Alright, I realize it. It’s been far too long since I’ve written anything. Far too long, really, since I’ve thought about much more than my job, fasttracking my career, and dating the hot teacher who comes in every now and again when Hollywood isn’t calling. I’m so lame. As amazing as life seems here in jolly old England, and it is…really it is…it’s got its moments, believe you me. When I last left off, I had told you about the Jamie Oliver restaurant fail and how we somehow ended up in some fabulous taken-care-of place where, oddly in a new country, I felt like I was back at home. It was charming. Not sure what has transpired since then…so much is a blur.
Headed back into London for a little tour that ended up with us at a homeless shelter. Needless to say, when we finally found this place with this view of the Thames,
I was more than thrilled.
I realize I look like an old lady in this picture, but let it be said that I was ecstatic about finally finding some place to eat and drink coffee that I didn't care about how I looked.
And, as expected, here is a snapshot of the typical London siting...
you gotta do it, right?
Alright, so two weekends ago, we hosted Thanksgiving here at the house. Fifteen of our closest (new) friends came from their respective homes, lent us all their lovely plates, bowls, and chairs, and we feasted on what turned out to be a lovely bird. First things first: my oven is about a third of the size as my oven back on Duke Street. Yikes. So instead of being able to cram the bird, side dishes, and dessert in there at once (oh yes, I was a master packer), this time around, I could barely shove the bird in there. Let me back track a sec…we found a local butcher who, when we requested a turkey, laughed at us out right. Not until Christmas, he had balked. Well eff that, butcher man. We still put in the order and he promised nothing. Fortunately, he did deliver and when I eventually feasted my eyes on this glorious fowl, I was blown away by the quality. Bloody thing still had bird feather bits attached. Yikes. Luckily for me, since I just hate digging out innerds, the baby was cleaned right out and all I had to do was stuff ‘em full of good stuff. Side note: what is WITH the fancy new Mac? I just used italic font or whatever you call it and now it’s stuck on it? Like, really? I just want to use the old To-She-Ba again. Argh. Alright, I’ve since figured out how to fix it. Damn thing is SO touchy. And since when is, “alright” not a word? Seriously?
So the bird came home, I buttered her up, and stuffed her full of stuffing I had made from scratch. I even bought chestnuts and threw them in. It was nice.
Saturday morning, I was still feeling rather poorly from the cold that I had inevitably gotten from one of my rugrat children. Eff them. So I called my boss, told her I couldn’t come in to work (on a Saturday. Imagine my nerve), and endeavoured to sleep in. Unfortunately, Ryan was up at 6:30, which meant I was too. Living with other human beings definitely has its drawbacks at times. I was up then and since I don’t know Ang well enough at this point to “send” her to the market whilst I lounged around in my illness, I dragged my sorry ass to the market. It was painful, but it is always an eye-opener to see the heart of Dartford, out on display. Shit…this place is a SMAAAALL town.
Cooking commenced shortly thereafter. I was in the bloody kitchen all day, save the time I spent outside with the smokers. Though I don’t touch the things, there is something about the atmosphere that smokers create that is so intoxicating. I mean, they are still the coolest, non? I just can’t help but want to be part of that in crowd. So when the dishes piled up or I needed a break from the clumpy gravy, I stepped out and enjoyed some Irish humour. The night was a real success. Unfortunately, I was womanly enough to cook all night and not saavy enough to photograph a goddamned thing. Alas, I will have to steal some pictures from others.
I stayed up half the night talking music with some teacher from another school. It was the first conversation about something other than teaching I’d had in awhile, so it was just lovely to take the time to enjoy listening to new things. He has a Masters in music…who else can say THAT? Needless to say, I was in my bed until 4:30 on Sunday afternoon, and returned back promptly by 10 that same day. What a louse. But hey, who needs to be awake all the time, right?
