What type of work will I do?

When I invited questions last week, a number of you asked about the type of work I planned to do when I returned to the U.S.

I have a degree in communications and worked as a news reporter and then later as a writer and editor for a small publishing company. After my son was born, I began working with a public relations firm as a writer, editor, and PR consultant. The majority of our clients were corporations involved in IT and financial services.

I wrote marketing copy, brochures, Web copy, newsletters, white papers, presentations, customer success stories, award applications, slogans, and all types of promotional materials for them. Often I acted as a ghost writer for prominent executives, writing articles for them that drew on their expert knowledge of the subject matter and my ability to pull it all together in a slick and readable package for publication. As a PR consultant, I helped analyze communication needs, develop key messages, and contribute ideas to the overall PR strategies we implemented for our clients.

While I was associated with an agency, I worked on a project-by-project basis from an office in my home, connected virtually to a team of professionals all over the U.S. We had a wonderful working relationship. My brother is also a freelance writer and editor, and we occasionally joined together on projects.

I intend to pursue the same type of work when I move back to America. The big decision I’m facing is whether to work exclusively through the agency I worked with before and/or attempt to forge new partnerships and generate my own work. I think I have far more to offer creatively than the IT and financial services industries are interested in. I’d like to broaden my client base and look into other venues for my writing. I have some ideas, and in the coming months I’ll be exploring them further. I’ve also considered looking for a full time office job so we can predict and manage my income better.

Kristiane asked about my interest in papercrafts and requested photos of projects and details of what I planned to do with the art supplies I bought while I was in America. In a nutshell, I want to expand my skills and try new techniques.

Up until this point, I’ve worked with rubber stamps and mostly focused my attention on making cards for family and friends. I’ve also scrapbooked postcards from our travels here. In both types of projects, I’ve gravitated toward simple compositions. I’m not one to go over-the-top with embellishments and design elements, and I’m still very much a beginner. You can see samples of my work in my photo album, accessed through my navigation bar.

When my kids return to school and I have more time to myself, I want to experiment with more complex techniques and designs. In particular, I want to work in layered media, obtaining a collage effect with stamped images, watercolors, and various methods using paint and adding texture.

While I was in the U.S., I picked this book up and loved it. It’s all about the world of artist trading cards, small works of art made to be shared or traded with other artists, never sold. They typically include collage, stamped images, altered photos, and various coloring media. In some ways, they’re like Post Secret postcards—personal symbols that convey an idea or feeling.

I’d like to try my hand at creating artist trading cards. The music of John Mayer really inspires me, and as I get the hang of more sophisticated techniques, I want to do a series of cards built around some of his song titles: Something’s Missing, Split Screen Sadness, Good Love is on the Way, Who Did You Think I Was? Stop this Train, In Repair.

If I come up with anything blogworthy, you'll see it here.

August 15, 2007

What would I do if my child turned out to be gay?

When I asked readers for questions last week, Tera asked me how I would react if one of my children turned out to be gay. She also wanted to know whether I had personal relationships with gay people.

I was raised in a conservative Catholic home where sexuality, straight or otherwise, was Not Discussed. Two of my male pals from my high school years turned out to be gay. I had lost touch with them by the time they “came out,” but I was shocked that I had spent so much time with them as teens and never suspected they weren’t straight. Apparently other friends were clued in, and I was the last to know. I didn’t really see openly gay people on a regular basis until I went away to college.

I’m an Episcopalian, which makes me a member of one of the most liberal Christian denominations in America. Our church has been struggling to reconcile traditional teachings condemning homosexuality with a more contemporary understanding and perspective on its origins and its “place” in society and the church.

A few years ago, the American Episcopal Church consecrated as bishop an openly gay priest who was living with a partner. This set off a firestorm of controversy and heated debate across the church globally and voices were raised saying the American Episcopal church should no longer be part of the worldwide Anglican communion. Years later, the consecration of Gene Robinson as bishop of New Hampshire continues to be a major issue and a source of division in the church. I’ve listened to and participated in the debate, trying to understand where people are coming from in their thinking, questioning their motivations, and marveling over how threatened people on both sides of the issue feel.

As the U.S. debates whether gays should be able to be “married” or united in “civil unions,” I’m astonished how much gets dragged into an argument that to me is about granting all adults equal protection under the law. I don’t see gay unions as threatening traditional families or affecting them in any way. To me gay “marriage” is a way to ensure that gay couples can protect their property and benefits and have the same legal rights as straight couples. Period. If you don’t believe in gay marriage, then don’t marry a gay person. : -)

When I first began blogging, one of the very first readers I had and one of the first blogs I began reading was Come to Find Out, written by John, a gay male student at the University of Syracuse (who has since graduated and moved to New York City). John’s blog was sharp and funny and a great reminder of the ups and downs of college life. He has occasionally written poignantly about the experience of being gay in a straight world, facing family, and coming to terms with the Catholic Church.

