Jason R. circa 1994-6

I imagine that, as with all things we imagine to be unique to ourselves and which turn out to be quite universal, actually, that we all have a connection with a certain name. A name we encounter over and over again throughout the course of our lives. For a long while, that name for me was Jason.

According to the hallowed hall of general knowledge that is Wikipedia, “Jason was a late ancient Greek mythological hero, famous as the leader of the Argonauts and their quest for the Golden Fleece…” There has also been a King Jason, a High Priest Jason, a philosopher Jason, a cat, a power ranger, a rocket, a government advisory group and perhaps most infamous, an ax murderer, all named Jason.

My first kiss was a boy named Daniel, my 2nd was a friend named Jason Cox, who lived around the corner from me. There was also Jason H., Jason Coffey, Jason R., Jason’s whose last names I have long forgotten and of course, Jaylin Jones, who I always counted as one of the Jason’s.

Jason R. was perhaps the one who meant the most to me and perhaps my first love. He was neither a greek hero, a king or a priest. He had short brown hair, sparkling deep brown eyes, like chocolate, a nose that I’d recognize even now and a smile that was so natural and bright enough to light up a room. I met him at a mall. I was a runaway, and had come to my favorite hangout to get away from my vicious siblings and indifferent parents. I was hungry, and needed a place to stay for the night. I was not the hiding and sleeping in the mall type, though I suppose I would have been up for it if someone else suggested it. Jason was sitting by himself in the food court, eating chinese. I brazenly walked up, sat in the chair across from him and asked if he would share his egg roll with me, which he did. Soon he introduced me to his friends who turned up at some point and these guys became my best friends, who I lied to and hurt repeatedly and for years.

Jason and I played leap frog along the canal as we walked from the mall to the apartments where a few of the guys lived. Three of them took me in, and it makes me very sad to realize that I don’t remember their names. They were from California, didn’t believe in microwaves and had an aquarium. I remember that I was supposed to make breakfast for them as my way of paying rent, but that was quickly forgotten around the first time I tried to make bacon on the stove top, after years of watching my dad cook it in the microwave… They had a black cat named el gato. We once all got very high together and figured out the secrets of the universe in one night, of course I have long forgotten those secrets, though aliens were definitely involved. They were really good guys and I hope they are having excellent lives somewhere.

Jason and I didn’t see each other very often, he was going to school and lived a little distance away, but when we did it was good, like we were drawn together and we fit together like puzzle pieces. The last time I saw him, it was outside the same mall I had met him, he saw me and shouted my name and grabbed me in an embrace that was like being home, the world calm and still and warm, all exactly as it should be. I had to wrench myself away and I might have cried if I had known the next time I saw him would be nearly 16 years later, on the Department of Corrections website, wearing the same orange jumpsuit that all prisoners wear and with the sparkle in his eyes long gone.

When I first saw that picture I felt a longing to reach out to him, write him a letter, tell him I was married, living in England with three children. All grown up, if you will. I suppose I thought it would be important to him, me reaching out from the past, perhaps even comforting. The girl with whom he had once sat in a closet for hours talking about his family, his fears and hopes and dreams, even reciting poetry. Of course he might also not remember me at all, the look in his eyes was one I associated with long time huffers, completely vacant. Though I wanted to write the letter, and did write one, I could see no point in sending it. This was not a person I wanted in my life, and had I sent the letter I probably would not have even included a return address. Perhaps I really had grown up, and grown out of needing these people, who I once adored.

I believe Jason has probably been released now, and I wish him well, though my heart aches that his life has not turned out the way he would’ve wanted.

Thanks for the egg roll, and the memories.

20/20

My eldest son has what I imagine is about the worst vision possible this side of legal blindness. Nobody knew this until he was about 6. I suppose a lot of his early behaviour issues probably were closely linked, but I was a young first time mother and oscilliated between privately thinking my child was crazy or completely normal. I didn’t know. Oddly enough, I don’t remember the first time it was suggested he may have a vision problem, whether it was before or after his teachers tried to convince me he had ADD and to medicate him, his first vision test, or even his first pair of glasses. I don’t even remember the first time I learned how poor his vision was, perhaps I blocked it out because not a day goes by that I don’t berate myself for unintentionally letting him go through his first years of life like that. Shocking to me is that my child was forcibly taken from me and circumcised while he screamed and I begged them not to, but checking his vision was not a priority for nearly 6 years. (I gather the APA’s priorities are slightly different now, we can but hope.)

