A brutal flight starts this dispatch, the fourth TransAtlantic since January, but worth it I’m sure, to attend the Go-Go’s induction into the California Hall of Fame. Uh, that makes my third. In 2014, I was inducted into the Austin Music Hall of Fame by one of my icon faves, Debbie Harry. There was the 2022 big mama of them all, the Rock Hall, and now an actual state, a big important state, is putting us alongside some stellar company into it’s HOF. Thank you Go-Go’s, you crazy gift that keeps giving.
I do not have imposter syndrome, nor do I over-inflate deserved-ness. I like it, though, mainly because I come from nothing. No money, no connections, no virtuosity, no superpowers, no nepo fam name. I come from a reckless, ill-equipped-to-parent single mom who I credit for giving me a home life than made me strong, resourceful, and determined to prove (just to myself really) that I had intrinsic value. My mom and childhood was the perfect combination to make me who I am—what she lacked as a mother forced me to take care of myself, for better or worse—usually worse until I grew up enough and got sober and figured out how. What she didn’t lack as a mother made me believe in myself and think anything was possible. Why not me? Good things happen to some people, why not me?
I’ve been thinking of my mom a lot since moving to England. She’s the reason I get to live there as a citizen. In case you’re a new subscriber (welcome!) I’ve rented a maisonette, a terrace home, two down from my aunt, her younger sister, Anne. We take long walks and have indulgent meals at nice restaurants and I enjoy asking and hearing about my family. My ancestors on my dad’s side were scrappy poor Texans; my mom’s side were the English version. My grandfather was one of eleven sons raised in Northern England. He, alongside all his brothers worked in the coal mines from the age of 11. His father preached to the sons that they’d never go hungry if they played an instrument, so my grandad learned upright bass, then the violin. As an adult he played in bands, jazz and swing.
Anne told me he’d toss out a white silk scarf at the end of the gig to the ladies he liked, and my grandmother was one of them. Sounds odd and begs lots of questions, but I went along with the story. She went on to say she had the scarf he’d given her mother, and she wants to give it to me now. Apparently it’s old and ratty, but I feel honored to get this too.
While I’m add it, should add the great grandparents from Dad’s side, Athens, Texas.
So here I am, an ex-pat/ex-proud Texan now living in England, trying to dodge my third round of jet lag in Sacramento. Laying in bed, reflecting on the past few weeks and the changes underway.
I live right next door, literally, to St. Alban’s Cathedral. It’s beautiful and majestic and some of the interior walls have hundreds of years old Anglican monk hair tufting out of the plaster because they used their own hair as a bonding ingredient. Monks have the dedication and sacrifice thing down cold.
On Tuesday evenings the cathedral has bell practice. At first, being in an enthusiastic, open mindset with my new move, I imagined myself volunteering to ring the bells. Wouldn’t that be an interesting thing to know how to do? Good for the arms. Probably abs too. In just moments, I realized I’d go mad. The word cacophony may have been invented to describe the sound of bell ringing practice. There are no words for these bell sounds, “ding dong” doesn’t come close. I had to make up my own words.
Yes I made that video…because I’m an obsessive nut who wonders if I can figure out how to do something like overlay made up bell sound words like a Batman/villain fight scene. And then doesn’t give up until I’ve done it. Also, when gathering bell ring practice video I couldn’t help notice that none of these things is not like the other?
Anyway, every Tuesday evening for the better part of an hour, this is what I hear. The alarm on Gingerman and Rocky’s face when they heard bell practice was priceless.
It’s been hard. Lonely. I miss my friends, hell, I miss having friends. I even joined a dating site for the first time ever. Wait, no I tried Raya for a bit, a non-starter, because I never looked after joining. Anyway, this new one in UK, (I’m not on it anymore so don’t bother looking me up, it lasted all of 24 hours)—and I paid for the premium version. By some miracle, amongst the couple dozen (probably very nice but uh, no) geezers who popped up the next morning there was an interesting guy. I’ll let you know how it goes. Once he figured out “who” I was, he found my book and started reading it. I was appalled. I’m sure I’m not the only memoirist who didn’t give one thought to the possibility of a potential POI reading my entire sordid history of sex, drugs, and rocknroll without meeting or knowing present day, fully realized and reformed me. Sigh. One hopes that any opinions and judgments are deferred until that happens.
Everything is hard and convoluted to figure out. I shop on Amazon UK and spend ages trying to do something simple and mundane like buy some cat litter. In America, I knew what cat litter to buy. Here, they have cat litter made of tofu. Tofu. Also: pea pods and walnuts. I don’t know how to choose so I use my supermarket apple buying method, which is to pick the most expensive. When in doubt, I operate under the “you get what you pay for” philosophy. In the UK, I’m buying walnut cat litter for $40 a bag.
I’m in doubt a lot here. Ordering internet, or “broadband” as they call it, is a huge pain. Never in a zillion years did I think I’d appreciate and miss AT&T. As of a month after moving in, I’m still mooching my neighbor’s wifi and trying to find a company that will actually do what they say they’re going to do.
A couple days ago, I burst into tears when a package I’ve been trying to get since January 4th didn’t make it to my door again, for the ninth attempted delivery. In America’s customer service phone lines, I can usually get past the robo-automatons and talk to a human by yelling “representative” or “agent” over and over into the phone. In England, the automated systems are having none of that. They just toss me off the line, politely and firmly when I don’t comply with the system.
My catch phrase adjective for England, for years, has been “civilized.” I always thought the excess of our capitalist consumer culture seemed a tad more contained here. I hope I don’t have to re-evaluate this assessment. All in all, I don’t have doubts about my move, but it hasn’t been easy. I think it’s just the price of admission.
Promoting the Direction of Motion, actually promoting anything and everything gets tiresome and takes away from creating, which is the prize of time spending. I did a terrible job of promoting my last dispatch which makes for slow subscriptions and growth, but all the same, I’d like to thank the new people for signing up. I’m so grateful for the attention and interest you send my way and support of my writing endeavors. Hoping it’s not too much to ask for a share, recommendation, or gift subscription.
Look for a new free for all newsletter around… Valentine’s day, why not. And a special edition for the paid subscribers in the next day or so with plenty of California Hall of Fame scoopy stuff! xxK
There's no way I could handle the bell ringing every week. I'm annoyed that I have to listen to people cough all fucking day. Half the time, I wanna punch this person in the throat and say something snotty like, "Aren't you tired of coughing? Because I'm tired of hearing you cough. 8 hrs a day. 40 hrs a week." I can only imagine how I'd feel listening to those damn bells. LOL
I just want to say how much I appreciate sharing this part of your life. I had a similar upbringing as you (single parent, only child). My mom is still alive but she's at an age where I can't deny or deflect thinking of the time when she won't be here. I'm trying not to take people and things for granted, and reading about how you're navigating through this time in your life is helping me do this.
I'm also finding things in my life come full-circle. For example, when people ask me about what made me such a big Go-Go's fan, I always said it was because of their music, but couldn't articulate why them over all the other bands I consider myself to be a fan. I knew there was more to it, but not what "it" was. Maybe getting here was the the reason all along.