shortly after 2 am I stumbled out the front door with leaden feet and a dog leash clutched in one fist. eventually I began to realize that I was passing most of this walk with my chin tucked down into my chest (no doubt a subconscious message that any person in her right mind would be tucked into blankets just then, rather than scarves), but when I convinced myself to lift my head I could see that it was (is) a beautiful night. the sky is purple. purple! and the stars are, of course, just lovely. sleet obviously has its downsides, but in the small hours every tree branch gleams in the porch lights, and the liriope*plants looked like dim green sea anemones underfoot. Walking on the thick frozen grass felt pretty spiffy, but it was less fun to hit a spot that had been tire-flattened earlier in the day, and slide on the ice-slicked ground. another note: wind chimes on an extremely early january morning sound pretty mystical. That sounds horrible. "Mystical" is not the word I want to be using, but I'm not sure there's another that fits better. You know? When you picture wind chimes, it's sunny and hot, 3pm on a july afternoon. (it's 3. f capitalization.) hearing them in the dark cold of january is so unexpected, and somehow a little amazing.
I noticed on the way to work tonight that the ground was all frosted. it irritates me a little that when you read this, you'll read "frosted" as a reference to cake, when actually cake frosting is almost certainly a reference to the phenomenon I was noticing on the grass. worse, if you're really doomed (like I evidently am), you'll hear "frosted" and think of the "ladies, frost yourselves" diamond commercial from "how to lose a guy in ten days." /shudder.
okay, TO BED. for real this time.
*Evidently I've never written that word before. Had no idea how to spell it. Thank you, google.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
I'm doing all right.
I want a rainbow raincoat, with the colors bleeding down into one another in rings until, at the bottom, purple. I want a white umbrella that I can paint with raindrops and sunshine. I want bare feet and warm puddles and distant thunder and, after nightfall, a crescendo of fireflies glittering across the fields and up into the full, luscious trees under a royal blue-black sky.
I guess I can wait, though. Afternoons of grey skies and chill wind and freezing rain have their place. And I felt so much joy, driving home after tutoring tonight, that I laughed aloud and nearly wept.
I don't love any of the videos of it, but despite my strong issues with smoking, I do love this song. Can't help it.
A quote posted by a facebook friend: "He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart." -C.S. Lewis. I have no idea whether Lewis actually said/wrote this, but I hope so.
Song I was listening to when suddenly smitten with a wave of nearly overwhelming joy:
I've been on a little bit of a country kick lately. Don't judge me.
I guess I can wait, though. Afternoons of grey skies and chill wind and freezing rain have their place. And I felt so much joy, driving home after tutoring tonight, that I laughed aloud and nearly wept.
I don't love any of the videos of it, but despite my strong issues with smoking, I do love this song. Can't help it.
A quote posted by a facebook friend: "He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart." -C.S. Lewis. I have no idea whether Lewis actually said/wrote this, but I hope so.
Song I was listening to when suddenly smitten with a wave of nearly overwhelming joy:
I've been on a little bit of a country kick lately. Don't judge me.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
In the new years.
I'm not great at New Year's* resolutions. I forget to make them, and I don't really care. Looking through some things I wrote last year (or two years ago?) though, I saw that one of my resolutions was "don't panic." It was a good resolution. I highly recommend it. I was thinking about this as I bitterly lay in bed this morning**, and I also mulled over the fact that I am less good at resolutions like "clean 15 minutes every day" (not to knock your list, Sara! It's an excellent goal) than I am at resolutions like "no jackets in the living room." I just don't keep up well with anything vague, anything that I'll do "sometime today." For me it has to be an extremely specific "don't even think about doing that shit." Par exemple: "are you panicking? Cut that crap out. Calm yourself down right this second." Or, as I am maybe considering for this year except that it seems like too much effort, "excuse me--did you seriously just drop your jacket on the sofa? Again? On top of the jacket you dropped on the sofa yesterday? Pick up the damn jacket."
The reason this is too much effort is that I don't really have space in my closet for my jackets. So if I don't dump them on the living room couch, I generally dump them on my bedroom floor or chair, and end up with either no place to walk or no place to sit. It's a good time.
