Two!

Posted on by

I can’t really believe Isaac’s two today!

It was a little over a year ago we got the news and decided to move to the UK, and he has really taken this crazy year in stride. He’s grown from a barely-mobile baby with cake in his hair, to a real boy – running, yelling, jumping, smashing. “Making lots of noise” and narrating the entire experience.

Isaac, you are insane, brilliant, patience-testing, kind, tenacious, infuriating, empathetic, mischievous, articulate, and so lovey. Happy Birthday kiddo, here’s to seeing what adventure the next trip around the sun brings!

IMG_0850

All cheered out.

This is how you make little boys grow, yes? #latergram

Ready for takeoff

Somebody was excited to get the keys!

Excuse me, waiter, more soy sauce for my chow mein please!

Putsborough

My dudes, dancing at the @bigfeastival

IMG_0924

Halloween 2012

Untitled

Planespotting.

Six years later

Posted on by

It’s grey here today. Exceedingly grey. And cold.

And there is nothing like reminders from Timehop about the fact that this time one year ago, I was in Cuba, and two years before that, in Thailand, to make me feel extra grumbly about the grey and cold.

So I scrolled further back in the past, and whaddya know, it was six years ago today that we were in Oxford. My first trip here.

Oxford's Bridge of Sighs

Six years ago, Neil and I were engaged, and planning to move into our condo in Kits (which wouldn’t actually be completed for an additional 6 months). There was still no plan or idea of Isaac. The dog didn’t have a hint of grey in her now salt-&-pepper muzzle.

Neil didn’t yet have a UK passport, and wouldn’t for another 4-ish years. Moving abroad wasn’t anywhere on the radar. Heck, I had barely traveled anywhere at all before that year.

And yet, there was something about our visit. Something that sparked the idea of moving abroad at some point. Something that made us think, as we wandered around the city, that maybe one day we could live here.

It wasn’t so much about Oxford, as just going somewhere Other Than where we were. Making our world a little bigger than it had been. It became a gauge by which we’d categorize all trips we’d take: interesting, but could I live here?

View from the Tower

It was six years ago that we ventured the furthest from the hotel we’d gone, into another neighbourhood via a narrow street lit by bare overhead bulbs. Where we turned right, onto a street anchored by the iconic Oxford University Press and full of interesting looking boutiques and eateries. Where we looked up one of the side streets and saw the bright streak of pastel row houses, and I said “if we ended up in an area like this, I could totally live here.”

It was six years ago that I stepped into the road to take the photo currently used in the blog header.

Neighbourhood and street names long-since forgotten, we found ourselves actually moving to Oxford. And against all odds ended up moving to that neighbourhood. I only recognized it because of the pastel row-houses, and had to dig out the picture to be really sure. They are the same houses. Observatory Street.

And we found them, via Walton Street in Jericho, by heading down Little Clarendon street, illuminated at night by bare bulbs strung across the street. Now our regular stomping ground, but feeling eerily familiar, in a dream-like way, from having seen them so many years ago.

Six years ago it happened to be sunny this week. Uncharacteristically so. Except for that one day in Henley-upon-Thames when it was so rainy and windy that my umbrella blew inside-out and practically tied itself in a knot. And the river was flooded that year, just as it is now.

But that little blast-from-the-past now has me thinking a lot less about today’s cold and grey, and about the immense amount of adventure the past 6 years have held. And how absolutely clueless about it all I was back then.

And I’m wondering what, or where, on earth I’ll see in another six years.

Tea-mendous

Posted on by

Moving house can often lead you to see your possessions in a new light.

Especially when you have packed in a hurry, without making much effort to thin your piles of stuff before beginning. And are then distanced from that stuff for half a year.

Because who the hell brings tea (from the new world, at that) to England?

Us, apparently.

Amber just posted round two of her Tea Stash Challenge, which reminded me how overwhelmed and somewhat incredulous I feel every time I look at the shelf containing all our tea.

Tea Shelf

It doesn’t look too bad, until you unpack it all onto the kitchen counter:

Photo 1

There are multiples of different types of tea, thanks to my old work-desk stash making its way back home, some tea gifts, and impulse purchases of various lemon/ginger-type blends bought on a whim when I’ve felt sick. There are random bags and samples I’ve picked up along the way. There are tins from at least two tea shops that have gone out of business.

The small green tins down the right side are all leftover wedding favours (we gifted tiny tins of mint tea, to tie in with our Moroccan honeymoon) from nearly five (!) years ago, and the large tupperware on the left is Moroccan mint tea, bought on said honeymoon.

Does tea even last that long?

Honourable mentions go to two tins of drinking chocolate, a box of spiced cider sachets, and a couple orphan packs of Starbucks VIA coffee; also on the shelf, but not pictured, since they’re not tea.

Of course, the tea that actually gets used is the box of standard PG Tips, going through a pot or two a day. Runner-up is the loose or bagged Rooibos, for when I’m feeling overcaffeinated.

I would never describe myself as a “tea fiend,” but I clearly have some sort of tea hoarding issue.

It’s obviously time to start introducing some variety into my daily cuppa, or bin the lot and reclaim a shelf.

Are you a tea fiend and/or unintentional hoarder? Do share!

Show me Your Tea Stash at Strocel.com

India – Part 1 – Wedding in Madras

Posted on by

So, India! We went!

I am always at a bit of a loss when it comes to describing trips to such iconic places. Like I should have more to say, or have come to some great spiritual revelation, or have tales of a long, strange trip, returning with tales of the walrus, set to sitar music, koo koo ka choo.

The reality is, we were Western tourists. Strangers in a strange land. Observers for a brief time in one of the most populated, chaotic, colourful, cultural places on earth.