A few things about my chosen career…I did choose this. There was a time that I was destined to be a doctor, then a financial planner, and now a teacher. Shit, I guess I could change paths again, right? But I’ll tell you, now that I’m right in the thick of things, making a paltry salary compared to the number of hours I’m raking in, I have to say I do ADORE this work. I have to say screw you to all those humans who think teachers don’t work hard. From the countless (literally, countless) hours I spend marking classroom and homework books every week (for FIVE different year groups, whose classes NEVER overlap, by the way), to the hours spent planning for lessons that I inevitably change completely a few moments before the children start pouring in, to the time spent researching how to better my thesis topic for when I do my own Master’s degree…this is a real job. And for ALL that time we get off, trust me…it’s spent recuperating. Though I’ve never worked so hard and gotten so FEW results from children (my kids aren’t really all that bright in the lowest sets in the school), this is the most rewarding job I’ve ever had. That’s pretty remarkable, non?
In response to all the queries about whether or not I’ve met up yet with so-and-so: no. I haven’t. I’ve only been to London about three or four times, so I haven’t taken the time to contact these humans about getting to know yet another city better. Sigh.
I have noticed though that fall is quickly approaching. As a matter of fact, today I noted that she is already here. My scarf is now thicker, my reluctance to get out of my warm bed stronger, and my tendency to wear flannel stronger than ever. As has always been the case with me, autumn is a time of new awakenings for me. Spring has always brought so much coughing and wheezing, I don’t fully appreciate the thaw…but autumn. Oh autumn: she is a beauty. The leaves here are as beautiful as they are in Algonquin. The streets are old and lined with the colours of the season. What more can I ask for? The job is new, the enthusiasm is new (because I’m sure that will wear thin soon enough), and the place is new. This is the time for amazing things.
Speaking of which, there is abundance all around me. Can’t say more than that…can’t divulge at present, but know that we are all quite blessed. Think about it when you get down about whatever it is that gets you down: the blessings we have in a day of our great lives far outweigh the shit we endure. In due time, things will be revealed and you will all be thrilled silly…for now though, know that I feel eternally blessed to have those around me that I do.
My mother says that October is the time of year that starts with a bang and ends with a new kind of bang. When September starts, we are all anew with energy and, well, the NEWness of it all. When October starts, we are still high from the adrenaline. However, when mid-October hits, midterms are around the corner, the newness wears off, the colder weather hits, and the luster rubs RIGHT off where glean used to reside. I love that my mother has these insights and a shockingly good (short term) memory for times of old like my first year in university. That’s all I’ll say because, despite the fact that life is full of abundance and blessings, sometimes you just want to strangle someone. Is that dichotomous or what?
On an unrelated note (is anything really unrelated?), the Ghost has been in contact with me. It is strange how I feel about this. Apparently, he’s begun reading the blog. Weirds me out that a) this is the first time he’s heard of it and b) that now (and only now) he’s reading it. Could be reading this right now. Anyway the reason he’s contacting me, or so I can guess from past behaviour, is that a relationship is either heading down the shitter or is getting serious. Either way, he’s looking for a way out, and striking up a conversation with me is EXACTLY how he can do that. I’m not sure how to respond, being that the last correspondence we had was about how much of a bitch I was and how little I contributed to our lives together. How do you come back from that? Odd that it’s as if it never happened to him. Water under the bridge, non? Just because I have feelings about what once was doesn’t mean I have feelings for the person he now is. Harsh, especially since this now feels like I’m reaching out in a forum that is not only very public, but also incredibly personal for me, but it’s not something I can easily forget. I wonder if his new lady friend reads this too?
Oh, lastly, because it’s getting late here in Dartford, and I have an episode of America’s Next Top Model yet to watch, I am leaving for Austria in a few days. That is thrilling and scary all at the same time. Here I am, living the dream, doing what I came here to do…what a trip. My Oma was born there: lived there. My Aunt Erika was born there…it is the motherland for half of my heritage. My mother speaks German…this is part of who I am. Years ago, both my mother and father traveled to Austria. This is part of who they were, who they aspired to be…the Mother Hen told me Vienna brought her to tears. How many cities can I say do that to me? I feel like I’m touching down on part of what makes me who I am intrinsically.
I'll leave you then with that. Pictures are now loading from the camera to the Fancy New Mac. I'll have to figure out how to move them from there to the To-She-Ba. There is sometimes nothing quite like old faithful. And ain't that just the case? Sometimes all you really want is to be surrounded by what you know because it's what you knew.
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