Past Meets Present

The future is not some place we are going to but one we are creating. The paths to it are not found but made. ~John Schaar

Courtney left yesterday.

At the airport, I was two seconds away from breaking down, sobbing my eyes out and dragging Courtney down onto the street, handcuffing her and ripping her boarding pass in two, three, no, five hundred little pieces. Luckily, this time, she was wise and said “Let’s make this quick and painless. Otherwise I’ll make a scene.” She saw into the future better than I did.

When I left Baltimore in December 2008 (Jock and I stopped in my home town on the way to England from Los Angeles), Courtney and I made a scene. It was bad. It was loud, and we were a mess. It went on for a painful amount of time – our crying and wailing and laments – and that didn’t make the leaving any easier. Thank God we refrained this time – for our sakes, and the poor English people around us. I don’t think the Brits are ready for the Bauer/Lopez breakdown.

Since Courtney left yesterday, I no longer feel like I’m living some type of fairy tale dream in England that doesn’t really exist. Don’t get me wrong, my life here existed before Courtney came to visit, but not really. I don’t really know how to explain it. I’ll do my best.

It’s like since there was no other human in Bristol who had experienced any other point in my life’s history – no one knew me as an actor (I acted for 17 years), or as a student (20 years), or as a single woman (most of my life), or even as a brunette (I was blonde for two years until three months ago). No one knew me in any other context besides being a foreigner in England and Jock’s girlfriend, so how did I know that any of my past really did actually happen? There was no one to talk to about it or reminisce.

Or, for that matter, how could I tell that my life in Bristol wasn’t all just a dream? How did I know I wasn’t really making it all up? Was my American accent even real, or was I just making it up to be different amongst these people? (These are some of the thoughts that would haunt me every once in a while).

Why do I need validation from the past to be happy in the present anyhow?

I’ve been in England for a year and three months, and although my sister was the first to visit last March, Jock and I didn’t have an apartment, a job or much money. So, we traveled with my sister and it was absolutely amazing as I love my sister to pieces, but I couldn’t show her where I lived. I hadn’t created a home for myself and I hadn’t yet made friends.

Having Courtney come this time – my best friend of 22 years – popped my illusive English bubble, and made it real. It was the first time I had my own living history walking next to me down my street, introducing her to my friends, showing her my town and my new country. It was the first time I had another American speaking in my ear while all the foreigners spoke in weird accents.

It’s only now that I can say that. It’s only now I realize that’s how it felt. I could write about my life here on this blog, my friends and family could comment on it, and I could send photos, but no one else was experiencing it with me. That’s the only way I can explain how it felt to have Court here – she made it real.

Our friends are a reminder of who we are. They bring us back to our hearts, remind us how we got here, and make sure we know who helped us to get here. They evoke forgotten memories and past lives. I miss my American friends. I miss them a lot, but I love my life here. Moving makes it impossible to always have everyone you meet along the way there with you (a lesson I learned young), but moving also brings the past to the present and makes you realize more about yourself than you ever knew.

That’s what I get from it at least.

A Few Highlights

Courters Invasion is coming to an end, but we still have a few more action packed days. Here’s a few highlights in the meantime:

Courter’s Yankee Invasion

We won the pub quiz last night! OK, we didn’t win, but we got second place. OK, we got second place at first until the guy realized he had made an addition error. So, we got third place! The name of our team was appropriately called “Courters Yankee Invasion” – won a big Easter Egg….yippee. As we walked up to claim our prize, the announcer looked at us, and before we spoke said in a very dry, monotone voice, “So, I’m assuming you’re the Yankee Invasion.” Was it written on our face?

Another quick note as I need to get in the shower to do more of Bristol…spent Sunday in Bath watching Jocko run the half marathon. He did his P.B. with a time of 1 hour 38 minutes. We were very proud of him with our pink and white pom poms. Wanna see a little video of us being interviewed? About half way through (1 minute, 32 second mark) you should see two very American ladies.

Off to Bournemouth tonight, Portsmouth tomorrow, London on Thursday and Friday, Chepstow Horse Racing on Saturday, Girls Night out in Bristol Saturday night, and English roast on Sunday!

Ode to My Best Friend

My best friend is coming to visit me from Baltimore tomorrow, and I am more excited than before Christmas morning! Before she arrives, I thought I would give you all a glimpse into the beginning of our friendship…

When Courtney and I met, we were six years old, waiting for the big yellow school bus to pick us up for our first day of first grade. I had my hair in a high ponytail fountain with my bangs curled under, and was wearing a white turtle neck with a red and black plaid dress that my grandmother had made my sister, Amanda, and I. Black patent leather shoes with white frilly socks completed the outfit.

My sister, being eight years old and in third grade, opted for something a bit different and more hip than the plaid dress. This being the late eighties, Amanda decided on stone washed jeans and a studded white and pink sweatshirt with the words Awesome and Totally Rad sprawled across the front in puffy paint. Courtney’s sister, Lindsey, was a grade above Amanda and a year older, but I don’t remember what she wore. Courtney’s hair hadn’t quite grown into the long curls that she had now, and was combed straight into a bob with two pieces pulled up perfectly. She was wearing a navy blue pleated skirt with a button down freshly pressed white collared shirt. She could have been straight out of a catalogue.

She was a good girl. In fact, the best girl I had ever met; doing everything her mother asked of her, never wanting to get her clothes messed up, and always working on her homework. I, on the other hand, was the opposite. I wasn’t a bad kid, but I had an opinion about everything, I tested my boundaries at every chance, and never did homework until the morning of. She was an extremely sensitive little girl, while I was thick skinned and a tomboy.

At our first meeting, we got along infamously, still worrying about the niceties that come with not knowing someone very well that somehow even children pick up on. We weren’t in any of the same classes, so our meetings were strictly at the morning bus, recess and briefly after school. That is, until my stay-at-home mother agreed to host the children of the working mothers at our house after school everyday. We had a large five bedroom house with an acre backyard, a jungle gym and an outdoor swimming pool. It had everything for kids our age, and Courtney arrived after school everyday from then on.

Courtney and I learned to hate each other the first year, at least as much as six year olds can hate each other. Everyday we would fight about something, whether it was who played Brad or Melody in Hey Dude or what dance routine we would practice. At one point, my mother told us “I have never seen two girls who butt heads as much as you two do.” Courtney ran home to her mother crying and said that my mother had called her a ‘butt head.’ We still laugh at that to this day.

The day it sunk in how close we had become was two years later when I got the devastating news we would be moving three hours north to New Jersey. The old saying “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone” was learnt at a very early age. No more dance routines, no more New Year’s Eve performances, no more running across the street to play with my best friend, no more sleep overs or early morning chinese jump rope, no more weekends spent baking cakes or riding bikes. Just a new cold school with new kids who didn’t particularly like new students coming in. And none of the other friends I met got me like Courtney finally did once we had broken through our stubborn facades.

The next time it sunk in how much she meant to me was when we moved back to Baltimore two years later, and her mom proceeded to move across the street from us again, on a different street – Willow Avenue. Both of our families had become broken since the last time we lived across from the other. My mom was a single woman again once she realized she needed love to make a marriage work, and her mom was single once she realized she couldn’t stay married to an alcoholic. Amanda and Lindsey became even closer as rebellious teens, and our mothers as single, hot, forty year old moms. We were a strong group of women who relied on the others for laughter and consolation.