IMGP1736

First thing you notice, that everyone says but you can’t really fathom until you feel it, is the mass of humanity. Especially having grown up in a place like Canada, where you could literally walk for days without seeing another human, it’s a bit disconcerting to realize that you will never, ever, truly be alone.

IMGP1837

Along these lines, the only personal space you’re entitled to is the physical space you’re occupying at any given moment. Nowhere was this more evident than during the wedding.

IMGP1775

Totally contrary to what one expects at a Western wedding, the only people who seem to be expected to pay attention for the duration are the bride, groom and priest. Various family members float in and out to participate or observe, while elsewhere in the venue there is a stream of guests eating in the dining hall. This, by the way, is how you deal with a 1500(+) person wedding. With a steady flow of people in and out, eating, watching, or catching up with neighbours, there are never more than a few hundred in any one area at once. As a guest, there’s no pressure to be anywhere or do anything in particular, so it all feels very smooth.

Untitled

Even the wedding hall (nay, even the wedding stage) is not exempt from the “personal space” rule. The ceremony part of the wedding hall is about the size of a high-school gymnasium, with a stage at each end. On one side, the bride and groom are going through the rituals associated with being married. On the other side, the wedding band is playing music. And somewhere in the middle, there is a crew of men building another stage for a dance performance the next evening.

That’s right. Wedding on one side, music on the other, hammers, nails, plywood, logs and foremen in the middle. Not because of a lack of time to do it beforehand, but because why would you do it earlier? I am told this isn’t unusual. After all, the wedding is *over there*. On the other side of the room.

IMGP1841

But even the ceremony stage itself wasn’t immune to distraction. One of my favourite moments was when the groom’s sister was participating in part of the ceremony. She was up on stage with the rest of the family, standing just behind the bride and groom, talking on her cell phone the entire time. She paused the call when it came time for her to play her part, then resumed talking again once the focus had shifted on to the next set of prayers & blessings.

This one was maybe a bit more unusual, but none of the Indians seemed phased. After all, she’s a doctor, and the ceremony is three full days long, with astrological charts dictating the particular times certain things need to happen. You do what you’ve gotta do.

Untitled

But don’t let the overall nonchalance fool you.

Most people did find their way into the wedding hall for the moment the groom tied the mangalsutra around the bride’s neck. And when he did, the hall erupted into 1000 cheers of celebration, and 1000 pairs of hands let fistfuls of vibrant pink petals fly into the air to shower the happy couple with love, light, happiness and prosperity.

Untitled

2013: a little more conversation, a little more action.

Posted on by

I was going to go for a run today. Instead, I am watching the “fitness” app on my TV update. And will then proceed to do nothing about it once it has. I’m really just curious about the app, not interested in exercising right this moment.

That is very much 2012 speaking.

I took a glance at my resolutions at the beginning of 2012, and had to laugh about how irrelevant they are, considering where we ended the year. But, scanning through what little I’ve blogged in 2012, and reflecting on the year I’ve just had, I definitely have a resolution for 2013: Lean In.

I feel like I have been hanging back for a while. Carrying around a bunch of baggage. Nothing big on its own, but enough pieces that, combined, I’ve let slow me with their weight.

So in 2013 I’m resolving to lighten that load.

Moving abroad has made one thing crystal clear to me: I need to DO more. To lean in. To “Ship.”

I feel like I’ve had ideas about things like connecting with friends, making new friends, and finishing stagnant projects for a couple years. I’ve been telling myself that when things “settle down” I’ll have time for all these. Time to do them properly.

Therein lies the error of my ways. Things do not “settle down.” And in the meantime, I’m a continent and an ocean (in either direction) away from friends and family who don’t often hear from me, and I continue to unpack projects that I need to either do or dump. It would also probably do me well to get over myself and ask one of the casual acquaintances I’ve made over for tea.

It all sums up to dropping the baggage and quit waiting for everything to be just right before I send an old friend a note, or ask a new friend to tea, or take the next step in a project, or do something about getting up off my ass with that fitness app. To stop worrying about perfection, and do it anyhow.

So, here’s to 2013. Let’s do this thing.

Home for the Holidays

Posted on by

I’ve always wondered what it’s like for people who take trips “home” for the holidays. When they live somewhere either away from family or the place they’re from, and make their way back to that place at Christmas time.

Now I know.

And it’s simultaneously very nice and very strange.

First of all, I have been trying not to refer to Vancouver as “home” anymore.

Not only does it make it harder to really lean in to our experience in Oxford, conjuring up bouts of melancholy homesickness, but “home” as we knew it in Vancouver doesn’t exist anymore. While we have family and friends here, and enjoy being surrounded by some of the places and things we left behind, our life in Vancouver (the place we lived, the jobs we had) doesn’t exist anymore. We can’t truly go “home” that way.

It’s been really excellent to spend time with friends and family, but there’s also a tinge of detachment overhanging it. The experience is temporary. The gang’s all here, but most members are making plans for next week when the status quo returns; we’ll be gone again.

This all sounds quite melancholy, but it isn’t, really.

It’s (so far) exciting to pack up and head out on another trip. To share the holiday experience of returning “home” with airports full of others.

It makes the experience of spending time with those friends and family sweeter, more intense. I find myself being much more present with friends & family now, because chances to spend quality time with them are fewer and further between.

It solidifies which traditions are really important and worth preserving, despite the challenges of timing, weather, and distance.

It makes it very obvious that as much as so many other things have changed over the years, others stay predictably, comfortingly, blissfully the same.

Santa

Even Jetlag is no match for Santa