Family | The Scamp Abroad

The Scamp in Israel Day 5

Israel is not just deserts and old cities. It has a large agricultural region in the north that has an abundance of fresh water and serves as a major stopover for birds during migration. The Hula Valley has a marshland and reserve where the birds are protected and have a safe place to stop during their long journey between Africa, Europe and Asia.

When we toured the valley it was really hot, and honestly, I wasn’t that interested. We weren’t there during migration, so there weren’t a lot of birds and the bus life and listening to the cultural ignorance of some of the other members were really working on my nerves.

From the Hula Valley, we drove to Mount Bental. Mount Bental is located in Golan Heights and there is an old bunker left over from the old Syrian border. The old army bunkers are now open to the public, having been left over from the Yom Kippur War 1973. According to Wikipedia (because I cannot remember everything that Rafi told us during the visit):

The Yom Kippur War, also known as the Ramadan War, the October War,^[72] the 1973 Arab–Israeli War, or the Fourth Arab–Israeli War, was an armed conflict fought from October 6 to 25, 1973 between Israel and a coalition of Arab states led by Egypt and Syria. The majority of combat between the two sides took place in the Sinai Peninsula and the Golan Heights—both of which were occupied by Israel in 1967—with some fighting in African Egypt and northern Israel.^[73]^[74] Egypt’s initial objective in the war was to seize a foothold on the eastern bank of the Suez Canal and subsequently leverage these gains to negotiate the return of the rest of the Israeli-occupied Sinai Peninsula.^[75]^[76]^[77]^[78]
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur_War#:~:text=The%20Yom%20Kippur%20War%2C%20also,led%20by%20Egypt%20and%20Syria.

This was one of the largest tank wars, and by some miracle, Israel won with only 160 tanks. Rafi was a tank man and had a lot of personal stories, and since my dad is a tank man, so he especially enjoyed this part of the trip. At the top of the mountain, you can see all the way to Syria and Lebanon, which really puts in perspective how close the borders are and how precarious this part of the world is.

On the walk from the car park to the bunker, the path was lined with some amazing artwork made out of recycled parts. There was a massive pirate ship that I would have loved to take home with me. PRC certainly would have enjoyed it.

The last stop of the day was at the Tel Shifon Winery. The winery is in a kibbutz and we were able to sample a selection of wine. The tour group sat at massive tables, but because my dad wandered off, there were no seats for us. We sat on some couches near the group, but Rafi sat with us, and because he knew the manager, we got full glasses of wine and chat with Rafi about Israel, his time in the army and his family. It was much better than having to make small talk with the people driving me crazy. Even Raif was amazed at some of the people and their questions. By the time we got to the winery, I think he was happy for the break. The winery had its own tank among the vines which was not something I have seen before.

We ended the day back in Tiberias where we enjoyed dinner at a Lebanese restaurant called Hermitage Tiberias. They had a really cool room that was a stone cutout and we tried a little bit of the local cuisine. Once again we watched the difficult woman in our tour group complain about the way the fish was cooked and the service and generally everything about the restaurant. We weren’t sitting with her, but it was pretty embarrassing how rude she was. The restaurant seemed to be family owned, the staff who served us were okay, and the food was delicious. I was proud of my parents for trying the food there as they are not always the most adventurous of eaters (or at least my mom isn’t).

I feel a bit bad that I didn’t write things down as they happened because we learned so much at each of the places. I was in such need of a vacation that I didn’t journal as I usually do, and now months later, I find myself struggling to remember some of what I learned. I think I know now why my mom saves all the maps and brochures from places. I probably need to start doing that.

The Scamp in Israel Day 4

Posted on April 11 by erranteditor

On the bus bright and early for a trip to Caesarea, a coastal area between Tel Aviv and Haifa. It is a national park on the coast that features ancient ruins including the old palace, an amphitheatre still used for concerts today, and an old chariot racing area. It was all built by King Herod . Just outside the park is Adquaduct Beach, where you can enjoy not only an amazing beach but the marvel of the aqueduct. It was warm and there was a total lack of shade, but I love a good wander through history. Rafi has a way of telling you things like they are a story rather than just listing off facts, but the number of annoying questions asked by one of the men in the group caused me to disengage a bit and just soak up the sunshine on my own.

From there we travelled north to the city of Haifa, often called the ‘Capital of the North’. We stopped at the Bahai Gardens, which are considered one of the holiest places for the Bahai faith.

