I've been in India for two weeks and for that entire time there's been a prickle in the back of my mind reminding me that I never really properly documented my England experience. And I could just leave it be and no one would be any the wiser. But that's not fair to the people who I stayed with during the undocumented times, nor is it fair to 80 year old Pia, sitting on her porch in her wellies and mumu, using an ancient piece of technology to try and read back on her glory days as a young hooligan. And I haven't been sleeping that well, which could be on account of the heat, or my blogging conscience poking holes in my pleasant dreams with the constant itch of leaving something unfinished. In all honestly, I've been having a little bit of bloggers...block or something. I have a lot to say and some things already planned out and partially written down in notebooks and on scraps of paper and then I just lost steam. The planning happened but there was no product. And I didn't have internet consistently but I did have the anxiety that collects like dust in your head when you consistently fail to do something time sensitive. Documenting this trip is like eating leftovers or doing laundry; the longer you leave it the harder it gets. It's not that the experiences lose value, it's just that they lose their initial, adrenaline filled, just-happened glow, and that's the glow that I always want to put down in writing. Also, England was, overall, a much greater psychological experience than Hawaii. It wasn't physical labour and hot sun and cold water and tall cliffs and long hikes. It was thoughts and feeling about family and heritage and connections and independence. So this is me admitting that I don't really know how to write about that properly just yet. I have tried, tried to put down the things that have been running around in my head, and please know that they haven't been running pel mel, they have been guided and developed by my experiences and especially my conversations with and observations of my family and where I fit in.
But in the more literal, real time world, the weeks that were left undocumented can be summed up. And I hate to 'sum up' because stories should always be told properly, but this is what I can put down right now and I need to put down something. And most of what has been left out is who, not when or where or how. And great writers can describe and even invent who, but I know these people and love them and they helped shape my thoughts and vision of self while I was with them. So I don't feel like I can just put them down on paper. I'm going to put down something, and I'm going to know and love them now and later in real life, not on paper. But this is what I can put down on paper:
-After behaving like a weirdo in London and staying with the lovely Rebecca and Ollie and Sonia, I took a train to Cambridge, birthplace of the woman who birthed me. There I stayed with my auntie Laura and Mike and the munchins, Owen and Naomi and the furry family love, Binky. Staying with them helped me put a lot of thoughts into place and gave me the chance to say out loud some of things I was afraid to even think about. Laura knew me as a tiny squirt and I knew Owen as the same. My trip to England was at 11, at which point most of my aunts and uncles were just settling with partners, getting married and building homes. I visited again at 14, just in time to meet a whole slew of baby cousins. And now, revisiting at 18/19, I have had the privilege of seeing those babies as little people and meeting the siblings who have come along. It's like watching people grow up in pieces, and as much as I wish I could see them more, I'm always so delighted by the way they have grown and how each time I come back I have more and more family.
During that visit I also had a really nice dinner with my grandparents (mom's dad and step mom) in the house that is the symbol of my childhood visits to England in my mind. Christina, my step grandmother, is a registered tour guide for historic Cambridge and Cambridge University and gave me an exclusive and private tour. It looked a little like this:
-Though she got rather lost and came close to breaking into a nice women's home by mistake, I was collected by my aunty Polly after my stay with Laura. Polly visited us a few times in California when I was younger and even stayed for a summer. She has always been the cool aunt. The young, cool, hip aunt who was stylish and awesome and fun. Still true. I only had a weekend with her, but it didn't take long to realize that I was doubly blessed; with an aunt and friend. It had worked out in such a way that, throughout my whole trip, she was the first person I stayed with without kids. And I love kids, why else would I visit with them so much! But it does change the pace of things and my weekend with Pol was so full of amazing things and no set bedtimes. Through brillance and fierce determination, she squeezed The Judas Kiss (extraordinary play on the life and fall of Oscar Wilde), a visit with my uncle Will and Anna, a visit with my grandparents (mom's mom and stepfather), some old school hip hop and a new school education, two cupcakes, endless chocolate, a near separation on the train, Pretty Woman, my dream in hand-me-down clothes, sushi, and extraordinary conversations about affluence, travel, and what our family is and will be, all into one weekend.
