Just Chill

We made it.  Our first Christmas away.  It was super hard not to be with family, and even now doesn't seem like anything along the lines of holidays actually happened, but there was something special and enjoyable about marking an important time.

Today I put away our first Christmas tree.  We never found a tree skirt and used a somewhat unconventional topper.  When our super-cool German mobile I always admired of my mother's wouldn't turn in a circle, we broke the arm off of one of the kings and lit the candles anyway.  We were pretty sure the traditional oyster stew would leave us both green in the face so for Christmas Eve we had beef stew instead.  We had green grass in place of snow and didn't even make enough food for serious leftovers.

But with the calendar quickly thinning to the end of the year, I do have to chill out a bit and realize just how great of a holiday we had.  Thanks to Skype we got to watch our family open presents and be there in real time with them for the moments that really mattered.

It all hit me when we were singing hymns in a chapel I'd never been to, surrounded with people I didn't know.  The story is the same, and if you try a little just about everyone could go "off book" for those wonderful songs.  The spontaneous sharing of what is comforting and traditional may have been the best gift I received.  Of course the beautiful new shelving unit is nice too--and gives me somewhere to store all the stuff and finally feel settled in!

Getting to Christmas this year was a big feat, but putting it away was easier than I thought.  I wrapped the special ornaments in paper and sucked up the fake tree needles with the Dyson, and before I knew it our home was back to normal--even though we are still establishing what normal means.

This season made me so grateful for a family I miss, and so excited to finally feel at home.  Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, now let's all eat a little more and do what I'd been failing to for the past four months: just chill.

How I Nearly Grinched Christmas

Normally Maika loved Christmas a lot
But lately her cheer wasn't hitting the spot

She wasn't connected to the whole festive season,
And try as she may she couldn't find a reason.
Perhaps it was the home waxing disaster that started it all,
Some say her heels were two sizes too small.

Whatever it was it was turning her sour,
Zapping her of her normal holiday super power.
So she set out to run up her backyard hill
Attempting to sweat out any ill-will

With Katy Perry in her ear buds and shoes on her feet
She ran and ran and sang until a dog she did meet
(That's what happens when you run through a dog park.
This one was nice, even considering his English bark.)

At mile seventeen (or more like one-point-seven)
She heard a rumbling sound coming from the heavens
A C-130 roared overhead, startling her almost to dead
Just then she squished into a big pile of mud
And tumbled slow-motion to a face-planting thud.

"Christmas is killing me!" She snarled with a frown
"I've had enough of this festive little town!
All I need is a reindeer to help me take it all down..."

Just then the dog from earlier in the story
Arrived on cue in all his four-legged glory
He nudged the girl, still sitting in gunk
Somehow encouraging her to get off her trunk

So she got off her rear and pet the nice dog,
Knowing that somehow he was clearing the fog.
"Thank you, old friend, for saving me from  my frustration.
Now let's run down this hill and end the grump rotation."

Though she showed up back home still covered in mud
Maika was slowly breaking out of her crud.
So she baked lots of cookies and sang some good songs
She Skyped with her husband to their homes for so long

They awoke the next morning on Christmas Eve Eve
To the sound of Christmas carols on newly burned CDs
The season was coming, so let it be so.
It was coming without mountains, big family or snow.
Just enough sugar, wine and time the two shared
Made the holiday special, if different than they prepared.

As she looked to the top of their newly lit tree
She saw Yoda where the angel should be
Some say her big girl pants grew three sizes that day
The moment she realized it's not where you play...

But with Who.

Her new Whoville may be far away
But it's a good Christmas anyway.
What really matters at the end of the day
Is loving and laughing and cherishing in every way

Thanks, random dog and holiday grog.  You shook me out of my fog.  Hope you're enjoying the blog.

If You Can't Join 'Em, Beat It!

Lately my Christmas cheer has been more Scrooge than Saint Nick.  I’m sure it’s for a variety of reasons. My husband and I have endured more change in the past year than I care to think about, exhausting our emotions, bodies and bank accounts. But this funk is seems somehow season-specific.
It’s less than a week until Christmas and I am on a week-long business trip to sunny Dubai. The hotel has a fancy tree and a glittering gingerbread house, but I feel about as far from festive as possible.  I am getting very close to the day my family in the states leaves for our traditional trek to the Rocky Mountains, snow and all, but this sunburn I achieved while working poolside is one more reminder of just how different my experience is from candy canes and mittens.

Okay, pity party is over. It’s time to strategize. The nice new thing I’ve discovered from becoming a working expat in the UK is this novel idea of vacation days. That’s right, the country mandates every working adult take a certain amount of days off. Long live the Queen! Thanks to this brilliant labor law, I have found myself with a surplus of ‘holidays’ at the end of the year, possibly the perfect timeframe for Operation Merriment. I plan to beat the damn Christmas spirit into our lives at all costs. In addition to the time I will spend (still) unpacking our home and supervising some building projects, you bet your bowl full of jelly I will be baking, trimming, and a-wasseling. Okay, maybe not all of those. You can leave out baking. I don’t enjoy measuring things and someone shrunk all the English ovens.

So string up the (English energy efficient) lights and prep the (also English free range) reindeer. It’s highly-concentrated Christmas starting tomorrow. We will sing until we lose our voices and drink so much Buttered Rum even Bing Crosby would be jealous. Now count your gosh darn ginger-filled blessings and be festive!