Before we arrived at the gardens, I’d never heard of the Bahai religion. It has been a while since the tour, and I did not write everything down as it happened, so I went to good old Wikipedia to help me out. According to them, Bahai:

The Baháʼí Faith is a religion founded in the 19th century that teaches the essential worth of all religions and the unity of all people. Established by Baháʼu’lláh, it initially developed in Iran and parts of the Middle East, where it has faced ongoing persecution since its inception. The religion is estimated to have 5–8 million adherents, known as Baháʼís, spread throughout most of the world’s countries and territories.

The Baháʼí Faith has three central figures: the Báb (1819–1850), considered a herald who taught his followers that God would soon send a prophet who would be similar to Jesus or Muhammad and was executed by the Iranian authorities in 1850; Baháʼu’lláh (1817–1892), who claimed to be that prophet in 1863 and faced exile and imprisonment for most of his life; and his son, ʻAbdu’l-Bahá (1844–1921), who was released from confinement in 1908 and made teaching trips to Europe and the United States. After ʻAbdu’l-Bahá’s death in 1921, the leadership of the religion fell to his grandson Shoghi Effendi (1897–1957). Baháʼís annually elect local, regional, and national Spiritual Assemblies that govern the religion’s affairs, and every five years an election is held for the Universal House of Justice, the nine-member supreme governing institution of the worldwide Baháʼí community that is located in Haifa, Israel, near the Shrine of the Báb.

According to Baháʼí teachings, religion is revealed in an orderly and progressive way by a single God through Manifestations of God, who are the founders of major world religions throughout human history; Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammad are noted as the most recent of these before the Báb and Baháʼu’lláh. Baháʼís regard the world’s major religions as fundamentally unified in purpose, but diverging in terms of social practices and interpretations. The Baháʼí Faith stresses the unity of all people as its core teaching and explicitly rejects notions of racism, sexism, and nationalism. At the heart of Baháʼí teachings is the goal of a unified world order that ensures the prosperity of all nations, races, creeds, and classes.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bah%C3%A1%CA%BC%C3%AD_Faith

After some time to see the garden, we headed southeast to Nazareth. Now those of you who are familiar with the Bible will be really familiar with Nazareth. It is the centre of Christian pilgrimages and the birthplace of Mary. It is the home of the Church of Annunciation.

The Church of Annunciation is a really interesting church. It is said to be built on the spot where the Angel Gabriel came to Mary to tell her that she would give birth to Yeshua. The church was built over the site that is said to be the house of Mary (the photo of the altar) and what is said to be Joseph’s workshop. I made friends with the local cats and tried my best to get a kitten into my bag, but he was not quite ready to give up his life hustling tourists for snacks.

The last stop of the day was in the city of Tiberias on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. I had a room with a view….but broke the balcony door when I tried to open it, and had two slightly disgruntled men spend 30 minutes in my room trying to fix it. Luckily my room was connected to my parent’s room, so I just opened the connecting door and hung out in their room while I waited. I swear it was not my fault.

Since we were there for Shabbos, we had a traditional Shabbat dinner, complete with prayers. Now, I’m not super religious by any means, but I do respect the tradition, and I was on a cultural holiday, so more than willing to embrace everything.

….and this is where the problems started. My mom and I were the only Jewish people on the tour, so we had to endure a lot of cultural ignorance. Because it was Saturday, the lifts were in shabbos mode, which means they stop on every floor so that people do not have to push the buttons and ‘do work’ which is prohibited on Saturdays. There were Hasidic and Conservative Jews staying at the hotel, and they take their customs seriously. I ended up sitting next to a woman from Kentucky who was travelling alone. She started the dinner by complaining about the lift being in Shabbos mode and dragging the tradition. She then complained about the rooms, having asked to change rooms three times. She complained about the bar not having bartenders who spoke English (everyone I encountered on the entire trip spoke enough English to help with whatever we needed) and then complained that she couldn’t get a gin and tonic. I tried to explain that Jewish people aren’t really spirit drinkers and that for Shabbos we drink wine, but since it wasn’t expensive white wine, she wasn’t having it. I tried my best to educate her on Judaism and remind her that just because she found aspects of the religion inconvenient, didn’t mean that they weren’t worth respecting. I left the dinner early because I spent all day being respectful of Christian sites of worship, and this woman couldn’t spend half an hour learning about my religion. Sometimes it is exhausting being Jewish and constantly having to deal with ignorance, antisemitism (not that what she was doing was antisemitism), and stereotypes that get hurled at you. Living in Scotland, I constantly hear that I am the first Jewish person that someone has met, and I am nothing like they thought a Jewish person would look or act like.

