Not.
Tomorrow is my 39th birthday.
Thirty-nine.
It’s hard to believe that I am damn-near 40 years old. Another year closer to being dead and no years closer to being the person that I always thought I’d be.
That’s a damn shame.
The problem is that I still don’t know what it is that I want to be when I grow up. The bigger problem is that I need to figure it out pretty damn quick since I am awfully, awfully close to being grown up. This, too, is a damn shame.
What a difference a year makes... This time last year I was surrounded by friends, living in a place that I knew well (and really, really liked) and I was a contributing member of society. I had a job and a social life and solid plan for my birthday. Last year I went to lunch with friends almost every day of my birthday week and had phô and chocolate cake and ahi tuna sandwiches - all within walking distance of my office.
This year, I am sitting up at nigh midnight looking up possible day trips for tomorrow - somewhere to go so that I don’t end up sitting in the living room watching a marathon of "True Hollywood Story" on E! Entertainment Television or reruns of "Two and a Half Men" while stuffing myself with bowl after bowl of Cinder Toffee ice cream and swigging hard cider from the bottle to keep from feeling sorry for myself; something to do other than clean the front room and try to put craft supplies and a hundred tech gadgets and their various peripherals into spaces that don’t exist.
There’s no solid plan for what to do tomorrow - just a bunch of suggestions, some self-pitying mewling from myself and a few half-hearted attempts by the husband to come up with a day plan. This is pissing me off. I love my birthday.
My stepfather and a good friend of mine prefer natal anniversary to birthday. My SIL asks me if I’m “x again” each time age comes up. Well, none of that horseshit for me. It’s my freakin’ birthday and I am 39. I am not coyly pretending to be some age other than the one that I've worked damn hard to reach, nor am I am couching the word "birthday" in gentler terms. I am happy to age. The alternative does not bear thinking about at the moment. I just want to celebrate my birthday.
I’d rather intended to write about how much tomorrow was going to suck since I was going to miss talking to my stepmother (who never fails to remember my birthday), but she called me this afternoon to wish me happy birthday and to talk to me before she boarded a plane to San Diego to see my sister’s 20-year Retirement ceremony from the Marines (Semper Fi!) and my older sister sent me an iCard from Apple.
Could it be a happy birthday after all?
22 February 2007
06 February 2007
A Tale of Two Mornings
Last Friday, my world looked like this:
This morning, it looked like this:
And this:
And this:
It's night now and it is -2.78°, that is below f!@#ing freezing, thanks very much.
Winter is in full swing here and for the most part it's beautiful - cold, but beautiful.
Wish you were here?
This morning, it looked like this:
And this:
And this:
It's night now and it is -2.78°, that is below f!@#ing freezing, thanks very much.
Winter is in full swing here and for the most part it's beautiful - cold, but beautiful.
Wish you were here?
05 February 2007
Ecover Squirt
My life these days seems to be a never-ending series of Sisyphusian tasks. Cook a meal, clean the kitchen, cook meal, clean kitchen, cook, clean, sunset, sunrise, repeat.
No sooner do I finish sorting a drawer, cabinet or room does something need to be mended in - or removed from - said drawer/cabinet/room. Everything that was in there needs to be shifted to some other drawer, cabinet or room, and this means rearranging everything that used to exist in that space to some other space. Arrrrrggggggggggh!
I'm reminded of an ex-boyfriend's mother who had a mastectomy and directly after her surgery she and her husband remodeled their kitchen. I remember her obsessing over really small details and parts of the process. Kitchen cabinet knobs became the thing. Should they be football shaped or moon shaped? If moon-shaped, should they be crescent moon or new moon shaped? Her husband and son became increasingly frustrated with her, wanting her to make what they felt was a simple decision.
I, on the other hand, completely sympathized.
Obsessing, er... focusing, on something that you can control - no matter how small - alleviates the need to focus on the real thing, the serious thing, the thing that's too big for your tiny, crazed, brilliant mind to encompass.
My...focus... is always cleaning some minute part of a room that is, otherwise, completely covered in crap. At the moment, that describes my entire house. People who know me will know that this is not a comfortable state of affairs for me. So, tonight it was the bottom shelf of a bookshelf. I got down on the floor on my hands and knees, sprayed the shelf with cleaner and then scrubbed the thing within an inch of its life. Behind me, there is an ottoman covered in sheet protectors filled with embellishments for card making and scrapbook pages, a furry alpaca pillow that has yet to find a home in any of the chairs that we own, my knitting bag that is (quite literally) overflowing with yarn and knitting accoutrements and a plastic storage container that has various archival adhesives in it.
My bookshelf shelf is gleaming. I could eat my evening meal off of that thing. Do I care that can't see the floor in the rest of the room? You bet your sweet ass I do. I am, however, choosing to ignore it.
Ooh, wait, look, there's a speck of dust left on the back edge. Let me just get that...
No sooner do I finish sorting a drawer, cabinet or room does something need to be mended in - or removed from - said drawer/cabinet/room. Everything that was in there needs to be shifted to some other drawer, cabinet or room, and this means rearranging everything that used to exist in that space to some other space. Arrrrrggggggggggh!
I'm reminded of an ex-boyfriend's mother who had a mastectomy and directly after her surgery she and her husband remodeled their kitchen. I remember her obsessing over really small details and parts of the process. Kitchen cabinet knobs became the thing. Should they be football shaped or moon shaped? If moon-shaped, should they be crescent moon or new moon shaped? Her husband and son became increasingly frustrated with her, wanting her to make what they felt was a simple decision.
I, on the other hand, completely sympathized.
Obsessing, er... focusing, on something that you can control - no matter how small - alleviates the need to focus on the real thing, the serious thing, the thing that's too big for your tiny, crazed, brilliant mind to encompass.
My...focus... is always cleaning some minute part of a room that is, otherwise, completely covered in crap. At the moment, that describes my entire house. People who know me will know that this is not a comfortable state of affairs for me. So, tonight it was the bottom shelf of a bookshelf. I got down on the floor on my hands and knees, sprayed the shelf with cleaner and then scrubbed the thing within an inch of its life. Behind me, there is an ottoman covered in sheet protectors filled with embellishments for card making and scrapbook pages, a furry alpaca pillow that has yet to find a home in any of the chairs that we own, my knitting bag that is (quite literally) overflowing with yarn and knitting accoutrements and a plastic storage container that has various archival adhesives in it.