My daughter had her vision tested at my firm insistence early on and, thankfully, it was perfect. I have not worried about Rafe’s vision as he has not exhibited any signs of vision trouble, and here in the UK, the health visitors are pretty on top of it. But, it’s been awhile since Rafe has seen a health visitor and rarely needs to go to the doctor and since he is school age, I thought it should be professionally checked. The morning of the appointment, I kicked myself for not insisting it be done when he was much younger, for once again putting my faith in the professionals and I was terrified it was going to be a similar case to my older sons. Thankfully, it was not. I had prepared him for the appointment beforehand and he quite enjoyed wearing all the funny contraptions and telling the eye doctor what the symbols on the wall were. He really wanted to use the letters and not the symbols, but wasn’t quite confident enough in letter names (they teach them the sounds first.)

To be told he had 20/20 vision made me want to cry with happiness. I suppose I wouldn’t go so far as to call my eldest son’s poor vision a disability, but I imagine the relief I felt knowing my younger children will not have to endure the same challenges and pain that he has must be equal to that of any mother, who aches to see one child suffer and rejoices to know their siblings will not.

Rafey

Yes, that is a Santa hat next to him. The fact that he was wearing a Santa hat in August greatly offended the cleaning guy we passed, who felt the need to point out Christmas was 4 months (is that all? Shit- I’m still in 6 months away mode!) away, and then a moment later, having apparently decided he was super annoyed, informed me it was at least 130 days away! (144 days to Christmas, actually. 89 until Halloween and, most important in this house- 227 days until Rafe’s 6th birthday. This kid is on top of his holidays!)

Introducing…..

Sasha!

I'm ready to come in, now!

Sasha is our newest kitty, but we’ve actually had her for almost a year. We adopted Sasha, a young brown, white and black domestic short hair, last August after her family moved back to the states but couldn’t take her with them. She is our 4th kitty and I thought she would settle in quickly with the other three, who are all rescues. Our third kitty, Nutmeg, came about a year or even two after we got our first two and she was happily prowling about annoying the two boy kitties in no time.

In the run up to Sashas arrival I read a lot about introducing new cats to a home, but found a lot of the methods to be over the top, and had no intention of confining any of my cats to a room by themselves for days, especially as we hadn’t done this for Nutmeg and had noticed no problems. I had planned to confine Sasha to the living room for the first day or so and then introduce the other kitties, but when her family dropped her off I could see they were apprehensive about leaving her, so I thought I should introduce the other kitties while they were so they could meet them and see that Sasha would be ok. This was probably a mistake. She freaked, and spent two days hiding behind the couches. Then she spent two weeks alternating between hiding underneath beds, and under the cupboards in the kitchen. Eventually she graduated to hiding on top of the kitchen cupboards, and she spent months there. Which, turned out to be helpful as she dispatched an entire colony of mice who moved in behind the cupboards during that time. She was far from affectionate and would only let me touch her, hissing and growling at everyone else who went near her. She would not use the litter trays, and also does not care for a drinking bowl, so needed to have taps left on for her to drink from. She would not go near the other cats, and alternated between hissing at or running away from our other female.

I have to admit that although she was eating and drinking and had made some progress, I was a bit worried. So, when we took her along to the vet for a normal checkup and mentioned that she didn’t seem to be acclimatising well. The vet told us her behaviour was completely normal and said to give her six more months.

We took her home and well, she settled into a routine. Spending most of her time on top of the kitchen cupboards,keeping an eye on things. Occasionally she’d appear upstairs and eventually there’d be times when I’d look up and see her lounging in my closet, or she’d hop up on the bed and nuzzle me! She still did not want to be picked up, or really even petted, but I could see she was getting there.

Eventually she’d hop down from the cupboards and tentatively step out into the backyard if the door was open. I tried to encourage her, but also keeping close to her, in case she decided to bolt. I could see she wanted to be outside, but was very much afraid and often she’d only spend a minute or two outside before rushing back in. The top of the cupboards was her space, but she never ventured into the living room, ever. If we brought her in, she’d bolt for the kitchen. She was much happier upstairs though and if she wasn’t on top of the cupboards, you could find her in my room, and eventually in one of the other rooms, sunning herself on a windowsill. She finally and thankfully began to use the litter trays with reliability.

One day, a few months ago, Sasha appeared on the living room coffee table, just like that. We stared in amazement, as there was another cat on the table at the time and she didn’t even like being in the same room with another one of the cats! She wasn’t bothered in the slightest. She began to go outside all the time, and loves nothing more than sunning herself in the tall grass in the yard, occasionally batting it with her paws, or stalking various insects. She comes and goes through the windows and doors quite happily. I no longer had to coax her into the kitchen to have a treat with the others, she dashed in when called. She began to happily share a food bowl with the other cats, even the female. It seemed that overnight Sasha had finally decided to accept us as her new family.

