Retail Therapy

    Starting to get that flying carpet that'll never land again feeling. Today is our last full day here.   

    Our older son left yesterday afternoon and my husband and I literally fell apart after he drove away.

    We retreated to our hotel room in shock -- and sadness. He was as bad as me, and that doesn't happen very often. In fact, that may be the first time it's happened since this whole adventure started. He's always the strong one.     

    You just get so used to having them around again, he said. Ohmigod, yes. And then they're gone again. Yes, yes.  

    We never felt like this before when he went back to his college town. But now it's different. Because we're so far. Because it's a big production involving trans-Atlantic flights to see them.

     We lay on the bed together hugging. It actually physically hurts, he said. Yes, yes, yes.

     We are now officially on the same page. At least briefly. 

     My younger son's girlfriend called and asked if I wanted to go shopping with her. We had mentioned that we wanted to look for a new bathing suit together, two girls out shopping. I had been looking forward to it. But now, I just felt destroyed.

     She came and picked me up.

     I told her I was feeling a bit fragile since my older son had left. She listened and then turned to me and asked, "Why did you move to England anyway? It's so far."

     I looked at her, I'm sure grimacing. I wasn't sure what to say. No reason I could give her could possibly make any sense. So I didn't say anything right away.

     "I know a great bathing suit store downtown," she said, quickly changing the subject.

     "Sounds good, honey. Let's go there," I replied. 

     No wonder people shop 'till they drop here.

     

          

                

       

     

          

                  

Land of the Free and Home of the Shopping

    The U.S. wins one contest hands down: It's by far the best country I know of to go shopping. Is that enough to just call it home forever and end it there?

    Might be actually.     

    We went to an outlet mall near here over the weekend because the boys needed some clothes -- and so did my husband and I. 

    The place was full of brand-name stores selling good quality, affordable clothes. I felt like a kid in a candy store. We bought all kinds of stuff for everyone for about the price of dinner for two (or one, depending on the restaurant) in London. 

     I've bought precisely one thing for myself since we moved to London -- a pair of flat black ballet slippers to replace a pair I had worn out. They were at least twice as much as what I would've paid in the U.S. for a similar pair -- and they were in the cheap rack at the store where I bought them.  

    My one old London friend was with me at the time and she asked the saleslady if there were any cheaper shoes -- or sale shoes or anything. She replied that most people would consider the shoes we were looking at cheap. Uh, okay.   

   If you ask me, the Brits are just getting ripped off left and right. And frankly, I just DO NOT understand how they are making it. I mean, the salaries are low, the taxes are high and everything, I repeat everything, is really expensive. Are they all just secret trust fund babies?

   I've been afraid to even get my hair cut in London. You need to take out a second mortgage to get your hair colored, cut and blow-dried. It's almost three times what I used to pay in the States. (By the way, I really miss you, Dee, my lovely Vietnamese hairdresser of old.) 

   The shops are adorable in London, don't get me wrong. And they have really cute stuff. But when you look at the price tags, everything in an American's body just screams, "no way, Jose!" What, am I funding your second home in Spain with this purchase?  

   But then, I guess that's the reason for all this over-consumption here. You feel like you're an idiot NOT to buy here. You go broke saving money here.    

   Everyone walking around the outlet mall was weighed down with several shopping bags each. You never see people in London walking around with several shopping bags on each arm. They might have to hail a cab then -- and really, who can afford that AND go shopping?  

   I got into a state though. I felt like I had to buy all the clothes I might need for the next several years, so I never have to buy anything at all in London. 

   But it's not that easy to buy a leather jacket when it's almost 100 degrees outside, no matter how high the air-conditioning. But gosh, they were nice -- and just so reasonable. 

    Anyway, I stopped myself. Only bought a few summer things. Besides being already cheap, they were all on sale too.  

    Last night, we went to a restaurant here that was doing Sunday oyster night -- a dozen of the freshest, plumpest oysters for $6.00. 

    Six dollars? For a dozen oysters? That's about the price of a bottle of mineral water in London.

    Anyway, gotta go. Gotta get my hair done today.

          

       

   

                             

Blasting the Air-Con

    Could someone please turn down the air-conditioning? I'm freezing. Even though it's sweltering outside. I have to bring a sweater with me everywhere I go in case I step inside anywhere.

    It's just ridiculous really. It's not even funny. It's just a huge squandering of resources.

    Ah, that feels good. 

    When you're actually from a country, you can just criticize its ways without any worry of offending anyone. I'm allowed to say this because I'm American.