My bookshelf shelf is gleaming. I could eat my evening meal off of that thing. Do I care that can't see the floor in the rest of the room? You bet your sweet ass I do. I am, however, choosing to ignore it.
Ooh, wait, look, there's a speck of dust left on the back edge. Let me just get that...
25 January 2007
Ward 35
We went to visit my MIL today in hospital. She had a mastectomy this afternoon.She was cheerful enough when we went to visit and much like herself - she wanted a sherry, so we were pretty sure that she was fine.
I have to admit that I was concerned. I wasn't sure what it would be like when we visited her. A breast is so much part of being a woman that I was unsure - even for myself - how it would be to see her after she had one of hers removed.
I don't know what I would do. Sometimes I have a hard time looking at myself in the mirror now. One doesn't always love what one sees. I can't imagine what it would be like to look down and see a scar where my breast used to be and know that it had been taken by something so very far beyond my control.
It's such a dirty thing, cancer. You want to whisper it, like the mother in "Saint Elmo's Fire." It's not something that you can just say "get well soon!" to or something that they have greeting cards for. I mean, it's not like you can run over to Papyrus and pick up a card for cancer patients with pithy little sentiments like "Hope your cells don't spread!" on it.
My MIL wants to go to her own home afterwards. I guess she wants to take her time getting used to the "new" her in a quiet and (I think, maybe) controlled environment. I wish that my SIL would let her do just that. If it were me, I know I'd want some time to myself - time to wallow if I needed it, time to adjust - without the hustle and bustle of someone else's house, someone else's schedule.
Well, until you get back home and can sit in front of the fire and have a glass of sherry yourself, mum, I'll have one in you honor.
My thoughts and prayers - and for the moment, my liver - are with you.
Cheers.
22 January 2007
Who's Afraid of Victoria Beckham?
Tom Cruise is. Or he should be.
It's cold here. Cold.
Currently it's 3º here now. I'm not sure if that's the high or the low for today, but roughly 37º is low for me, no matter how you look at it. Tomorrow, the high will be 2º and the low is slated to be 0º.
Like I said, cold.
Still, not as frosty as the reception that Mrs. Beckham apparently gave Tom Cruise when he offered her husband an intro all that is wrong and unholy.
Unlike 99.9% of people in the UK, I knew there was a reason to like her.
It's cold here. Cold.
Currently it's 3º here now. I'm not sure if that's the high or the low for today, but roughly 37º is low for me, no matter how you look at it. Tomorrow, the high will be 2º and the low is slated to be 0º.
Like I said, cold.
Still, not as frosty as the reception that Mrs. Beckham apparently gave Tom Cruise when he offered her husband an intro all that is wrong and unholy.
Unlike 99.9% of people in the UK, I knew there was a reason to like her.
19 January 2007
And They Call the Wind...
Okay, okay. So it's midnight-thirty and I am not in the bed. But for good reason tonight. I've stayed up a little while longer so that I write this post.
All the world seems to be experiencing weird weather...severe weather. And the northwest of England was no exception.
My SIL, my niece and I headed out to Preston to do some shopping - they were getting outfits for a wedding and I wanted a Jamie Oliver Flavour Shaker. Ridiculous, I know, but true.
Well, the wind last night was definitely what one would call "howling." You could hear it through any small crack in the house - through the windows, through the doors - it was awful. The shopping trip was planned for today (yesterday) and I was thinking of calling them to tell them that I didn't want to go. I was sure it wouldn't be much fun in that kind of weather.
When you're right, you're right.
We were only out for about 4 hours, and that includes travel time. It was horrific.
I talked my SIL into parking a bit closer today, thinking that fighting the wind would be un-amusing. When you're right...
We shopped in one store, where we were all unsuccessful in our endeavors, so we headed up the high (main) street to try our luck in some other shops. Big mistake. We three were windblown and disheveled before we got to the corner of the one block that we walked - our lips were chapped, our cheeks had the blush of the wind-worn; we were not cute. All the while, my niece and I were dreaming of Starbucks and warmth and Belgian chocolate brownies (as a reward for suffering through whinging and moaning as my SIL found nothing that she either liked or wanted in shop after freakin' shop. In point of fact, she probably wasn't moaning. The niece and I were just bitter and stinging from the fact that my SIL wouldn't let us be our own worst enemies and eat fudge- and caramel-filled donuts, even though we really, really wanted them).
As we walked back towards four-pump vanilla latte goodness, we noticed that there was a rather extensive and disturbing police presence along the high street. We thought, "Robbery" (there are a bunch of jewelry stores on that street), then we thought, "Heart attack" (there were a bunch of old people walking around in gale force winds being blown into the sides of buildings, so sue us), then we noticed that there was rubble in the street next to a brick building and we thought, "Shit! There's rubble from a brick building in the street." It was then that we noticed how all of the shops were shut and that police were
waving us away from the doors in an effort to save us from potential falling tiles and flying Accrington brick. But they were also shooing me away from my beloved latte-brownie fix and my niece away from matte perfection. Not fair. It was so close. We could see it.
And so the bitching began. We couldn't go back into the store we wanted to go into, my SIL and niece couldn't get their make-up and I couldn't have caffeine - it wasn't going to be good for anybody.
We complained all the way back to the car. We complained all the way home in the car. We complained while we drank instant coffee in the kitchen after we got out of the car.
And then we saw the news.
Nine people died as the UK was pummeled by storms from one end of
the country to the other. There were 78 MPH winds, ferry services were cancelled, train services were suspended and flights were indefinitely delayed in nearly every major airport (with flights already in the air being lucky to land at all). Trees were felled, piers and seacoasts were battered by walls of water and roads were covered in water, snow or sand.
I'm sorry, what were we complaining about again? I couldn't have a designer coffee? My niece and SIL couldn't have new Nars foundation? Seriously, what is wrong with us?!
My SIL's house escaped relatively unscathed (a few roof tiles missing) and our house went untouched - all roof tiles, windows and cats accounted for (though our front and back garden fences didn't fare quite as well, as there is one
small section missing from each). The same couldn't be said for everyone.
I'll have to make a better check of the house and the garden tomorrow when it's light.
For now, the wind has died down and it's quiet outside.
Forecast for Friday: light rain and westerly winds of about 10 MPH. That's much better than it's been.
