So our first Thanksgiving as a family has come and gone. I felt a little disingenuous telling people at work that it was my first Thanksgiving in America, but given that the first one was 13 years ago when our relationship was but a few months old, and I hadn't realized the significance of the dates that I had bought the tickets for, I still think I get to count this year as my first.
The actual day ran as I thought it would. I spent the morning cooking stuffed mushrooms and an apple crumble (got to bring something British to the table, and I wasn't sure how well crumpets and marmite would have been received) and we went over to my wife's parents place for an afternoon of family, food and fun.
It was delightful to see Jake as a play leader with his cousins; most family get togethers previously have seen him stick closely to me or my wife, even with the temptation of similarly aged playmates nearby. However, this time, from the moment we got there, he ran off and started playing, even leading the charge to go outside and run around in the cold. Maybe it was that he finally felt comfortable around them, or maybe it's because we spent 6 months at their house so he felt at home there, but in either case, it was great to see him so confident around other children, and we're looking into ways to get the cousins together again.
Sophie was a cheery delight as always, and as she's getting her walking under control, it's great fun to watch her toddle around. She's much more sociable than Jake was at this age, and is happy being passed from person to person with her big hair and even bigger smile always attached to her face. She seems to have developed a lot in the last couple of months, which may just be her age, or in part due to her new day care, but she's definitely entering toddlerdom with enthusiasm, playing games and doing things because she finds them funny. Whilst 2 kids is a lot of work sometimes, there are days, like on Thanksgiving, that we are able to bask in their joyfulness and simplicity.
Every year (up until a couple of years back) we held a Thanksgiving party in the UK for our friends. What started out as a small dinner party to stop my wife feeling quite so homesick in her first year in the UK evolved into a big house party that brought our friends back to Leeds from the far flung corners of the country that they had moved to. The food moved from a full turkey dinner to a bring your own dish pot luck, so it was strange to see a very set menu (turkey, ham, mash potato, stuffing) that is the apparent staple of New England Thanksgiving. My offer of a chicken pot pie was shot down as being the wrong food, which opened my eyes to the deep-rooted traditions that American holidays seem to have. Having said that, I will never turn a good meal, even though it was missing Yorkshire puddings and roast potatoes...maybe for next year.
The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving were always tough in our household, as my wife would always get homesick (to a greater or lesser extent depending on how things were going) as she knew the rest of her family were getting together for this big set piece celebration that she wouldn't be part of. After a few years, she wouldn't even call in to the party as she didn't wanted to be reminded of her absence, so our UK Thanksgiving was always a welcome distraction. This year, it was my turn to feel homesick. It was quite unexpected, and took a couple of conversations between me and my wife to work out what was making me feel sad and grumpy. I think it took so long because there is no party going on that we were missing out on, and life back in Leeds would look and feel very different if we were to move back. I'm also incredibly happy here with the life that we are forging for ourselves, so I think homesickness is the wrong word. Maybe wistful nostalgia is a better definition, as thinking and remembering Thanksgiving past brings to full light the fact that for all the positives of being here, we left a lot of good strong friendships behind, and that it takes a long time for new friends to become old friends (to quote my mother). The world is made smaller through Facebook, Whatsapp and email, but there is something lost in not being able to see each other real time, going round for dinner or just hanging out. The age and the strength of our friendships will mean that we will find ways to make them work, but I think my brain associates Thanksgiving with seeing friends old and new and I miss them.
Homesickness also feels like the wrong word because it implies that home is still the UK. I don't think I've yet to work out where home truly is, or whether it has to be in one place only, but home definitely revolves around my wife and Jake and Sophie, so home is here. Saying I'm homesick makes it sound like we're just here on a long vacation, and while our plan was always to move back to the US at some point (even though many people didn't think it would ever happen!), now that we're here, there's no plan to return to the UK permanently any time soon. So maybe it's that I'm missing the important people in our life as we adjust, and that maybe each November will be tough. But I'm thankful for our time in the UK and for our new life here in New Hampshire and the friends and family that we have there and here. They have helped make us the family that we are today, and for that I am truly thankful.
Tuesday 29 November 2016
Tuesday 22 November 2016
Swimming
One of the many changes that moving our whole lifestyle to another country has brought about is the ability and desire to make other changes to our lives. Yes, a lot of it feels the same, like cooking family dinners and working in schools, but the option of doing things differently feels much more real now. For example, I now live less than a 10 minute drive from the trailhead of my favorite hike, and have already been to the summit half a dozen times since we've been here. Hiking was something that was never on our radar in the UK unless we went to the Lake District.
