Not a walk in the park

I've been asked a few times about what has the most surprising thing about moving to the USA.

Believe it or not, it's the culture shock.

I think there's an assumption that US and UK culture is very similar, especially between people of similar races/heritages. Mark has an anglo-saxon heritage; his ancestors were English/Scottish and Irish. But quite often we find that we are just not speaking the same language. It can be shocking and confusing for both of us, and little things crop up all the time when we least expect them.

One time during our stint as a transatlantic couple I had to sign off Skype because I had to go and make tea. Two hours later Mark was annoyed that I hadn't returned, thinking that making tea should only take five minutes. I was referring to "tea" the evening meal, not "tea" the hot drink, and it took at long while for me to convince him that the word is interchangeable!

So despite the number of times I have been to the US, and the cumulative amount of time I have spent here, it has been incredibly hard to adjust. One of the hardest things is not knowing how "settled in" I should be by now, and it's even harder to accept that there are no rules on this. Not having my SSC or driving permit has meant that I've been entirely dependent on my husband in many ways, and at first I allowed that to knock my confidence.

Immigration, and especially family immigration, is not just about bureaucracy and paperwork. Visajourney has been useful for me, once again, to realize that the whole cultural process takes a long time, and longer than you'd imagine.  I read one thread, where a stranger summed it up bluntly but accurately:

They give up everything to be here. Their jobs, family, the land they know and understand, their life style, I mean really it's darn near everything. Then they get here and what do they find? They don't know how to get around, they don't know where they are, they can't work, when they can they're starting off below where they were before. Their comfort foods are all gone. Their friends are too far away. Everyone is a stranger, even you as their spouse suddenly is different because now you're living together and they see all sides of you. They are totally dependent on one person, and yes, it's easy for them resent that.

So this has been the most surprising thing so far. I know it seems daft that I'm surprised that emigration/immigration isn't easy. But I'm getting there; I've a routine now which involves going to the gym three times a week, and spending time cooking with Mark, and constantly applying for work and volunteer opportunities.

The great, great news is that I now have my Green Card, my new Social card and my driving permit! If you've never seen a Green Card before, check it out, it's very cool. I've got teeny tiny pictures of all the US Presidents and all the state flags crammed onto a plastic green (yes!) card, along with all my personal info.

It hasn't all been apple pie and walks in the park since I got here… although that's certainly been a part of it.

Mark's apple pie. It was delicious.

Rustic Weekend: a Pumpkin-Peek

Mark's favorite time of year is October. It's his birthday month, for a start, plus it's halloween and pumpkin harvesting season. He's got his own pumpkin plant on the go, and there are a few buds fruiting. Here's how the biggest one has grown over the past few weekends. I'll be sure to keep you updated.

Still here!

Every morning when I get up and head downstairs, I'm greeted by the most excited pooch in the world. 

You're still here!

Bulldogs can't wag their tales, so she shakes her butt and runs around in circles, as if to say "OMG, you're still here!" 

I try to remind her that I ain't going anywhere, but every night she forgets and every morning we have this overexcited reunion. As I said before, it took a while for Mark and I to realize that I'm not on holiday. For the first few days one of us would say "if we have time, can we do such-and-such?" before remembering that we have all the time in the world to do activities together. It was a funny and pleasant realization.

Mark's family's secret cookie recipe. I'm afraid I cannot divulge.

But I can divulge the summer sausage roll recipe.

Now, I'm glad to say, it just feels like normal. I don't wake up and run around in circles shouting "OMG, I'm still here!" anymore - even if the dog does.

anti-social security

On my first full day in the States, we picked up this from the DMV:

I read it over the weekend, and then we popped back down to the DMV (Mark drove, obviously) and I presented my documents to the brow-beaten employee. As I'd literally just arrived and had little in the way of proof of residence, I also presented my husband and two proofs of his residence. Honestly, it was on the list of acceptable documents: spouse and two proofs of address.

