you may say that i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one...

father's day is almost here (again), and not un-like mother's day, facebook has kindly prompted it's masses to copy and paste (and post) assorted pater related paraphernalia (south africa, 1975, dad is third from the left, next to mum, both sitting behind me).



but which photo? staring at the albums i got that same glazed over feeling which happens at baskin & robbins. but this is the one i went with; awali, bahrain, sometime in the mid 80's, on his way to work to do a couple of fillings. there were a lot of different names on the house signs, some in arabic, but as far as i can remember there weren't any others that started and ended with a z-- and believe me, there are a lot of arabic names that do.



at this point i think it is fairly evident that i cant commit to much of anything-- and i do thank, not blame, my dad for that (it is his fault about the flat feet though) geographical transience can do that to a person. iceland; circa. we were very small-- somewhere in the 3 foot range-- but this demonstrates how the fedorowicz's never travel light, regardless of how much practicing at it goes on.



then there was the "badass" one where he ran the comrades ultra-marathon in south africa (that's 90k south of the equator) some time in the late 70's.



or the one where he took "teenage me" mountain biking around the jebel (bahrain) with his windsurfing buddies, post-gulf war (the first one).



speaking of windsurfing...sheik's beach, bahrain, the 90's.



there was also the apres 'ride around the desert', in the paddling pool, with floating beer...



scuba diving in the red sea in the 80's. well, diving and drinking home brewed wine for the grown ups, ripping apart sea cucumbers and starfish for the under 9's.



and the "poo thing"...duba, saudi arabia; we were so proud of the home made camping toilet that was the sum product of the fedorowicz, wood and barnes families' hard labour.



because this is what we all had to put up with before; a shovel, sand dune and a roll of andrex...



always a family favourite, dad laughing uncontrollably while pointing out the giant, steaming pile the horse (that just carried his son and future daughter-in-law away by carriage) left behind. (keysoe, england, 5-ish years ago).



my birthday card (from my brother), detailing the finer points of a dog's bum, caused such silent mirth and tears of appreciation, that we could not miss the opportunity to document it (buckden, england, two-ish summers ago).



at this point, it's clearly evident that freud would have a field day; the apple cant even be pried off the tree. dad in his dental chair, bahrain.



last christmas.

becoming a virgin every 10 years

many have touched my surfaces, peering closely to inspect every square inch, leaving dirty finger prints all over me; branding a new stamp each time. every hand i have passed through has left a permanent mark; until the next one. then i am put aside until there is a need again. 10 years on, and finally it is time to retire.

my current passport has expired. it pre-dates my arrival in the united states, now it is filled with student visas, work visas, and my "alien" visa. in addition to a pictorial history of my hair fluctuating 2-3 inches in length.

the task of re-newing a passport is not unlike re-experiencing childbirth (easy for my unexpanded uterus to analogize); you forget what a bloody pain in the arse (or other areas) it is, since the last time you did it. i can understand why people never leave their home countries (or demand epidurals).

i downloaded the application, anticipating a quick 10 minutes of printing out demographic information (in black ink), getting a couple of pictures together, and sending the lot off to the the british embassy with the expired version and a "filing fee".

~ the instructions make the assumption that i am "her majesty's loyal subject".

~ each demographic requirement has several further addendums.

time: form filling; 25 minutes. photo taking; 10 minutes. photo prep time; 90 minutes (with lengthy intervention from clairol and clinique). photo countersignature; several weeks of chasing down: "a subject of her commonwealth, limited to: a member of parliament, justice of the peace, minister of religion, established civil servant, or professionally qualified person such as a doctor/lawyer/school teacher/police officer/engineer." should i not be able to locate a brit meeting these criteria, then an american counterpart would suffice. as long as we have been acquainted for 2 years.

cost: $250, plus photo fee's, and certified mail delivery.

having the freedom to be able to move around the world, or just leave the country (any country); priceless.