Nowadays she can be found happily stalking hover flies in the garden, napping in the flower bed or lounging next to me on the computer desk, occasionally dipping her paw into a small mug of milk and then licking it clean. She loves milk. She can even be found sleeping snuggled up next to my oldest son, whom she hated more than even the other cats in the first 9 months, he happily returned the venom but I preached patience and so he tried not to be to annoyed with her when she took a swipe at him. The other day she spent the night with him, happily rolling over and going back to sleep each time he needed to pick her up and move her over to accommodate his poor broken leg.

She is a changed kitty and I happily thanked the vet for giving me that 6 month window to work in when we saw him a few weeks ago. A stark difference to the visit many months ago, she made no attempt to bite him, did not once hiss, and was happy to let me pull her out of carrier for the quick shot he needed to give her.

We loved her from the beginning of course, and are so happy she has apparently decided to love us as well. Welcome to our family, Sasha.

Sasha-Washa!

Year 2

Devon’s 2nd birthday was a lot of fun. We had a barbecue, as we had for his 1st birthday. His hair was longer and he had the most beautiful curls. Winnie the Pooh was still a favorite of his so Pooh and Tigger graced the top of his cake for the 2nd year and he was a bit more reserved about digging in.

His personality was starting to come through by this point, a very strong willed and independent little boy on the outside, we knew he was going to be a lot like his mamma. Poor kid.

Are you sure about this? No fork?

Presents!

Never Wore Flowers In My Hair part 2

Union Square. Possibly my favorite part of San Francisco. It was like a gateway to me, once I was at Union Square, I knew how to get anywhere. I wonder if I’d feel that way now, if I went back there?

I remember the music. Almost every day and night there would be music, it was magical, to me. Buskers, mostly. But occasionally, something great would come along, and they werent just playing for spare pennies.

Sean and I danced one night. In Union Square, while one of those rare and special bands played. I don’t remember their faces, or the instruments or tune they played. But I do know that it was something infectious which just…moved the air and you with it. We danced and we laughed and he held me in his arms under the lights of Macy’s windows. Then someone in the band, the singer I think, looked at Sean and said “She’s a lovely girl, you take care of her.” Sean looked at me and touched my face and promised he would, and I felt for a moment like all was right and perfect with the world and everything in it.

Sean was my 2nd love. He was from Oklahoma, and his parents had property out there and we were going to move there and live in a ranch house and he would get a job in oil and we would be happy. This fantasy spoke loudly to me, and my strange desire for that sort of heartland lifestyle. Sean was sort of broken and messed up and I was stupid and naieve enough to think he needed me and I could fix him.

In the end I didn’t go to Oklahoma and I haven’t seen Sean in almost 15 years. My 14 year old in love self would be devastated by that, but my 29 year old self is glad for it. He was sort of broken and messed up and it turns out, I was too. I never could’ve fixed him. But, I still think of him from time to time. Somewhere I may even still have a photobooth picture of he and I, it would make me smile to see it again, and being a girl, one prone to nostalgia and romance, I wonder if he still has his two from the strip of four we divided between us.

on life in a foreign country

It’s a funny thing, moving to a foreign country. People get upset if you expect it to be at all like home, you are expected to know everything will be different, accept it and just be happy about it. Enjoy discovering new things. There is, of course, nothing wrong with that. In theory. The problem comes when you step off the plane in a new country and the first thing you see is… McDonalds. Or Starbucks.

For me, as an American, this wasn’t what I expected. I expected things in England to be different. I was totally prepared for things to be different, yet what I quickly discovered is that, actually, they really weren’t. Thanks to globalisation, I could have the same lunch latte in London on Thursday that I had had two days and 6000 miles previously, in Phoenix. The similarities didn’t stop there, I could also buy most of the same brands of clothing and food, shop in the exact same supermarkets, even watch the same tv shows and channels. I can buy a lot of the same food, enjoy many of the same sporting activities and speak the language fluently, with no extra effort at all.

I have been here six years now and know that while things look the same, they arent exactly the same. I know that certain drinks and foods are prepared differently, with different ingredients, or amounts. I know that while many of the food items and brands I know and love from my formative years in the states may be available, in the same or a different form, in grocery stores, chances are restaurants will not have heard of them or added them to their menu. I know a lot of the ins and outs of the culture.

To someone just getting off the plane, expecting adventure and discovering new things, it is disconcerting to find everything the same. To then have to adjust, not to foreign differences, but to foreign sameness is quite difficult. As the days and years pass by and you learn and absorb you eventually start to pity and even mock those newcomers.

But, perhaps we should all remember that it is not necessarily ignorance or arrogance that defines foreign visitors who don’t seem to accept that they are in a foregin country and things will be different. Perhaps it is a genuine confusion over what is actually different, and trying to reconcile that with what is the same. This is no easy task and instead of anger or surprise- natives and long term foreign residents should try their best to guide newcomers, help them find the differences that they will cherish and be thankful for.