(Un)American

It has been a time of odd and lovely experiences which show us the expat life in stark relief. In this week of shockingly bad weather, with near-freezing temperatures, gale-force winds, and horizontal rains, we have been clear that we are not in Kansas (or, er Washington DC) anymore.

One of the things expats do is get introduced to other expats in the same way that single folk are always getting fixed up by their partnered friends. “Oh, I know another American couple! We have got to get you folks together!” Or there’s the I-know-someone-in-New-Zealand thing that gets us lovely new connections from Americans who have never stepped foot in this country but know people who are making the long journey across the sea. We have had two such meetings in 8 days—with two different couples from Chicago who have been introduced to us by different mutual friends. The ones last week were a quirky surprise. Our friends L and J had invited us to meet an American couple here for six months on a fellowship. When we walked into their kitchen, I was not shocked to see that I’d seen the man before, but I couldn’t place where. Was it at a meeting or conference in New Zealand’s small education community? At an event in New Zealand’s tiny education community? It was more of a shock when he placed us—we’d met in the US, sitting next to each other at the dinner at the New Zealand Ambassador’s house two years ago (you can read that blog here). To have a connection to someone from a New Zealand context is one thing, but to meet an American in the US and then bump into him here unexpectedly seems very unusual indeed. He’s an exec in the foundation that funded my doctorate, so I’d remember that dinner conversation for a long time. But I never imagined that the next time I’d see him would be at L and J’s house! It is a tiny world, criss-crossed by international threads.

The other thing expats can do is drink deeply of their new lives. In the last couple of days, we’ve had a deep drink. Sunday the kids performed in their first kapa haka. Some long term blog readers will remember the kapa haka we went to nearly two years ago, which astonished us (and rather terrified Aidan). (You can read that one here from 16 October 2007.) Now it’s my kids in front of the room with their feathers (Naomi) and beaded skirt (Aidan), swinging pois and beating chests. The house has been filled with Maori singing and chanting for the last 10 days in preparation for this, and Aidan stomps around the house with vigour while Naomi tries to get the singing, swinging, and stepping all aligned (makes me dizzy just to watch it). Seeing them in front of the group was so disorienting I could hardly process it. It is for experiences like this that people move to foreign countries, so their kids can have a bigger vision of the world. Watching my kids—Americans? immigrants? Expats?—participate in this magnificent indigenous ceremony was so moving that I could hardly make sense of it.

Somehow similar was last night when Rob had a party celebrating his permanent residence visa, which has been hard won and a long time coming. It was on a Monday night because that’s when folks in the restaurant industry are free, and so I rushed home from work to finish glazing the triple chocolate cheesecake and cleaning the house for the onslaught. It was a very Paekakariki event, with a full band setting up in our living room, the couch and chairs all pushed aside to make way for the drum kit and the amps. The sax player played in the doorway to the study; the bass guitarist next to the fireplace, and the singer in the centre of the new stage (formerly, the “living room”). We ate soup made from fish Dave had caught on the weekend, tortillas from masa Carolyn had brought on her last visit, and cheesecake I first made on a lovely Cambridge evening. The glass baubles vibrated, the children watched movies on laptops, and Perry barked to the most energetic beats. Now Rob is planted here in a different way too.

There is no hint of Memorial Day here (although we had Anzac Day so recently that the wreathes are still stacked in front of the memorial on the harbour), but next Monday we celebrate the Queen’s birthday—a commonwealth artifact that even the Brits themselves find quirky (they don’t celebrate her birthday). It happens that Monday is also my birthday, and that’s a day that crosses the oceans with me. It has marked the coming of summer and of winter, nearing the longest or the shortest days of the year. Still, there is something stable and grounding to know that wherever I happen to be now, I will always have been born on June 1st and to hope that wherever I happen to be on that day, I will have people I love around me. I am American and unAmerican. I am here and not there, granddaughter of immigrants and perhaps mother of immigrants. I have been on this tiny and fragile planet one more year, and I am grateful for all the perfection and paradox in my life.


pics today from kapa haka. I'll post party pics too (so you can see living room band) and try to upload video when I figure out how to do it on my mac!)