One Year in America

It completely passed me by until I looked at the calendar, but today marks one year since Tina and I first set foot back on American soil.

It was this time last year that we arrived at Newark Airport (and I was given a rough time by some jerk in an Immigrations Officer uniform.)

One year... It's amazing.

Well, what has this year brought us?

The most obvious new arrival is actually still in it's packaging - Baby 'M.' Tina's not finished baking our American baby until the end of the month.

But since we've arrived, other things have happened that confirm to me that life here in America is much better (for us, at least) than it could have been in England.

I've got a job - paying much more than I earned in England. Tina and I each have the 'dream' car we'd lusted after back in Blighty (a stick-shift Firebird for me and a manual Rav 4 for her.) We're not rich, but we earn enough to pay our bills and still have some left over at the end of the month. We even live in a bigger (rented) house, closer to the centre of the action.

On the other hand, it's not all rosy. We're living in a country on the brink of a recession. I haven't seen my parents, or France, for well over a year now. Our poor little kitty, Ava, got run over just weeks after she and Tina were reunited.

But paraphrasing Thomas Jefferson - 'shit happens.' You can't enjoy the highs unless you have the lows to compare them too.

Our life in America is very modest. I haven't made my millions. Tina's face isn't plastered in the papers. We just live a quiet, suburban existence in a misunderstood little state called New Jersey.

But while the economy, imminent baby-arrival and American job security make life a little more uncertain than we'd like, I wouldn't exchange the opportunities we enjoy here for all the security in the world.

Waiting for Dog

Although rarely the focus of it, religion had always been part of my life.

Although I hardly remember him, my grandfather was a Church of England vicar - and a very good one from what I've heard. The sort of man who sacrificed a lot for the sake of his 'flock' and was an advisor, friend and mentor to his parishioners as much as their spirtual leader.

At school, I was one of the last generation of kids who said prayers and sang hymns at assembly. In Autumn, we'd go to Harvest Festival at the local church. We sang religious Christmas Carols to our parents at the end of the year.

I attended St David's University College, in Lampeter. It was originally founded by Cambridge as a theological university for aspiring priests. Many of my friends later went on to a career in the Church of England.

Although I'd never been a regular church goer, I fell heavily for an aspiring priest (priestess?) while I was there and used to obediantly follow her to chapel several times a week.

I left university and the years of indoctrination did their trick. Although I didn't regularly attend church, I still considered myself a Christian. As a history major, I tempered my consideration of the Bible with my knowledge of historical fact (something some Christians are unwilling to do) but I still believed in the big, general idea of Christianity.

I talked to God. A lot. And I never asked him for anything except the strength or motivation to achieve my goals or make it through troubling periods of my life.

When I finally met my wife, my religious convictions (however little conviction I had in them) were at least part of the reason why she considered me valid matrimonial material. She is a deeply spiritual Catholic. I don't believe she'd have married somebody who didn't at least believe in God. She often asked me if I prayed (I never liked the term 'pray.' I talked to God, like you would a friend, older brother, father or boss.)

As such, things continued more or less smoothly for the first four years of our marriage - until something that might seem to be utterly insignificant utterly shattered my beliefs.

Meaningless

On July 15th of last year, my wife's little cat Ava got hit by a car. She died in my wife's arms as we zoomed off to the local animal hospital. It was just once - and just for a second - but as Ava passed away my wife let out the most heart wrenching sob. It still brings tears to my eyes when I remember hearing it.

Some people may scoff, since Ava was 'just' a cat - but when Ava passed away I remember being filled to overflowing with hot, bubbling anger. I was utterly, hatefully furious with this 'God' who I had believed in and trusted.

Ava passing away didn't shake my wife's beliefs, but it completely destroyed mine. For a while, I still believed in God. I still believed in the 'facts' of Chrisianity. They just stopped making sense to me. Every single day, I observed more and more things about 'Christianity' that seemed disgustingly hypocritical or desperately absurd.

I listened to Christians try to explain to why a 'good' God (who grants rewards to his faithful subjects) would allow bad things to happen. And the more I heard the excuses, the justifications and the fantasies, the more they made my skin crawl. Try reading this disgusting piece of tripe.

