In which I convince someone to move from New York for a ring.
I know the exact distance I would go for love, it’s 3364.9 miles. This was the gap between me and Mrs G when we first got to know each other. I was living in a flat in Birmingham (UK) and she was sitting in her apartment in Briarwood (NY). The distance may have been large but all that separated us was one body of water.
Well one significant body of water and the bureaucracy that involves trying to begin a relationship with someone living in a different country. From the rantings of the more right-leaning media you would think the immigration system in the United States or Kingdom was as easy to get into as Republican race for President (*Boom* Satire).
In fact the question isn’t how far I would go for love but how hard will I work for it.
It began at Christmas Dinner when a throwaway comment started something in motion. I had been an item with Mrs G since the August after she had come over and spent a month with me. We had discussed spending our lives together and I was preparing to surprise her when she came over in Easter 2012. I had all kinds of plans to fly to New York and get on her flight to the UK and propose as a surprise mid-flight. Maybe even upgrade her to First Class.
Then as I left to catch my flight my Mum said to me:
Now if you are going to do anything silly I don’t want to know from Facebook.
My response is that I wasn’t planning on doing anything silly. Then as I spent 90 minutes driving down to Heathrow airport I got thinking, well if I plan to do the silly thing (get engaged) in a few months then why not do it now? I mean I rush through life at a hundred miles an hour so why was I waiting an arbitrary amount of time? So I made a decision as I sat alone in the car.
In which needing someone else’s help is hard but important.
It’s a strange topic to talk about today because I’m pretty happy. That’s because today is Mine and Mrs G’s third wedding anniversary. Even though we are not even out of the good anniversaries yet (this one is leather) it still seems like a long time. That is meant in a good way.
Often this blog is very flippant and doesn’t take things seriously, hopefully readers understand that and don’t think I’m just some random angry little man with access to the internet (surely if I was I would be more active on Twitter). One of the reasons for this is that I have been in a place where I have let life become too serious and feared it would take the heart of me. That now seems like even longer ago.
Just like many other people I have had moments where my mental health has not been as robust as it could have been, I have been treated for depression. I look at it as just another illness I had, and just like asthma or hay-fever I had treatment for it and got better. Even so, I still take precautions to make sure I don’t have another bout of the blues.
Living with an American I am used to the thought that I may have a nomadic life, our family by its nature will be one with a foot on either continent. Without moving one extended family 3,000 miles in one direction me and Mrs G will never both be ‘home’. We could lead a life where we jet back and forth between New York and the English Midlands, but sitting here looking out of the window suffering from jet lag shows I’m not cut out for the Transatlantic lifestyle.
We’ve just got home from New York leaving the bright lights of a double named non-sleeping city for the, well um, exemplary concrete architecture of Coventry. A couple of days ago I was sitting in a living room where the streets with a ‘th’, ‘nd’ or ‘rd’ in itheir name. I getting on the train to Grand Central instead of the London Midland to Birmingham New Street. I’m happy that we have set roots down but what if we were in a position to move around more. Where would I go?
In which I let someone else talk about the kindness of strangers.
I thought for today I should let Mrs G speak, it’s my way of being kind and trying to get more people to listen to here rather than me. She’ll shout at me as she’ll want to have written this herself but this is from a comment she made on an old post of mine so I think I own the copyright, but I think it shows that kindness is out there in the most unsuspecting of places.
Coming from what is arguably the most notoriously selfish city in the world, NYC, I wonder. I see people refuse to step aside to let others onto a subway car because they want to lean on the doors. My mother had a period where she was severely slowed because of a bad hip and still limping to work every day, yet commuters would still shove her, or get irritated when they were stuck behind her on a staircase.
And that’s to say nothing of the muggings, scams, drunken vomiting, and the rest of the scope of activities which show a complete disregard for other people.The NYC subway could be the perfect example of this argument.Indeed, one questions motives. If someone on the subway starts to talk to someone else, motives are questioned. I knew a guy from the Midwest who used to give up seats to women, and they would eye him suspiciously, wondering what he was after. If you bump into someone because the train jars you, brace yourself for a fight. Continue reading “Being a Good Samaritan”
Today is July 4th, or as it is more commonly known across the Atlantic Independence Day. A day when people get to let off fireworks (unless in one of the four states that ban them), get out the BBQ and drink beer. Oh, and also remember throwing off the yoke of oppression from all those Hollywood villain Brits.
It’s the brave sacrifice of Australians like Mel Gibson that helped the colonials rise up against the diabolic taxation of King G and get representation in a constitutional republic (unless you live in Washington D.C.). For Mrs G it’s more important than that, July 4th is a day that she has to go to work while all her family and friends back home get the day off. Did throwing all that tea into the harbour not mean anything.
This is the interesting aspect of our family, she is a proud Yank and I’m a stiff upper lipped Limey. Our daughter is going to be a mix of both of our cultures so how will we celebrate cultural holidays where you celebrate the beating up of one parent so the other could be unoppressed? Will she grow up calling it Independence or Insurrection Day?
In which I reveal the novelisation of the movie of my life.
Mrs G is currently writing a book, and I think it’s going well but it’s all about feelings and adjectives and I prefer my literature with a few more maps illustrating strange locations and pop-up flaps.
She is looking forward to being a published author (as am I, I plan to be a trophy husband dedicated home keeper) but the act of writing a book is a long and laborious process and if life has taught me anything it’s that instant gratification is great and if a job takes ages to do then outsource it.
We are a zero-cat family, well that’s not necessarily true we are a zero-this-side-of-the-Atlantic family whereas Mrs G’s mother lives in a Three-line abode. Geddit, three-line. It’s feline but with three in, because she has three cats. In fact I should have mentioned that first.
I’ve agreed that should anyone but me organises it then the cats can come over because I don’t believe in animal cruelty and Mrs G’s two cats are terrorising the unfortunate incumbent feline.
These are the two terrors, Bella the aloof and rotund alpha cat on the left and Olivia the stupid cat savant who is as deadly a killer as Jean Reno or Smallpox.
In which I put myself in the shoes of those closest to me.
I’m quite impressed with myself; it might be the amount of work I’ve done in the garden this weekend, it could be that I have finally been and got my haircut or maybe it was how good Easter dinner was yesterday. Maybe I am feeling so full of myself because I’m now in the fourth month of the Daily Post Challenge and I have yet to have missed a day.
I’ve tried this challenge for the past few years and never made it past the end of February. Even then I knew I would be losing steam past Valentine’s, but this year seems different. I realised that even after today’s exertions I had still yet to write anything. This got me thinking, instead of worrying about posting what if I was another blogger for a week who wasn’t doing this challenge?
There is only one who springs to mind, and she has not wrote anything on her blog for over a year. That’s Mrs G.