Still, poor little pup.
All the world seems to be experiencing weird weather...severe weather. And the northwest of England was no exception.
My SIL, my niece and I headed out to Preston to do some shopping - they were getting outfits for a wedding and I wanted a Jamie Oliver Flavour Shaker. Ridiculous, I know, but true.
Well, the wind last night was definitely what one would call "howling." You could hear it through any small crack in the house - through the windows, through the doors - it was awful. The shopping trip was planned for today (yesterday) and I was thinking of calling them to tell them that I didn't want to go. I was sure it wouldn't be much fun in that kind of weather.
When you're right, you're right.
We were only out for about 4 hours, and that includes travel time. It was horrific.
I talked my SIL into parking a bit closer today, thinking that fighting the wind would be un-amusing. When you're right...
We shopped in one store, where we were all unsuccessful in our endeavors, so we headed up the high (main) street to try our luck in some other shops. Big mistake. We three were windblown and disheveled before we got to the corner of the one block that we walked - our lips were chapped, our cheeks had the blush of the wind-worn; we were not cute. All the while, my niece and I were dreaming of Starbucks and warmth and Belgian chocolate brownies (as a reward for suffering through whinging and moaning as my SIL found nothing that she either liked or wanted in shop after freakin' shop. In point of fact, she probably wasn't moaning. The niece and I were just bitter and stinging from the fact that my SIL wouldn't let us be our own worst enemies and eat fudge- and caramel-filled donuts, even though we really, really wanted them).
As we walked back towards four-pump vanilla latte goodness, we noticed that there was a rather extensive and disturbing police presence along the high street. We thought, "Robbery" (there are a bunch of jewelry stores on that street), then we thought, "Heart attack" (there were a bunch of old people walking around in gale force winds being blown into the sides of buildings, so sue us), then we noticed that there was rubble in the street next to a brick building and we thought, "Shit! There's rubble from a brick building in the street." It was then that we noticed how all of the shops were shut and that police were
waving us away from the doors in an effort to save us from potential falling tiles and flying Accrington brick. But they were also shooing me away from my beloved latte-brownie fix and my niece away from matte perfection. Not fair. It was so close. We could see it.And so the bitching began. We couldn't go back into the store we wanted to go into, my SIL and niece couldn't get their make-up and I couldn't have caffeine - it wasn't going to be good for anybody.
We complained all the way back to the car. We complained all the way home in the car. We complained while we drank instant coffee in the kitchen after we got out of the car.
And then we saw the news.
Nine people died as the UK was pummeled by storms from one end of
the country to the other. There were 78 MPH winds, ferry services were cancelled, train services were suspended and flights were indefinitely delayed in nearly every major airport (with flights already in the air being lucky to land at all). Trees were felled, piers and seacoasts were battered by walls of water and roads were covered in water, snow or sand. I'm sorry, what were we complaining about again? I couldn't have a designer coffee? My niece and SIL couldn't have new Nars foundation? Seriously, what is wrong with us?!
My SIL's house escaped relatively unscathed (a few roof tiles missing) and our house went untouched - all roof tiles, windows and cats accounted for (though our front and back garden fences didn't fare quite as well, as there is one
small section missing from each). The same couldn't be said for everyone.I'll have to make a better check of the house and the garden tomorrow when it's light.
For now, the wind has died down and it's quiet outside.
Forecast for Friday: light rain and westerly winds of about 10 MPH. That's much better than it's been.
Still, poor little pup.
16 January 2007
Twenty-Four Hour Shopping...Rapture
It's 1 AM and I just returned home from grocery shopping (god bless the 24-hour Megalomart).
It's no secret that I need to go to sleep. I went to the grocery store for some sleep tabs. Did I get them? No. They were out of the ones that I wanted. Mind you, they had something called Kalms, but I couldn't buy them because I distrust any product (or establishment, for that matter) that feels that substituting a K for a C is a responsible solution to branding. In case you're wondering, it's not.
I went for one thing...one thing.
Instead of sleep tabs, I got:
For some weird reason I am reminded of Johnny Depp in that episode of 21 Jump Street where his girlfriend gets shot during a convenience store robbery and he obsesses over the number of things that he can do in the same amount of time it took the whole thing to happen. I'm obessed with the number of hours, minutes, seconds of sleep that I can get if I go to bed right now or, in turn, all of things that I could accomplish in that same amount of time. Would that I knew how to plaster and wallpaper. Or sew. How I wish now that I'd bought the Rosetta Stone DVDs - I'd be nigh to fluent in Italian by now.
Later today my sister-in-law and I are accompanying my mother-in-law to her pre-op appointment. She told me a week ago today that she has breast cancer. She found the lump before Christmas, but didn't tell us until then because she didn't want to ruin the holidays.
Mothers always do stuff like that.
It's knowledge that keeps a body awake, that's for sure.
It's no secret that I need to go to sleep. I went to the grocery store for some sleep tabs. Did I get them? No. They were out of the ones that I wanted. Mind you, they had something called Kalms, but I couldn't buy them because I distrust any product (or establishment, for that matter) that feels that substituting a K for a C is a responsible solution to branding. In case you're wondering, it's not.
I went for one thing...one thing.
Instead of sleep tabs, I got:
- 6 Bottles of Still Water
- Alaskan Salmon Filets
- Venison Steaks
- Asparagus Tips
- Red Bell Peppers
- 18 Rolls of Toilet Tissue (half price!)
- Cherries
- Dried Fruit
- Pineapple Chunks
- Blackberries
- Organic Blueberries
- Sweet Potatoes
- Macadamia Nuts
- Rare-Breed, naturally pastel-colored Eggs
- Goat's Milk Yogurt
- Potato Chips (Mature Cheddar and Caramelized Onion)
- Distilled Vinegar
- Organic Brown Sugar
- 2 Pains Au Chocolat
- 1 Pecan Plait
- A Cutlery Tray, Dish Drainer and Laundry Hamper
- A Nail Cleaner and Compact Mirror
- 2 Shoe Boxes (with lids)
- A Clothes Airer
- A Bouclé Door Mat
- and
- 5 Bags for Life (plastice, reusble, bags that Tesco will replace for life for free)
For some weird reason I am reminded of Johnny Depp in that episode of 21 Jump Street where his girlfriend gets shot during a convenience store robbery and he obsesses over the number of things that he can do in the same amount of time it took the whole thing to happen. I'm obessed with the number of hours, minutes, seconds of sleep that I can get if I go to bed right now or, in turn, all of things that I could accomplish in that same amount of time. Would that I knew how to plaster and wallpaper. Or sew. How I wish now that I'd bought the Rosetta Stone DVDs - I'd be nigh to fluent in Italian by now.