*Should this be capitalized? I have been wondering each time I type or write it, but thus far I've been too lazy to check.
**I got six hours of sleep, because I didn't see any particular reason that I would need to get up at any particular time. Evidently though it was extremely important to wake me up right at 9 am, which is exactly the time you should wake me if you want me to be really angry and completely unable to go back to sleep.
The reason this is too much effort is that I don't really have space in my closet for my jackets. So if I don't dump them on the living room couch, I generally dump them on my bedroom floor or chair, and end up with either no place to walk or no place to sit. It's a good time.
*Should this be capitalized? I have been wondering each time I type or write it, but thus far I've been too lazy to check.
**I got six hours of sleep, because I didn't see any particular reason that I would need to get up at any particular time. Evidently though it was extremely important to wake me up right at 9 am, which is exactly the time you should wake me if you want me to be really angry and completely unable to go back to sleep.
There just isn't enough trashy in my life.
It has come to my attention that there is nothing in my wardrobe that sparkles. Not one thing. Where can I find cheap crap with glitter and sprinkles*?
This appalling lack of trashy came to my attention on New Year's Eve, when Eva and I went to get dressed and while she was putting on a sparkly tank top, I was dejectedly pawing through my piles of cotton blends. It was a sad moment.
One thing I am happy about, though, [disclaimer here: I am so terrible at drawing a line when it comes to TMI and noonegivesashit and "that girl is so crazy (in a bad way)." I am aware of this. You should be aware that this is maybe one of those times where my inability to properly screen my subject matter is more apparent] is my colorful undergarments. I got some new ones via mail order while I was in Scotland, and I noticed this afternoon that the under layers I was wearing were (are) colored as follows: blue and white polka dot, plum-colored, bright yellow, and bright blue. And in the dirty clothes pile on the floor were (are) pink silk long johns with a matching shirt, and some more pink and blue and bright green and purple and "with stars" stuff. So maybe most of my normal clothes are boring and I have too strong an attachment to blue jeans and zip hoodies, but it's okay, because I'm like a mullet. Business in the front, yes?
I bought new chapstick (I use the term loosely in that I never buy Chapstick, only sticks of wax-based stuff to keep my lips from bleeding when it gets too dry out) tonight, and I didn't like it at all. This is at least the second time in a row that this has happened. Not cool. I gave it to Chloe. I've been using Burt's Bees for a while, but have been looking (out of boredom and curiosity more than dissatisfaction) for an alternative. I haven't been particularly successful, obviously.
We're throwing an engagement party for my cousin this weekend, and as trying to get me to cook or bake is generally a pretty painful experience for all involved (not that I can't; just that trying to get me to is a huge pain), my main job in all this is to paint the bathroom and not eat the freshly baked biscotti or cheese pennies or ham biscuits with pimento cheese, or whatever other delicious things get made this week, all from scratch. I'm sure that second part of the job, the not-eating-stuff part, will get harder as the week progresses, but at the moment I am feeling the irritation that is trying to scrape a bathroom that, for some unfathomably asinine reason, was painted ten years ago with flat paint. Except for the closet door frame, and one stretch of wall below the medicine cabinet, which were sensibly painted with semigloss. Whose idea was that? Flat paint, by the way, does not hold up to moisture. Like, at all. Don't f-ing paint your bathroom (or kitchen, for God's sake) with flat paint.
On the plus side, and on an entirely different note, we lost power the other day. I think some drunken idiot ran into a power pole or something, because a huge section of the neighborhood lost power on a fairly clear, non-windy evening. Obviously that isn't super great. It's "on the plus side" because I texted Jack to tell him the power was out and ask him if he needed a flashlight or extra blankets or anything, and then he came home with five snuggies. I have way too much stubborn pride to actually buy a snuggie, but damned if I'm going to let one go to waste. Also, as it turns out, a snuggie is (or seems to be) the perfect thing for my father, who is nearly always cold but doesn't like using blankets or adding lots of layers. Cozy light blanket with arms? It's the perfect compromise! I can't imagine why we didn't think of this before.
*Halfway meant to type "sparkles," but had intended to type "metallic sequins" before I stopped paying attention to what I was typing. I think I'll leave sprinkles though.