Later Peter and I crossed paths in the blogosphere. Peter writes frequently about gay issues, politics, and lifestyle and has given me plenty to think about in the last six months or so. I met Peter personally in Antwerp in June, and we really clicked. We plan to see more of each other now that I’m back from my summer travels. Now I just have to wait for him to get back from holiday.

As for how I would feel if my one of my children was gay, I think I’d be accepting but concerned. As a parent, I’d feel helpless because my child would be facing circumstances I haven’t personally dealt with: prejudice, discrimination, a different way of life. It would be hard to guide them.

I wouldn’t want their sexual orientation to separate them from friends and family, and yet the reality I’ve witnessed from a distance is that quite often it does. Naturally, I wouldn’t want them to experience that sense of being cast out. I would hope that they would feel safe, secure, and loved enough to weather the rejection that might come their way.

As for the big picture, I think our sexual orientation is beyond our control, but the expression of our sexuality is always under our command. I would hope my children, regardless of their orientation, would see sex as something sacred, precious, intimate, and spiritual, something that affects their soul as well as their body.

August 14, 2007

Superheroes and supernatural wishes

Last Friday when I invited readers to submit questions, Currently Facing South asked me “If you could be a superhero, who would you be?” and “If you could speak to anyone living or dead, who would it be and what would you talk about?”

If I were a superhero, I think I’d be Underdog. People would rub my back, give me treats, and let me sleep a lot. Hmmm, come to think about it, all of those things happen now. But if I were Underdog, I’d be able to fly and fight crime in my spare time. Sounds perfect!

As for the second question, the person I most long to speak with is my mom, who died in 1992, long before I had kids of my own.

I’d want to hear about my childhood from her perspective, tell her about my children, ask about parenting teenagers, and discuss marriage and menopause with her. I’ve dealt with episodes of depression most of my adult life, and I think she did too.

I wish we could discuss the things we never talked about: what her expectations were for her life when she was young, and whether it turned out the way she’d envisioned, whether on the whole she was happy, what she would have changed.

August 13, 2007

What would I have done differently?

Last Friday I invited questions from readers, and AP asked what I would do differently regarding my time in Belgium if I had a chance to do it all again.

The answer is: not much. I’ve actually been very happy with the way my life here has unfolded and evolved. My only wish is that I had landed in a French-speaking commune.

I studied French for two years in university, and for six months before we moved to Belgium, I listened to French language tapes every day in the car while I was driving my kids to school. My hope was to refresh my French before arriving in Belgium, advancing it further once I got settled here, and use it as a tool to help me integrate in my new home.

Up until right before I moved, I mistakenly thought all of Belgium was bilingual and that either French or Dutch (Flemish) could be spoken anywhere in the country. I had no idea that each commune had its own official language and that speaking French in Flanders would be a cultural faux pas.

As it turned out, the school my children attend is in a Flemish commune. Initially we lived in an apartment in the center of Brussels and I was able to use my French, but because the children had a one hour bus ride to school and we needed more space for them to play, we moved to a house outside the city and close to their school—in a Flemish speaking commune.

I love our house, my neighborhood, and being only 10 minutes from the kids’ school, but I regret having lost the opportunity to improve my French and use it to gain access to the community.

Most of the Flemish-speaking Belgians in my area speak English and are happy to exercise their language skills with me, but my inability to speak or read my commune’s language meant I couldn’t read the local paper, signs, flyers, or menus, and I couldn’t speak with residents who did not know English.

Yes, I could have made an effort to learn Flemish, but it is not an easy language to learn. I didn’t want to invest all of my free time in mastering a third language that would do me little good in most of Europe and in the U.S. Not being able to work here, regardless of whether I knew Flemish or not, also entered into my decision. I figured by the time I knew enough Flemish to be able to have a conversation, it would be time to move back to America! However, if I knew we would be staying here for longer than three years, I would have either moved to a French-speaking commune or learned Flemish.

AP and Peter both asked if I planned to continue blogging once I return to the U.S. The answer is YES! I will have less time once I return to work, but I don’t plan on giving it up. The subject matter will shift and I may not be able to post as often as I do now, but I’m confident I’ll continue writing.

Prior to starting this blog, I had been keeping a journal for 33 years. Being a writer isn’t a hobby for me; it’s who I am.

August 12, 2007

Tell me what you want to know...

Things seem slow in the blogosphere these days, as if lots of people are worn out by summer and taking a siesta. To shake us out of our malaise, I thought I'd invite y'all to provide questions for me to answer in a blog post, much as Teebs did earlier this week when she asked what I would miss most about Belgium. This way I get some inspiration, and hopefully you get a post on a topic that interests you.