Later today my sister-in-law and I are accompanying my mother-in-law to her pre-op appointment. She told me a week ago today that she has breast cancer. She found the lump before Christmas, but didn't tell us until then because she didn't want to ruin the holidays.
Mothers always do stuff like that.
It's knowledge that keeps a body awake, that's for sure.
15 January 2007
To Sleep, Perchance
Fuck.
It's 7 AM - past 7 AM - and I have yet to go to sleep.
When is this going to end?
I have spent yet another evening trolling the net, looking for sites to add to the links section of my blog and for knitting inspiration that would entice me into picking up the needles and try something, anything, for goodness sakes.
Perhaps I would be able to think of something if I could think. This lack of sleep is beginning to wear me down. I have no energy, no desire to go out of doors. Crafting with a friend today was a major accomplishment - I not only had a shower (you don't know how rare that is these days), I left the house. You know, got in the car and went to a place that wasn't the market or to visit my mother-in-law. Those trips don't count: both were necessities and duty. And I'm not convinced that I showered either of those days.
I find that I have to make a list of things to get done so that I can remember just to do the basics of a day. I'm no stranger to lists (I love them!), but I wasn't expecting to have to make lists to remind myself what to do when I got out of bed each day until I was well into my 70s. Distressing.
Ah, finally. I am beginning to yawn and my eye lids are finally feeling heavy. I'll take advantage of the moment and head to bed now.
It helps that it still looks like the dead of night outside.
To sleep, perchance before dawn.
It's 7 AM - past 7 AM - and I have yet to go to sleep.
When is this going to end?
I have spent yet another evening trolling the net, looking for sites to add to the links section of my blog and for knitting inspiration that would entice me into picking up the needles and try something, anything, for goodness sakes.
Perhaps I would be able to think of something if I could think. This lack of sleep is beginning to wear me down. I have no energy, no desire to go out of doors. Crafting with a friend today was a major accomplishment - I not only had a shower (you don't know how rare that is these days), I left the house. You know, got in the car and went to a place that wasn't the market or to visit my mother-in-law. Those trips don't count: both were necessities and duty. And I'm not convinced that I showered either of those days.
I find that I have to make a list of things to get done so that I can remember just to do the basics of a day. I'm no stranger to lists (I love them!), but I wasn't expecting to have to make lists to remind myself what to do when I got out of bed each day until I was well into my 70s. Distressing.
Ah, finally. I am beginning to yawn and my eye lids are finally feeling heavy. I'll take advantage of the moment and head to bed now.
It helps that it still looks like the dead of night outside.
To sleep, perchance before dawn.
14 January 2007
iPhone, My Ass
While everyone is busy coveting the new iPhone, I'm dreaming of affordable luxuries that will make my life and life with my laptop computer easier.
I am always on the lookout for new softy-shiny that I can use to (temporarily) sate my gadget jones. While cruising a couple of style blogs last night, I came across this by Belkin. It's designed by Mike & Maaike (Mike & Mike, anyone?!), who have designed some other nifty-looking products, and is available on the Belkin site.
Isn't it beautiful?! So rounded and squishy and Kermit-like. And it can keep scratches off my Precious?!
This thing even has storage for my power cord so that I don't have to hand carry the cord from room to room while I'm roaming with my laptop.
It's freakin' genius, I tell you.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I think that the iPhone is truly revolutionary. And those of you who know me know that my Pavlovian response to all things Apple will not allow me to exist for long without the addition of said revolutionary gadget to my technological menagerie.
I've seen plenty of sites and blogs that mention the iPhone and how sweeeeet it is, but if you want to see a demo of the phone itself, as well as Steve Jobs demonstrating "The Pinch," check out iPhoneFreak.
I'm not proud - I'll admit it - I made the noise when I watched SJ demonstrate "The Pinch." I think you will, too.
13 January 2007
Whole New You... I mean, Me
I had already decided that this would be the year of me. I had decided that I was going to make the changes I need (want) to make in myself, for myself, so that I can go back to being myself.
I started journaling again and I started posting again. When I looked at my blog I was disappointed in the progress that I hadn't made in year since I started this: I hadn't posted a photo in (I don't know how many) months and I still had those damn default links in the sidebar. It was shameful.
Enter the new drag-n-drop Blogger. Now, I am good at dragging and dropping. Having worked at the Big Red A for 6 years, I knew from drag and drop. So I figured that I could finally make some of the changes that I have been wanting (needing) to make since I started this.
So, I'm putting the insomnia to use (I'm writing this at 5:30 AM) and I've spent this morning adding links and new sections to my blog. I've given it a new name to reflect that that blog will be about more than just my knitting projects and I'm actually posting for the third time in as many days. I like the new look of, and the fact that there is actual content on, my blog. Hope you do, too.
Go get 'em, tiger. Rrowr.
I started journaling again and I started posting again. When I looked at my blog I was disappointed in the progress that I hadn't made in year since I started this: I hadn't posted a photo in (I don't know how many) months and I still had those damn default links in the sidebar. It was shameful.
Enter the new drag-n-drop Blogger. Now, I am good at dragging and dropping. Having worked at the Big Red A for 6 years, I knew from drag and drop. So I figured that I could finally make some of the changes that I have been wanting (needing) to make since I started this.
So, I'm putting the insomnia to use (I'm writing this at 5:30 AM) and I've spent this morning adding links and new sections to my blog. I've given it a new name to reflect that that blog will be about more than just my knitting projects and I'm actually posting for the third time in as many days. I like the new look of, and the fact that there is actual content on, my blog. Hope you do, too.
Go get 'em, tiger. Rrowr.
12 January 2007
The V Sign
In England you don't flip people the bird, you flash the V sign instead. It's the same gesture as the Peace sign, but your palm is facing you. It's better if you gesture upwards quickly, in a kind of jerking motion; it makes more of an impact.
I want to give the V sign to drivers here in England all the time.