**Homeless footnote: in the interest of using this like a diary and giving myself some actual record of what's going on even when I don't feel like typing/talking about it, I should admit that I have been super emo about David lately. "Super emo" is probably far too strong a phrase, but whatever. And anyway, it's hard to be so completely single when kissing is so much fun, and when there are piles of colorful awesomeness lying around. I mean really.
This appalling lack of trashy came to my attention on New Year's Eve, when Eva and I went to get dressed and while she was putting on a sparkly tank top, I was dejectedly pawing through my piles of cotton blends. It was a sad moment.
One thing I am happy about, though, [disclaimer here: I am so terrible at drawing a line when it comes to TMI and noonegivesashit and "that girl is so crazy (in a bad way)." I am aware of this. You should be aware that this is maybe one of those times where my inability to properly screen my subject matter is more apparent] is my colorful undergarments. I got some new ones via mail order while I was in Scotland, and I noticed this afternoon that the under layers I was wearing were (are) colored as follows: blue and white polka dot, plum-colored, bright yellow, and bright blue. And in the dirty clothes pile on the floor were (are) pink silk long johns with a matching shirt, and some more pink and blue and bright green and purple and "with stars" stuff. So maybe most of my normal clothes are boring and I have too strong an attachment to blue jeans and zip hoodies, but it's okay, because I'm like a mullet. Business in the front, yes?
I bought new chapstick (I use the term loosely in that I never buy Chapstick, only sticks of wax-based stuff to keep my lips from bleeding when it gets too dry out) tonight, and I didn't like it at all. This is at least the second time in a row that this has happened. Not cool. I gave it to Chloe. I've been using Burt's Bees for a while, but have been looking (out of boredom and curiosity more than dissatisfaction) for an alternative. I haven't been particularly successful, obviously.
We're throwing an engagement party for my cousin this weekend, and as trying to get me to cook or bake is generally a pretty painful experience for all involved (not that I can't; just that trying to get me to is a huge pain), my main job in all this is to paint the bathroom and not eat the freshly baked biscotti or cheese pennies or ham biscuits with pimento cheese, or whatever other delicious things get made this week, all from scratch. I'm sure that second part of the job, the not-eating-stuff part, will get harder as the week progresses, but at the moment I am feeling the irritation that is trying to scrape a bathroom that, for some unfathomably asinine reason, was painted ten years ago with flat paint. Except for the closet door frame, and one stretch of wall below the medicine cabinet, which were sensibly painted with semigloss. Whose idea was that? Flat paint, by the way, does not hold up to moisture. Like, at all. Don't f-ing paint your bathroom (or kitchen, for God's sake) with flat paint.
On the plus side, and on an entirely different note, we lost power the other day. I think some drunken idiot ran into a power pole or something, because a huge section of the neighborhood lost power on a fairly clear, non-windy evening. Obviously that isn't super great. It's "on the plus side" because I texted Jack to tell him the power was out and ask him if he needed a flashlight or extra blankets or anything, and then he came home with five snuggies. I have way too much stubborn pride to actually buy a snuggie, but damned if I'm going to let one go to waste. Also, as it turns out, a snuggie is (or seems to be) the perfect thing for my father, who is nearly always cold but doesn't like using blankets or adding lots of layers. Cozy light blanket with arms? It's the perfect compromise! I can't imagine why we didn't think of this before.
*Halfway meant to type "sparkles," but had intended to type "metallic sequins" before I stopped paying attention to what I was typing. I think I'll leave sprinkles though.
**Homeless footnote: in the interest of using this like a diary and giving myself some actual record of what's going on even when I don't feel like typing/talking about it, I should admit that I have been super emo about David lately. "Super emo" is probably far too strong a phrase, but whatever. And anyway, it's hard to be so completely single when kissing is so much fun, and when there are piles of colorful awesomeness lying around. I mean really.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
So, Scotland.