It was only after a conversation with my father, during which we discussed history, the Bible and faith through the ages, that the penny dropped. I realised that the way the real world operated was quite simply incompatible with the fantasy of Christianity.

I didn't need to keep asking myself why, or waste anger on a deaf, dumb and blind God who only existed in the prayers I'd previously made to him. I looked up to the heavens and instead of seeing The Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost, I saw twinkling stars - flaming balls of gas burning millions of miles away.

I realised God didn't exist - and it was one of the most liberating spiritual experiences of my life.

I even stopped being angry about Ava. Her being hit by that car wasn't down to the negligence of some careless, patriarchial diety. It was just an accident. It meant I could finally just let it go and be sad for the little cat, instead of holding her inside me like a big ball of angry fire.

And remarkably, as soon as I slipped free from the shackles of faith, the world started to make more sense. The beliefs I'd had in this 'God' were soon replaced by an embrace of rationalism. Facts and science and history offered answers to things that Christianity never had.

I felt empowered. I'd previously thanked 'God' for the good fortune I'd had achieving my dreams, like moving to America. Once I'd stepped free from religion's shadow, I realised that the people I needed to thank were my parents, my mentors, my wife, my friends and even, to a larger extent than I'd ever thought before, myself.

And I had hope. Because if achieving dreams was down to hard work and luck, rather than the whim of the 'Holy Father,' I could play the odds and take my chances. If I won - fantastic! If I lost, I'd know it was down to bad luck or lack of skills or effort - instead of a cruel God punishing me for 'lustfully' checking out a girl on the subway or some other equally ridiculous 'sin.'

Morality was easy. Respect for my fellow man - and respect for the laws of the state of New Jersey - were all the moral guidance I needed. I no longer needed to feel guilty for a litany of meaningless 'sins' invented by a repressive religious regime.

I walked away from God and it was one of the best decisions of my life. Never before have I felt so alive. Never before has the world made so much sense to me. I have experienced 'enlightenment' and embraced my new destiny as a Born Again Athiest.

But the problem?

While I have undergone this spiritual awakening, my wife is still devoutly Catholic. She would be horrified to know that I have utterly lost my 'faith.' I feel bad about it - but it's not like I have any choice in the matter. It just 'clicked' and nothing's ever made so much sense to me before. I can't go back to believing in God any more, just as I'm sure no devout Christian could just 'decide' to become an athiest.

But I keep my beliefs to myself - and I am still entirely respectful of what she chooses to believe.

Jesus is Still my Homeboy

It's important to note that a lack of Christian belief doesn't mean I've stopped believing in the Bible. The Bible - at least parts of it - contain documented historical fact.

Werner Keller's amazing book The Bible as History is an excellent starting point. Although the archeological material is quite dated now (most of it pre-dates the 1930's) the facts are clear. Many of the 'stories' of the Bible are actually based on real events from that period of history.

Noah's Ark and the Great Flood, for example. In 1996, William Ryan and Walter Pitman, geologists from Columbia University, published evidence of an immense flood of the Black Sea in 5600BC (matching the dating in the Bible) which could well have served as the the basis for the myth of The Great Flood. For almost a full year, ten cubic MILES of seawater flooded farmland around the Black Sea nearly every single day.

Considering so much of the Bible contains nods to actual historical events, it's entirely logical to believe that some of the stories have some basis of truth to them. Which means the teachings of a humble carpenter from Nazereth are a philosophy that can't be disregarded as easily as the fantasy of an 'all powerful' cat-murdering God.

Angry.

I am no longer angry at God - because I might as well be angry at Winnie the Pooh or Captain Ahab. I might as well be angry at a cup of coffee for all the good it does.

But I am angry at a lot of Christians - especially since coming to America. I'm angry for all sorts of reasons. Some of these reasons are entirely selfish.

One of the things I detest most about 'hard core' Christians is them ramming their faith down my throat. Am I any better when I scoff and seeth at their wretched refusal to accept rationality and fact? Pride is a Christian sin, yet it took athiesm to make me humble in my beliefs.

