busy bees

Things feel remarkably light for all the massive tumultuous nature of life right now.

Let's do a slight recap shall we?

1, Last week we went on holiday. To a cottage in the mountains. Us, wilderness, the sea, a castle, a cozy fire and a big bed - all I wanted really. And somehow it was much more complicated than my idyllic dream. More discussion and panic and big important us things. I was looking for escapism and found commitment. Go figure. But I feel the better for it. Grounded somehow. Like I've come home.

Plus, someday remind me to tell you the story of trying to by the morning after pill in a remote mountain village. It's hilarious. And kind of sums up the embarassingly human and intimately weird sort of week we had.

2, The day after we returned I went to work, suitcase in hand, destined for Bologna. The international trade fair for children's books is about twice the size of the MacNamara terminal with thousands upon thousands of new books in ever conceivable language being bought sold traded and auctioned. And although any anglicized or european nation was more than eager to chat (and foist upon me their brillant life shattering work), trying to explain via a translator to a tiny taiwanese publisher of watercolour picture books what a book fair is and why i would pay someone to come was a complicated, taxing and ultimately rewarding experience.

Plus, finding the best picture book of the year in Japanese only to realize no one has bought the english rights, so it is completely impossible for me to have much less market.

Not to mention the mad amounts of hobnobbing. Fair enough it's quite a glitzy sort of industry. But glamourous people with fountains of champagne who want nothing more than to discuss how Pippi Longstocking changed the face of childhood in the mid20th century. Oh, and did I mention it was in an ancient cathedral turned trendy bar in the heart of ivy covered terra cotta old town Italy? yeah, it's that good.

And now I am home, full of adrenaline and not much else.

While I was away much has happened at work I am not happy with and although I am elated at the future potential of my programme, this year has fallen sadly short due to neglect, misunderstanding and naivte. It's good. It is. And it's strong. But it's risky and it's badly designed so I have little hope of cresting the wave I had hoped for next year.

Which is fine, but I take it far too personally when I've made all these fabulous connections and the first piece of my work they will see is not something I am proud of. It's kind of sickening really.

But that is just one tiny little down turn in a world full of cherry blossoms, freckles, lovely books and joy. So I can hardly complain can I?

ps - should you ever need a self esteem boost, buy a ticket to italy immediately. sure, you know the reputations of the stallions with their catcalling and piazza vultures. But this one takes the cake.

It's my first night in town, and the only couple of free hours I have in the whole affair. I decide to take a sunset walk, perhaps find a cafe. I end up of course, skirting industrial estates and highway exchanges. I was never one for maps.

And in my wandering, a car was pulling out from a drive. He looked at me as I walked past and said the usual Ciao Bella. And when that got no response tried french. and german. and english and even spanish. I smiled in my aloof retreat.

So I was highly surprised when ten minutes later the same car returns, turned around from the other direction and pulls over. he gets out and is all smiles and "i'll give you a tour of the city" romcom novel on me. To the point I know about his family in northern Rome and his academic asiprations and he prays my flight tomorrow will be cancelled and I call the number I can't figure out how to refuse. And no it wasn't the green eyes or dirty Jesusness, but the downright simplicity of chatting by the side of the road that seems so utterly surreal and yet entirely domestic. And somehow completely nonlecherous, which in and of itself is a feat. It puts a spring in your step regardless of the weirdness factor in an odd sort of way. I highly recommend it.

Italy, for all your ego stroking needs.

