Wednesday, September 26, 2012

American-English, or English-English

I never really know what I'm gonna write, when I write. I think I do better when I have a black-ink Bic pen in hand, and a composition book open before me. Then I can't make my hand stop. I write whatever comes to mind. Very 'butter-coming-from-my-pen' feel.

I think I must have nearly a dozen of those marble-speckled composition books by now. I'd use them for school, but also as a journal. So, essentially, my journal entries (or diary musings) are all mixed together with notes from writing class peer-reviews, literature lectures, and French conjugations. I never mean for that to happen, it just does. My family will be in for a surprise one day, should I leave this earthly plane too soon, and they have to go through my stuff.

I know what my folks stance would be on that; my Mah wouldn't want to violate my privacy, despite the fact she'd be curious as to what I wrote about. I know I wouldn't be in a position to care, (!) so I may just think, 'go for it, Mah.' So, she'd end up reading my thoughts, eventually.

My Da, on the other hand, would pile the journals on his desk. Then he'd pile office papers on them and forget them for a time. Once he was through 'being busy' from not being able to sit still, he'd start reading them, because he's a nosy-parker. He's a rifler, my Da. He rifles through our garbage--dry-garbage--claiming he's 'looking for recyclables'. But he's really just nosy.


I'd like to hope that my flashdrives, full of other writings, would be safe. I'll have to be sure to put in a Last Will & Testament that they won't be TOUCHED by Da's friend, D.W. (the same guy that wiped out the pricey MSWord program I paid for on my folk's computer. Knowing him, he'd likely wipe away--accidently, I think--any record of my manuscript. So, I'm gonna need to find a geek I can trust.)

Maybe I'll bequeath my flashdrives to my Bestie, Mai-Tai. She's been my soul-sister-writer, morbid-humor confederate, and tech-advisor of all that is British. She's kept me from writing like I don't know my ass-from-my-elbow. We've known one another going on almost 13 years; shared emails, snail-mails, phone-chats that went on for hours, and I'm honored to be able to call her kids my 'adopted' nieces and nephews. (In general, they are 'The Brood', but her sons are better known as 'The Grizzlies') And, like one of my heroines, Helene Hanff, I've never had the opportunity to actually meet my Brit-Bestie.

England once held only as much meaning to me as the pop-bands that came from it, in the 80's. Later, it became the place to want to go, merely out of interest. But for some time now, it's held dear friends that I likely won't see for many years, yet. (Broke, unemployed, former college-student, remember??)

When William and Kate married, I'd searched through the storage unit (that is my disgusting garage) for the Union Jack flag I had, and posted it proudly in their honor--despite the fact that my Bestie isn't exactly a 'Royalist'. ;)  She said she doesn't understand the Yanks fascination with the Royals. I told her it's because we have no royalty here, though, many feel the closest we've got are the Kennedy's.

Puh-leeeezze! Even on Prince Harry's worst day, he's behaved better than most Kennedy's! : p

And now for a joke!

Q: What did the coffee-table say to the book and espresso?

A: "Let's join forces to become interesting and lie around!"


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