I am still open to other beliefs because rationalism doesn't offer all the answers. For example, the concept of a 'higher power' delivering that inexplicable 'spark' which gave birth to all life on earth is entirely rational. Scientists can't quite explain how 'life' came from 'no life' and until they do, the idea of a mystical deity providing that spark is as difficult/easy to prove as any more 'rational' explanation.

What I can't stand - and what constitutes the 'faith' that I want to ram down the throat of pious Christians - is when they ignore irifutible, documented fact and instead chose to remain ignorant by sticking to dogma that's been proven time and time again to be utterly fantastical.

Like creation. For thousands of Christians, their 'God' can't be limited to rational scientific theory (the 'higher power' and the 'spark of life' theory.)

They declare that the world was created seven thousand years ago, when God made the heavens and the earth and made Adam from clay - creating Eve from his rib. It's exactly as it was laid out in the Bible.

WHICH IS RUBBISH! I mean, how can the world only be seven thousand years old when we have carbon dated human fossils dating back 130,000 years? Carbon dating is a pretty exact science. Christians who dispute carbon dating might as well dispute the existence of the light bulb, or Sweden.

Well, why not? They've never been there. They've only read about it in books. So there's no 'proof' that Sweden exists.

It's so utterly idiotic that it makes me swoon. The thought of a man like Mike Huckabee - who believes in the biblical story of creation - making it to the White House is utterly terryifying. What else does he not believe in?

Another perfect example is the story of Noah's Ark - I've mentioned it above.

You'd have thought the fundementalist Christians would be happy that history has given credibility to the overall story of the Bible. But NO.

They're not happy - because a flood in Europe isn't what the Bible says happened:

"Noah’s Flood was not a local flood in the Black Sea area," utterly retarded website Answers in Genesis declares, "but a world-wide flood that has left its mark on every continent on this planet."

Which it isn't - since you'd think we'd have noticed one of those.

I should try and restrain myself, because human beings have the right to believe whatever they want. No matter how stupid it is.

But whenever I hear a 'born again' Christian dismissively say: 'the world was created in seven days, just like it says in the Bible, and the theory of evolution is just a theory,' I still feel the urge to whack them around the chops and angrily expose them out as the blinkered idiot they clearly are.

But I can't do that. Because that's not very 'Christian' of me. It's ironic that popular use of the term 'Christian' signify acts of charity, generosity and respect - while 'real' Christians can often be incredibly disrespectful.

Take for example this letter, sent to the parents of Heath Ledger - the talented young actor who starred in Brokeback Mountain and passed away last week.

Stupidity and Hate

"I feel homosexuality is an aberrant, unnatural, and sinful lifestyle," says presidential hopeful Mike Huckabee. The Westboro Baptist Church is more concise. "God hates fags!"

Christianity is often used as a shield for people to say offensive things that would never be tolerated in secular society.

Lesbians and gays getting married hurts nobody. Homosexuality isn't a 'lifestyle choice' but a genetic trait that appears in animals as well as humans - yet fundementalist Christians try to change natural human behavior by manipulation, lies and emotional blackmail.

Why can't fundementalist Christians join polite society in embracing tolerance instead of hate? After all, if you read the Bible, that's what Jesus himself would do.

Jesus, whether he was a humble carpenter from Nazereth or the son of God made man, had a simple philosophy. Accept every man as your brother.

Until modern fundementalist Christians can actually follow the scripture of their prophet, it looks like we'll still be living in a country in which the most 'Christian' of people are liberal secularists.

Ava Tribute

Ava

This morning, Tina's beloved cat Ava passed away.

We found her lying outside, barely breathing. We rushed her to the local vets, but she died during the journey. He examined her and said she'd probably been hit by a car. She struggled back home before she passed away.

Tina is devastated. She utterly adored Ava. As far as she was concerned, the only good thing about me dragging her back to America was to be back with her little cat.

Ava was her own character. We only reluctantly installed cat flaps to let her come in and out of the house because she utterly refused to be housebound. She was a very happy cat and brought us reluctant 'presents' every other morning, in varying states of alive-ness.

When we used to come home every day, we'd hear her meow "hello" as the key turned in the lock. And she'd already colonised the house, with toys in every room and the second bedroom designated 'Ava's room.'