All of this ruminating on change brings me to swimming. I always talked about how I used to swim competitively as a kid (up to the age of 16) and indeed I'm still in touch with some of my swim club buddies on Facebook. I've religiously carried around all the medals that I won during my youth (now all knotted and tangled) and more interestingly my PB book which my mum kept for me, with all of my best times. I toyed with the Leeds Masters a couple of times, but our lifestyle never seemed to suit a return to swimming, and our behaviour patterns as a married couple got a bit more set as time went by. I still maintained a dream somewhere of going back to the pool and working on my PB (for a year or so, my password for non-essential accounts referenced my 100m freestyle goal)
When we moved here, I started looking for ways to get back into shape. I had used the parkrun 5k runs in Leeds as a way of maintaining my fitness and keeping in touch with friends (indeed, Facebook keeps prodding me with memories of me and Jake in a running stroller), but after Jake was too big and we had Sophie, I found finding time for exercise to be tricky. The idea of swimming came back to me when Jake picked up my box of medals and asked me about them, so I told him about swim meets.
A bit of online research later took me to Great Bay Masters, and the glory that is Amazon provided a new pair of swimming shorts (no more Speedos for me!) and a good pair of goggles. Thus armed, I went to my first session at the Jenny Thompson outdoor pool in Dover one Sunday morning. I didn't realise it's a 50m length (my least favourite kind of pool) and that this was a serious swimming team. I think I lasted around 1500m before I couldn't take it any more, and my poor muscles ached for days after, especially those that hadn't had a serious workout since 1998.
I think I surprised our coach when I came back the following week given how miserable I must have looked getting out of the pool the first time. Despite one bad case of sunburn (who knew you needed to wear sun cream when swimming outside in 30 degree sunshine!), I managed to make a few appearances over the tail end of the summer, but started to pick up my game once school started. I'm now training twice a week (for the most part) and have even invested in a pair of fins as they seem to get used in just about every session.
The biggest shock that I've had is how bad my stroke was. When I was a lifeguard in New York in the PBE and PKE, I took advantage of a local swimming coaching course, part of which taught us how to do each stroke "perfectly". I've been using this as the basis for coaching a lot of my friends and family, but in the intervening 13 years, strokes have changed and my coach at Great Bay has worked with me on a lot of different bad habits and ideas that were slowing me down. I remember returning to swimming for a while, only for a familiar shoulder pain to stop me after a few sessions. With my stroke corrected, my shoulder pain has gone and I can feel myself becoming fitter and stronger with each passing week.
I had forgotten how much I love the sensation of my body moving quickly through the water. Whenever I've been splashing around in a pool or lake, I always feel at home in the water, but it wasn't until we started doing short sprints that I realised how good it feels and the thrill of trying to beat a time (whether it's set by yourself or a coach). I've managed to get myself down to just under 14 seconds for 25 yards on a good day, so we'll see if I can keep that pace up over 100 yards!
The next big meet is on 10/11 December, and I'm still trying to work out if I want to enter or not. It's a long way away in Massachusetts and the timing means that I'd be swimming in mid-afternoon, leaving my wife with the kids for the majority of the day. I may wait for something closer to home to re-enter competitive swimming, but when I do, keep your eyes on here for my progress!
All of this ruminating on change brings me to swimming. I always talked about how I used to swim competitively as a kid (up to the age of 16) and indeed I'm still in touch with some of my swim club buddies on Facebook. I've religiously carried around all the medals that I won during my youth (now all knotted and tangled) and more interestingly my PB book which my mum kept for me, with all of my best times. I toyed with the Leeds Masters a couple of times, but our lifestyle never seemed to suit a return to swimming, and our behaviour patterns as a married couple got a bit more set as time went by. I still maintained a dream somewhere of going back to the pool and working on my PB (for a year or so, my password for non-essential accounts referenced my 100m freestyle goal)
When we moved here, I started looking for ways to get back into shape. I had used the parkrun 5k runs in Leeds as a way of maintaining my fitness and keeping in touch with friends (indeed, Facebook keeps prodding me with memories of me and Jake in a running stroller), but after Jake was too big and we had Sophie, I found finding time for exercise to be tricky. The idea of swimming came back to me when Jake picked up my box of medals and asked me about them, so I told him about swim meets.
A bit of online research later took me to Great Bay Masters, and the glory that is Amazon provided a new pair of swimming shorts (no more Speedos for me!) and a good pair of goggles. Thus armed, I went to my first session at the Jenny Thompson outdoor pool in Dover one Sunday morning. I didn't realise it's a 50m length (my least favourite kind of pool) and that this was a serious swimming team. I think I lasted around 1500m before I couldn't take it any more, and my poor muscles ached for days after, especially those that hadn't had a serious workout since 1998.