Leave your questions or topics in the comment box and I'll use them to generate one or more posts beginning Sunday.

Virtually yours,

V-Grrrl

Triumph of the grrrls in toy bras

I don’t remember how Shirl Grrrl and I became friends. We met in 7^th grade when I was the new kid in town, and we both thought N was cute and funny. We shared our disgust when he didn’t sit with us on the bus we rode on one of our field trips. Instead he sat with a dim-witted blonde girl, put his arm around her, and kept edging his hand ever closer to her bodacious ta-tahs. Shirl and I did not have bodacious ta-tahs (not then, not now) and so we were jealous on more than one level. This was our first important life lesson: In middle school (and beyond), boobs would nearly always triumph over brains, a law of nature I've dubbed the Jessica Simpson Effect. 

We spent hours on the phone discussing this, N, and other dramas, and we constantly pissed off the people that shared the “party lines” that served our homes in rural Virginia. The party on the party line was always Shirl and me, and sorry, the old biddies down the country road were NOT invited. “I wish they would quit picking up on us! Is somebody listening?”

Shirl is a Southern Grrrl but not a Southern Princess. She totally appreciated my weirdness and got my jokes. I would write over-the-top fiction and poems just for her. My stories featured the adventures of superheros and villains that had names and characteristics that were remarkably similar to our classmates and teachers. Making fun of our lives and situations helped us with all our insecurities and angst.

Shirl Grrrl helped me laugh at the snarky girls in middle school who liked to tease and snub me and roll their eyes when I went by in the hall.

“Well GAWSH!”

“ I NEVAH!”

(Remember AJ and PB, Shirl Grrrl?)

We also bonded over our high school crushes. I still remember Shirl’s delight and confusion in her relationship with a certain tuba player (yes, a TUBA player), her secret longing for hometown honey JLM, and her unrequited love for J, the farmer boy. She saw me through two big high school romances and my bouts of adolescent depression. We hung out at softball and football games, waiting for SOMETHING to happen (not on the playing field, but near the parking lot where the REAL action was.)

We had our inside jokes, secret catch phrases, and bizarre vocabulary: “Everything’s corny!” “Alas, alas!” “That’s so corrupted” “There goes Chicken Lips.” We passed notes, had sleepovers, watched Saturday Night Live together, and studied creative writing in a special school program.

We kept in touch after high school graduation but never lived near one another again. Once when I was visiting my parents in Virginia and Shirl Grrrl was living at home, we made plans to get together in the evening. When we saw each other, we discovered we’d both spent part of that day shopping a Belk’s Department Store AND we had bought the exact same outfits. What made the coincidence even more ludicrous is that I’m 5’7” and Shirl is 4’11” and we’d never been known for dressing alike.

We both swore we’d never have kids and both changed our minds in our mid-30s. As we dealt with the demands of motherhood, we even had the courage to say, “Oh Lord, whose idea was this anyway?”

Shirl re-located from North Carolina to Indianapolis at the same time I crossed the pond and came to Belgium. Together we endured the rigors of moving and starting over and living in small apartments with small kids while waiting to move into houses. She is the one who introduced me to rubber stamping and card making and got me and E-Grrrl hooked on paper crafts.

Yesterday was Shirl Grrrl’s birthday. Now she’s almost as old as I am. We still get depressed together and she still helps me deal with snarky grrrls.

Commenting on a classmate’s recent boob job, Shirl said in her Southern drawl, “Honestly, V, why did she get implants at this point in life? I'd never do it. Where could big boobs possibly take us that we haven’t already been? Think about it!”

Good point.

We’ve been THERE. We’ve done THAT. And we did it all wearing toy bras! Woo hoo!

Happy (belated) Birthday, Shirl! May the titty fairy come in the night and leave you a BIG surprise (John made me say that!).

Yours til the Wonder Bra fits,

V-Grrrl

August 9, 2007

Question and answer time

Teebs at Soul Gardening posed some questions in the comments box earlier this week: How does Belgium feel to me now that I have an exit plan? What will I miss most? And what am I most looking forward to about life in the States?

From the beginning, we’ve known our time in Belgium would be limited. My husband signed a three-year employment contract with an option to extend to five years. Staying beyond that point would have required re-negotiating terms with his employer and the Belgian government regarding our status. While we considered staying for five years, neither of us seriously considered staying in Belgium indefinitely.

Knowing that our time was limited, we’ve tried to maximize the experience here, treasure it, soak up the details; that’s been the good part. The bad part is that because I’m only here temporarily, I’ve put down shallow roots. I never made the effort to learn to speak Dutch or to get involved in the community. I’m not a tourist, but I’m not a citizen here either, so leaving here will be easier than leaving the U.S. was.

