nor the will to ensure the legal provenance of ivory being imported into their country. most african nations have neither the resources nor the might to stop poachers or enforce the policing of the ivory trade. put those two factors together, and you’ve created a perfect storm scenario which could decimate an already threatened species.

even with the current restrictions, 20,000 elephants per year are murdered for ivory. there are only roughly about half a million african elephants left in existence, and even if left completely undisturbed, that population only increases at 6% a year.

china has long been implicated as a major player in the illegal ivory trade, because demand is so high.

animal rights africa calculates that, “In real terms this represents the death of an estimated 7,699 South African elephants (1.8 tusks per elephant and 3.68kg per tusk).”

that britain could endorse such a proposal is more than reckless – it’s completely unconscionable.

beirut – elephant gun

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gingerdead man 2: the passion of the crust

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maternity leave damages careers

should read: *prejudicial hiring practices* surrounding maternity leave damages careers.

that is all.

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spent the weekend out in wiltshire with kerryn, tracey, chris and tonia – the occasion was j’s third birthday!

amazing how quickly the time has flown. watching children grow so fast makes me feel old.

but i can think of few better ways to spend a weekend than surrounded by gorgeous countryside, with good friends, good food, good drink, and birthday cake.

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one of the things i love to do when travelling is try different kinds of sweets. trust me when i tell you this has lead to some pretty bizarre taste sensations. (one hint: don’t buy chocolate in china, a country virtually devoid of dairy.)

right now, i’m eating turkish mentos… and they are without a doubt one of the strangest tasting things i’ve ever encountered.

imagine regular minty mentos. only smoked. yes, they taste like smoke flavoured mints. like eating a mento (is the singular of mentos, “mento”?) and licking an ashtray at the same time.

my first reaction was complete befuddlement, followed quickly by repulsion. never one to admit defeat, they’re growing on me though – i’m almost finished with the pack.

googling “turkish mentos” hasn’t helped determine what the flavour is actually *called*, but it did bring up two very strange videos.

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why are first days so incredibly tiring? mentally draining, and physically exhausting.

the people seem very nice. so that is good.

my commute is longer, and more expensive. so that is not so great.

there are a lot of conveniences near my work. so that is good.

i don’t have a desk, and everyone else does. so that’s not so great.

overall, i have a good feeling. so that is good.

and change is always good.

but good god, i’m knackered beyond belief.

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we had a fantastic time in istanbul – the weather, the people, the culture.

some of the highlights were:
– listening to german opera co-ordinated with a light show on the blue mosque
– hearing the evening call to prayer resounding from all corners of the city, against the backdrop of a magnificent sunset
– sipping thick turkish coffee in a hidden little cay bahcesi (tea garden)
– pounding meze, beer, and raki with the locals in the raucous saturday evening ambiance of the navizade sokak meyhanes (kind of like a rowdy tapas bar)
– walking and wandering aimlessly through the back streets of the bazaars, looking for spices and finding leeches
– walking and wandering some more
– and (believe it or not) watching the wimbledon men’s final!

a few photos below, more photos here

they might be giants – istanbul (not constantinople)

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landline phone rings. in the middle of the day (which means it’s not anyone i know). against my better judgement, i answer it.

me: hello?

telemarketer: (sounding rushed, lots of background noise) can i speak to the homeowner?

me: i’m sorry, we rent.

telemarketer: well that’s no good to me, then. **click**

_________________________________

anywhoo, we’re off to istanbul for a long weekend tomorrow, back on monday. people keep asking me if i’m excited – which i guess i am, just in a very low-key way. weirdly, ever since getting back from our trip, i don’t really think i get “excited” about going new places anymore! i mean, i love travelling, and it will be hella cool for sure – i just haven’t really thought too far ahead, and i don’t really know what to expect, so i haven’t gotten all worked up about it.

see you next week!

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happy birthday to my dearest brother dave… and happy anniversary to my sister kate and her husband carl!

love to you all

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whenever we sit down to eat at the table, zeke will perch himself on another chair and intently sniff the wafting aromas coming from our plates, eyes wide, licking his lips. he sits there for the entire meal, *almost* begging, but not daring to touch the actual table with a paw.

today, i made myself some smoked salmon on a bagel. he was sitting next to me, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing… and i thought i’d take a photo.

apparently the temptation was just a little *too* much, the bagel just a little *too* close…

the reason this picture is so blurry is that before i had a chance to focus, he reached out and nipped the salmon off the bagel, and i found myself screaming, dropping my camera and chasing him as he dashed across the kitchen and dove under the living room chair with his delectable fishy bounty.

cheeky bugger… but i have only myself to blame!

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