-And last, but certainly not least, I need to pay homage to the Hewitt family. They have had me sleeping in their spare room more frequently and for a longer duration than anyone else, family or other wise, in the entirety of the United Kingdom, and always with love. Because of frequency of visits and probably similar brain wave frequencies, I feel so at home at number 15. As an infant, my second cousin Lynn was my buddy in trip with my mom across Thailand. At eight my family came to England for her wedding. At 11 I arrived at Heathrow after my first solo international flight, and was collected and looked after by Lynn and Ant in their new home. At 14 I visited again to meet my brand new third cousin, Mr. Tommy. At 16 I made a short stop on my way to Spain to meet the newest little blonde bundle of trouble, Mr. Gregory. At 18 and then 19, I came back to visit the family that is the closest thing I have to a home away from home. And they feed me and house me and give me slippers and spare vests and make me laugh and let me do the honors of the first time Harry Potter reading. And they still loved me and fed me when I extended my stay with them for an entire week due my lack of foresight and intelligence on the visa front. One day Lynn can send Tommy and/or Greg to visit their cool young cousin in America, and after that, Tommy and Greg can send their kids to come stay with my family. Because anyone with a Hewitt mentality and sense of humor will always be as welcome in my house as they have made me feel in theirs.
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But in the more literal, real time world, the weeks that were left undocumented can be summed up. And I hate to 'sum up' because stories should always be told properly, but this is what I can put down right now and I need to put down something. And most of what has been left out is who, not when or where or how. And great writers can describe and even invent who, but I know these people and love them and they helped shape my thoughts and vision of self while I was with them. So I don't feel like I can just put them down on paper. I'm going to put down something, and I'm going to know and love them now and later in real life, not on paper. But this is what I can put down on paper:
-After behaving like a weirdo in London and staying with the lovely Rebecca and Ollie and Sonia, I took a train to Cambridge, birthplace of the woman who birthed me. There I stayed with my auntie Laura and Mike and the munchins, Owen and Naomi and the furry family love, Binky. Staying with them helped me put a lot of thoughts into place and gave me the chance to say out loud some of things I was afraid to even think about. Laura knew me as a tiny squirt and I knew Owen as the same. My trip to England was at 11, at which point most of my aunts and uncles were just settling with partners, getting married and building homes. I visited again at 14, just in time to meet a whole slew of baby cousins. And now, revisiting at 18/19, I have had the privilege of seeing those babies as little people and meeting the siblings who have come along. It's like watching people grow up in pieces, and as much as I wish I could see them more, I'm always so delighted by the way they have grown and how each time I come back I have more and more family.
During that visit I also had a really nice dinner with my grandparents (mom's dad and step mom) in the house that is the symbol of my childhood visits to England in my mind. Christina, my step grandmother, is a registered tour guide for historic Cambridge and Cambridge University and gave me an exclusive and private tour. It looked a little like this:
-Though she got rather lost and came close to breaking into a nice women's home by mistake, I was collected by my aunty Polly after my stay with Laura. Polly visited us a few times in California when I was younger and even stayed for a summer. She has always been the cool aunt. The young, cool, hip aunt who was stylish and awesome and fun. Still true. I only had a weekend with her, but it didn't take long to realize that I was doubly blessed; with an aunt and friend. It had worked out in such a way that, throughout my whole trip, she was the first person I stayed with without kids. And I love kids, why else would I visit with them so much! But it does change the pace of things and my weekend with Pol was so full of amazing things and no set bedtimes. Through brillance and fierce determination, she squeezed The Judas Kiss (extraordinary play on the life and fall of Oscar Wilde), a visit with my uncle Will and Anna, a visit with my grandparents (mom's mom and stepfather), some old school hip hop and a new school education, two cupcakes, endless chocolate, a near separation on the train, Pretty Woman, my dream in hand-me-down clothes, sushi, and extraordinary conversations about affluence, travel, and what our family is and will be, all into one weekend.
-And last, but certainly not least, I need to pay homage to the Hewitt family. They have had me sleeping in their spare room more frequently and for a longer duration than anyone else, family or other wise, in the entirety of the United Kingdom, and always with love. Because of frequency of visits and probably similar brain wave frequencies, I feel so at home at number 15. As an infant, my second cousin Lynn was my buddy in trip with my mom across Thailand. At eight my family came to England for her wedding. At 11 I arrived at Heathrow after my first solo international flight, and was collected and looked after by Lynn and Ant in their new home. At 14 I visited again to meet my brand new third cousin, Mr. Tommy. At 16 I made a short stop on my way to Spain to meet the newest little blonde bundle of trouble, Mr. Gregory. At 18 and then 19, I came back to visit the family that is the closest thing I have to a home away from home. And they feed me and house me and give me slippers and spare vests and make me laugh and let me do the honors of the first time Harry Potter reading. And they still loved me and fed me when I extended my stay with them for an entire week due my lack of foresight and intelligence on the visa front. One day Lynn can send Tommy and/or Greg to visit their cool young cousin in America, and after that, Tommy and Greg can send their kids to come stay with my family. Because anyone with a Hewitt mentality and sense of humor will always be as welcome in my house as they have made me feel in theirs.
Hewitts in their natural state
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