We took a van up to the airport, and we checked in for our Air France flight by an angel or something. We were upgraded to business class. I had never had much of an idea of what traveling business class would entail, but to give a basic description, it entails unbelievable awesomeness. It is, in my opinion, basically what long-distance air travel should be. Our seats were of a comfortable width, with ample leg room. Each seat reclined within its own space, so as not to affect those seated before and behind it. The food was, for the most part, rather excellent.* We were offered orange juice or champagne (or, in the case of those who couldn't make up their minds, both) after we were seated. There was a selection of complimentary wines. There were hot towels. There were extremely attractive male flight attendants. (Honestly, I suspected that they put the most attractive attendants closest to the front.) There were pillows and (sadly, quite scratchy) wool blankets, and little toiletry packets with eye masks and socks and lotion and travel toothbrushes. There were water bottles and little storage spaces for stuff. There were also individual movie screens with a selection of tv shows and movies and music and so on, but I suspect that that is fairly standard on international red-eye flights. I watched The Karate Kid remake and Inception, not in that order. The first was quite enjoyable, but I'm not going to try to argue that it was extremely high quality. I thought Inception (which I also hadn't seen) was fantastic, but after discussing it with Sara, I will admit that a lack of depth was covered up with interesting ideas like multi-level dreams. Still, I loved it, with the one exception of the stupid "oh, is it still spinning? Will it stop?" top totem shot at the end. I thought that part was a little bit stupid and unnecessary.
Anyway, I'll probably never get to travel business class again, but trust me: I savored every single moment of it.
I managed to stay perky and upbeat through our cab ride to the hotel and a bit of our tea with Sara and Ami and Brian, and then I started to crash. And then I started to get a bit irritable. And then I started to get downright angry. (This tends to happen when I don't sleep enough before leaving for a trip, and then I don't sleep on the trip, and then people tell me that I'm not even allowed to nap until nightfall.) I quietly and rather passive-agressivly ditched the giving-Sara-and-Brian-Christmas-gifts party and went and, dammit, took a nap in my room anyway. What was evidently only fifteen minutes later I felt about 60% more human, and barely conscious enough to talk myself into accompanying everyone on a stroll around the city and the Royal Mile, on the bases that 1. you only get a first day in Scotland once, and 2. Ami's visit only overlapped ours by about 24 hours. I wandered around, 15 feet behind the group, in a near-stupor with an utterly dazed expression on my face for what seemed like days. I watched the hours slide glacially past with mounting horror and a vague sense of panic. Eventually, miraculously, evening came, and I slept. I was late for breakfast (possibly I didn't sleep well? Can't remember), and sat down about five minutes before Ami left to catch her cab. We (Ami, Sara, Brian, and myself) had all spent some time together the previous night in the bar**, though, so it wasn't a total loss. We spent most of our time in Edinburgh wandering the Royal Mile, which is the mile-long (or so I gather) stretch of road connecting Edinburgh castle with the Scottish Parliament and the Queen's castle. It's pretty touristy, but it's nice. We met a schoolteacher who evidently uses his free time to dress up as William Wallace, take pictures with tourists, and flash unsuspecting bystanders with a view of the royal lion tattoo on his right buttcheek. We toured the castle, explored some shops, ate a lot of truly excellent food, and went to the Keilidh (pronounced kay-lee) at Hogmanay, which was excellent. These people know how to do fireworks, and even if the main band conspicuously lacked a fiddler, I loved the dancing.
After Edinburgh (which, I admit, was better and more eventful than I am letting on, but you're getting shafted because I'm tired and lazy) we went to Dundee to visit Sara and Brian's apartment and stomping grounds for a night. Their flat is enormous, and quite nice, even if the alley outside is loud. Very loud. I was struck with a strong urge to stay and live with them. I miss Sara a lot. :o/ All of their favorite restaurants were closed (as we should have forseen, as we were visiting on bank holidays), but we made out alright. The next morning, that being yesterday morning, we took off for a brief visit to St. Andrews and a very sleepy drive to Gullane, which is where I now sit typing.
Key points:
Scotland is beautiful.
The dollar seems far less awesome when visiting the EU, as the euro (not used here) and the GBP rather effectively cut my purchasing power nearly in half.
AMERICAN SCONES WTF. Don't eat that crap. Come to Scotland and try these.
If you aren't careful, random Indian men may or may not try to make out with you at Hogmanay.
Australians, forever underscoring the excellent rating they already have in my head, carry breath mints at Hogmanay.
Get upgraded to business class if at all possible.
Scots like thistles.
I am going to bed.
