Hello, Goodbye, Texas.

So I've been back in "The States" for five days. As I sit here now, in a house with more than 1,000 square feet, insulation, and stupid high ceilings, I am content. Content, but at the same time I know I must move on to the second half - La Florida.

But before we go there...

Thanks, Texas.

Seriously, though, thanks. I forgot to tell you that when I left how much I appreciated you. Specifically I wanted to mention Houston. Houston is this thriving, living, pulsing city. It can get on your nerves (it and the UK can compete for worst traffic), it can frustrate you, but rarely ever is it extremely bad to you. Houston gave me my degree in hard knocks, it propped me up on being self-reliant, but it also gave me the best mentors I've ever had. People who have and still truly believe in me. People how have a million different backgrounds and beliefs but who have cared for me and sometimes carried me through. It's a city where if you want to attempt it you can. It's a city who will soon have Annise Parker - who I consider a mentor - for mayor. That's the caliber of people I have met in Houston. That's the standard of excellence that I've renewed on my being here.

I also got to close some bad doors. Got to say things I wanted to say months ago and let demons out. I'm happy that some things can be put to rest so when I return on future visits I will do so not carrying around heavy weights. I can move on, move forward, and not sit around dwelling on things.

Thanks, Texas. Really. I promise I won't let you down.

I would like to thank my colleagues.

I am officially on holiday.
Yay.

Prior to my departure several people, on more than on occasion, stated they were fairly sure that they would descend into madness within a few days of my absence.

Another kept repeating something to the effect of, "It will become Lord of the Flies without you." Which, of course, prompted visuals of people in rags beating each other with coffee pots.

What I want to know is why I can't put this on my CV. "Cristin's organizational strength is so strong that during her holiday all her colleagues went from working in software programs and consulting to trying to build fires out of server parts."

I hold sway over people in evolutionary proportions. How awesome is that?

Regardless, I want to thank all the people I work with for wishing me well, being all excited, and expressing that they will actually miss me for the two weeks I'm not present.

I will miss you too. Moon pies and pralines for everyone!

Enough with other people, here's what to buy me for Christmas

Growing up in the warm territories and buying people things like slippers, socks, or anything fluffy or warm such as a robe or sweater (aka jumper) was asinine. For those two weeks that show up sometime in March, maybe, it's great. For even when you whip out your outerwear in triumph and recall what a deal you got at JC Penny's with joy in your heart, the other 50 weeks you bemoan the space that damn coat is taking up in your closet.

Not here, though. That peacoat and those boots I purchased on whim a few years ago have been nearly worn to the nub. Slipper socks have suddenly become a perfectly valid Christmas purchase.

But what really excites and thrills me is the sparkle items. Or, as they sometimes refer, the spangly items. And these shiny bits are also valid, because there are Christmas parties and concerts and various random get togethers that state that if you are covered in sequins, this is perfectly acceptable. (So long as you bring bubbly, of course. And that is a small price to pay.)

Right now the stores are covered in glitter. I can purchase a full glitter dress with glitter stocks and glitter shoes at the classiest store in the universe - Primark - for £20 total. If I wanted I could also deck my neck in neon rhinestones, that's how classy the place is. (Let's not talk pants... underpants. I could go on a blog revolution on Primark pants.)

But for all the silly I just wrote, if it showed up tomorrow in a box with a bow, I'd be all over it. It's something that cold countries take for granted, while they moon over our beaches and blazing sun. For try as we might, we cannot match the Christmas spirit nor need for massive spangly like the places in lack of daylight.

So I will revel in dazzle. I will twist and spin in sparkly. Because it's valid here. And thus, I will enjoy.

What to get people for Christmas from England.

I'm less than a week and a half away from returning to The States.

The States. In my kingdom we'd call that Florida or Texas. Here, it is generically referred to as "The States."

Do you know, lots of British people go to "The States" to buy shoes? I bet you didn't. I can name three people who have. But I digress...

One of the key problems I am running up against currently is what to purchase for Christmas. Now seeing as I am going home I figure I should complete Christmas well before Christmas. No mad dash Christmas Eve run for me... if that were possible here... but that's another story. My goal is to be done with all shopping for people in, as I have so placed quotes around, "The States."

Sitting at the pub this evening I discussed at length what to purchase. I've been referred to Harrods (http://www.harrods.com/HarrodsStore/Default.aspx?CID=ppc). But, I will say this and so will countless others... no person in their right British mind shops at Harrods. You buy tourist gifts from Harrods and that is what you do. Unless you are wealthy and therefore can afford the other items at Harrods which include... no joke... £1,000 Christmas crackers. They are there... seriously. But they do have an excellent card shop, which I recommend. (and all the posh people shop at Harvey Nichols) I have also been directed to Fortnum and Mason ( http://www.fortnumandmason.com/). They have been in business longer than the United States has existed. And they have tea and various English things that no one ever purchases each other if you are in England. Except, again, for Christmas crackers. Which, based on my state of wine, is currently the most awesome thing in England ever. How paper crowns and bad jokes and cheap gifts qualify as awesome is beyond me, but alas I am American... therefore they are awesome.