    You got that? I'm American. And I want someone to just turn down the air-con in this country before we've gobbled up all the resources this world has. We're using more than our fair share here, folks.  

    I saw in the paper yesterday that the Indian government banned air-con in government buildings to save money. And I know it's hot there.

    Here, though, we just crank it up so high that everyone makes jokes about it. Things like, the supermarket is the worst. You actually need your coat on to go in there.

   What? Why? People don't even like it. 

    There seems to be so little talk here of what humans are doing to our planet compared to the UK. 

    In Britain, it's constantly at the forefront of discussion -- in newspaper stories, television documentaries and movies.

    A documentary about the shocking depletion of fish in the world's oceans is huge now in Britain. Several supermarket chains and restaurants banned the sale of bluefin tuna after the movie came out.

    Here, grocery stores have the air-con on so high you can see your breath while you're shopping for bluefin tuna.

    Something's gotta give.      

Whose Life is it Anyway?

     We had an impromptu sleep-over last night, prompted by the fact that my younger son lost the key to his house -- and his roommate was out. But who cares about the reason.

     My older son is sleeping on cushions on the floor in our hotel room right now as I write this. And even though I'm in the dark trying not to disturb him (and jet-lag woke me up a long time ago), there's something cozy -- and homey -- about that. Kinda like when he was little. And I used to tiptoe around because I wanted him to sleep more. My younger son spent the night at his girlfriend's apartment.  

     Ran some errands for them yesterday. Both their cars needed major help, so we dropped one off to be fixed yesterday and today we'll take the other one in. 

     Even though we're supposed to be on vacation here (and we are), all I ever seem to want to do is write up a to-do list of what they might need -- and cross things off one by one.

     I feel like they still need us to get through life. Or is it that I need them to get through life?

     My younger son needs a new power cord for his computer and I suggested we go get one. "I can do that when you're not here, Mom," was his reply. Even though they're appreciative of the help, they don't want this week to be just about what they need.

    My younger son, especially, wants this to be a fun week for us. He knows that the other times we've come to the vacation spot that is Charleston, it was always about him -- setting him up in his dorm, and then his house.

    This is just about us seeing each other -- and spending some time together after being apart so long.

    In the afternoon, we went to the beach for awhile. Friends of my younger son's drifted to where we were, everyone knowing exactly where to meet. My older son went off for awhile to take a personal call on his cellphone. Lots of stuff happening with his group of friends where he lives. 

    They both have lives. 

    It's me that needs a life now.       

Back in the U.S. of A

     Need to add another country to the list of countries where I don't feel I belong anymore, I guess -- the good 'ol U.S. of A. Where the hell do I belong these days?

     Feels oddly strange to be back here now. Geez.  

     Charleston was never home, so that's understandable. It's not like we went back to where we lived for a dozen years.

      My husband is having fun with this confusion. He's been humming Springsteen's "Born in the USA" at me with a knowing little smile.

     We had trouble getting in, and missed our connecting flight from Atlanta, which didn't help. 

     Usually, the immigration officer welcomes you home, smiling.

     But yesterday, it was all business and "go wait to talk to the officer in that office over there."

     My husband lost his green card once years ago and had to apply for another one, so that comes up on the computer when we go through Passport Control. By the time we had sorted it out, we ran like hell to the connecting gate only to see the door shutting as we panted up.

     I didn't like that my husband had trouble getting in. Made me feel nervous. When the officer asked him how long it had been since he was here and he replied mid-February, the officer looked at him warily and asked him when was the last time he filed U.S. taxes. 

    Just the other day actually, sir. June 15 deadline for overseas filers.

    Can we be allowed back home now, please? Or whatever this is.

    We went and had a cappuccino while we waited for the next flight to Charleston.

    My husband remarked on how many large people there were around, so many more than in Europe, he said. I pointed out five or six people who weren't large. He replied that at least two of them didn't look American. 

     I said the cappuccino was actually really good, better than the average one in Britain, where they often tend to be too hot and bitter for my taste.

     He said something about how I shouldn't just write off all the cappuccinos in Britain. And did I notice how massive the cookie we ordered to share with our cappuccinos was?  

     I hate it when we divide down country lines like that. 

     Neither of us wanted to take it any further though, so we picked up a stray copy of USA Today, divided it up and started reading.

        

The Boys

    Going to visit the boys tomorrow! Flying to Charleston, South Carolina for a week, where my younger son is a senior in college. My older son is driving down to meet us for a few days.

    We're so excited to see them. It's been since January, which of course, is the longest we've ever gone without seeing them. 