Swiss Miss

Things you should know about Switzerland:

1, beer + flat sprite = best summer beverage ever. seriously.
2, cheese should be a deity (possibly in the holy swiss dairy trinity with chocolate and ice cream)
3, paddleboating rocks
4, why visit a museum if you can buy shit on sale in the giftshop and then just leave?
5, that said, shot puts are ver ver heavy
6, hills make the world picturesque.
7, ...just not pedestrian friendly
8, horology is the study of clocks
9, texmex can make you sick (but zorro can make it better)
10, shutters are essential to a happy home

karma

last friday Julie and I had our first congregation as SMEC - the secret meat eaters club - at the Buffalo Grill (a kitchy place with Native American chief portraits on the wall and the best peppercorn steak this side of the Atlantic). In our revelry, we shared fantastic ribs and decadent desserts to top it all off. And in the communal feasting she totally gave me a hideous virus. the bitch.

Serves me right for gorging on animal carcasses in Liam's pure vegetarian absence I guess.

But worst of all, this does not bode well for my Saturday morning flight to Geneva for a weekend getaway with Jennie and Chrissy.

Lord knows I am not missing out on a minibreak holiday to the continent though. Especially if I spent $500 on a two hour flight. Europe is fucking expensive and I am not wasting it god damn it. So I am taking every herbal suppliment and drug in the cabinet on a complete overhaul.

If I don't overdose into a coma, I'll be sipping beer on a mountain this weekend. Hallelujah!

I feel like I can breathe again.

With deadlines as they are, I've been working 16 hour days (including half day saturdays), then go over to Liam's for a rushed dinner and then collapse into bed for a restless night of worry for the last couple of weeks. Add his chronic illness and course ending simultaneously and we've pretty much been a wreck.

So I'm holed up in bed, on my first real day off, with a fabulous book and my chocolate bunnies (left for me to enjoy in Liam's absence, he's away to Kent this week) while i recouperate. Mostly involving ice cream cones, sunny walks and organizing the lipsticks I never wear by shade as a cathardic excersize.

well, that and fantasizing about my fantastic mini-break weekend excursion to the continent with Jennie and Chrissy and then an easter holiday to die for. Did I show you yet? We're going here: http://www.uniquescotland.com/rock/index.html . Just us and the wilderness. I'm counting the minutes.

someday

I'm getting pretty crap at this.

The oh so glamourous career move has (temporarily?) put a damper on my social life, my sleep patterns and my ability to while away entire evenings on the internet.

Mostly all I live and breathe is logistical nightmares and trying to get my head around the burocracy of arts funding in the public sector. It's a completely other planet.

But all that aside, it's starting to be those crisp clear winter days that make me happy to look out the window, but loathe to leave him in bed. One of these mornings when he begs me to stay I just will, damn the consequences. Oh how I miss the casual schedules of student life. Carpe Diem feels a world away lately.

I just keep holding my breath for the day we can hop in the car, drive to our cottage, and unplug the phone for a whole week. A holiday in the country seems idyllic; all long walks and cozy nights and bright stars. Cable knit sweaters and babbling brooks. Homemade soup and log fires. It's like an 80s Lands End catalogue, except the whole dirty sex part.

(Of course I want to stay in an ancient cathedral turned flat in the wilderness because that's fabulous and weird (and has a gothicy wrought iron bed), but his Catholic sensibilities make it difficult to do what I plan to, there of all places. le sigh. But perhaps the private island scenario will work out after all. There no one will hear me scream.)

But today it just feels forever away.

More than 2 months. More than 300 miles. More than a list of print deadlines and proof reports.

More like a lifetime.

being left alone has some odd consequences (or, the return to greece)

so in an effort to regain some sanity (and mostly our own individual lives) liam and i are spending our first night apart in a month. it feels like longer.

but the whole constantly moving house/scared to be bothering flatmates/don't get anything done because all we do is hang out with each other/lack of personal space has left both our lives in absolute shambles.

so, i am home in the big empty quiet. and decided some life maintenance was in order. things like bagging up clothes for charity. throwing away the flowers he gave me weeks ago which were v. dead on the dresser. neatly stacking the book pile by the bed. etc etc.


which slowly dissolved into sorting out the collage pile. let me explain:

the sofa in my room is in a massive bay window. so around the sides and back there are large person-sized gaps between the angled walls and furniture. they tend to accumulate person-sized piles of crap that need regular purging.