The best part of the hotel was that the places in the area fed the local feral cats, so there were plenty of little gatitos to pet. I found yet another that I wanted to bring home with me….at least until he bit me when I tried to pet him instead of feed him.

The Scamp in Isreal Day 2 and 3

Posted on April 8 by erranteditor

My second day in Tel Aviv was spent doing one of my favourite things: hunting for Miro’s paintings. While I love being able to spend time with my parents, I also value my solo wandering time, so while they wandered the beach, I took myself to the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. First built in 1932, it became the site for the signing of the Israeli Declaration of Independence in 1948.

The museum did not disappoint. It had a good collection of some of my favourite artists, including Joan Miro.

After my culture shot, I spent some more time by the pool with my mom and then we met the tour group. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole thing when we first met Rafi our guide. I was the youngest, but unlike previous trips, not the only one travelling solo. Usually, the Insight Tours are full of couples and families, so it was a nice change of pace to have some other solo travellers…..or so I thought (but more on that later, because it gets really interesting).

The first official day of the tour started with a drive around Tel Aviv and a trip back to Carmel Market, although it was more of a quick walk-through. We then ventured down the seaside to the old city of Jaffa to see the famous clock tower and the harbour. Jaffa is most known for its biblical stories of St Peter, Jonah and Solomon, and is also known for its oranges (for those of you in the UK, think Jafa cakes, which are made with Jafa oranges).

As we wandered the old city we got to see the suspended orange tree, an art installation constructed in 1993 by artist Ran Morin. According to Atlas Obscura:

The roots are enclosed in a large earthenware container and the trunk emanates from a large crack near the top. It’s as if the tree is breaking free of its confines into the warm courtyard air outside. Morin intended for the tree to draw parallels with society’s relationship with nature.
https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/suspended-orange-tree

What I quickly learned on day 1 of the tour was that Rafi, our tour guide was an amazing man who really knew his history. He had degrees in Sociology, Theology, biology and had been a tour guide for many years. He is a nationalist and grew up as a conservative Jew. He served in the military and especially loves meeting Jewish people who are in Israel for the first time. When he learned that my mom and I were Jewish, he made sure to point things out to us and sit with us at lunch. He also had the patience of a saint to deal with some of the questions that people asked. I have a hard time dealing with the ignorance of others, but some of these people took it to a whole new level. Thank goodness my parents are not always interested in making friends with the people on the bus and we were able to have dinner on our own in an Irish pub….because where else would we take a crusty old Irishman?

The Scamp Visits the Homeland

Posted on April 7 by erranteditor

Happy Passover! I am lucky enough to have been able to sneak away from Edinburgh and come to Prague for a few days. While here, I promised myself that I would catch up on all the fun things I wanted to write about but lost the motivation for. That starts with the trip that I took to Israel in September of 2022.

I’ve wanted to visit Israel for years. I tried to do birthright when I was younger, but just never made it work, so when my parents were ready to come to visit me after a long pandemic, my dad suggested that we take my mom to Israel to celebrate her 65th birthday. I was totally on board with the idea, and my mom went to her trusty Insight Vacations and found an Israel/Palestine trip that was jam-packed with history and culture. We decided to meet in London and travel from there to Israel together, and it was the first time I got to be in the same room with my parents in more than a year.

Needless to say, I was a very happy Kim. We landed in Israel after midnight but had a a couple of days before the tour started to do as we pleased in Tel Aviv. We wandered along the beach to an outdoor market and enjoyed the sunshine and warm weather. The Shuk Hacarmel or Carmel Market is the largest outdoor market in Tel Aviv. According to Tourist Israel:

The Carmel Market first opened in 1920, some eleven years after the establishment of the city. It is an integral part of the history of Tel Aviv. Although much of the trade has now shifted to modern malls and the internet, the market is still immensely popular. Its narrow street is busy whenever you visit, particularly before Shabbat on Thursdays and Fridays, as residents buy supplies for their family meals. Recent years have seen a growing number of boutique stalls and food places opening alongside the traditional traders. They range from boutique beers to arrays of halva, and small eateries who take advantage of the market’s produce.