It's winter now and that means that it starts to get dark at about 4 o'clock PM... on a good day. If it's cold and rainy and grey during the day, it feels like the sun has taken to its bed even earlier. It can be as good as night at 3 in the afternoon.
Dark at 3 PM. Yay!
Tuesday was Stitch 'N Bitch so I drove myself to Lytham - a pretty little village about 15 miles away from where I live. Since we don't meet until 5, the drive now is along a dark, narrow, winding, two-car back country road with a low, brick wall on one side and oncoming traffic on the other.
Now, to get the "feel" of this drive, you have to imagine that you're driving along a two-lane, wending, twisting, undulating country road. There is no center divider, no barrier of any kind. There are no street lights. Each and every vehicle of oncoming traffic is cutting the corner on each and every curve, crossing the dividing line and driving into your lane. All of them - huge semis, all manner of farm vehicle, souped-up boy racers, hand-powered bicycles, slow-moving Smart cars driven by old people with dodgy reflexes - all of them. Just to save a nanosecond per curve. Damn the fact that to your left is said low, brick wall (masked in places by privet or yew hedges and built, apparently, by Hadrian to keep out advancing Barbarians and errant sheep) separated from you and the road by only the merest lip of a curb. It's like being a newbie NASCAR driver - you'd better know how to hold your line if you want to stay off that wall!
Oh, and did I mention that there is a white Ford Transit van driving so far up your ass that - should you be crazy enough to apply your brakes - you'd be able to see the red tip of the cigarette that the ham-fisted, North Yorkshire lad behind you is smoking and take comfort in the knowledge that he's doing so with one nicotine-stained hand because he's using the other to glue a mobile phone to his pasty, cauliflower ear?!
Okay, that's not quite fair... it could be a Citroën Relay.
If it wasn't, like, African plains dark, I'd be flipping people the bird left and right. Wouldn't make any difference - I keep forgetting that I'm supposed to flash the V sign.
I want to give the V sign to drivers here in England all the time.
It's winter now and that means that it starts to get dark at about 4 o'clock PM... on a good day. If it's cold and rainy and grey during the day, it feels like the sun has taken to its bed even earlier. It can be as good as night at 3 in the afternoon.
Dark at 3 PM. Yay!
Tuesday was Stitch 'N Bitch so I drove myself to Lytham - a pretty little village about 15 miles away from where I live. Since we don't meet until 5, the drive now is along a dark, narrow, winding, two-car back country road with a low, brick wall on one side and oncoming traffic on the other.
Now, to get the "feel" of this drive, you have to imagine that you're driving along a two-lane, wending, twisting, undulating country road. There is no center divider, no barrier of any kind. There are no street lights. Each and every vehicle of oncoming traffic is cutting the corner on each and every curve, crossing the dividing line and driving into your lane. All of them - huge semis, all manner of farm vehicle, souped-up boy racers, hand-powered bicycles, slow-moving Smart cars driven by old people with dodgy reflexes - all of them. Just to save a nanosecond per curve. Damn the fact that to your left is said low, brick wall (masked in places by privet or yew hedges and built, apparently, by Hadrian to keep out advancing Barbarians and errant sheep) separated from you and the road by only the merest lip of a curb. It's like being a newbie NASCAR driver - you'd better know how to hold your line if you want to stay off that wall!
Oh, and did I mention that there is a white Ford Transit van driving so far up your ass that - should you be crazy enough to apply your brakes - you'd be able to see the red tip of the cigarette that the ham-fisted, North Yorkshire lad behind you is smoking and take comfort in the knowledge that he's doing so with one nicotine-stained hand because he's using the other to glue a mobile phone to his pasty, cauliflower ear?!
Okay, that's not quite fair... it could be a Citroën Relay.
If it wasn't, like, African plains dark, I'd be flipping people the bird left and right. Wouldn't make any difference - I keep forgetting that I'm supposed to flash the V sign.
11 January 2007
Insomniac Theatre
It's 4 A.M. and I'm awake and listening to the wind howl through the trees and the rain whip against my windows.
I'm awake and don't know if it's insomnia or jet lag or a combination of the two. All I know is that there's nothing on T.V., it's too early (literally) to start drinking and I don't have the ingredients to make beef wellington, so I'm at loose ends.
Being at loose ends isn't unusual for me these days. For the last 7 months I have been lamenting the fact that I haven't really had much to do. Well, it's high time I took matters into my own hands.
Tuesday at my knitting group I asked a friend to help me with my Curriculum Vitae (CV), which is the European version of a résumé, so that I can start putting it out. It was a pretty big step. I've been telling people (and myself, really) that my CV has been in the works almost since I got here, but looking at a hard copy of my old resume (and the résumés of a couple of former co-workers) doesn't actually count as working on my CV - that much I know.
I also asked that same friend if she wanted to do some card making and scrapbooking together. In a place where most people are very insular and already well-established in their social circles, I've found it much harder than normal to make friends. This is unusual for me. I'm comfortable with my own company; I don't mind having time to read or watch a movie in peace (I do so hate it when people talk during a movie), but one can only do nothing by one's self for just so long before seppuku begins to sounds like a viable option. I miss my friends. I miss having friends. The only company I have most of the time is my cat. Look, I'm not faulting Zoe, it's not that she isn't great company - she's sweet and funny, easily amused by insects and purrs when she eats (part of the being funny thing) - she just isn't much of a talker. Which is both a good and a bad thing, I guess, but it does strain the relationship. I'd like to be able to go out of a Saturday afternoon, visit with someone who isn't related (even if just by marriage) to me.
Being bored here is partly (okay, mostly) my own fault. I've been doing less than I could, and certainly less than I should. I need to do something with the veritable cornucopia of time that I have on my hands and no one, honestly, can do anything about that but me.
I'm awake and don't know if it's insomnia or jet lag or a combination of the two. All I know is that there's nothing on T.V., it's too early (literally) to start drinking and I don't have the ingredients to make beef wellington, so I'm at loose ends.
Being at loose ends isn't unusual for me these days. For the last 7 months I have been lamenting the fact that I haven't really had much to do. Well, it's high time I took matters into my own hands.
Tuesday at my knitting group I asked a friend to help me with my Curriculum Vitae (CV), which is the European version of a résumé, so that I can start putting it out. It was a pretty big step. I've been telling people (and myself, really) that my CV has been in the works almost since I got here, but looking at a hard copy of my old resume (and the résumés of a couple of former co-workers) doesn't actually count as working on my CV - that much I know.