I think I surprised our coach when I came back the following week given how miserable I must have looked getting out of the pool the first time. Despite one bad case of sunburn (who knew you needed to wear sun cream when swimming outside in 30 degree sunshine!), I managed to make a few appearances over the tail end of the summer, but started to pick up my game once school started. I'm now training twice a week (for the most part) and have even invested in a pair of fins as they seem to get used in just about every session.
The biggest shock that I've had is how bad my stroke was. When I was a lifeguard in New York in the PBE and PKE, I took advantage of a local swimming coaching course, part of which taught us how to do each stroke "perfectly". I've been using this as the basis for coaching a lot of my friends and family, but in the intervening 13 years, strokes have changed and my coach at Great Bay has worked with me on a lot of different bad habits and ideas that were slowing me down. I remember returning to swimming for a while, only for a familiar shoulder pain to stop me after a few sessions. With my stroke corrected, my shoulder pain has gone and I can feel myself becoming fitter and stronger with each passing week.
I had forgotten how much I love the sensation of my body moving quickly through the water. Whenever I've been splashing around in a pool or lake, I always feel at home in the water, but it wasn't until we started doing short sprints that I realised how good it feels and the thrill of trying to beat a time (whether it's set by yourself or a coach). I've managed to get myself down to just under 14 seconds for 25 yards on a good day, so we'll see if I can keep that pace up over 100 yards!
The next big meet is on 10/11 December, and I'm still trying to work out if I want to enter or not. It's a long way away in Massachusetts and the timing means that I'd be swimming in mid-afternoon, leaving my wife with the kids for the majority of the day. I may wait for something closer to home to re-enter competitive swimming, but when I do, keep your eyes on here for my progress!
Wednesday 9 November 2016
Elections
Yikes. 2 months since my last post. So much has changed since the start of September that I need to update this blog before the year that it was intended to mark runs out. However, with the results of the US election now in, I want to get down some of my thoughts and feelings as a way of dealing with them.
2016 has been a tough year for me, politically. In June, I watched in despair as lies, fear and frustration ruled in the Brexit vote, and it's only now becoming clear what an absolute mess the whole situation is. None of the key players are still around to be held accountable for their actions, the country has been given a Prime Minister who hasn't been voted for and the entire Brexit process seems to be one unending shambles. The hardest part, I thought at the time, was that there was no one really here who I could explain my sadness to. I'm a hearty believer in unity, so I was always going to be pro European, and the vote to leave it signaled a change in society that I couldn't fathom. It was at that time that I felt a long way from my friends and family, and I'm still not sure I've been able to talk through it properly. People over here were curious, but my conversations would only last a few lines before I could see them ready to move on.
Last night, I again watched in horror as lies, fear and frustration won the US election and I've spent today in a sort of fugue, easily distracted by work, but every now again realizing the situation the electorate has put everyone in. The Brexit part of my brain tries to square things off by saying that it will all work out in the end, and that we need to pull together, but when I look at the Republican President, Senate, Congress and Supreme Court, so many progressive ideals that I hold dear, like marriage equality, universal affordable healthcare and welfare, are in immediate if the rhetoric of the winner's campaign is anything to go by. I thought it would be better here as I'd have people to talk to about it, but today has been hard because I've found myself deliberately not wanting to discuss, at least with anyone who doesn't hold the same passion for change. I think it's that deep sense of loss and sadness at the direction society seems to be taking that hurts the most, and discussing and dealing with that hurt will take a long time to reconcile.
Of course, there is the possibility that the President Elect's statements of being "for all Americans" will be true and he will somehow change into a healing force. I dream that this could be true, but nothing I saw in the campaign makes me believe that he will act in anyone's best interests but himself and those like, and that when it comes to hard tasks like "draining the swamp", fixing the economy, dealing with complex foreign situations or trying to heal the racial divides, he simply won't be up to the task, and won't have surrounded himself with people equipped to do anything but muddy the waters further.
The discussions amongst my friends and family, both in the UK and US, have been those of disbelief, of sadness and of fear for the future. The one glimmer of hope came from an article entitled How do we tell the children which, being a 4th grade teacher and a parent of 2, was one of my major concerns of the campaign. The article is a call to arms to spread the messages of standing up to hate, fighting bigotry, how to engage in productive political discussions and how to build a united community. Among all the pain today, this article gave me hope that all is not lost.