The Carmel Market is relatively simple in layout and location. The ‘Shuk’ occupies one street which runs south from the junction of King George Street, Allenby, and Sheinkin Street to the Carmelit Bus depot in the south. The side streets off of the market also host some small traders. The activity is not as spread out as in Jerusalem’s main market, Machane Yehuda.
https://www.touristisrael.com/carmel-market-tel-aviv/4433/

One of the best things about the first hotel was the rooftop pool. Summers in Scotland aren’t really known for their sunshine, so I am usually in desperate need of a tan (even now, I am appallingly white after a long harsh winter). We ended the first day in my favourite way…..getting tattooed. I can usually talk my mom into a tattoo, but this time I was able to talk my dad into not one, but two tattoos! I’ve been getting tattooed for 18 years and he has never been okay with it, but I was finally able to talk him into it, and now he has a cross and Star of David to represent his family. We went to Kipod Tattoo shop, and both got tattooed by Lera Torgovitsky. She was amazing! She’d done her time in the military, and when we saw her, she was getting ready to take her mom to a music festival in Sweden. I absolutely loved her, and so did my dad.

It has been months, and I still cannot believe that my dad actually got tattooed.

The Scamp Crosses One off the List

Posted on January 17, 2021 by erranteditor

17 days into the new year and I already get to cross one off the list from last year. This year has already started off a bit bumpy on a personal level, but on the professional level, you are now looking at the newest member of the Assessment and Feedback Working Group for the University of Glasgow. That’s right, after 2 years of begging, your girl is now on an academic committee! This is my chance to really help shape university policy and hopefully do some good on campus. I’ve spent my first week back running sessions for the different colleges to help them with their most pressing assessment and feedback concerns, and if I have learned anything from these sessions, it is that sometimes university policy, student and staff expectations, and reality do not match. I’ve never been more frustrated than when I am sat in a meeting and people are asking for help that I just cannot provide. Being a part of the working group will allow me a chance to have a better understanding of the policies, as well as help people who are way above my pay grade understand the needs of the students.

Then I will take over the world.

In the meantime, I’ve been trying to keep a low profile on social media and stay relatively silent about politics and all that is going on in the world. I’ve never been too vocal on social media about my beliefs anyway, although that is more to do with the fact that I like to remain somewhat of a mystery. That being said, something happened at the start of the month that, 1. I never thought I was see, and 2. has pushed me over the breaking point of the things that have been happening in the US. The Wikipedia summary of the events can be read here:

The storming of the United States Capitol was a riot and violent attack against the United States Congress on January 6, 2021, carried out by a mob of supporters of U.S. President Donald Trump in an attempt to overturn his defeat in the 2020 presidential election.^[2] After attending a Trump rally, thousands^[33] of his supporters marched down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol, where a joint session of Congress was beginning the Electoral College vote count. Many of the crowd breached police perimeters and stormed the building in an attempt to prevent the formalization of President-elect Joe Biden‘s election victory.^[34][35] These rioters occupied, vandalized,^[36][37] and looted^[38] parts of the building for several hours.^[39][40][41] The riot led to the evacuation and lockdown of the Capitol, and five deaths.

Things have been really bad in the US for a long time, but this was a whole new level of bad. I have friends who live in DC and friends who live close enough to DC that I was really worried. To add to the horrendous events, there were people in the mob wearing Camp Auschwitz sweatshirts, or shirts that read: 6MWNE (6 million was not enough). I don’t know how you feel, but personally, I don’t feel like anyone who has that sort of attitude can ‘Make America Great Again’….not to mention that I hardly buy the premise that you have to look to the past to make America great. That is a tangent for another day though. I posted an article about the anti-Semitic rhetoric that was prevalent among the ‘protesters’, and my Trump loving family decided that this was the perfect reason to condemn me for my beliefs. It started innocently enough. A comment by my mother about the people in a lot of the pictures being linked to terrorist or hate groups. My mother and I do not see eye to eye politically, but our exchange was calm, and respectful. A friend of mine also chimed in, and again, her comment was respectful.

Then the Wilders decided they needed to get involved. Long story short, they are right wing ultra conservative Qanon types (or right-sided as my cousin wrote) who don’t know the difference between the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, think the election was rigged, and think the FBI is not a valid and trustworthy source of information. While I know I should not have engaged, I did. I schooled my cousin in the difference between fact and fiction, and in doing so, was told that I was sanctimonious, over educated and must be a terrible teacher who will only have discussions with my students when they share (or I can force them to share) my beliefs. I was called an ignorant American as well. I was told to stay in Scotland, and that they were embarrassed for me. All of this on what they thought was my mom’s page, and in fact was about how horrible it is that people still want to kill all the Jews. I was embarrassed, and am still embarrassed that I am related to those people….and even more embarrassed that people saw the exchange and know how little those people actually think of me.