I also asked that same friend if she wanted to do some card making and scrapbooking together. In a place where most people are very insular and already well-established in their social circles, I've found it much harder than normal to make friends. This is unusual for me. I'm comfortable with my own company; I don't mind having time to read or watch a movie in peace (I do so hate it when people talk during a movie), but one can only do nothing by one's self for just so long before seppuku begins to sounds like a viable option. I miss my friends. I miss having friends. The only company I have most of the time is my cat. Look, I'm not faulting Zoe, it's not that she isn't great company - she's sweet and funny, easily amused by insects and purrs when she eats (part of the being funny thing) - she just isn't much of a talker. Which is both a good and a bad thing, I guess, but it does strain the relationship. I'd like to be able to go out of a Saturday afternoon, visit with someone who isn't related (even if just by marriage) to me.
Being bored here is partly (okay, mostly) my own fault. I've been doing less than I could, and certainly less than I should. I need to do something with the veritable cornucopia of time that I have on my hands and no one, honestly, can do anything about that but me.
09 November 2006
Woo-Hoo
What a happy, happy day!
The election results in the States are back (well most of them anyway) and the Democrats are winning! Currently they control the House and the Senate. When I say currently, I mean right this second, as I am writing this. Let's hope it sticks.
The weather turned yesterday - it started to rain, as I knew it would because today is bin day. Save for a couple of times this summer, it has rained every damn time that I've had to take out either the trash or the recycling. Every damn time. All the rest of the week: sunshine, breezy, glorious brisk Autumn weather; bin day: bloody rain.
I spent most of the day cleaning. I cleaned out the drawers of a French bombe dresser so that I could finally move the last of my clothes out of the plastic drawers that have been serving as my dresser for the better part of the last six months. It was time to move my things into a big girl dresser and today I did just that. I was very pleased with myself. Pleased that I got one more thing checked off the list, pleased that I got the last of the things I needed to get out of my side of The World's Ugliest Built-In Wardrobes, so that I could have someone come in and rip those ugly mothers out, so that I can start sleeping in peace without them looking at me. They creep me out, those wardrobes, they are vile and I don't know how they got there. Someone has bad taste. Not me, they were there when I got here.
One more thing checked off the list. Bush kicked into touch.
Happy day.
The election results in the States are back (well most of them anyway) and the Democrats are winning! Currently they control the House and the Senate. When I say currently, I mean right this second, as I am writing this. Let's hope it sticks.
The weather turned yesterday - it started to rain, as I knew it would because today is bin day. Save for a couple of times this summer, it has rained every damn time that I've had to take out either the trash or the recycling. Every damn time. All the rest of the week: sunshine, breezy, glorious brisk Autumn weather; bin day: bloody rain.
I spent most of the day cleaning. I cleaned out the drawers of a French bombe dresser so that I could finally move the last of my clothes out of the plastic drawers that have been serving as my dresser for the better part of the last six months. It was time to move my things into a big girl dresser and today I did just that. I was very pleased with myself. Pleased that I got one more thing checked off the list, pleased that I got the last of the things I needed to get out of my side of The World's Ugliest Built-In Wardrobes, so that I could have someone come in and rip those ugly mothers out, so that I can start sleeping in peace without them looking at me. They creep me out, those wardrobes, they are vile and I don't know how they got there. Someone has bad taste. Not me, they were there when I got here.
One more thing checked off the list. Bush kicked into touch.
Happy day.
06 November 2006
Long Days Journey Into Putney
London is a very long way from where I live. The most direct train leaves the city of Preston, which is 25 minutes away from the village where I live, and arrives in London 2 hours and 45 minutes later.
And that's the train that doesn't stop before London Euston.
I know, I know, it isn't really all that far away - it's closer than Sacramento is to San Jose by train - it's all psychological; it just emphasizes how far away this very little village is from all things modern and metropolitan. I live in Blue Rinse Central, or in my own WB-esque sense of humor, Oldville.
Oldville is nothing like Smallville - no meteor shower has ever bestowed special powers on the people of this town, there are no hunky supermen, no weirdo billionaires, but there are dozens of overly-made up, crackpot wannabe-vixens.
I hadn't fully realized the implication of living in such a small village, with such an elderly population until I started going about my day-to-day activities. You see, the upside to not working is that you can get your shopping done during the day - Scottish raspberries, mackerel fillets, fruit, veg and pikelets and you're on the way back home before 11 a.m. The downside to shopping during the day when you live in Old Wrinklyville is that it takes from 9 a.m. until 11 a.m. to get those things because you spend 65 percent more time trying to navigate aisles that are clogged with tottering old betties desperately trying not to clean their own clocks with jars of pickled onions or potted beef. Their shopping trolleys are cocked at odd angles and the aisles look strangely reminiscent of the parking lot. Very old men are attempting to take direction from equally old women who are trying to determine the actual number of canned peaches you get per pence and whether they should splurge on the market brand or a more generic (if possible, and it is!) brand. Neither can hear the other, she can't walk over to the other side of the aisle and he can't read the can, they are too far apart to hand things to one another and all I want is my damn Carob Crunch made by a carbon-neutral, environmentally-friendly company so that I can get to the meat aisle and get wafer-thin organic ham before they run out (not bloody likely!). Hrrrrumph!
So, despite the fact that it takes nigh three hours to get there by train - made longer by the fact that if I don't rush onto the train and nab one of the few unreserved seats I'll have to stand the entire way - I headed off to London to have a hair consultation, visit a yarn shop that I'd found on the net and get the hell out of Oldville for a while.
The hair consultation was fine. I made an appointment for two days later an am looking forward to having something other than braids for a while. My own hair is a little too long to braid it into the style that I like, so it's time to make a change.
The real treat was Stash. Man, have I missed good yarns shops. The Yanks reading this will be pleased and amused to know that the one shop I've found that I really like is owned by an American (America, Fuck Yeah!). They actually carry Malabrigo and Misti Alpaca. They have Koigu and yarns by Tilli Thomas that are unreal - silk with Swarovski crystal beads or semi-precious stones. Here's hoping they make it to Stitches West! I must warn you though; it's spendy yarn - £75/skein for some of the yarns. Yowza. The women who worked there were quite nice, stayed open late for myself and one other customer, let me walk in off the street and wind my own yarn, troll through their books and even gave me guidance for a pattern when I came in and said that I was looking for a pattern for a specific yarn instead of the other way around. It was well worth the trip.