So there is a massive hole in our lives now. I'm very sad about the little cat, but what I'm really sad about is how it has effected Tina. For such a small little animal, she was the recipient of an awful lot of love. Tina has always loved animals, but she's never had a pet quite like Ava and a little bit of Tina died when Ava did.

Obviously I should be grateful that we haven't lost any person we're close to. People lose children and parents every day. But the grieving process is still very real and watching what Tina's going through makes me very upset.

On a day to day basis, I'm your basic God-fearing person. But when you see somebody grieving you wonder what sense it makes in the great cosmic plan. It's cruel and it's unfair. Ava should have spent a long time with Tina. She was going to come along with us on our journey. It's simply unfair that she was taken away from Tina after only a month of them being together again.

Death seems deeply cruel. I find it very, very difficult to consolidate the pain and sadness it causes with the beliefs I have.

But these philosophical questions don't really matter. All that matters is that a little furry person came into our lives and made a real difference and now she's not here any more.

I wish there was some way I could make Tina feel better.

I wish that Ava could have stayed in this morning, instead of going out for her morning hunt.

I wish that this tiny little furry thing - that brought Tina big furry happiness - hadn't been taken away from her when she needed her the most.

Goodbye, Ava. You will be missed.

The Predator, the Savior and the Apathetic Onlooker

Currently, I'm keeping my ambitions modest and achievable. For Saturday, my project was simply to remain in bed past 7am. Unfortunately, I was thwarted in this ambition by plaintiff cries emerging from underneath the bed.

The cries were coming from a little wounded Robin, lodged firmly in Ava's jaws.

We deposited the crippled bird outside and Ava retired to her bed, licking her chops. Right now she's lying there, dreaming of more wildlife she can massacre.

Tina always does her best to help Ava's wounded prey. Unfortunately, catch-and-release doesn't really work once Ava's fangs have done their work. Tina wanted to help the little Robin, but I could tell the poor thing was a goner.

With squirrels, birds and groundhogs roaming happily in our yard, we'll have to get used to Ava's little gifts. We prefer mice to the birds, however. The birds are normally alive - albeit mangled. The mice arrive on our kitchen floor neatly missing their front halves and that eliminates the problem of catching them. And it makes clean up a lot easier.

Right now, whenever Ava prowls through the long grass, the birds have started screeching and the squirrels peer down angrily from the power lines. They've set up an early warning system that our little Bengal finds very frustrating.

This has led to Ava developing an observation platform in the spare room, where she can maintain a look out through the glass without alerting any of her potential victims. Then, as they frolic in the yard, she can stalk out and pounce on them.

A quick word with Mommy has led to Ava's bed being shifted into the spare room, so she can take a little cat nap between look-out shifts. Considering her bed is now the only item of furniture there, it looks like our spare room/office has now become Ava's room.

A cat with her own bedroom?

She's ridiculously spoilt.

Wee Beastie

Since coming back to America, nothing has impressed me as much as the sight I saw this evening.

As we rolled up into the driveway, a furry brown sausage plodded his way up the steps, nipped through a hole in the fence and disappeared down his burrow.

A Groundhog. The first one I'd ever seen for real.

Groundhogs are the coolest animal. They're like big, slow, chubby beavers. Apparently we have a whole family of them living in a stump in our yard. I was a bit worried Ava would munch one up - but even a small groundhog must weigh twice what our slim little Bengal does and if the way they move reflects their personality, they're robust little characters. Ava shouldn't mess with them...

Groundhogs are native to the North Eastern parts of North America. They're also known as Woodchucks and Whistlepigs... What a great name. They're basically gigantic squirrels - which makes sense since our back yard is full of them as well (although they're a little more edgy. A squirrel would be no match for Ava.)

The largest Groundhogs can apparently grow to about thirty pounds. They're famous for being grumpy - although apparently they can be trained to be cute and cuddly. There are even 'Groundhog Trainers' at famous places like the Staten Island Zoo.

As for our new neighbour... I'm not going to try and train him. But I will keep an eye out for the little critter.

Constant Companion

Things my wife has only started doing since she returned to America... Chapter One.

Taking the cat for 'walkies.'