To be fair, I am not the least bit shocked by this. The Wilders used to have a favorite game when I was a kid….who could make Kim cry first. They used to pick on me and gang up on me until I cried….then belittle me for being upset. They once told my mom that my sister and I would spread our legs for any man that crossed our path because my mom chose to divorce an abusive alcoholic who did terrible things to her. This is the family that told me I was an ignorant American when I called out horrendous behavior on a train in Belgium. This is the family that made me want to get adopted out of it since I was seven years old. I know that it shouldn’t bother me what a bunch of people who know nothing about me think of me, but the fact that they attacked me on my own personal social media after not talking to me for years to defend a horrible incident has really left my shackles up.

It also triggered some long repressed feelings of being expelled from a PhD programme because I would not change my beliefs to suit the wants of the director of the programme. I was so completely destroyed at that time in my life that it was hard for me to do anything. My mom had to make up errands for me to run to make sure I got out of bed. I thought my life and career were over before they had even begun. I thought I would never get back to Scotland. Now that a week or so has passed, I’ve really been able to think about the importance of family, and the fact that we get to chose our family. My immediate family is great, and the rest of my family is made up of some incredible people from all over the world. They called, messaged, and made sure that I knew that no one associated me with the people that I am embarrassed by.

This also means that I have the time to reflect on those things they said to me to make sure that I do not become a sanctimonious, overeducated snob who only listens to people who believe the things I believe. I hope that being part of this academic committee and running more of the workshops I am currently running with the colleges and my CPD events for staff and students that I can become a better listener and really not let me beliefs and my degrees get in the way of open dialogue and discussion.

Because let’s face it, the only BS I need in my life right now is beaches and sunscreen.

Visit 3 new countries
Present at an academic conference
Solo author a paper
Lose the 20lbs I gained in the last year due to bad choices and stress
Do yoga at least twice a week
Write at least one new post a week that has nothing to do with work
Make a dent in my student loan
Finally get my UK driving license
Participate in No Screen Sunday and stay off my phone and all social media on Sundays
Keep the toxic people from returning to my bubble
Ride in a hot air balloon
Go camping
~~Celebrate passing my viva~~
Improve my Spanish proficiency
Meal prep to help balance my diet (and to help with number 4)
~~Get on an academic committee~~
Officially change my name on all my documents without crying (I have two left, my US driving license and my visa)
Go a full 48 hours without being negative
Don’t cancel plans with friends once I’ve made them (especially not the day of)
Finally get my artwork from California to Scotland (although not through FedEx)

The Scamp’s 500th Post

Posted on April 11, 2020 by erranteditor

This post brought to you by a moment that I never thought would happen. When I started this blog 8 years ago, I never really thought about how many posts I would write, or how much of my life I would end up sharing with the world. This became my diary, my therapist, my love letter to Scotland and to my wanderlust.

It took a long time to get from 400 to 500. Number 400 was written in 2016. A lot has happened in the last four years….most of it not captured on these pages. The PhD killed my love of writing, and to be honest, there wasn’t a lot of fun and positivity to write about it. Even now that the PhD is done, I’m still not sure there is a lot of good in my life right now to write about.

I always want the milestone posts to be something special, something big. I didn’t have anything really big to share until about a month ago.

On March 9, 2020, just two days after my thirty-something birthday, I got adopted.

IMG-20200106-WA0001

I really debated whether or not I was going to share this. I have family that are not going to understand and probably not be happy with my choice, and to be honest, I am still a bit uncomfortable with the idea of having to explain such a personal choice.

But in the spirit of the 500th post, I’ll give it my best shot.

I’ve been joking about being adopted since I was a kid. I always wanted to move from the back of the alphabet to the front. Because my biological father is still alive, my mom always said she thought that would be disrespectful to him as long as we were in contact with him. I haven’t had contact with him in almost 10 years. I have no desire to change that.

I shelved the idea and went on to build a name for myself as a Wilder. That’s always been my name. I get jokes, got a job interview solely because that was my surname, and funny looks when I introduce myself. There is nothing wrong with the last name Wilder.

I just didn’t want it to be my last name anymore.