The shop is in Putney, South London and I have to say that I enjoyed South London a great deal more than I did Central London. My earlier excursion sent me to the Oxford Circus station and it was ridiculous. Not the good ridiculous as Karen Tanner usually means it, but ridiculous in the usual OED sense. It was like a caricature of what people who have never been to the Big City expect it to be.
While I was in Putney, I decided to take a later train and have dinner by myself at Pizza Express, which I'd spied on the way down to Stash. I thumbed through a copy of Selvedge and enjoyed the Padana pizza, which was excellent. It's something I am looking forward to on my next visit to Stash.
Back on the tube, I got to London Euston just in time to miss the train to Preston (and to learn that I had an hour to wait), but in time to find that there is a Krispy Kreme stand at the station - crazy. I had a latte and the last Belgian Chocolate brownie at Starbucks, sat in the cool night air listening to people I couldn't quite see laugh and talk and waited for my train. As I said, well worth the trip.
And that's the train that doesn't stop before London Euston.
I know, I know, it isn't really all that far away - it's closer than Sacramento is to San Jose by train - it's all psychological; it just emphasizes how far away this very little village is from all things modern and metropolitan. I live in Blue Rinse Central, or in my own WB-esque sense of humor, Oldville.
Oldville is nothing like Smallville - no meteor shower has ever bestowed special powers on the people of this town, there are no hunky supermen, no weirdo billionaires, but there are dozens of overly-made up, crackpot wannabe-vixens.
I hadn't fully realized the implication of living in such a small village, with such an elderly population until I started going about my day-to-day activities. You see, the upside to not working is that you can get your shopping done during the day - Scottish raspberries, mackerel fillets, fruit, veg and pikelets and you're on the way back home before 11 a.m. The downside to shopping during the day when you live in Old Wrinklyville is that it takes from 9 a.m. until 11 a.m. to get those things because you spend 65 percent more time trying to navigate aisles that are clogged with tottering old betties desperately trying not to clean their own clocks with jars of pickled onions or potted beef. Their shopping trolleys are cocked at odd angles and the aisles look strangely reminiscent of the parking lot. Very old men are attempting to take direction from equally old women who are trying to determine the actual number of canned peaches you get per pence and whether they should splurge on the market brand or a more generic (if possible, and it is!) brand. Neither can hear the other, she can't walk over to the other side of the aisle and he can't read the can, they are too far apart to hand things to one another and all I want is my damn Carob Crunch made by a carbon-neutral, environmentally-friendly company so that I can get to the meat aisle and get wafer-thin organic ham before they run out (not bloody likely!). Hrrrrumph!
So, despite the fact that it takes nigh three hours to get there by train - made longer by the fact that if I don't rush onto the train and nab one of the few unreserved seats I'll have to stand the entire way - I headed off to London to have a hair consultation, visit a yarn shop that I'd found on the net and get the hell out of Oldville for a while.
The hair consultation was fine. I made an appointment for two days later an am looking forward to having something other than braids for a while. My own hair is a little too long to braid it into the style that I like, so it's time to make a change.
The real treat was Stash. Man, have I missed good yarns shops. The Yanks reading this will be pleased and amused to know that the one shop I've found that I really like is owned by an American (America, Fuck Yeah!). They actually carry Malabrigo and Misti Alpaca. They have Koigu and yarns by Tilli Thomas that are unreal - silk with Swarovski crystal beads or semi-precious stones. Here's hoping they make it to Stitches West! I must warn you though; it's spendy yarn - £75/skein for some of the yarns. Yowza. The women who worked there were quite nice, stayed open late for myself and one other customer, let me walk in off the street and wind my own yarn, troll through their books and even gave me guidance for a pattern when I came in and said that I was looking for a pattern for a specific yarn instead of the other way around. It was well worth the trip.
The shop is in Putney, South London and I have to say that I enjoyed South London a great deal more than I did Central London. My earlier excursion sent me to the Oxford Circus station and it was ridiculous. Not the good ridiculous as Karen Tanner usually means it, but ridiculous in the usual OED sense. It was like a caricature of what people who have never been to the Big City expect it to be.
While I was in Putney, I decided to take a later train and have dinner by myself at Pizza Express, which I'd spied on the way down to Stash. I thumbed through a copy of Selvedge and enjoyed the Padana pizza, which was excellent. It's something I am looking forward to on my next visit to Stash.
Back on the tube, I got to London Euston just in time to miss the train to Preston (and to learn that I had an hour to wait), but in time to find that there is a Krispy Kreme stand at the station - crazy. I had a latte and the last Belgian Chocolate brownie at Starbucks, sat in the cool night air listening to people I couldn't quite see laugh and talk and waited for my train. As I said, well worth the trip.
05 November 2006
My Apologies
I told friends and family that I would blog my adventures in England. What with a new house and being in a new place and being an expat and all, I expected that there would be tons to blog about. Tons. I expected that there would be great trips to the English countryside, wonderful picnic lunches on the banks of the Lancaster Canal and Monkee-esque, super fast-motion trips to the London Eye, the Tower of London and the Notting Hill Portabella Road market with much mugging and smiling and general silliness. This is what I thought living in England would be like.
How naive.
If I'd known that it was going to be fish and chips on a Saturday night, endless trips to the local B&Q Hardware and American sitcoms in rerun. If I'd only known that there was only one movie theater for a 15-mile radius with stale-ass popcorn that comes in sweet or salty or a diabolical mix of the two... Did I mention it's stale?
If I'd had any idea of how boring my life as a housefrau would be, I would never have promised to blog about it all. Or at least I would have made up better stories.
Ah, but a promise is a promise, so, in all of its lackluster glory, here goes...
How naive.
If I'd known that it was going to be fish and chips on a Saturday night, endless trips to the local B&Q Hardware and American sitcoms in rerun. If I'd only known that there was only one movie theater for a 15-mile radius with stale-ass popcorn that comes in sweet or salty or a diabolical mix of the two... Did I mention it's stale?
If I'd had any idea of how boring my life as a housefrau would be, I would never have promised to blog about it all. Or at least I would have made up better stories.
Ah, but a promise is a promise, so, in all of its lackluster glory, here goes...