    Charleston is a charming U.S. city in the south, near the water. It's got historic architecture, a true walkable center (like London), hot weather and nice beaches nearby -- pretty ideal spot for an American vacation.

     It's weird to think we're seeing our kids like this on vacation. Usually, college kids come home, flop on the couch, open the fridge door half a dozen times, and soon, it's like nobody ever graduated from high school. Everyone just back to old patterns. 

     This is going to be different. We're going to be in a hotel and our sons are going to stay together at our youngest's apartment. They're really looking forward to seeing each other too, since it's been awhile for them as well, and they've always been close.  

     So how have they been without us? Has it been terrible for them that we've abandoned them?

     Actually no.  

     I think I'd have to say that for our eldest son, 23, it's actually been better that we haven't been there. He took on responsibilities in the family's finances that he wouldn't have, had we stayed. That was good for him, he did it well, and it felt grown up all around. We feel more comfortable knowing he knows more about how everything runs for us as a family. 

    He's thinking more creatively about what's next for him now too. More than he would have had he had the option of going home, we think. And ultimately, that's better for him.

    He didn't want to go back and live in his old room, even temporarily. He was pretty sure about that. And now, he may decide he doesn't even want to go back to where we were, although he can. That's up to him. There's a whole world out there. It'd be nice -- for us and for him -- if he came this way somewhere, at least for awhile.  

    For my younger son, it's been more complicated. He hasn't been able to come home to flop on the couch, and that makes me feel terribly guilty. Lots of his old friends are home now. He just went back to where we were, just for a couple days, and stayed with a friend. I asked him if he had driven past our old house. He hadn't. Boys are less sentimental than girls. 

    He had already planned to stay in Charleston this summer, the last summer of college. And why not? Charleston is a great place to be in the summer, more fun than where we lived frankly, for a boy of 21 (and maybe an old lady of 55 too). And he's got a job -- and a girlfriend. A lot of his college buddies decided to stay too. 

    So I guess I have to admit that it's been much worse for me than it has for them. It hasn't even been bad for them, if I have to be savagely honest about it. 

    Anyway, it'll be so great to see them tomorrow afternoon! My god. They're going to pick us up at the airport. I cannot wait.  

    We've missed them so much. They've missed us a lot too.   

    Absence does always makes the heart grow a little fonder, doesn't it?

   

     

   American Expat Wife will continue from Charleston, with perhaps only a one-day hiatus on Tuesday for flying. Otherwise, every day, Monday-Friday.

   

A Bit of Oprah

      I've been in a crappy mood ever since the visit with my stuff. You could probably tell. And I can't think of anything witty (or stupid) to say about either the British -- or living in London. Or the side of a hill in Italy. Or anything.   

      Just holed up in this flat feeling sorry for myself. Which is really boring, self-destructive, stupid and any other adjective you can think of. I agree with it all. I'm sorry.

      I guess I'm just not that good at sitting around here, doing the laundry, cleaning the rented flat -- and trying to come up with things to do every day to entertain myself without spending too much money. 

      I'm lonely, but I've stopped reaching out to the few people I do know. 

      I miss my boys. I miss my book club. I miss my water aerobics class. My yoga class. My old colleagues. My old job. My old house. I haven't replaced any of that with anything. So I don't know what I'm doing here. Most of the time, I'm just plotting leaving.

     Last night, I watched Oprah on TV.  She's on at 11 p.m. on a cable channel. The way I'm feeling, I could do a 24/7 Oprah marathon for weeks without a problem.  

     Anyway, she had on a group of morbidly obese teenagers talking about the issues that got them where they were.

     At one point, a facilitator asked the teenagers one by one to angrily finish this sentence: "I'm angry that...." 

     For the exercise, their parents were made to just listen. They couldn't respond. The facilitator egged the kids on to answer the question as many times as possible, as emotionally as possible. At the end, the parents were allowed only to hug their children without comment.

    It was pretty powerful to watch. "I'm angry that my father left you," shouted one obese boy at his mother. "I'm angry that he left on my birthday." 

    "I'm angry that you're my only friend," one girl cried to her mother. And so on.

     Later, all the kids said they felt a whole lot better just getting it off their chests, just the act of being able to say what was really bothering them.  

     I lay in bed, thinking. Okay, why not. What are you angry about? Just say it to yourself.

     I'm angry that I'm so far from my boys. 

     I'm angry that most of my stuff is in storage.

     I'm angry that the newspaper job I loved went down the tubes.   

     I'm angry because I'm not sure I want to be here, but I don't know what to do about it.   

     I'm angry that there's no easy solution.    

     Okay, that's better. Now what?