Happy St. Andrew's Day!

OMGYOUGUYS. WE DID IT!! WE MADE IT THROUGH A MONTH OF DAILY BLOG POSTS! I NEVER HAVE TO WRITE AGAIN! EVERRRRRR!

Oh, the glory of this moment makes the entire month worth it. Is completing MyBloWriMo as good as NaNoWriMo? I like to think if you cram all my posts together, we'd have a REALLY rubbish novela, so I'm down to claim that.

NOW, today is TECHnically Poetry Monday, but I'm going to put it off for a week because the poem I want to share next is special and heartfelt and I don't want its poignant thunder lost in the nonsense parade that is today's post. Between this being the last day of November and also ST ANDREW'S DAY (GUYS IT'S SAINT ANDREW'S DAY), it's a HOLIDAY here!

I am OBViously celebrating St Andrews Day in true Scottish style - haggis is on the menu, a finger of whiskey may find itself swirled in a glass of cut crystal (just kidding, Grampa! I don't have any cut crystal!), and per Wikipedia - which we all know is a good source for facts - we should also take part in a ceilidh and possibly slaughter some animals. Winter is coming, and the Scots know how to ring it in.

Thank you so much for tuning in this past month - each of you that bothered to read all this performed a huge kindness and I can't thank you enough for giving your time to my words.

I look forward to seeing you in a week, and until then

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss

On foxes, veg, and passing out early

YOUGUYS. You know what's awesome? Getting woken up in the middle of the night by a fox tearing into your neighbor's trash and dragging it all over the sidewalk. I swear he wasn't even eating it. Just dragging it. Cans, bottles, just being scraped up and down the sidewalk, back and forth, like an old time criminal rolling a tin cup across the bars of a cell. It wasn't until I stuck my head out the window that he looked up, suddenly alert, his focus on his nocturnal percussion session broken. He looks at me, somewhat put out, I'd like to say, as though he was about to reach the peak of his work and I disrupted it. My hand goes in the air - not at all unlike a conductor, which may have excited him for a moment - before I flapped it with a 'shoo!' Clearly disappointed in me, he ran off, his evening's work left behind like a Pollack made of plastic bags.

Blasted foxes.

I did my monthly volunteering today, for a local non-profit veg box scheme. I help pack up totes full of muddy organic veg for a couple hours and in exchange get any leftovers. It's terrific, especially this time of year - Britain's produce just goes bonkers in the fall and winter. It's mother effing gourd season and I'm reaping ALL THE BENEFITS.

Now if you'll excuse me, my belly is full of steak and celeriac and now I must go pretend to read in bed for half an hour before I pass out, satiated and warm and full of all the good things.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esss

On France, pies, and WHAT?

Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination. — Oscar Wilde

OMGYOUGUYS. Before the stroke of midnight hits:

We are going to France tomorrow! (Today? Time change makes things so very tricksy.) It's just for the weekend, but we are officially embarking on Stage 1 of Getting the Holiday Home In Happy Living State. So that is very exciting stuff. The small stuff should be easy done (helloooo, IKEA!), though we're also hoping to get a bed and refrigerator. GOOD TIMES!

There is currently no wifi in the pad, but WE ARE OKAY! I have scheduled some VERY-IMPORTANT* posts in my absence so MyBloWriMo will not fail. I won't be able to post them to Facebook unless we find a hotspot and I can log in lickety-split, so just check here and/or wait for the email to hit your box, and we all win!

Though nobody wins as much as these Minge Pies do. Merry Christmas from Iceland and welcome to #UnfortunateFontChoice2014

Big love and lots of hugs,
Essss

*OMGNotAtAllImportantDon'tEvenCheck

That's right. Photographic proof that I know how to read.

I am blessed to have particularly talented friends. Some of them, like Cindy Bridges and Annelies Z, cook beautifully. Others, like Leslie Goshko, are not afraid of standing on a stage in front of a roomful of people and making them laugh. Deee Trip. makes the most gorgeous fabric flowers you've ever seen. And Kyle Erickson writes poetry.

The latest gift comes to me in the form of a book. A hand-made book, lovely to touch and hold, of which there are only ten copies (gone within seconds of their release), of which I received lucky number eight. I didn't consider this my lucky number until yesterday, when I got this in the mail:

(Looks a bit like me, doesn't she?)

Kick Assonance is an anthology of four poets (Kyle, Steven Leyva, Christian Ericson, and Sei Shiroma, who I secretly fantasize about marrying so I can be Sharona Shiroma) containing evocative, moving work that makes things stir inside my little coal heart. Kyle also did the book illustrations, just in case you didn't think just being a poet was enough talent in one human. It's no small wonder his wife is a successful comedienne who has also performed on Broadway and--for kicks, mind you--has recently started a band. Meanwhile, I find great pride in being able to eat a shortbread cookie without dropping crumbs in my lap.

 

But look how smart I look when I'm holding a poetry anthology.

 

Needless to say, this book has raptured the better part of my day and now sits with pride on my coffee table, where I like to think it will impress any future house guests that I may or may not invite over with the express intent of showing it off.