That said, I know I’ll miss Belgium, and I know I’ll come back to visit to see my Belgian friends and relatives. What will I miss most about living here? The architecture—the way the towns and cities look with all of the old brick buildings, red tile roofs, small shops, cobblestones, and brick sidewalks. I’ll miss the stone walls and beautiful gardens, all the window boxes on people’s houses, and the sheer charm of the communities. American towns, even the quaint ones, pale in comparison.

On a related note, I’ll miss the gardens, hedges, flowers, and parks—the way Belgians invest far more in their landscaping than Americans do. I love the way Belgium is green all year round, even in the dead of winter, and I love the cool summers.

The house we live in here has casement windows and we have windows open year round, except in the very coldest weather. I love having fresh air constantly moving through the house, the scent of the rain in my bedroom, the rustling sound of the white birch trees moving in the breeze outside my window. Air conditioning is a necessary evil in Virginia, but while I enjoy the cool air, I hate the way having the house all buttoned up insulates me from the world.

What am I most looking forward to about moving back to the U.S.? Probably assuming my “place” in the world. I’ve felt like a guest in Belgium, and like any good guest, I’ve accommodated my host and tried not to be an imposition on anyone. I’m looking forward to asserting myself again and not being concerned about whether my actions are culturally acceptable. I can’t wait to resume working professionally and driving wherever I want to go, being part of a larger community again, feeling confident about my role.

I’m also greatly looking forward to electing a new president—AHEM—and doing what I can as a citizen to get America back on track. And of course, I can’t wait to host friends from Belgium at our home in Virginia. As we say in the South: “Y’all come!”

August 8, 2007

Whacked out

Traveling from Brussels to Washington, D.C., never seems to be a big deal. A day or two in our new location, and we're right as rain, easily learning to function on a clock that's set six hours earlier than in Belgium.

The return trip is quite another story. We fly out in the late afternoon, spend about 8 hours on the plane, and arrive at about 7:30 in the morning in Belgium. There's something so disorienting about seeing the sun set on the plane and then seeing it rise again just a few hours later. It seems that dinner is served, you blink, and then the flight attendants come by with breakfast.  Stepping out into bright sunshine in Brussels in what is the thick of the night in Virginia puts my head in a fog and leaves me feeling hungover.

All of us at Chez V are struggling with major jet lag.  I slept until 10 a.m. yesterday and I had to wake my son up at noon. Last night I didn't take my shower until after midnight, and E-Grrrl stopped in to see me when she realized I was up because she was awake too. I didn't crawl into bed until 1 a.m., and then I couldn't sleep.  I laid there until 2:30 a.m., occasionally chatting with E because he couldn't sleep either.

Finally I slipped downstairs to do some reading, and soon I was joined by the rest of the family. Yes, at 3:30 a.m., we were all sitting around eating snacks, chatting, and looking at photos. At one point I looked at E and said, "Omigosh, you have to get up and go to work in three hours."

Yikes.

By 4 a.m. we were all back in our beds. Hard to say who was sleeping. I got up at 9 a.m. and have been cleaning, doing laundry, and sorting through stuff in the basement so we can get a head start on downsizing.

Tonight I'm hoping the only creature that will be stirring after midnight is Petey the Black Cat.

August 6, 2007

Back to reality in Belgium

The flight back was long and uncomfortable. After driving more than 3,200 miles in the U.S., more time strapped into a small seat with no legroom was hard to stand. Leaving Virginia, we were parked on the tarmac in the blazing sun for ONE HOUR before we actually got to take off. During the flight, the plane was inexplicably warm and the cabin stuffy, and while I've never been claustrophobic, I was beginning to understand why someone might become desperate for space and fresh air.

Belgium greeted us with pristine skies and perfect weather, and I smiled at the aerial view of red brick buildings and red tile roofs as the plane descended. Petey the Cat was nonchalant about our return, acting like a typical adolescent male. After spending five weeks in tight quarters, we're all happy to have space to spread out in and mentally we can finally relax.

For the last year, we've wrestled with so many major decisions regarding our future. It's a relief to finally be able to plan and visualize our life after we leave Belgium. I've returned home with a sense of purpose and a long "to do" list to tackle to prepare for the school year, our move, our new home, and my career.

For so long, my life has been in a bit of a holding pattern, and that hasn't been an altogether bad thing. Now, however, I'm eager and ready to move forward and make some changes and see what's NEXT.

August 5, 2007

Our new (old) house

Front view, showing a bit of the landscaping. There are stone walls and terraced beds above this.

The sitting room that opens to the kitchen. The mantel is antique.

Kitchen. The cabinets and tiles were handmade by local artisans.

A library with lots of rooms for books. This will be A's bedroom.

The deck wraps around the house and has two seating areas like this one.

The patio, as viewed from the deck.

More photos in my photo album. Click on the link in my navigation menu.

August 2, 2007