Tea and cookies

It’s a beautiful fall day here in Leeds, U.K.! We are noticing all of the details we’ve missed for the past few years; the waving trees with their watercolored leaves tumbling down, the smell of fall rain, and the crisp, starry nights. We’ve been choosing to liberate ourselves from the sidewalk to head through the piles of crunchy leaves whenever we can. Now we are getting ready to celebrate Halloween (in a very non-pagan kind of way) armed with a bag of candy corn sent to us by Micah (yay Micah!), and an orange balloon that I drew a pumpkin face on with a pen (^_^). We did carve a pair of Jack-o-lanterns for our window, but they, unfortunately, were invaded by a nasty form of mold-cancer this week and had to die a pre-Halloween death. That wasn’t before one of them burst into flame, and Ian leapt into fire-fighting action and saved our flat from certain incineration. Maybe we need to add a “flaming orange vegetable” clause to our insurance.

It’s been two months now since touchdown, and life in the land of the queen (God save her), is getting better all the time. I'm trying not to adapt these people's strange way of talking, which is hard, because Ian has a strange way of talking, too! I paused for about a half a minute the other day to remember to ask Ian to pick up some *laundry detergent* instead of *washing powder* (but I think it’s going to be awhile before I’ll want to call dish soap “washing-up liquid”). Still sticking strong to my *chips* and *fries* distinctions, but Ian has managed to get me to take one step toward further Britification in that he has figured out that I will drink tea semi-daily with him if he gives me a cookie with it. I think I still have a long way to go though, because I only manage to drink as much tea as I need to get through my cookie before abandoning the rest of it! I do think the tea after tea* thing is starting to grow on me, though! (*in British, tea = dinner. So confusing!)

Peace, love, tea, and biscuits,
Kristy

The Starbucks at the end of the tunnel

Two months in and we still reside within society's marginalised minority, one of the many strata against which the majority defines itself. The unemployed.

That is not to say that we are unemployable. It's just a matter of time until we swing back into the view of the tax system. But it is certainly a rare opportunity to reevaluate life from a different standpoint.

For example, about four months ago I could quite happily take the Bentley into town and purchase a two-shot-latte, thinking absolutely nothing of it, but now I find myself on the non-metaphorical downward escalator staring longingly at people with their free trade cappuccinos and cloned chocolate gateaus, wishing I too could once again warm myself beside the fiery furnace of capitalism. And, without 40 weekly hours of contractually-defined responsibilities, there is a lot of time to fill. A lot of time to think about Starbucks.

The temptation is to just get a job. Any job. Materialism feeds my desperation. Last week I was offered an interview for a high-paying position in a community service organisation. It sounded interesting and somewhat connected with my past work, but the more I thought about it, the more I became uncomfortable with the nature of the role which, Without going into detail, would have involved compromising on my beliefs. My (ironic?) pining for Starbucks blinded me to the compromise as I filled in the application, but with the actual possibility of getting the job looming closer, I reluctantly concluded I could not prioritise financial stability to the detriment of my conscience. So, I opted out.

How many chances do you get at life? Unlike those lucky, lucky Buddhists (lucky, that is, except the ones reborn as bugs), Christians only get one shot, and this experience has boosted my motivation to aim high. And if I aim high and miss, then at least I gave it a shot.

So, last week I was fortunate enough to begin actively volunteering for a local refugee organisation as a support person for refugees and asylum seekers, before the completion of my training. My first day on the job came with the same feeling of elation I experienced working as a counsellor in Okinawa. Surely this is what I am meant to be doing.

It is going to be a hard road though because, although I have transferable skills from Japan, I have no refugee-specific experience or working knowledge of the U.K., which makes it tough to break into the highly competitive field of refugee work. However, my siege tactic is to prioritise volunteering while working part time (ideally at Starbucks), thereby preparing for an opening while building up my refugee support skills, and not becoming homeless.

I currently grasp one small ember of hope, however, in that I have applied for a job at the nation's major refugee agency. I should hear back this week as to whether or not I get an interview. Until then, I sit back and wonder if God's will is the same as mine.

Ian

Mensore / Welcome

Fellow adventurers!

Welcome to our Duchamp-esque readymade blog, a limitlessly reproducible installation in the vast annals of the information museum. Join us, dear readers, as we set off on our dramatic quest for the fulfillment of our mysterious purpose in Times New Roman.

Tremble with awe as we battle the dragons of bureaucratic procedure with our swords of cultural unfamiliarity. Cry bitter tears as we lay siege against the stony walls of unemployment. Furrow your brow and stroke your chin in an intelligent manner as we tell tales of strange and weird lands. Yawn as we sit around talking about how much we like cheese.

Here is the edge of the table, the point of the pointy stick, the chocolate chip in the wiener schnitzel. Dare you don your mighty backpack? Dare you fill it with cans of Watties baked beans? Dare you read our blog? Only time and the hitcounter will tell...

Yours fervently,
Ian Rutherfurd (the third by all accounts) Laidlaw