weird

My Dog Is Weird

No, this is not day 1 of my days of victory post, because declaring that we have a weird dog is not what I consider a victory. Then again, if I am looking for the less obvious victories, maybe I should dig deeper and figure out how it is. I have a feeling this Days of Victory challenge could make me the ultimate spin master.

Our dog is just plain weird, I think. But let me explain her weirdness and you can tell me whether or not you agree.

Exhibit A: She sticks her tongue out at us. A lot. I don’t ascribe any ill intent to this. It’s just quite often that it sticks out about 1/4″. The other day I asked her if she wanted to go outside and she responded by sticking out her tongue. It’s adorable, really, but weird.

Exhibit B: Since the beginning of August, she has decided to eat sporadically, if at all. When she does eat, she takes a few pieces in her mouth and carries them over to the carpet, where she drops them and eats them one by one. Usually not all of them. Then she goes back for more.

Exhibit C: Though she seems less interested in food, if she is startled, particularly by our son getting up and moving to another part of the house, she will run over and stick her face in her dish. She won’t eat, just stands there.

Exhibit D: Regardless of how much exercise she’s had during the day, when we start to put the kids to bed, that’s her cue to race around the house like her tail is on fire.

See what I mean? These are weird, right? But you know – I love it. They’re the things we’ll say of her, “Remember how Scout used to . . . ?”

I guess we all do stuff like that. Someday my family will tell stories, “Remember how Gina used to . . . ?” Yeah, we’re all a little weird, but that’s what makes us fun.

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Do you miss Asia?

People often ask me if I miss living in Asia. I really don’t know how to answer this question, because what comes to mind is the pollution this year that has been so high it’s unmeasurable by the current systems. Obviously I can live without that. I miss friends terribly, but several of them have also left in the last year as well, so I know that life there would be very different now. I confess I find America a little boring at times – I go to the store and nothing weird happens, ever. Is that enough to make me miss being an expat? No. I can make my own weird.

We spent time recently with friends we knew in Singapore. We talked about how, initially, my friend missed it so much after moving back here that she just wanted to go back to Singapore, but the reality was, it wouldn’t be the same. We agreed that what we miss wasn’t necessarily the place itself, it’s the intangibles.

It’s things like community. I miss meeting people for the first time and being dear friends with them a month later, because that’s how things work overseas. I miss bonding like soldiers during war time, hunkering down together when the waves of living cross-culturally are too rough.

It’s feeling competent, knowing how to be an adult in the place where you are. I don’t know how to own a house. I don’t know the norms of being a parent in America. One day I will figure out this DVR thing.

It’s being known and understood, having routine, being more comfortable being the only white face than looking like everyone else. These are the things I miss, because they are the things I think we all desire from anywhere we live (except maybe the white face thing. That was just our normal).

I had those things. I miss having them. I know I’ll gradually get them back, over time, for the most part. So do I miss Asia? Let’s just say “I miss that life.”

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Weird

I’ve said it before – I feel weird.

I don’t mean to be weird, but I find that when I try to participate in conversation with new people, I am now “the girl who tells strange, foreign, potentially exaggerated stories.” My stories usually start with “In (fill in the blank of a foreign country)” and involve statements like, “and the bathroom just had boards over a trough in the ground . . . ” or “so I was cleaning out the inside of the chicken . . . ”

Bringing these stories up in conversation with new people feels like the social equivalent of dragging the needle across the record at a party, or jumping on a couch and yelling, “Boing!” It puts me in the category of “weird.”

I don’t mean to throw conversational curve balls, but I’m just sharing what I know. I’m reminded of an interpersonal communication class I took in college, where we were taught that each person in a conversation has a circle of experience from which they speak. Where our circles overlap with others, that’s where we find common ground from which to interact and understand one another. When we try to share part of our circle that doesn’t overlap with another’s, it can be as though we are speaking another language. In living 13 years overseas, my circle has shifted away from others. I have shifted.

After awhile, I’m tempted just to not speak at all. At times it feels like the easier, safer option. I might not be able to participate in the group, but at least I don’t feel like an outsider.

Then Friday morning and again last night I went to places populated with people who have also landed themselves in the “weird” category. And I heard phrases like, “In China . . .” and “the guy glued my Birkenstocks back together for $2!” and best of all, I heard, “I know exactly how you feel.”

I guess that’s all I need. I know I’ll always be a little weird here. I’m ok with that, as long as once in awhile someone comes along and reminds me that I’m not alone in my weirdness, and that they are a little weird too.

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See, my stories involve things like this. I just don’t get this kind of stuff in America.

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Our Weird Dog

I had hoped that having left China, we would have also left behind goofy conversations about our dog. What was I thinking? Of course we’ll have goofy conversations about our little foreign pup. We’ll just have them in English now!

Case in point – here’s the conversation I had this morning with a sweet little old lady while her dog jumped around like a maniac at her feet:

Woman: Oh look, you have two! What kind are they?

Me: Well, this one is a cocker spaniel, and this one is from China. We don’t know what she is. They didn’t even know over there.

Woman: China China?

Me: Yep. China. The country.

Woman (looking directly at Scout): I bet you have a story to tell about how you got here!

Me: Yes, a long, complicated and expensive tale. But she was only $9 to begin with so . . .

Woman (still speaking to Scout): DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?

Me, laughing: Yes, she does.

Woman: Did she come on an airplane?

Me: Uh . . . yep. She did.

Woman: Well, she’s beautiful! Have a blessed day!

Me: You too!

Ah yes. We have a weird dog. She goes well with our weird lives.

 

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If They Only Knew

This morning I was just another runner in a race on a typical Minnesota fall day.

I was just another mom watching her kid play soccer.

In both, I felt a little like the secret weirdo.

I mean I was the only person who didn’t blink an eye when I saw that the three stalls in the women’s bathroom didn’t have doors. I was probably the only one who was breathing a lot easier during that 5K, or noticed that people were cheering in English.

During the game, I have to say I was pretty proud of Megan, who despite her only experience in soccer being bi-lingual coaching from a Swiss German with dredlocks alongside a gang of Chinese boys, seems to be one of the most skilled on her team. If not, then at least the fiercest and most determined. I didn’t feel like explaining all that to any of the other moms.

Let them all think this is as normal for me as it is for them. They don’t need to know how many times I’ve used bathrooms in the full presence of strangers, how I’m used to people staring at me like I’m insane when I run. They don’t know that we’ve never seen this many American kids playing soccer in the same place before, or that Megan’s not used to her teammates calling her name.

If they only knew.

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