*In all fairness, I should probably note here that I almost never have problems with airline food.
**And when I say "bar," I mean a beautifully furnished and well-spaced set of rooms with an open floor plan, couches, and rather attractive*** bartenders.
***Don't judge me.
Anyway, I'll probably never get to travel business class again, but trust me: I savored every single moment of it.
I managed to stay perky and upbeat through our cab ride to the hotel and a bit of our tea with Sara and Ami and Brian, and then I started to crash. And then I started to get a bit irritable. And then I started to get downright angry. (This tends to happen when I don't sleep enough before leaving for a trip, and then I don't sleep on the trip, and then people tell me that I'm not even allowed to nap until nightfall.) I quietly and rather passive-agressivly ditched the giving-Sara-and-Brian-Christmas-gifts party and went and, dammit, took a nap in my room anyway. What was evidently only fifteen minutes later I felt about 60% more human, and barely conscious enough to talk myself into accompanying everyone on a stroll around the city and the Royal Mile, on the bases that 1. you only get a first day in Scotland once, and 2. Ami's visit only overlapped ours by about 24 hours. I wandered around, 15 feet behind the group, in a near-stupor with an utterly dazed expression on my face for what seemed like days. I watched the hours slide glacially past with mounting horror and a vague sense of panic. Eventually, miraculously, evening came, and I slept. I was late for breakfast (possibly I didn't sleep well? Can't remember), and sat down about five minutes before Ami left to catch her cab. We (Ami, Sara, Brian, and myself) had all spent some time together the previous night in the bar**, though, so it wasn't a total loss. We spent most of our time in Edinburgh wandering the Royal Mile, which is the mile-long (or so I gather) stretch of road connecting Edinburgh castle with the Scottish Parliament and the Queen's castle. It's pretty touristy, but it's nice. We met a schoolteacher who evidently uses his free time to dress up as William Wallace, take pictures with tourists, and flash unsuspecting bystanders with a view of the royal lion tattoo on his right buttcheek. We toured the castle, explored some shops, ate a lot of truly excellent food, and went to the Keilidh (pronounced kay-lee) at Hogmanay, which was excellent. These people know how to do fireworks, and even if the main band conspicuously lacked a fiddler, I loved the dancing.
After Edinburgh (which, I admit, was better and more eventful than I am letting on, but you're getting shafted because I'm tired and lazy) we went to Dundee to visit Sara and Brian's apartment and stomping grounds for a night. Their flat is enormous, and quite nice, even if the alley outside is loud. Very loud. I was struck with a strong urge to stay and live with them. I miss Sara a lot. :o/ All of their favorite restaurants were closed (as we should have forseen, as we were visiting on bank holidays), but we made out alright. The next morning, that being yesterday morning, we took off for a brief visit to St. Andrews and a very sleepy drive to Gullane, which is where I now sit typing.
Key points:
Scotland is beautiful.
The dollar seems far less awesome when visiting the EU, as the euro (not used here) and the GBP rather effectively cut my purchasing power nearly in half.
AMERICAN SCONES WTF. Don't eat that crap. Come to Scotland and try these.
If you aren't careful, random Indian men may or may not try to make out with you at Hogmanay.
Australians, forever underscoring the excellent rating they already have in my head, carry breath mints at Hogmanay.
Get upgraded to business class if at all possible.
Scots like thistles.
I am going to bed.
*In all fairness, I should probably note here that I almost never have problems with airline food.
**And when I say "bar," I mean a beautifully furnished and well-spaced set of rooms with an open floor plan, couches, and rather attractive*** bartenders.
***Don't judge me.
12/24-25.
Obviously it's been a while--if anyone was checking back in hopes of an update, I apologize. I also apologize for any odd typographical errors, as I am in Scotland at the moment. It took me a couple of minutes just to find the "@" sign so that I could sign into facebook. (Interestingly, its position is switched with that of the quotation mark.) The shift key is also a little further over than I'm used to, so that's proving to be interesting. At least all of the letters are in the same places.
