Oh, the snow....

Hello, again.

I know what you might be thinking, 'Did she write a poem today?'

No, I didn't write a poem, but it did snow in London. Quite a lot for the city, in fact, over the last two days and moments of my day have been quite poetic enough for this, the 1st December.

The holidays really are here--and when I say the holidays, I really mean my birthday, the countdown begun. I can't help but think of my birthday and snow as two peas in a pod. Sure, when I was little I yearned for the pool party, the popsicles, the summers running around in the sun (credit to my parents, I did get an un-birthday party in June once. It was a blast!).

But then, I wouldn't have the snow. Or ice skating. Or memories of hot chocolate and piling into the peach mobile to go look at all the Christmas lights around little ol' Yreka with all my pre-teen friends.

I can't help it, I was giddy today that it was December. Hello, birthday month. Hello, holidays. Hello, snow and hot chocolate and the end-of-the-year reflections. Another season has passed, another year older. And, another white winter in London Town.

Highways & Anchors

On this day when I have turned in the final assessment + dissertation for my MA degree (and drunk a few glasses of cava), I find myself reflecting on the url I've chosen for this blog. Now titled 'One a Day,' the blog reflects my continued commitment to my writing practice and constant observance of my own life and surroundings. When I first started this blog, however, I was interested in what grounded me, and where I was going.

For me, the highways were my pathways through the unknown paths of my life in California. I-5 connecting my home to my future in Los Angeles, the coastal highways connecting to my university life in Santa Cruz as well. The anchors were people: my family, my friends, my lover. I knew which roads I would be travelling by but I was unsure of my destinations.

A year and a half later, I no longer travel by highway, but by bus route and underground train lines. The pathways that connect my homestate and my home-sweet-homes are most easily navigable by airways. My destinations thus far have been largely unseen, unknown--and at the same time, completely expected and make so much sense. My anchors have been, well, anchors: a community of people who unflinchly support and love me.

Highways & Anchors. One a Day. Where I've come from, where I'm going. And who's coming with me on the journey, I am ever-grateful.

For Monday - A Holiday Town

When we roll our suitcases down the high street in London, we hear them, but we don't really hear them. The decible level on the street is to the point where having a conversation requires 'loud voices:' buses, cars, motorbikes, shopping bags on wheels, school kids laughing/fighting, mobile phone and mobile phone conversations, people handing out papers and advertizements.

When we arrived in Fowey tonight, we stepped of the garage to utter silence of the night. Then we rolled our suitcase down the road. The noise was almost deafening in comparison. I felt like we were disturbing the night, the peace. It was a coming home. And then we went in the house.

Yo Birthday

Birthdays are a funny thing. There's all the anticipation of it arriving, and then the pressure to the day. Given that Christmas celebrations tend to overshadow any glimpse of birthdays in December (gifts arriving on time, availability to attend parties, etc) I've taken to just celebrating the whole month. Whenever a package arrives, I'll open it.

This year we celebrated the day before my birthday this year, December 19th. We went out into central London for the day--brunch at Rick's, Clapham Common, Somerset House Super Christmas Market, lunch at Wahaca (oh, Wahaca, I love thee), Where the Wild Things Are at the Cinema, ending with the Brighton Gay Men's Chorus (with sister-in-law, Erica, performing too!) at the Barbican theatre. A fantastically long day.

Then I woke up Sunday to get ready for work and Alex ill over the toilet. For as much as I wanted to feel differently, for a slight moment, it was an anticlimax. And the day was still beautiful. After work, we went for drinks with two of my closest friends in London. Twenty-Five, 25. A quarter of a century.

What It's Like to be Home

As you can probably tell, One a Day has not been 'one a day' lately. There are a number of reasons. Not excuses mind you, but observations I've had.

First, way back in May when I started this assignment I changed the time zone setting on my account from PST to GMT. After all, I am now living in London full-time and not the West Coast of the States. However, since coming back to California I had forgotten all about switching time zones and was astonished to realize that as I was making my one a day deadline, it published as the next day, 8 hours ahead, as if I were in London. Lifeshock #1.

Second, I have no routine here. No empty house to myself, no set aside time to check my email, write, and blog. And can I just say, I miss my laptop. Ok, I not necessarily my laptop in particular as a midnight discussion with my love the other night proved I desperately need one that works, but the IDEA of a laptop. Freedom. Mobility. No back aches sitting at a not-computer-desk desk. (Which, I may also take the time to note, I don't have in either country.)

Thirds, it's busy here. People's works schedules. Family. Friends. All good, don't get me wrong, but not much time to walk in the park--or write on the computer. It'll be sporadic for a week or two, but I think I'll start by changing the time zone temporarily.

Sweet Home California

It is 15 days until I fly home to California. It is strange to count the days, to think I've been away almost 8 months. My longest stretch before was 10 months abroad, but this time it's different: I'll go back home across the Atlantic this time.

A friend asked about my month-long visit, about how I was adjusting to living in London and how glad I was to be seeing family and friends again.

'Ah,' she said, 'but you still call California "home."'

'I call home wherever where I'm not,' was my reply. 'I have homes all over the world.'

Truth is, I was startled by her question. I was unsure how to respond, without knowing just then what I thought about home. I do have homes all over the world, places I feel loved and welcome--Yreka, Santa Cruz, the Bay Area, Galway, Los Angeles--but right now I can't imagine living anywhere but London.

For Wednesday - Crazy People

Going to college in Santa Cruz prepares you for your share of crazy people. In general, people who may or may not have a mental illness; who may or may not be homeless; who may or may not have issues with body odor, verbal control, or twitching. Not that Santa Cruz is a mecca of crazies, just that Santa Cruz is Weird--as Bookshop would have us keep it that way--and it's part of the atmosphere. The edge of craziness, if you like.

In London, I'm just not prepared for crazy. Craziness feels completely out of context here. It's prim, proper, cups of tea, orderly queues, and standard Tube behaviour. The vibe of London doesn't appear to allow for crazy people in the way that Santa Cruz welcomes them.

I think this is why I get so distraught riding the bus going to university. I have the expectation that London is not a crazy city. Therefore, there should be no crazy people on my bus. There's not supposed to be a man who sniggers jabbing statements at random people on the pavement when he alights at his stop. There's not supposed to be a woman who walks with her palms up, open to the energy, chanting under her breath in a post borough of London. The scuffy, ex-biker guy with an odor problem does not wear a gold band of diamonds on his ring finger. And the last he didn't even act crazy!

No, I'm just not prepared for crazy in London. But I think I need to work on that.