What we decided, in our incredibly inebriated state, was that I should create an authentic English experience. Thereby consisting of dragging them out to the closest bar/restaurant, plowing them with beer, making them sing and or scream rants at various sporting events, and eat chips (which in my kingdom are referred to as French Fries) as a means to soak alcohol between pints. We will then go on a 3 mile march in the rain to a random outdoor food vendor and eat kabob - or sandwich made of who knows what. At about 2 AM we will stumble home and either drink whisky or collapse, based on alcohol tolerance. Sometime about 3PM the next day a person will yell, "Oi! Get up you lazy bastards" and thus the experience will end with a nice cuppa and a warm bath followed by nibbles.

And that will be my Christmas gift. Though I doubt my grandmother would be into it. But it would be real. I could do a hybrid and serve whisky in lovely china, but it's not quite the same.

Fall.

If there is one thing I've had to get used to, quickly, it's Fall. Where I come from Fall is a nonevent. But so is Winter. And Spring. Here, Fall actually happens. The leaves turn, it gets windy and crisp, and you actually want hot drinks. The problem is, it comes with something that I'm not too fond of: DARKNESS.

Pitch black, can't see, 4PM - DARKNESS.

Now, if you talk to my dog (and he could talk back) he would tell you that this is the coolest most awesome thing ever. This is because we get to take our ball out to the pitch black park with a flashlight and play with it. After one attempt my dog now wears a bike light so I can find him, and I don't throw the ball very far at all. Not that it matters. Instead, if you ever happen to wander into our park you'll see this blinking red light bouncing all over the field and a flashlight frantically looking for wherever I may have tossed the ball.

I can't complain, though. Because for the first time in a really long time I actually feel the holidays coming. I actually get the whole candles and cider and twinkling lights deal. I also am looking forward to the English version of 4th of July - Guy Fawkes. By December I'll have marked my first entire year of living abroad, and I couldn't be happier.

Unless, of course, someone can tell me where to find a dog friendly light up squeaky ball.

Envy.

I wish all joy in life were attached to a little rattling toy which I could slide all over the floor and chew on.

Seriously.

Contemplations and a Flat Fellow Named Stanley.

I got the red jacket of rejection.

About a week ago my London Marathon ballot came in as bust. As a person just coming off a half part of me was gloriously relived, and the other part of me felt like poo.

But, I got a red jacket. It's really nice and not bright yellow (which is my normal biking jacket). All the pockets have zippers and there is a big, white, London Marathon hello-I-got-rejected logo on the front.

Now I have to consider charity. My dilemma is this: fundraising. Okay, yes, for three years I did fundraising for a living. I know how to fundraise. But:

1. I have to believe in the cause.
2. I have no real fundraising base here.

Trust me, when the red jacket of rejection arrived I immediately started looking up the charities I know I would support. Result? Almost every single one of them had already given out their places or their closing date was in a day or two. It was like being beaten charity bats while zipped up tight into the red jacket of rejection. Seriously.

So now I'm in a mental block about it. Knowing I HAVE to decide something, but worried to pieces I won't make the fundraising goal. This is on top of all the training I know I need to do to succeed.

Thank goodness I have Flat Stanley.

For anyone who ever gets the opportunity to be a Flat Stanley host, take it. Not because people will think you are strange carrying around a little paper person colored by you hometown third grader. . . or that you have to explain to the museum docents that sticking it next to the case of shrunken heads at the Pitts Rivers is educational for said third grader. . . or even because you spend up to thirty minutes positioning said paper person in such a way that he looks 'natural' in a shrub. . . do so because it's way cool.

My Flat Stanley is into wearing earth tones and has a pocket on his shirt. I've taken him all over town today and spent a lot of time adjusting him. The teacher, in her wisdom, laminated him for safe travel. Problem is that means glare if the sun catches him. Thankfully England is a cloudy place, but nonetheless there are some pictures I will need to redo on some of our more common gray days. And with it being zero week (yay Oxford speak - go look that up) we have people climbing the walls. There was a line to get into Christ Church! I've never seen that before, ever.

So mercifully all the walking and photos with Stan got some of the rejection off my mind. . . yet makes me think that if I put as much passion into the fundraising as I am into Stanley, then perhaps I should just choose a charity and make the leap.