In Which We Consider the Moon Over Parma (Ohio)
It's weird the things one fixates on when living abroad. The Spouse and I often recall a holiday (October 10 or Double Ten Day) in Taiwan where we watched a Tina Turner concert on television and wept because we were so homesick.
Yeah, it was dumb, but at the time, we were simply overwhelmed by wanting to be in the middle of our own culture. At least for the afternoon. We even joked about beaming home on Sunday nights just long enough to watch 60 Minutes and Murder She Wrote. That would be enough. Then we could come back.
The same sort of thing is happening to me now that the Cleveland Indians are in the ALCS. I have never attended an Indians game in my life. The last time I was even near the Jake, it was still under construction. But I fell in love with them in 1997 when they lost the World Series to the Florida Marlins. I was living in Miami at the time and began the Series as a Marlins fan, enjoying a good-natured rivalry with my brothers in Ohio. But I quickly became disenchanted with the Marlins because they felt as soulless as a corporate boy band. I switched allegiances. A fan was born.
Fast forward to this week, when I, like the distracted expat I am, suddenly realized that the Indians are, once again, in the playoffs. And suddenly I become obsessed with the process, boring well-meaning European friends with details of games I haven't even seen, but have only read about.
This morning, in a burst of fanaticism, I went looking for my Chief Wahoo sweatshirt, only to discover that the Spouse took it with him to Moscow because it is the warmest of his sports-logo sweatshirts.
NB: the Spouse does not purchase sports paraphernalia. I do. I don't watch every sport, but I have a weakness for Stanley Cup hockey and the Indians. Historically, the Spouse will return home from the symphony or the opera to find me, elbow-deep in a popcorn bowl, dancing in front of the couch to Rock and Roll, Part II in celebration of a hat trick, sigh, mutter, "THIS again?" and wander off to bed. The Spouse does get to wear the sports paraphernalia, however.
Next best thing: I pull out my Drew Carey soundtrack CD, and the girls and I sing "Cleveland Rocks" at the top of our lungs, all the way to school (all the while not missing the irony that the original song title is "England Rocks," but whatever).
This song is loaded with sentimental baggage. When we lived in Buenos Aires, Baboo, who was then 2, had her nightly bath in the laundry room sink. We used to play this CD while we washed her, because it was so American. Even then it was an escape home, and now we are listening to it from yet another continent.
So today while we are singing along, Skittles asks, "Was this really Baboo's tubby music?" And Baboo, now aged 9, replies, "Yes. I like it because it makes me feel young."
Aw.
Tonight, Skittles discovered the Big Welcome Kit from one of the moving companies. I showed her it had a coloring book for kids (in French . . . AGS is a French company).
"Oh!" she says. "This is the good moving company. They're friendly. Well, if they weren't, they wouldn't say so."
I'm sure AGS would agree.
It's weird the things one fixates on when living abroad. The Spouse and I often recall a holiday (October 10 or Double Ten Day) in Taiwan where we watched a Tina Turner concert on television and wept because we were so homesick.
Yeah, it was dumb, but at the time, we were simply overwhelmed by wanting to be in the middle of our own culture. At least for the afternoon. We even joked about beaming home on Sunday nights just long enough to watch 60 Minutes and Murder She Wrote. That would be enough. Then we could come back.
The same sort of thing is happening to me now that the Cleveland Indians are in the ALCS. I have never attended an Indians game in my life. The last time I was even near the Jake, it was still under construction. But I fell in love with them in 1997 when they lost the World Series to the Florida Marlins. I was living in Miami at the time and began the Series as a Marlins fan, enjoying a good-natured rivalry with my brothers in Ohio. But I quickly became disenchanted with the Marlins because they felt as soulless as a corporate boy band. I switched allegiances. A fan was born.
Fast forward to this week, when I, like the distracted expat I am, suddenly realized that the Indians are, once again, in the playoffs. And suddenly I become obsessed with the process, boring well-meaning European friends with details of games I haven't even seen, but have only read about.
This morning, in a burst of fanaticism, I went looking for my Chief Wahoo sweatshirt, only to discover that the Spouse took it with him to Moscow because it is the warmest of his sports-logo sweatshirts.
NB: the Spouse does not purchase sports paraphernalia. I do. I don't watch every sport, but I have a weakness for Stanley Cup hockey and the Indians. Historically, the Spouse will return home from the symphony or the opera to find me, elbow-deep in a popcorn bowl, dancing in front of the couch to Rock and Roll, Part II in celebration of a hat trick, sigh, mutter, "THIS again?" and wander off to bed. The Spouse does get to wear the sports paraphernalia, however.
Next best thing: I pull out my Drew Carey soundtrack CD, and the girls and I sing "Cleveland Rocks" at the top of our lungs, all the way to school (all the while not missing the irony that the original song title is "England Rocks," but whatever).
This song is loaded with sentimental baggage. When we lived in Buenos Aires, Baboo, who was then 2, had her nightly bath in the laundry room sink. We used to play this CD while we washed her, because it was so American. Even then it was an escape home, and now we are listening to it from yet another continent.
So today while we are singing along, Skittles asks, "Was this really Baboo's tubby music?" And Baboo, now aged 9, replies, "Yes. I like it because it makes me feel young."
Aw.
Tonight, Skittles discovered the Big Welcome Kit from one of the moving companies. I showed her it had a coloring book for kids (in French . . . AGS is a French company).
"Oh!" she says. "This is the good moving company. They're friendly. Well, if they weren't, they wouldn't say so."
I'm sure AGS would agree.
posted by The Expatresse at 7:48 PM
4 Comments:
If I may inquire, when did you live in Buenos Aires? Did you enjoy it? What kind of problems, if any, did you encounter? I am thinking of going there, is why I ask.
November 1999-March 2001
The cost of living at that time was very high, but the peso has since been devalued, so now it's reasonable, I'm told.
Great city. I loved it. You must speak Spanish . . . and they have an odd accent and different vocabulary sometimes (like Brits and Americans). Leave an email address if you want to discuss it further.
Thank you. I don't leave email addresses in public places because Slovak web sites have a particularly psychotic stalker on them. I have found an interesting Buenos Aires blog, and am getting lots of info there.
You'll do fine then.
Post a Comment
<< Home