For the last few years, when I think of the Wilders, I do not think of family. Every year that passed since I have been back in Edinburgh has just solidified that feeling. The last straw was this past summer when the Wilder’s all gathered in California, and the only reason I knew was from pictures posted on social media. Not once did anyone try to contact me, or ask my siblings about where I was or what I was doing. It was like I had been completely erased from the family….which is impressive since I am an identical twin.

That’s when I really thought about what it meant to be family and to be part of a family. A family supports you, a family makes you feel safe, makes you feel like you belong. A family is more than just blood.

I’ve called Rick Davis my dad since I was 18 and it was easier to introduce my parents to my friends while I was at uni. But the truth is, he’s been my dad for much longer than that. He’s the one who went to all the school plays, the swim meets, the graduations. He’s the one who helped me buy my first car and taught me how to check the oil, change a tire and not get scammed in a deal. He’s the one who met boyfriends, let me cry in the backyard with him when I got expelled, told my mom that it was okay for me to move to Scotland, and has funded my wanderlust. He’s always rolled his eyes when I get a new tattoo. He’s always treated me like his kid. He’s always offered his support, always looked out for me, and always made me feel like I belonged somewhere.

He’s my dad (and now when I say I am his favourite daughter, it is true in more ways than one).

We’ve both had it pretty rough the last couple of years. Me with the PhD journey and the lack of feeling like I belonged anywhere and him dealing with the loss of my brother and my grandpa. I felt like we both needed something good. So a few months before Christmas I found an attorney that specialises in adult adoptions and then ambushed my dad on a Wednesday with a video chat. It wasn’t one of those viral videos that you see floating around social media, no big surprise or big speech. I didn’t let my mum say anything publically for months (and I know it is killing you, so you can tell people now mum). I wasn’t even going to tell anyone other than my brother and sister. I didn’t want to have to explain myself to anyone. I’m still not sure that I do. People in Scotland know, but not many people outside of my little bubble here know, and I am not sure there is anyone outside of this bubble that even wants to know.

When I was in California for Christmas, we met with the lawyer, filled out all of the paperwork, and waited for a court date. The judge didn’t allow technology, and I had to have a lawyer stand-in for me, and the whole thing lasted for three minutes, but I am finally a Davis.

I even have a new birth certificate to prove it.

That was the unexpected part of the adoption. A completely new birth certificate. My new place in my chosen family complete. I am now a Davis….although professionally I am a Wilder-Davis because I started my career as a Wilder and already published under that name. The cool thing is everything was official before I turned in the thesis edits, so my hyphenated name is on the front page.

And hopefully, in a few short weeks, everyone can officially call me Dr Davis.

Call Me Dr Scamp

Posted on October 31, 2019 by erranteditor

That’s right. I am now a doctor. 4 years of blood, sweat and tears. 4 years of edits, research, interviews and data analysis. 4 years of projects, jobs, networking and conferences. 4 years of hard work. I’m not sure how I did it, but I survived the process and might just be a better person for it.

The viva was a gruelling process. I had gotten sick the week before and went through the viva with a fever and no voice. My examiners hated my thesis….and I am not exaggerating. They told me it reads like a jumbled, confused mess and it was hard to figure out what my original contribution to knowledge was. They did not understand the way I positioned my work in relation to the literature. They told me I have six months to rewrite it or they have the right to change their mind.

I am not ashamed to say that I cried in the middle of the viva. I was horribly ill and felt like crap, but I was also so upset that all of the things that the examiners hated about my thesis are the things I battled against with my supervisor….the same supervisor who was not in the room to hear that he had screwed up my work. The same supervisor who decided that I was not worth his time when I sent an email saying that I was upset that his lack of planning for the scheduling the viva could cost me my job. I was also very embarrassed. The examiners don’t know how badly I struggled. They don’t know how much of the thesis was dictated to me by said horrible supervisor. They only read the product of a less than stellar time….and the only name on the work is mine. I am the one who looks like I turned in horrible work. I am the one who now has to rewrite it in 6 months.

That’s not to say that the examiners were wrong though. That work is a jumbled mess that is a product of my experience. The feedback they gave me will make my thesis a better piece of work. It will also allow me the chance to discuss my work in the way that I want to. I have a better message and have really good things to say, and now I get to say them. My due date for resubmission is on my grammy’s birthday. I am taking that as a sign of good luck.

The only downside of this is that I still have a lot of work to do, more so now because I have a full-time job. I am having a hard time separating my bitterness about the last four years and the rewrite that I need to do. It has been more than a month and I have barely made any progress. That, in turn, is stressing me out….which is not helping the writing.