The poor DMV employee, sitting in a fluoro-lit windowless building on a heady summer's day, sighed. He knew my case was not going to be straightforward. It should have been. I passed the theory test with full marks - so much easier than the UK equivalent and none of that hazard perception nonsense either. The employee checked out my visa, passport, spouse, his driving license, and his two proofs of address: All A-OK. The problem, however, was my social security card.

Social security numbers, invented by FDR in 1935 as part of his New Deal, are akin to UK National Insurance numbers (Bonus Fact: UK National Insurance was invented in 1911). The point, originally, was to provide welfare/insurance/benefits/pension to citizens suffering from poverty as a result of the Great Depression (1929, but you knew that).

FDR also allowed for SSNs to be used as 'governmental identifiers' of individuals, although this didn't become widespread until later in the 20th century. You can read all about this here if you're that interested.

The DMV requires presentation of a valid SSC as proof of identity. I actually have a valid SSC, but the problem is that it's in my maiden name. Even presentation of my passport, marriage certificate, spouse, his driving license and two proofs of his address wasn't going to be enough to get my PA driving permit. And we thought we'd gotten good at bureaucracy!

We boldly drove (well Mark did) across the county to the Social Security Administration. Another windowless building, where George Takei advertizes managing your benefits on a giant TV screen on a loop. Hilarious the first time, unsettling after a while. An employee helped me fill out an application for an updated card, but warned me it'd take a month to arrive. It only took 10 days to get my original card back in 2006, so I thought this was an exaggeration. It's not.

So I'm stuck in rural America without wheels.

Jack Kerouac wrote "On the Road" and not "On the Sidewalk"

The USA is designed for cars. In the 1950s shops even built parking lots over sidewalks/footpaths as inter-state highways cemented (sorry) the car as the leading form of US transport. The drive-thru boomed, not only in fast food, but also in coffee, banking, and postal services. I had hoped to hit the USA running, jumping and driving so I could start to build my new life here the moment I arrived. To be honest, this paper delay took the wind out of my sails a bit.

I do understand why I'm waiting. Identification fraud is a real concern. Journalist Jose Antonio Vargas found out he was an illegal immigrant when he went to the DMV to get his permit; it all rested on his SSC. There's also a slightly hilarious case where one poor secretary had her SSN wrongfully used by 40,000 other people. Meanwhile, Mark's happy to drive me to the local YMCA where I can run and jump for free, but the driving is a no-no until I get my new card and I can once again prove I'm me.

Rustic Weekend: Fireflies

Midsummer means several fun things in this part of the world. It means high temperatures, humidity, air conditioning, July 4th, BBQs, summer camps, free open air concerts, and ice cream. 

It also means fireflies. Mark and his family call them lightning bugs, fitting because midsummer also means tremendous thunder and lightning storms. 

Every evening for a couple of weeks there's a wonderful light show in the fading twilight heat. The bugs appear and disappear like those shooting stars that you can only see from the corners of your eyes. I tried to capture them one evening…

…I think that's the best I'm gonna do, I'm afraid, so you'll just have to imagine their splendor instead.

Go 4th part 2

After all the stars, stripes, vintage cars, candy and community members paraded along the street, we walked to the car (walking being a rare treat in this rural sprawl, even if it was nearing 100F) and headed to Valley Forge.

Valley Forge is a famous winter encampment of the US military during the Revolutionary war against the British. Now it's a huge park and visitor center. It seemed appropriate to go on July 4th, and I reckoned it'd be a great opportunity to brush up on my US history. I have a lot of brushing up to do. I only recently learned that New York was named after the Duke of York and not the city itself, that Virginia was named after Queen Elizabeth I, and Louisiana after the French King (the 14th one). Maryland was named after King Charles I's Catholic wife (and it was also a Catholic safe haven). I do find it slightly ironic that these names stuck even after the US declared independence, but I like that they did.

Valley Forge was great. Their "second annual July 4th picnic" was in full swing when we arrived. This involved BBQ food, kids' games, colonial outfits, toy guns and of course, stars and stripes. We watched Jefferson read out the declaration and we were even offered the chance to sign our independence.

