This ad cracked me up. From 1974.
Humour aside. It's amazing that one little sticker in my well-worn passport costs over $2300 in notary fees, official copying, flights to America, phone calls, and postage, not to mention the $1100 fee to the British government for the privilege. And the headaches of coming up with why and for how long I was in this country or that country, and documenting each time I've seen Matt in the past 33 months. And it's only good for two years. But it's pretty, has my face weirdly shimmying on the left side beneath a watermark, and states that I am somewhat legitimate.
The shift from Shetland to the US and back to Shetland was far more difficult than the shift back to Inverness. I'm reveling in the lack of many things here: choice at the supermarket; Starbucks on every corner; crowded everything; bone-chilling winds. Mostly, I'm enjoying the lack of mental clutter. The tallest things outside my window are the Highlands.
Loving, loving, loving our new house. We spent the weekend "DIY-ing", which is indeed a verb here in UK-land. This involves numerous trips to places like B&Q and Homebase as I gasp at the price of a packet of screws. It also involves watching Matthew drill, twist, saw, and do (ahem) 'manly' things in an attempt to create something useful. He's done well. And here I thought all he could do was sew thanks to lots of practice on people's skin.
So March continues as I await comment from the new version of my book. Very Important Events include a 1:40am Kansas v. Villanova game on Saturday morning (thank you CBS for finally making these games available online). I sip pomegranate juice and listen to Thievery Corporation and watch the River Ness whiz by my window. Life is good.
It is a bit strange living abroad in Scotland. It doesn't feel that different to America, but then I go to the shops and see the prices of things, or hear a bagpiper on the main pedestrian road, or witness a customer telling a shopkeeper her life story while five people queue behind her, nodding sympathetically. Yesterday, a little girl asked her mum why I talked funny.