On the bright side, finishing the PhD means that I was able to book a ticket back to California for Christmas. I get to see my favourite people for a whole month. I am thinking that the change of environment and the time with my family will help me tackle the PhD as well. I have not seen my family in almost three years or been in California, so to say that I am excited about this is an understatement. I cannot wait to see how my parents have changed the cabin they now live in, I can’t wait to finally meet my nephew in person, and I cannot wait to sit around a table with my siblings while we play games, drink beer and tell each other to fuck off while we laugh so hard our sides hurt. I can’t wait to drive a car again.

I can’t wait for all the yummy Mexican food.

And mojo. Hopefully, I can find my mojo. I’m still looking for it.

The Scamp has Some Feelings

Posted on May 24, 2019 by erranteditor

I have long neglected this blog. I didn’t mean to. In fact, I started this blog to be the exact opposite. It was my safe little corner of the world where I could work through being so far away from my family for the first time, and be able to share what it was like for this little Scamp to live abroad.

It then morphed into a way for me to process my grief and my reverse culture shock. From there it become my coping mechanism for the horrors that I went through with CSUF. It was a place to share my gratitude and voice my fears.

I am not sure what it will be now. I haven’t sat in this space for a long time. I was too emotionally drained to even try and write for fun. I was too much of a zombie to try and be witty and pithy and admit to the world that my life was reduced to writing, stressing about writing, and trying to get all the work done for all 47 jobs that I took on….or that I failed the UK driving exam for the second time.

Today I handed in my PhD. A month ago I started a full-time job. I commute almost two hours one way, work from 9-4ish and still sort of worry about money. Soon I will have viva prep and hopefully by October I will be a full fledged doctor. My travelling and adventures will now be limited to preset times during the year with prior approval from my boss (who I love and will give me the time off).

Today I ate two cupcakes.

Today I saw a photo of a woman I went to high school with at her sister’s graduation. Standing next to them was the woman that told me I was a cheat and a plagiarist and that if I didn’t apologise for being white I’d never be a good academic.

Today I text an ex who used me to cheat on his gf and (I’m pretty sure) is a complete sociopath. I knew that if I messaged him I could justify feeling crappy about myself and pretend that I was not upset by seeing a photo of the woman that all but broke me.

Today I should be happy about finally submitting my thesis….and I was. Then I spent a little too much time overthinking and creating a plot of misery. So, in order to not waste my first time back in this space by sharing the acknowledgement page from my thesis. It is but a small gesture to the people who refused to let me fail. There were a lot of people who did not make it to the list, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love them or appreciate them. Here it is, exactly as it looks…complete with a thanks to my supervisors that I am still on the fence about. This means I can end this day with feelings of gratitude rather than feelings of self-loathing.

This thesis has been a labour of love (and sometimes loathing), and there are several people that deserve much more than a few lines at the start of this work. Thanks to:

• Tansy Jessop for having lunch with me at the 2015 Assessment and Higher Education conference and making sure that my TESTA journey was a successful one.

• David Carless for helping me refine the recommendations and pointing me in the direction of a strong definition of feedback. • David Nicol for saying to me, ‘You should be critiquing my model! It worked in the time it was written, but it is time for something new’. You will never know how much that bolstered my self-confidence.

• My supervisors, Joan McLatchie, Velda McCune, and Mark Huxham – thanks for taking a chance on a cat loving Californian. I know that I have tried your patience a few times, but we got there in the end.

• The Llama Ladies- You are the best friends a girl could ask for.

• Errol Rivera- You talked me off many a ledge and helped me outline many a draft chapter. I’m forever grateful.

• Joe Ameen- A million thanks for the chats and life advice.

• Dr Ana Georgieva- You kept me sane and reminded me to be kind to myself.

• Martha Caddell- You are the best mentor a girl could ever want. I hope I’m half as great as you one day.

• Anne Tierney-Because everything’s better with puppets!

• Kelsey Austin- My travel buddy, my heterolifemate, my unwavering support. I love you and our many adventures.

• Declan- you know why.

• Mondo, Brandon, Jackson, and Matt- I love you.

• Wombmate-You gave me nephews, you listened to me cry and you never let me forget that I am better than my anxiety.

• My parents, Rick and Michelle- I’ll never be able to pay back what you’ve given me. Thank you for never squashing my wanderlust and for all the support. I love you to the moon and back.