I approached the 'independence' stall with a little trepidation. I felt a little (a lot) like an imposter, but I thought it would be a fun thing to sign my independence from the UK. The past couple of weeks have felt a lot like I'm on holiday in the US, but I'm not. I'm permanent now!

The friendly girl at the stall struck up a conversation with me and I was happy to oblige until she said "uh, where are you from?"

Uh oh. Busted. Oops. Enemy in the ranks.

"Shh, I'm actually British!" I whispered.

"Haha, I thought so, I won't tell!" She laughed.

 I added "I just got my Green Card though, so it's aaall fine!" I signed my name, and she joked that it was 'official' now.

It was too darn hot to stay much longer, so we bowed out, and drove back home. I had baked a cake from the Mary Berry Baking Bible I'd been given for Christmas. It was, to emulate the irony of the names of the founding States, a chocolate Victoria Sponge. I thought it seemed apt.

Mark and I cut the cake with the knife we'd been given for our wedding cake, and that Mark had actually forgotten to bring to the wedding. Cheesy, yes, but to be fair we didn't get to spend our first anniversary together, and this is a reminder to make and cut (and eat, I hope) more cakes together.

We ate chicken grilled outside on the family BBQ. No rain, no food poisoning, just your every day US BBQ, not the drenched British renditions I'm used to. Then we settled down to watch the shows on TV. If you're from the Old World (like me) and you've never seen July 4th television before, it bears a resemblance to the Eurovision Song Contest, but as if nobody involved knew it was Eurovision, and with added American patriotism and bravado. And the really great thing is that it's on more than one channel. Oh yes. I think this is something that Eurovision should definitely adopt. We could flick from NY to Capitol Hill to Philly, catch a patriotic revue by a girl from the hit show Smash, watch some smooth jazz, experience the legend that is John Williams, enjoy a bit of bluegrass, and listen to more than one rendition of America the Beautiful if we wanted.

At one point I did start singing along with a familiar tune coming from the Military walking bands. After being reprimanded for my blatant inappropriateness, I discovered it wasn't supposed to be the UK national anthem God Save the Queen, but actually the patriotic US ditty My Country 'Tis of Thee. It's the same tune guys, so forgive a simple Brit's fanfare faux pas?

After all that we watched a few hundred thousand dollars' worth of fireworks blow up all over the country, including some around our neighborhood that sounded way too loud to be legal. We missed the San Diego firework fiasco until the next morning - at any rate I thought it bore a strikingly suspicious resemblance to the Oban November 5th fiasco last year.

But now, holiday is definitely over. Time to get used to living here for real…

Go 4th part 1

Several years ago when Mark and I were both living in Glasgow, we decided to have a small BBQ for July 4th. Most of our friends were working on their Postgrad dissertations at the time, as were we, so a bit of light, patriotic, distraction from our studies was very welcome.

We bought a cheap BBQ from a local shop where Mark also inquired "do you have any fireworks?"

"No mate, it's the wrong time of year."

Mark was stunned. It was July 4th, how could it be the wrong time of year for fireworks? I had to remind him: "We're in the UK. US Independence - not celebrated so much. We only use fireworks to celebrate the time a guy tried to blow up our Parliament, not the time we lost to you guys. It's not really our finest moment in history."

We went to a local bottle shop and Mark cleaned them out of Sam Adams. We cooked meat outside my apartment. As per the rules of British barbecuing, it rained. We had trouble keeping the BBQ alight and everyone congregated in the kitchen, except a few guys who decided it was a man's job to play with meat and flames. The burgers and sausages were served according to traditional British BBQ cuisine: black and crunchy on the outside and disconcertingly pink in the middle.

I thought it was great, everything turned out as expected and nobody died of food poisoning. Mark learned a lot about the rules (or unwitting traditions) of British al fresco dining.

This year it was my turn to see a real July 4th in real America. Our local parade was just the ticket. It was already reaching 90F (32C) by 10am, but we took a spot by the roadside and enjoyed being part of the local community. Nowhere in the world does patriotism like the USA. And nowhere in the USA does patriotism like the rural sprawl.