so, i screwed up my courage and changed after all.

i’ve changed webhosts, domains, and significantly upgraded my wordpress installation. if your old bookmarks are pointing to the old address (www.jnoelbell.me.uk) you will have found yourself redirected to the new address (www.jensdenofiniquity.com) and voila! at some point i’ll be taking the redirect off, so be sure to update. the feeds should all have updated, so you shouldn’t need to change anything there.

i’m hoping that for the most part it look pretty seamless. i thought about running them in parallel for a while, but you have to take the training wheels off sometime. there are a few things which are not yet upgraded (my old worldtour blog, and my photos, which i’ll prolly be re-doing yet again), and the old links still point there.

please let me know if you come across anything wonky.

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every couple of days, jonno will be playing with the cat, and will turn to me and say, “we should save the airfare, and just put little zekey on a raft with ‘vancouver or bust’ on it.”

or we’ll be lying in bed drowsing, and he’ll say, “just think – when we get to vancouver, we’ll be able to go snowboarding every weekend, and get a dog to run around in the snow with.”

he’ll occasionally look at house listings in the area. when we were there in february, we were scouting out possible locations for where we might like to live.

we’ve been gathering what we need to apply to canada. birth certificates. money. transcripts. work documents. i postponed school. we were going to send the application in january.

we’ve planned on this for 5 years. apply to immigrate as a skilled worker (based on my work experience), giving us permanent residency straight away. i could apply to school when i got there. we could buy a house.

and then this evening, i got an email. pointing me to this news update put out yesterday:

Minister Kenney also announced another step in measures to improve the immigration program’s responsiveness to Canada’s labour market. Retroactive to February 27, 2008, the date specified by the Federal Budget, the Action Plan for Faster Immigration includes issuing instructions to visa officers reviewing new federal skilled worker applications to process those from candidates who:

* are in 38 high-demand occupations such as health, skilled trades, finance and resource extraction; or
* have an offer of arranged employment or have already been living legally in Canada for one year as a temporary foreign worker or international student.

The list of 38 occupations was developed after consultations with the provinces and territories, business, labour and other stakeholders. New federal skilled worker applications that do not meet the eligibility criteria outlined above will not be processed, and the application fee will be fully refunded. This, along with funds set aside in the 2008 Budget to improve the immigration system, will stop the backlog from growing and will start to draw it down.

my occupation is not on that list.

effectively, that means that our little plan of moving in 2 years time, has just been popped. the one escape route that i’ve been holding fast to in my heart, is no more.

my dream just died tonight. though to all outward appearances nothing has changed, my whole future has just been turned upside-down. the air has been sucked right out of the room, and there’s a hot ache in my chest that won’t go away.

jonno keep saying we’ll figure something out. i’m glad he has faith, since i don’t.

i wanted this so bad. i put all my hope in it. and right now, i just can’t see any light through the tears.

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so as part of the ongoing credit crunch, my webhost has decided to stop hosting. shortly.

i’ve never been thrilled with their service, but the idea of migrating both my websites and all my photos makes my head hurt.

i would happily pay someone to do it for me. anyone? anyone? i’m totally serious – if you know anyone who might be susceptible to the lure of cash, *please* let me know.

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If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, “thank you,” that would suffice. ~Meister Eckhart

happy thanksgiving!

with love to all family and friends celebrating, near and far. with so much gratitude for all you bring to my life.

heartfelt thanks.

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this must be the newest stage of expatting. the stage where you stop trying to replicate what you’d do at home (and never really coming close enough to satisfy anyway) and just do something completely different instead.

tomorrow is thanksgiving in the states. brits here have a hard time comprehending the importance of this holiday, but it’s one of my favourites because it remains relatively “pure” – family, friends and food. it’s not yet been turned into an obligatory gift-giving occasion, or wholly commercial enterprise. and while the roots do, of course, harken back to a time when we mistreated and exploited the people and land that were here first (and in many ways still do), the theme of the holiday itself is about gratitude for what we have in our present day lives.