My email signature reads "Every thousand mile journey begins with a single step". A student asked me today at school why I have this on every email I send him. My response to him felt even more pertinent today when I told him that every big change has to start somewhere, and it starts with one person making choices; choosing to unite instead of divide, choosing to teach acceptance over fear, and choosing love over hate. That person is me, and every person who out there feeling my pain. Together, we can do something to bring about a brighter tomorrow and we can start today.
2016 has been a tough year for me, politically. In June, I watched in despair as lies, fear and frustration ruled in the Brexit vote, and it's only now becoming clear what an absolute mess the whole situation is. None of the key players are still around to be held accountable for their actions, the country has been given a Prime Minister who hasn't been voted for and the entire Brexit process seems to be one unending shambles. The hardest part, I thought at the time, was that there was no one really here who I could explain my sadness to. I'm a hearty believer in unity, so I was always going to be pro European, and the vote to leave it signaled a change in society that I couldn't fathom. It was at that time that I felt a long way from my friends and family, and I'm still not sure I've been able to talk through it properly. People over here were curious, but my conversations would only last a few lines before I could see them ready to move on.
Last night, I again watched in horror as lies, fear and frustration won the US election and I've spent today in a sort of fugue, easily distracted by work, but every now again realizing the situation the electorate has put everyone in. The Brexit part of my brain tries to square things off by saying that it will all work out in the end, and that we need to pull together, but when I look at the Republican President, Senate, Congress and Supreme Court, so many progressive ideals that I hold dear, like marriage equality, universal affordable healthcare and welfare, are in immediate if the rhetoric of the winner's campaign is anything to go by. I thought it would be better here as I'd have people to talk to about it, but today has been hard because I've found myself deliberately not wanting to discuss, at least with anyone who doesn't hold the same passion for change. I think it's that deep sense of loss and sadness at the direction society seems to be taking that hurts the most, and discussing and dealing with that hurt will take a long time to reconcile.
Of course, there is the possibility that the President Elect's statements of being "for all Americans" will be true and he will somehow change into a healing force. I dream that this could be true, but nothing I saw in the campaign makes me believe that he will act in anyone's best interests but himself and those like, and that when it comes to hard tasks like "draining the swamp", fixing the economy, dealing with complex foreign situations or trying to heal the racial divides, he simply won't be up to the task, and won't have surrounded himself with people equipped to do anything but muddy the waters further.
The discussions amongst my friends and family, both in the UK and US, have been those of disbelief, of sadness and of fear for the future. The one glimmer of hope came from an article entitled How do we tell the children which, being a 4th grade teacher and a parent of 2, was one of my major concerns of the campaign. The article is a call to arms to spread the messages of standing up to hate, fighting bigotry, how to engage in productive political discussions and how to build a united community. Among all the pain today, this article gave me hope that all is not lost.
My email signature reads "Every thousand mile journey begins with a single step". A student asked me today at school why I have this on every email I send him. My response to him felt even more pertinent today when I told him that every big change has to start somewhere, and it starts with one person making choices; choosing to unite instead of divide, choosing to teach acceptance over fear, and choosing love over hate. That person is me, and every person who out there feeling my pain. Together, we can do something to bring about a brighter tomorrow and we can start today.
Elections
Yikes. 2 months since my last post. So much has changed since the start of September that I need to update this blog before the year that it was intended to mark runs out. However, with the results of the US election now in, I want to get down some of my thoughts and feelings as a way of dealing with them.
2016 has been a tough year for me, politically. In June, I watched in despair as lies, fear and frustration ruled in the Brexit vote, and it's only now becoming clear what an absolute mess the whole situation is. None of the key players are still around to be held accountable for their actions, the country has been given a Prime Minister who hasn't been voted for and the entire Brexit process seems to be one unending shambles. The hardest part, I thought at the time, was that there was no one really here who I could explain my sadness to. I'm a hearty believer in unity, so I was always going to be pro European, and the vote to leave it signaled a change in society that I couldn't fathom. It was at that time that I felt a long way from my friends and family, and I'm still not sure I've been able to talk through it properly. People over here were curious, but my conversations would only last a few lines before I could see them ready to move on.