I should go now; I need to work on some limericks if I'm going to have anything worth submitting to next year's edition. I think they'll really like where I'm taking this. A little 'teaser,' if you will:

Sometimes I like to kick assonance around,
Like a wall or a ball or anything sound
But then it kicks back
And throws me off track
And so I kick alliteration aground.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

On Roosters, Summer Vacation, and a Milestone Birthday

"When the rooster crows on the dung heap the weather stays the same, or it changes." - German proverb

I'm home! I'm home! My travels are done, school is officially out, and the days stretch open before me. The first thing I have to do is process the past two months worth of photos from Paris, Luxembourg, Brussels, Florence, and Athens, and then...it's Resume Time! I've got to dust that old thing off and start sending it around town. I'll admit I'm thrilled about entering the work force again. I'm sure that will wear off the first time I'm called into my boss's office about 'my overwhelming enthusiasm and volume,' but for now, I feel like the world is my oyster! What shall I do?? Where shall I apply?? Someone, quick, tell me.

In other news, D-Day approaches! On June 6, I turn the Big 3-0. I have to admit I'm not being very graceful, very 'Life Just Gets Better with Age' about it. I really thought--back when I was too young to think 30 was actually going to happen--that I would bound into this decade, breaking that winner's tape, flushed with the victory of wisdom and experience and ready to take on new challenges. But no, it turns out I'm not that mature. Immaturity is something I can still admit to in my 20's and receive some level of grace. As a 20-something, one is still considered somewhat naive, and decisions that don't look too far ahead are tolerated. But now! I will be in my 30's. No longer will women flap their hands dismissively at me, saying, 'Of course you say that! You have all the time in the world, you're so young!' And no longer will men laugh, 'Ahhhhh, I remember that energy. Now go refill my coffee, only one sugar this time, and then fax this report.'  Nor will I automatically get the ignorance-of-youth free ride anymore. From now on when I'm ignorant, I'm just ignorant (though maybe I've always been just ignorant and will just now be facing the music). At 30, one is expected to be a mature, responsible human being, with a real career and a ticking clock and a purse that has a moisturizer with sunblock in it. There can be no more 'When I Grow Up' procrastination. Nobody likes to see a 35 year old still talking about some dream he'll fulfill when he gets big. 

On the bright side, it will be nice to start lording all my lofty experience over all those 20-somethings, gifting them with the same dooms-day predictions I was privy to: 'You won't be able to eat like that forever!'  and 'One day you'll break your leg doing that!' and 'Just wait until you get your first chin hair!' 20-somethings love that. It totally sinks in and makes a difference. I'll also say annoying things like, 'I just can't drink that much caffeine anymore,' and 'I need shoes with more support' and 'I can't sleep a wink with that fly in the room!' So that's exciting. I've also been practicing my 'Why are movies so LOUD these days??' moan for next time I'm in a movie theater, digging out my earplugs. 

I guess there IS a lot to look forward to, now that I think about it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I should go lie in the sun. I only have four  more days to flippantly damage my skin. I'm just so young; I don't know any better. Premature aging and skin cancer are but strange threats on a distant horizon. You have to forgive me.

Big hugs and so much love,
Essss

p.s. Let me know if you need my address for my birthday present.

If I were aging in Paris, I'd just become more dapper. And discover an uncanny ability to complete a crossword.

On coronation chicken, springtime, and very little else

I know this is incredibly unsophisticated of me, but I'm totally craving coronation chicken. I know. It's hard for me to say out loud. It's so outdated. And just now I caught  myself googling recipes. And maybe--just maybe--I'll make it today for lunch and then eat it in secret and love every bite. 

Omigosh. Coronation chicken was created by Constance Spry and a friend of hers! I feel so validated. I just learned about her in my design course on Tuesday. They Say she has single-handedly impacted the way that all of us decorate to this day, whether or not we're conscious of it. And when the Design Museum had an exhibit on her in 2004, it so inflamed the menfolk that James Dyson himself left the Chairmanship of the Board and Terence Conran--the founder of the Museum--also nearly quit. Isn't that crazy? All because of an exhibit on the influence of a society florist from the 50's. Maybe they were actually upset over her creation of coronation chicken. Someone should look into that.

I'm going to Luxembourg next month with Aya! We are going for spring break. One of our classmates, the Leggy Amarylis (see previous post), is from there so we're going to go stay with her and her family! I'm so excited. I can't stop thinking about the cheese. And Aya and I are spending a weekend in Paris on our way there, and a weekend in Brussels on our way back. And we're doing all our travel by train, which is SO NICE. I won't be stuck wearing nine layers of clothing (literally) to get my baggage weight approved, and I can bring back cheese food, and there's so much nice reading time on trains...* sigh * It's just the nicest way to travel.

Two days ago I was looking for some garden-esque pictures to use for a presentation, which led me to one of my old blogs, which led me to this picture that I took years ago, which makes me happy.

It's been so sunny and warm the past two days. It feels like spring and makes London seem like a completely new city, high-spirited and charming and not at all like the brown-and-gray depression-trap of the winter months. I feel high from the feeling of the sun on the back of my neck.

I'm defrosting my stash of corn tortillas right now! I'm going to make my friend and favorite food blogger Annelies's homemade tortilla chips. I can't wait. And then I'm going to spend the next two days eating chilaquiles and migas, also using her recipes. yumyumyumyumyum.

I shouldn't be hungry-blogging. Let's return our thoughts to Spring, in the form of Oxford, where I had the pleasure of spending a weekend a couple years ago:

Isn't it so charming and picturesque?

Ooh, I forgot the Dean made a scramble from the eggs straight out of his chicken coop. That was delicious.

Alright. I gotta go strap on the feeding bag. I'm starved. And I've got more school work to do. Or something.

Big hugs and love,
Essss