we cannot change the past, nor predict the future – but here and now, on this one day, if we have people in our lives that we love, and enough food to fill our bellies for this meal, then that is something to be grateful for. if you believe in a god, then you give thanks to that god. if you believe in mother earth, then you give thanks to her. if you simply believe in family and friends, then you give thanks to them for their presence in your life.

nothing more is required – a meal shared with loved ones, and thanks. so simple, yet so profound. it’s that which i love most about thanksgiving, but is so difficult to communicate to those that haven’t grown up with it.

each year here so far, i have been lucky enough to have fellow americans join me in my celebration. people who “get it”, who understand the emotion that thanksgiving conveys, and how difficult it is to be far away on a day when others are drawing near. and there’s a shared acknowledgement that while we try to recreate the holiday in our own way as best we can, we also know that it is never going to be quite right, simply because we are here… and so many of our loved ones are there. people back in the u.s. are coming together, and we are far away.

this year, through a variety of circumstances, the thanksgiving meal with fellow americans just isn’t going to happen. i thought about moving the date around, or trying to change the venue… but in the end, i decided to stop trying to put a square peg into a round hole. it’s never going to be right, because it’s just not right. i’m here, and they are there. it’s an american holiday, and i live in the u.k.

so we’re going out. to an american themed restaurant, that promises turkey and pumpkin pie and football and sam adams beer.

i used to think that going to a restaurant for t-day was sacrilege. but i think i’ve finally come to the realisation that no matter how i juggle the turkey and side dishes in a teeny british oven, no matter how i search out the traditional tinned pumpkin and cranberries and stovetop stuffing, no matter how many americans i gather together to celebrate with, no matter how hard i try to make everything the same as it would be back home, thanksgiving will never be the same, because it’s different here. my life is different here. and somehow this year it seems fitting to finally embrace that by doing something different. maybe i should be depressed about that, but somehow, i find myself relieved – like i’ve finally given myself permission to be okay with it all.

so i’ll be sitting in bodean’s tomorrow evening, with loved ones, a meal, and thanks.

in the true spirit of the holiday, nothing else is required.

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when i was home visiting, i spoke to my uncle bob on the phone. i hadn’t spoken to him in a few years and he immediately said, “wow, you sound really british.” while no brit would ever mistake me for british, i am aware that to many americans, i now sound rather foreign. funny then, that during that same visit, particularly around my brother who has a very pronounced boston-area accent, i found myself elongating my a’s and slipping off r’s. even stranger since, despite growing up in the area, i never had a real boston accent to begin with.

for those who don’t know me well, i suppose it all this sounds deliberately put on, like i’ve made a conscious effort to change the way i speak or appropriate dialect. in fact, nothing could be further from the truth; i have always slid easily into regional accents, slang and mannerisms, without any purposeful effort at all – and sometimes in spite of attempts not to. i can’t help it, it seems – i just absorb them without trying or thinking, for better or for worse.

my speech has gone through several incarnations because of this. as a young adult while in university for a couple of years in montreal, my speech noticably became flatter, more enunciated, and i incorporated the everpresent “eh?” into my daily lingo. (all these years later, i still say it far too frequently!) then after spending the next seven years in new york, my speaking mannerisms became a bit harsher, a touch more nasal, and definitively louder with a tiny dash of abruptness. even now, i continue to say things like “can i get” or “lemme have” as a shortcut for asking politely. after leaving new york and moving back to boston for four years, i eased back into some of the familiar sounds of my childhood – loose vowels and overemphasised ah’s with scattered r’s in strange places. though i’ve never “pahked the cah in hahvad yahd”, i’ve been guilty of slinging around the ocassional dropped ending and subbing d sounds for t sounds. and now, after being in london for nearly six years, i have inculcated the pointedly sharp t’s and sing-songy inflections of british speech, along with a penchant for using the word “sorry” nearly every other second of the day, describing even the most superlative things as “nice”, and phrasing negatives like “did you not?” instead of “you didn’t?”.