Christmas was wonderful. Of course I don't remember it all at this point, but on Christmas eve Chloe and I went shopping for various things, and then went to our uncle's house to make eggnogg. I've done this for the past three years (including this one), but this was Chloe's first time coming to help. We separated a lot of eggs and mixed a lot of alchohol and honey and heavy cream. We watched bits of It's A Wonderful Life, and it's a wonderful movie. Around 11:15 we raced home to change and race to midnight mass, where my mother was singing and where we ran into some friends. I don't know how your late Christmas eves/early Christmas mornings go, but we, as usual, ended up stumbling around wrapping things and stuffing stockings and lamenting the loss of that one bag with the candy in it until around 2:30 am, at which point we gave up and fell into bed. My brother, when asked whether he had finished his wrapping, gave the vague and, as it turns out, highly appropriate answer of "sorta." Christmas morning, as we opened gifts over and between the wreckage of our breakfast dishes and stocking-gift remnants, Jack ran back and forth from his room, using the same (reusable--ha) "go-green" grocery shopping bag to "wrap" each of his gifts. Everyone gave and was given wonderful, personally chosen gifts. Our dog got an identification tag (finally), two squeak toys, and a piece of pork skin from which most of the fat had been rendered. She would not put it down for anything, for fear that we might have changed our minds. Our cat got some catnip and a catnip-scented carpet scratcher with a dangling feather attached, to which she attached herself for quite some time. She's rather difficult to shop for. We were quite excited that she liked it.
The rest of Christmas day, for the most part, passed in the usual fashion--beautiful, full of family and excellent food (and eggnog!), and then it snowed. We had been fearing a travel-restricting storm appearing before we woke on Christmas day, but the system rolled gently in while we were leaning back in our chairs and exchanging secret santa gifts all over my aunt's warm and comfortable city home. We left probably around 4:30, and I exited the house from the basement door, which opens under the porch and leads one up a set of brick stairs and out into the back yard. Walking from the cheerily and warmly lit basement out the shadowy door and up the stairs into the gently falling snow was like walking into a fairytale. It was absolutely breathtaking.
This is getting longish. Please hold for a post on Scotland, which I will write in about two minutes unless I change my mind. It happens.
Christmas was wonderful. Of course I don't remember it all at this point, but on Christmas eve Chloe and I went shopping for various things, and then went to our uncle's house to make eggnogg. I've done this for the past three years (including this one), but this was Chloe's first time coming to help. We separated a lot of eggs and mixed a lot of alchohol and honey and heavy cream. We watched bits of It's A Wonderful Life, and it's a wonderful movie. Around 11:15 we raced home to change and race to midnight mass, where my mother was singing and where we ran into some friends. I don't know how your late Christmas eves/early Christmas mornings go, but we, as usual, ended up stumbling around wrapping things and stuffing stockings and lamenting the loss of that one bag with the candy in it until around 2:30 am, at which point we gave up and fell into bed. My brother, when asked whether he had finished his wrapping, gave the vague and, as it turns out, highly appropriate answer of "sorta." Christmas morning, as we opened gifts over and between the wreckage of our breakfast dishes and stocking-gift remnants, Jack ran back and forth from his room, using the same (reusable--ha) "go-green" grocery shopping bag to "wrap" each of his gifts. Everyone gave and was given wonderful, personally chosen gifts. Our dog got an identification tag (finally), two squeak toys, and a piece of pork skin from which most of the fat had been rendered. She would not put it down for anything, for fear that we might have changed our minds. Our cat got some catnip and a catnip-scented carpet scratcher with a dangling feather attached, to which she attached herself for quite some time. She's rather difficult to shop for. We were quite excited that she liked it.
The rest of Christmas day, for the most part, passed in the usual fashion--beautiful, full of family and excellent food (and eggnog!), and then it snowed. We had been fearing a travel-restricting storm appearing before we woke on Christmas day, but the system rolled gently in while we were leaning back in our chairs and exchanging secret santa gifts all over my aunt's warm and comfortable city home. We left probably around 4:30, and I exited the house from the basement door, which opens under the porch and leads one up a set of brick stairs and out into the back yard. Walking from the cheerily and warmly lit basement out the shadowy door and up the stairs into the gently falling snow was like walking into a fairytale. It was absolutely breathtaking.
This is getting longish. Please hold for a post on Scotland, which I will write in about two minutes unless I change my mind. It happens.
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