11 April 2006
European Vacation
This is my last day in the U.S.
I will be leaving for the airport tomorrow to catch flight to Toyko and then my connecting flight to Singapore where I will pick up the ship that my husband is on and then I will only return to the States as a visitor.
Crazy.
This last week - well, since last Thursday, has been... trying to say the least. Let me just say that it has strengthened my resolve to surround myself with tolerant, gracious, patient human beings. It is not something that I have experienced these past 6 days.
I am looking forward to my trip. Looking forward to finally being away on my adventure, looking forward to arriving at the new house. I am looking forward to it all, but mostly I am looking forward to being the fuck away from here.
I will be leaving for the airport tomorrow to catch flight to Toyko and then my connecting flight to Singapore where I will pick up the ship that my husband is on and then I will only return to the States as a visitor.
Crazy.
This last week - well, since last Thursday, has been... trying to say the least. Let me just say that it has strengthened my resolve to surround myself with tolerant, gracious, patient human beings. It is not something that I have experienced these past 6 days.
I am looking forward to my trip. Looking forward to finally being away on my adventure, looking forward to arriving at the new house. I am looking forward to it all, but mostly I am looking forward to being the fuck away from here.
28 February 2006
And So It Begins
I packed the very first box today. I packed my husband's clothes from our dresser and a few of his things from the closet.
It all has become so much more real all of a sudden. I'm leaving. Not just moving, but moving moving. I am leaving the only place I have ever lived.
Sure, I've lived in different cities in the U.S., but I have never lived in another country, never been more than a 6-hour drive away from all of the people that mean the most to me.
I'm moving.
Is it bad that I am still excited?
It all has become so much more real all of a sudden. I'm leaving. Not just moving, but moving moving. I am leaving the only place I have ever lived.
Sure, I've lived in different cities in the U.S., but I have never lived in another country, never been more than a 6-hour drive away from all of the people that mean the most to me.
I'm moving.
Is it bad that I am still excited?
24 February 2006
Make A Wish
I woke up to the phone ringing this morning, my Mom calling to wish me a Happy Birthday. Always a good way to start off the day.
The day has only gotten better and better.
I spent most of the day with Emy, buying Stampin' Up stamps and accessories so that I can start making some handmade cards. It's something I think about all the time. Something that, if I had the time, I'd really make a go of as a side business. I spent way too much money and had bad (read bad for me, but very yummy) food for lunch and had a blast. I also talked Emy into making me a pair of socks, so I spent part of the evening looking up sock patterns on The Knitting Zone, where I found multiple scarf patterns that I want to buy so that I can use some of the unbelievably beautiful yarn that my Secret Pal gave me for my birthday. That woman is an angel!
Beautiful skeins of yarn (Claudia's Handpainted, Delicious Yarn among them), discs 2 & 3 of Invader Zim (I'm obsessed!), gorgeous roses, generous gift cards from iTunes, phone calls from my sister, my mom, my best friend, a great friend that I met through work (we're like twins separated at birth), and a husband who is somewhere at sea(but still managed to call), a touching card from one of my oldest friends, good food, great company and smokey scotch.
It's been a very good day.
The day has only gotten better and better.
I spent most of the day with Emy, buying Stampin' Up stamps and accessories so that I can start making some handmade cards. It's something I think about all the time. Something that, if I had the time, I'd really make a go of as a side business. I spent way too much money and had bad (read bad for me, but very yummy) food for lunch and had a blast. I also talked Emy into making me a pair of socks, so I spent part of the evening looking up sock patterns on The Knitting Zone, where I found multiple scarf patterns that I want to buy so that I can use some of the unbelievably beautiful yarn that my Secret Pal gave me for my birthday. That woman is an angel!
Beautiful skeins of yarn (Claudia's Handpainted, Delicious Yarn among them), discs 2 & 3 of Invader Zim (I'm obsessed!), gorgeous roses, generous gift cards from iTunes, phone calls from my sister, my mom, my best friend, a great friend that I met through work (we're like twins separated at birth), and a husband who is somewhere at sea(but still managed to call), a touching card from one of my oldest friends, good food, great company and smokey scotch.
It's been a very good day.
22 February 2006
Birthday Presents
It's my birthday on Thursday. It's not a big birthday, you know, not one that ends in an 0 or anything, but my birthday nonetheless. I'm excited because my present from my Secret Pal showed up today. I want to open it so badly. I am trying to be good and to wait the two days, but I just don't know if I'll be able to restrain myself.
I need to go to sleep so I can get up, struggle through the day, go to sleep, get up and open my presents!
I need to go to sleep so I can get up, struggle through the day, go to sleep, get up and open my presents!
21 February 2006
Manchester England, England
I was going to blog about Stitches West tonight, about all of the goodies I got while I was there. I was going to find pictures of some of the things that I purchased and post them along with my thoughts on Stitches. I was going to do all of that.
Then I remembered that today was Monday. Monday, the 20th of February, in the year two-thousand, double-aught, six.
I know what you're thinking: so what? What the frick is so special about the 20th? What on earth could be so special about a Monday?!
Today is the day that we exchanged contracts for the house that we purchased in ENGLAND!!
My sister-in-law was there to sign the papers and pick up the keys in our stead, but now I wish that I had taken the week off, hopped a flight to England and signed the papers and picked up the keys myself. Still, I can't stop grinning and I can't stop thinking about the fact that I am now a homeowner. A homeowner... Yow!
I'm congested, I'm coughing and sneezing and I can barely stay awake. I am behind on my knitting and I am gravely in danger of not medaling in the Knitting Olympics and I coouldn't care less.
It has been a very good day.
Then I remembered that today was Monday. Monday, the 20th of February, in the year two-thousand, double-aught, six.
I know what you're thinking: so what? What the frick is so special about the 20th? What on earth could be so special about a Monday?!
Today is the day that we exchanged contracts for the house that we purchased in ENGLAND!!
My sister-in-law was there to sign the papers and pick up the keys in our stead, but now I wish that I had taken the week off, hopped a flight to England and signed the papers and picked up the keys myself. Still, I can't stop grinning and I can't stop thinking about the fact that I am now a homeowner. A homeowner... Yow!
I'm congested, I'm coughing and sneezing and I can barely stay awake. I am behind on my knitting and I am gravely in danger of not medaling in the Knitting Olympics and I coouldn't care less.
It has been a very good day.
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