what do i sound like now? a strange mish-mash of all of the above. i’ve retained certain elements of all the places i’ve lived, and as a result sound like nowhere i’ve lived. i’m a melange of indistinct accents, peculiar vocabulary and odd cadence. i’m a syntactical mutt with wierd articulation. i can be halfway through a sentence and accidentally say “elevator” even when i have only said “lift” for years. i go back to the u.s. and have to eliminate “queue” from my brain, but still slip up with “car park” and putting “tit” in the middle of everything (”lovely day, isn’t it“?) i am both overly abrupt and overly polite at the same time. and throughout it all, i constantly use “eh?” as if it were a form of punctuation.

so when uncle bob said, “you sound british”, i had to laugh. i do sound british…and also bostonian, canadian and new yorker. all the places i’ve lived have left their mark on me in more ways than one, and i love them all for different reasons. i wouldn’t trade any piece of my life away, and they’ve all profoundly influenced the person i’ve become.

it’s my own unique version of a native tongue – a linguistic reflection of who i am and where i’ve been, every time i open my mouth.

school of language – rockist part 1

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The austere sun descends above the fen,
an orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look
longer on this landscape of chagrin;
feathered dark in thought, I stalk like a rook,
brooding as the winter night comes on.

from “winter landscape with rooks”, sylvia plath

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this will mean very little to anyone who isn’t a hardcore boston red sox fan, but anyone who saw him play this year knew dustin pedroia *had* to be the american league mvp. and now he is.

Dustin Pedroia, MVP.

Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it? It’s sort of like the first time you heard “Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger” or “Academy Award winner Marisa Tomei.”

Dustin Pedroia is the Most Valuable Player of the American League. This is simply one of the amazing sports stories of our time.

He is a miracle. He is a hardball mutant. He is the most unlikely man to win this award in the history of major league baseball.

Think about all the great Red Sox players who never won the award. Manny Ramírez was never MVP. Neither was Carlton Fisk. Nor Wade Boggs.

Fisk and Boggs are in the Hall of Fame and Manny is going to Cooperstown. None of them won an MVP.

Pedro Martínez? Bobby Doerr? MVPs?

Never.

Here’s how hard it can be to win this thing: Ted Williams won the Triple Crown in 1942 and in 1947. And he didn’t win the MVP either year.

In 1941, Ted hit .406.

“I thought that was pretty good,” Ted humbly remembered in 1999.

Pretty good. But not MVP-worthy. The 1941 MVP trophy went to Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio.

Maybe if Ted had done something really impressive, like hit .420 . . . Maybe if Ted perhaps had the skill set of . . . Dustin Pedroia.

The mind reels.

Things fell perfectly for Pedroia in 2008. He led the American League in hits (213), runs (118), and doubles (54). He won a Gold Glove. He stole 20 bases. He wore out pitchers. He got on base and didn’t strike out, and he did it for a playoff team.

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hearing someone use the term “coloured” during an equalities and diversity training.

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jonno and i are getting ready to go out. he puts on a grey jumper, which i notice is pilling a little at the hem. i grab him as he walks by.

me: c’mere a second.

i grab my sweater shaver and begin attacking him with it.

him: but this is my kurt cobain look! you’re spoiling it!

me: so this is deliberate fashion on your part?

him: yes. if dave grohl ever dropped by, there would be no sex for you!!

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“There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.” – activist, author, nobel peace prize winner, and holocaust survivor elie wiesel.

i went out to protest today. protesting from half a world away, against a law which doesn’t even directly affect me. protesting in a tiny group, in the grey day, in front of a symbolic, but empty government building.

my husband didn’t get it. he didn’t understand why i felt the need to speak out in such a small, ineffectual way. i was surprised – we’d just had a conversation about how much anti-gay discrimination there is in the u.s., on a local and national level, about how people’s partners from other countries can’t even come to america to live with them because their partnerships or marriages are not recognised.

but it doesn’t affect you, he said. it won’t change anything.

and i asked him if by that logic, whites shouldn’t have bothered protesting against jim crow laws. if civilians the world over should not have protested the invasion of iraq. if westerners shouldn’t have bothered protesting against apartheid. if students shouldn’t have protested for democracy in tiananmen square.

sometimes protests effect great transformation, and sometimes they don’t.

but you protest because some violations and crimes against humanity are too large, too egregious, for silence. you protest because standing up is the right thing to do, because it is important to register your dissent. because if enough people start paying attention to injustices, if the collective voice becomes loud enough, then an opportunity to achieve change can be created. if one person protests, then 10 people may protest. if hundreds of people protest, then thousands may march. if thousands march, then millions may vote. if millions vote, then anything is possible.

there were only a few people at the protest in london today. there were thousands and thousands who turned out all over california, and other cities across the u.s.

i don’t know if any of this will bring about change. i only know that you have to speak up if you want to be heard.