Last night, I again watched in horror as lies, fear and frustration won the US election and I've spent today in a sort of fugue, easily distracted by work, but every now again realizing the situation the electorate has put everyone in. The Brexit part of my brain tries to square things off by saying that it will all work out in the end, and that we need to pull together, but when I look at the Republican President, Senate, Congress and Supreme Court, so many progressive ideals that I hold dear, like marriage equality, universal affordable healthcare and welfare, are in immediate if the rhetoric of the winner's campaign is anything to go by. I thought it would be better here as I'd have people to talk to about it, but today has been hard because I've found myself deliberately not wanting to discuss, at least with anyone who doesn't hold the same passion for change. I think it's that deep sense of loss and sadness at the direction society seems to be taking that hurts the most, and discussing and dealing with that hurt will take a long time to reconcile.
Of course, there is the possibility that the President Elect's statements of being "for all Americans" will be true and he will somehow change into a healing force. I dream that this could be true, but nothing I saw in the campaign makes me believe that he will act in anyone's best interests but himself and those like, and that when it comes to hard tasks like "draining the swamp", fixing the economy, dealing with complex foreign situations, trying to heal the racial divides, he simply won't be up to the task, and won't have surrounded himself with people equipped to do anything but muddy the waters further.
The discussions amongst my friends and family, both in the UK and US, have been those of disbelief, of sadness and of fear for the future. The one glimmer of hope came from an article entitled How do we tell the children which, being a 4th grade teacher and a parent of 2, was one of my major concerns of the campaign. The article is a call to arms to spread the messages of standing up to hate, fighting bigotry, how to engage in productive political discussions and how to build a united community. Among all the pain today, this article gave me hope that all is not lost.
My email signature reads "Every thousand mile journey begins with a single step". A student asked me today at school why I have this on every email I send him. My response to him felt even more pertinent today when I told him that every big change has to start somewhere, and it starts with one person making choices; choosing to unite instead of divide, choosing to teach acceptance over fear, and choosing love over hate. That person is me, and every person who out there feeling my pain. Together, we can do something to bring about a brighter tomorrow and we can start today.
2016 has been a tough year for me, politically. In June, I watched in despair as lies, fear and frustration ruled in the Brexit vote, and it's only now becoming clear what an absolute mess the whole situation is. None of the key players are still around to be held accountable for their actions, the country has been given a Prime Minister who hasn't been voted for and the entire Brexit process seems to be one unending shambles. The hardest part, I thought at the time, was that there was no one really here who I could explain my sadness to. I'm a hearty believer in unity, so I was always going to be pro European, and the vote to leave it signaled a change in society that I couldn't fathom. It was at that time that I felt a long way from my friends and family, and I'm still not sure I've been able to talk through it properly. People over here were curious, but my conversations would only last a few lines before I could see them ready to move on.
Last night, I again watched in horror as lies, fear and frustration won the US election and I've spent today in a sort of fugue, easily distracted by work, but every now again realizing the situation the electorate has put everyone in. The Brexit part of my brain tries to square things off by saying that it will all work out in the end, and that we need to pull together, but when I look at the Republican President, Senate, Congress and Supreme Court, so many progressive ideals that I hold dear, like marriage equality, universal affordable healthcare and welfare, are in immediate if the rhetoric of the winner's campaign is anything to go by. I thought it would be better here as I'd have people to talk to about it, but today has been hard because I've found myself deliberately not wanting to discuss, at least with anyone who doesn't hold the same passion for change. I think it's that deep sense of loss and sadness at the direction society seems to be taking that hurts the most, and discussing and dealing with that hurt will take a long time to reconcile.
Of course, there is the possibility that the President Elect's statements of being "for all Americans" will be true and he will somehow change into a healing force. I dream that this could be true, but nothing I saw in the campaign makes me believe that he will act in anyone's best interests but himself and those like, and that when it comes to hard tasks like "draining the swamp", fixing the economy, dealing with complex foreign situations, trying to heal the racial divides, he simply won't be up to the task, and won't have surrounded himself with people equipped to do anything but muddy the waters further.
The discussions amongst my friends and family, both in the UK and US, have been those of disbelief, of sadness and of fear for the future. The one glimmer of hope came from an article entitled How do we tell the children which, being a 4th grade teacher and a parent of 2, was one of my major concerns of the campaign. The article is a call to arms to spread the messages of standing up to hate, fighting bigotry, how to engage in productive political discussions and how to build a united community. Among all the pain today, this article gave me hope that all is not lost.
My email signature reads "Every thousand mile journey begins with a single step". A student asked me today at school why I have this on every email I send him. My response to him felt even more pertinent today when I told him that every big change has to start somewhere, and it starts with one person making choices; choosing to unite instead of divide, choosing to teach acceptance over fear, and choosing love over hate. That person is me, and every person who out there feeling my pain. Together, we can do something to bring about a brighter tomorrow and we can start today.
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