Wide Awake Thinking About Shoes

It hasn’t been so hard to sleep since Christmas Eve 1989 when I stayed up all night hoping Santa Claus would bring me a pair of shiny patent leather Louboutins.  Instead he brought me a sister.  Both would have been wonderful companions, but one was definitely a safer bet for me as a kindergartener.  Still, the anticipation has remained unmatched—until today.

Maybe I’m wide awake at 4am with a gut full of monarchs because Scott just left for his first flight in England, but let’s be honest, I know he’s a great pilot and it’s about darn time he gets back at it.  Maybe it’s the frozen skillet meals we’ve eaten for the last two nights keeping me awake.  (There’s only so much variety to go around when you have a bunsen burner and a microwave.)  I think the most likely candidate driving me toward Ambien is the promise that at high noon today I’ll be holding something new and shiny—not Louboutins, apartment keys!

Ninety-eight days, three continents and 18 beds later, our move will finally near completion. We get keys today and our things show up tomorrow! Never mind that I leave on a week-long work trip the day after that. For a few glorious hours we will have a home.  I never could have predicted the comfort that comes from feeling even mildly settled.  It’s amazing how difficult it is to feel confident enough to talk to new people, work effectively, or even take a shower when you’re living rootlessly.  Granted, Mick Jagger was on the road every night and apparently did just fine.  But that comes with the territory.  My territory, on the other hand, comes with coffees and dinners and baked goods.  Although maybe the groupie idea isn’t all that bad.

Barring any serious slip-ups, I will be bidding farewell to the refugee hotel with the ancient creaky mattress and mysterious dog hair and hello to a sleeping bag in the middle of an empty apartment.  As one girl with shiny shoes once said, “there’s no place like home.”

Food & Fire

Guy Fawkes Day in Great Dunmow featured a gigantic bonfire and awesome fireworks--oh yeah, and 3000 people!

Traditional Sunday Roast at The King's Head pub in Beck Row

 

Falling...Falling...Fall.

PermaFall outside our future flat

Autumn is my favorite, but in Nebraska I feel about Fall exactly like I feel about dessert: awesome while it lasts, but always over too soon.  England, on the other hand, is introducing me to something I like to call PermaFall.
When we left the states, I was afraid we would miss my favorite season.  I was used to a week of crisp apple cider weather followed immediately by snow and cold.  Much to my delight, nothing changes that quickly here.  The leaves take their sweet time changing and falling, and the coldest it gets is a good chilly rain.  Unfortunately, the turn of the seasons isn't the only thing enjoying a bit of leisure.
As autumn sticks around, so does the never-ending move.  When we left the states in September, I mistakenly thought moving would be a one-time event.  Four weeks later we are still living out of suitcases we packed in August, counting down the days until we get to leave our refugee camp in hopes of a more premanent home.
Even nature is against us, as the sun now completely disppears by 4:30 in the afternoon.  Time stands still in business, too.  We found that even with a month's notice, it takes 14 days to turn on our internet. 

A cool fall church in Norwich

Do not fear, there is good news to be heard.   First and possibly most importantly, we just received our initial shipment of Sam Adams Oktoberfest, even though I believe it's nearly Winter Brew season at home. 

We are taking full advantage of all activities autumnal, including Guy Fawkes Day, a celebration of one dude's failed attempt to blow up Parliament, which includes fireworks and bonfires to rival the best we've seen.  We're snuggling into cask ales in local pubs and appreciating the fact that we don't yet need gloves or hats to go outside.



Jockeys flock to Newmarket, the home of horseracing.



So all in all, Fall can keep falling.  We're still homeless until winter, but we have Oktoberfest to keep us happy.

What a Difference a [Good Hat] Day Makes

Eighteen hours ago I was in the middle of a meltdown.  When we say middle we mean full on, dropping words I didn't know I spoke into sentences that make even less sense than Ann Curry in a mistakenly unscripted emotional situation.
Luckily, I married MacGyver, and he made Xanax out of the Snickers I had purchased for trick-or-treaters.  This managed to calm me into a sugar coma which I slept off for a whole night.
I woke up a bit overwhelmed in our second temporary hotel.  This one is a bit more roomie, and you wouldn't believe the difference it makes to have a stove, so I overlooked the pet hair and ancient mattress. 
Little Orphan Annie wasn't quite present, as the sun doesn't completely come out in England.  But the haze came out, and I did the one thing I thought I could to to break out of my homeless funk--I unpacked.  Seven suitcases later, the refugee camp hotel felt a bit more like home, and I felt a bit more like myself. 
Of course the real Maika wasn't completely back, because I was still prepared to take a bye on my favorite day of the year, Halloween.  I just wasn't feeling settled enough to tackle it, and all I could hear was my mother in the back of my mind every time I got districted before finishing vacuuming the house, "Maika, don't do a halfway job."  I knew Halloween would be Halfoween at this point, and I was fully prepared to pretend it didn't exist.  In fact, I may still pass on holidays until St.Patrick's Day.  No one half-asses days with colored beer.
But this is a victorious story.  Yep.  One quick trip in the Mini to base, and I got to check my mail, buy Jennifer Aniston on the cover of an indulgent magazine, and enjoy the impulse buy of a super cool witch hat.  It may have taken me until the register to realize my need for a costume, but I have now returned home to a glass (okay, bottle) of Chardonnay, the rest of the trick-or-treats, and a full-on witch costume. 
Any day where strangers give you candy should not be missed, even if you're homeless. 
Here's to Halloween!