where is home?

When my little sister Kate was 7 or 8, she started calling me a hobo. It was unthinkable to her little child brain that someone would move around as much as I did...not that I really did, but being a college student always seems to warrant frequent moves. Since we were married, T-rav and I have lived in 8 places in 9 years in 5 different states (and 2 countries if you count the summer in Guatemala), and, as most of you know, much of that time has been spent in Utah. But Utah never really felt like home. It was always a place I was living temporarily until we moved to our "real" home. Wherever that was.

In truth, I've felt in-limbo for a long time. Although I don't really want to choose a place to settle down (ah, the dreaded word settle. It sends shivers through my spine), I sometimes think it might be nice to have a place that was my place. A place where I belong. Because if I can't spend all my time wandering around the globe, I'd like to have a little house with a grand yard and chickens and the best garden you've seen in a long time. And maybe a few goats. And fruit trees. 

This past week when I was back in Utah visiting my sister and her new baby and all the friends I left behind when I moved to DC, I thought that I might feel a little like I was returning home again. But I didn't. Not really. It was lovely to visit, and in many ways I felt like I had never left, but I didn't feel that sense of belonging that I was searching for. 

So did I feel like I was home when I returned to DC? Not particularly, though more so than in Utah. I'm starting to think that perhaps I have the wrong idea of what "home" means (and please don't tell me that "home is where the heart is" because my heart is generally in Italy or Ireland or the Falkland Islands). Usually I feel like my home is where I grew up, my parent's home, but my father usually tries to make it clear that it's not my home any more (particularly when I'm contemplating a house remodel without him). So where is home? What makes you feel like you're home?

Update: T-rav accidentally suggested that I might feel more at home if I had a dog (accidentally because he really doesn't want one). I think he's right. I need a dog.

proof I exist

After my cousin Molly passed away last year, I spent a lot of time going through all of the pictures she had amassed on facebook (my sister and I made a memory book of her photos and memories from family and friends). And my oh my did that girl have a lot of photos. Like many teenage girls, she vacillated between narcissism and self loathing, but still she took pictures of everything she did, everywhere she went, everyone she loved. Of course we will always carry our memories of Molly with us, but it's nice to have so many of them down on paper (or rather on the computer). It's easy to get more than a glimmer of her impish personality from those pictures. It's proof of how she lived, laughed, loved.

It made me start wondering what kind of memories I've left behind. I'm terribly bad about keeping a journal (this blog is about the closest thing to one I've ever had), and apparently I don't really take pictures either because as I went through many of the photos I'd taken since I left home 12 years ago (twelve years! I can't believe it), I was a little shocked to find how few there were. Of all my adventures, there were only a handful of  small folders of pictures, many of which did not include any people. And it made me a little sad. All those memories, lost to the past, evident only in what I can remember and may/may not write down at some point.

So I made a resolution, one that I've really not been that great about keeping thus far: to take more pictures. I want to be able to look back at my life and see how I lived. I want my children to know who my best friends were from more than just 1 or 2 pictures (and preferably know them in real life). I don't want to forget. And I don't want to be forgotten.

a note from my (grammar) student

Ms. Zirker,


Thank you for teaching me. My English grammar become much better than before. I learn a lot and have a happy life in Georgetown University. Thanks again!


Should I be pleased or shed a tear?

how good is your British?

You know I'm a bit of a language nerd, particularly when it comes to English. So please indulge me as I present to you this little quiz on some British English words that don't mean quite the same thing in American English.

Match the British words below with their American counterparts. Check the comments for the correct answers and tell me how many you got right/wrong. Please. A little entertainment will make this last week of school go by so much easier. 

Possible answers: 

cotton swab, mohawk, dark chocolate, trampoline, tic tac toe, crossing guard, bangs, electric blanket, cotton wool, slingshot,  large mugs, TV, beet, fanny pack, fender, coveralls, suspenders, candy salesman, tights, tube top, rutabaga, sponge bath, a lawn game, eggplant, zucchini, undershirt, spoiler, milk chocolate

1. aubergine
2. bowls
3. blanket bath
4. boob tube
5. braces
6. boiler suit
7. catapult
8. cotton bud
9. fringe (relating to hair)
10. lollipop man
11. noughts and crosses
12. plain chocolate
13. swede
14. vest
15. wing (on a car)

For a more complete list of differences (and the source for these words) check out this website.