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a few pics from my visit home

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i’m back from my lovely holiday – aside from a hellish journey home, it was wonderful seeing my family and friends and witnessing history being made. i’m still getting the pictures together, but in the meantime i’ve been meme-tagged not once, but twice! so i’d better play along.

The rules:

1. List the last 10 commenters* on your blog.

2. If you’re on the list, you’re tagged.

The list:

1. thomas foolery – cat: cannot open food in tins

2. strawberry – potential and expectations

3. tabitha – gramercy riff

4. nikoline – grand crossing

5. the vol abroad

6. amity – noble savage

7. charlotte – charlotte’s web

8. sarah – verisimilitude

9. nicole – nicole in london

10. erin – undefeated army of one

Now for the questions:

1. What’s your favourite post from number 3’s blog?

i love all the travel posts from tabitha’s blog – i’m so envious!

2. Has number 10 taken any pictures that moved you?

this pic is absolutely gorgeous and really captures a child’s spirit.

3. Does number 6 reply to comments on his/her blog?

yes, amity is very good about that – which is prolly why she gets way more comments than me

4. Which part of blogland is number 2 from?

strawberry is both a mommy blogger, and a fellow expat, and writes eloquently about both.

5. If you could give one piece of advice to number 7, what would it be?

share more of your novel!

6. Have you ever tried something from number 9’s blog?

nicole knows all the best pubs, and her cooking posts always sound so yummy – i must try one of her recipes soon!

7. Has number 1 blogged something that inspired you?

tf and i share the same passionate stance against the invasions of personal privacy that seem to crop up nearly daily.

8. How often do you comment on number 4’s blog?

pretty frequently. i love her contemplative outlook.

9. Do you wait for number 8 to post excitedly?

sarah is a staple on my rss reader, so i’m really glad she’s doing nablopomo again this year!

10. How did number 5’s blog change your life?

the vol abroad has opened my eyes to the hidden gems in our shared neighbourhood – including the cemetaries and good polish food

*excepting those who commented and don’t have a blog or were already mentioned above

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i’m still on an election high, so thought i’d share some of the more powerful links i’ve been greedily gobbling up

i didn’t vote for obama today.

people took to the streets to celebrate Obama’s victory in New York, Seattle, Austin, San Francisco, Boulder, Gainesville, Boston, Portland, Madison, Richmond, Baltimore, Santa Cruz, and Washington, D.C.

Virginia, let’s go change the world.

this is a day for glory.

reactions around the world

the face of change

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in elementary schools all across america, we ask our children what they want to be when they grow up. we encourage them to dream big. we tell them they can be anything. we tell them they can be president of the united states.

last night for the first time ever, that became truth – for every child.

i was celebrating with a dear friend that i’d also celebrated the turn of the millennium with. she reminded me how on that hopeful morning, with a new dawn breaking, a small group of us climbed to one of the highest points in boston. we stood looking out over the cold city, and we read a poem to mark the occasion, to signify that we were witness to something momentous.

yet for some moments in history, even the most expansive breadth of our language cannot quite encompass it all. last night, there were no words. only jubilant, exhilarating hope mixed with tears. lots of tears.

but this morning, with a new dawn breaking, that same poem seems to fit once again. if there are words that can capture this moment, surely they are these.

THE ROCK CRIES OUT TO US TODAY
(Maya Angelou – 1993 Clinton Inaugural Poem)

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers–
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot…
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours–your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes,
Into your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

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the combined anxiety and anticipation is killing me.

that is all.

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