krisalis

Last weekend, we had a fantastic overlap of visitors through the Memorial Day weekend.

On Thursday evening, Mark and I took David, Tina, Evan and Trish out for a taste of Austin. We had some true Texas BBQ at Iron Works, and then went to “Esther’s Follies” for some all-singing, all-dancing political comedy with a little magical trickery thrown in.

I had only ever been to Esther’s previously during W’s reign in the White House, so there was a lot of new material more pertinent to the Obama administration, plus the usual smattering of recent news parodies (Bristol Palin as a spokesperson for teen abstinence, Michelle Obama gardening and flexing her biceps given her “right to bare arms”) and a few of the old standards that still stand up to the test of time. Very fun.

After Esther’s Follies, we headed down 6th Street to Pete’s Piano Bar. We settled into a couple of open tables directly behind one of the pianists and ordered a round of drinks. Shortly after we arrived, the pianists started into a string of Jimmy Buffet songs, much to the delight of the bar patrons around us. However, given that 3 of our party were born and bred Aussies, 2 were Brits and the other one was me….none of us really knew the tunes, nevermind the words! But being in such close proximity to the pianist meant he could tell none of us were singing along, and soon we were getting the evil eye. After a couple of minutes of feeling uncomfortable, I scribbled a note on the napkin saying “Uh, we don’t know the words. We’re all foreign. Sorry.” and passed it up to the stage. At which point, the pianist stopped playing, and got the whole bar to stop singing so he could ask us all where we were from. Having established that we were all Brits or Aussies, he then got the rest of the bar to teach us the words to “Margaritaville”. I also learned that the Ohio University fight song involves singing about Snoopy. That just doesn’t seem very badass to me. But yeah, good times.

After Pete’s we headed to Halycon for some dessert/coffee/more drinks. And finally, from there, went back to the car. Which wasn’t there. We had been towed. Crapola. Trish and I took a taxi to the tow place to pay the ransom and retrieve the car without incident and we were able to collect the rest of our party and get home without any further drama.

On Friday, I had the day off work, so I took Ev and Trish for a walk around the neighborhood and then we went to Whole Foods in the afternoon to admire their homeopathic offerings and get some goodies for dinner.

Wee Derek and Indira arrived late on Friday evening from Florida, after their flight was delayed for 3 hours by bad weather. We had some food and headed to bed in preparation for a busy weekend ahead.

To be continued….

There’s a boy in my bucket
Originally uploaded by krisalis.

Taking a bath.

We’ve been blessed with a string of visitors over the past few weeks.

My cousin David and his wife Tina were here for two weeks, and we had a great time catching up with them and messing about on the river.

Surely the highlight of my Mother’s day this year was the moment that Alexander realised he could float in the pool whilst wearing floaties, without hanging on to me or the wall, and that he could move about by kicking his own legs. Such joy!

He was clearly thrilled with his own achievement, and kept saying “I did it! Mummy! Swimming! I did it!”.

Brilliant.

Solo swimming (with floaties):

Close by, but not touching:

Last year:

Two years ago:

My water baby is growing up.

The most beautiful girl in the room
Originally uploaded by krisalis.

FOTC awesomeness.

Alexander: Dwink, pwease!
Me: OK, I’ll get you some milk.
A: NO! APPLE DWINK!
Me: I’m getting you milk.
A: NO NO NO!
Mark: How about cow juice drink?
A: OK! Moo! Cow dwink!
Me: Here you go. One cow drink coming right up.
A: Mmm! Nice!

One of the few genuinely good things about being on the road for work is that my travels often take me to places where we have friends. Last week I had the good fortune to be able to visit with two sets of friends from bygone eras.

In Phoenix, I met up with friends I’ve known since my Uni days in Scotland, and who were also stationed out in Singapore for much of the time Mark and I were there. In Ottawa, I stayed with my friend Liz, who I’ve known since we attended high school together in Geneva. It’s a bizarre mixing of worlds, meeting up on a whole other continent from our original circumstances, older and somewhat wiser, reminiscing about those good old days.

As an out-of-place Texan-born, British-raised and Swiss-bred teenager, I tumbled out into the post-high school world and into studentdom at Edinburgh University with no true fixed point of identity. I sounded sort of English, but hadn’t lived there since I was 5. I wasn’t Swiss, although I’d spent the last 6 years in Geneva. I didn’t sound Scottish, despite having already put in 6 years in Glasgow. I was…a bit lost. Most of the time, the only people who I think really understand what this fuzzy identity is like are the people who I knew during my time in Geneva, and my time in Singapore.

I loved living in both Geneva and in Singapore, and part of the reason I think I felt so comfortable in those environments was that for the first time, many of the people I interacted with were in the same boat as me. We were from somewhere else. We spoke a jumbled mess of accents. We craved odd foods from somewhere (or several somewheres) we called “back home”. We were comfortable living out of a suitcase and kept our passports close at hand. We liked beer. Ok, so that last point isn’t really directly relevant. But it’s still true.

I’ve been in Texas for 5 years now. I like Austin a lot. It is my home. And yet, I still don’t quite fit in, and I probably never will. I think I’ll always have a mostly English accent, although my accent still sways gently in the breeze depending on who I’m talking with.

I’ll never really know how to answer people when they ask “So, where are you from?” because…where am I from? If I say I’m from Austin, the response is usually “Yes, but where are you from originally?”. I could answer “I was born in Houston”, but that’s just asking for more nosiness. So I usually just answer that my family is originally from Northamptonshire, which is true, but has almost no bearing on my upbringing, since I only spent a year there when I was about 5 years old.

I’m not properly Scottish, despite living there for 11 years in total, and holding fast to an abiding love for Edinburgh. I’m not Swiss or French, although part of my soul resides in the mountains of Chamonix. I’m not Singaporean, although I like to think I can eat like one. I’m not Australian – not yet anway – although I’m married to one. I am American, and I am British, in as much as that is what is says on the front of my current passports. But really? Who knows. And who really cares? Probably no one. Including me. I was just….thinking.