The Scamp Remembers

Posted on January 16, 2019 by erranteditor

Today is a hard day for my mom. Today is the day that she lost her mom to a horrific car accident. Today is a day that we usually eat a club sandwich from iHop, drink a diet coke and watch Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I wrote this last year for her birthday, and I don’t think I can write anything better to capture how I feel. So here goes:

The woman in these photos is Frances Ann. Today is her 80th birthday.

Or, it would be if she believed in wearing her seatbelt. When I was in the third grade she died when she overcorrected her car on the highway. The car flipped and she went through the windshield. Her best friend was in the car with her and survived. Before the funeral, her friend insisted on telling the story of what happened. I remember the crazy curved couch that everyone was sitting on. She was sitting with her husband, my mom, aunt and grandpa sat and listened.

Sometimes I think it would be better for my mom if she hadn’t heard the story.

I can’t remember what her voice sounds like. I can’t remember the way she felt when I hugged her.

I can remember the way she smelled. Sometimes I go to the cosmetic counter at the shopping centre near my house and spray the sample of Red Door into the air just to trigger a memory.

I can remember where we stood when we spread her ashes in Indian Canyon. I’ve only been there one other time since then, and it was to spread my grandpa there after he died.

I can remember the horrible photo she drew of me when I had to go to the emergency room for an ear infection. The picture was me in a hospital gown with my butt exposed and a doctor with a very very large needle ready to give me a shot. In the butt. I have a few scarves that belonged to her with me now.

They smell like my mom.

When my mom smiles, she looks like my grandma….or at least how I remember my grandma in my head.

It is a smile that involves teeth. I know this because it is the same smile that I have (most people tell me they know I am American because of my smile…all those teeth).

This is a hard day for my mom. She can’t call her mom and wish her a happy birthday. She can’t call her when one of her children (cough the oldest one cough) drives her crazy. It is a hard time for me because I have to think about the day when I won’t have my mom.

and that terrifies me.

A couple of weeks ago I had lunch with my great uncle who was in town on holiday. We haven’t seen each other in 10 years or so, but he knew exactly who I was when I met him for brunch. He gave me the best compliment that anyone could ever give me: he told me I look and act exactly like my mother.

Since my mom sometimes looks and acts like my grammy, and I look and act a lot like my mommy, it must mean that I am a little like my grammy too.

I’d like to think that she would enjoy what I am doing with her smile.

The Scamp at a Loss

Posted on September 11, 2018 by erranteditor

Today I woke up in a world without my Odie. He has been one of the only constants in my life for the last 15 years.

I hate the idea of being in a world where he no longer exists.

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I remember when my brother brought him home. Matt was a pain in the ass 18 year old who is the reason that my mom has grey hair. He left a note on the kitchen counter that just said “Mom don’t be mad”. When she raced up the stairs to his room and threw open the door, she was greeted with a tiny hiss from a little puff of fir in the middle of the bed. Matt had rescued a tiny kitten. He had a lot of names. My brother named him Odin. My sister and I called him Pepe because he was found in a dumpster outside a Mexican restaurant. I called him smooshy because he liked to be smooshed up against you when slept next to you.

He had a head like granite. He had no concept of personal space. He would steal your seat on the couch if you got up for any reason. He had awful kitty breath. He liked to drink from the toilet. He was obsessed with boobs and would often sit with his paws resting on them. He drooled. If you wanted him to come in for the night so you could go to bed, he would escape and evade you like a pro. He would leave out the front door and then magically appear at the top of the stairs. He liked to sleep on his back with his feet in the air.

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He was a pain in the ass. He was a great source of comfort. He was the only man in my life to never disappoint me. He slept on a special blanket on my bed when I moved back to California for a little while. He slept with me every day I was back for a visit.

He used each of his nine lives in the last 15 years. He survived being poisoned. He survived a bee sting. He survived trying to hump a coyote. He survived me bathing him. The last few years were tough. He slowed down. He had to have his eye removed. Eventually, he developed cancer. Yesterday the vet said that it was better to gently end his life rather than put him through any more treatment.

I wasn’t there. I didn’t get to tell him I loved him one more time. I didn’t get that one final cuddle. I did not have a chance to prepare myself for this moment that I knew was coming. I’m going to miss the cuddles, the headbutts, the curling up on my work so I had to pay attention to him.

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This little face offered me unconditional love, occasional love bites and constant reminders of how to enjoy the little things in life. I will miss him a little more now, but I know he is headbutting angels and that he is happy.