the whole lefthand side became the collage pile because i used to stack old magazines or calendars or things that would come in handy for crafty projects and wrapping paper and the kinds of useless modgepodge related activities i fill dull evenings.

part of me is still 6. i know. just be glad it's the part that likes to paste things for fun, not the part that likes to eat paste for fun.

but so back there became home to magazines, newspaper clippings, postcards, flyers, photographs, ticket stubs. anything pertaining to craftiness, preserving memories or vaguely arty went down the blackhole behind the sofa.

and today was the day i craved bare floor, so i started sorting.



it was like a trip down memory lane.

notes from my dad, a weird and hilarious letter form my uncle james, sonali's wedding invitation, my carmen tickets. a postcard from spain, my pass to turnberry, my diploma.

some were hilarious. i found a rhinoceros card from phil from when we first met. back when he had a crush on maggie and when he ruptured his eardrum in a violent flu we went and took care of him. in his drug induced haze, his mother (back in canada) convinced him to send us thank you cards. i found one slid under my door with a mom and babi rhino on it reading:

"sarah -

(prewritten text) May your day be very enjoyable and the year ahead bring everything that means happiness to you (crossed out: HAPPY BIRTHDAY) (end prewritten text)

Thanks for all your help with tea and soup and stuff. My mom was relieved to know I have a few girls taking care of me.

- philip

ps I didn't know this was a birthday card when i bought it"




and of course the icing: the greece book.

in the tradition of the road trip journal of 2001, i took a little notebook with us on our fornight tour of the greek islands back when i barely knew mandy and had the money to jetset europe on someone else's dime.

it is a highly detailed account of our trip written mostly drunk in diners, bored on ferrys and hungover on beaches. that is to say, it's mostly games of MASH, diagrams of six degrees of kevin bacon and our all time best "NCAA double elimination finals" (aka bracketing all your male friends into a tournament of who you would sleep with in a table of either/or pairings leading to the ultimate fuck buddy; usually written with little hearts around it)

and a lot of stupid quotes of our insanely witty selves. i seem to remember us being giddy from sunlight, lack of sleep and too much greek beer pretty much all day. i shall record here some of the most brilliant for posterity, just in case the book falls behind the couch for another year (or twelve):

- "is loitering in god's house a sin?", mandy

- in response to a spotted pigeon: "why can't you mix a black lab and a poodle and get a dalmatian?", sara

- "we are swimming against the grain", sara

- "taste the water. it's like goat cheese or some shit", mandy

- "it's like a vermeer gone wrong", sara (on a picturesque mandy in yellow turban)

- "shafts of light sounds dirty. unless you mean like Samuel L. Jackson Shaft. SHAFT! (insert showy kate hand gesture)

- "is jesus gay?", a drunk us

- "that's fucked the fuck up", mandy

- this is heavy as fuck. it's a fucking baby", mandy (on her heavy and overpacked purse)

- "don't use that swear phrase", sara

- "everyone will be so happy to have us home. you're the crux of their social existance and i'm really fun too!", mandy

*** i am coming to realize (a little late) we sounds retarded. like kirsten dunst and michelle williams in Dick retarded. but i am really really amused so fuck off. ***

- "What the Christ?!?", sara

-"I'm getting so dark I don't even recognize myself. I look like a black lady!", mandy

- "so hold on. i am going to give you the short version of my near death experience with dolphins.", mandy

- "at worst i am my own 12th cousin", sara (on the grady-grady incest possibility)

- on a beach campsite, bored, drunk and with no tent "we don't need no stinkin' tv see? we got a cat. we just need a mouse on a string", mandy (to be fair, there really was a cat)

- "if you have'nt picked out your song what defines you as a couple?", mandy

- "because i'm a beer whore", sara

- "you could find a real mannequin with man-bits", mandy

- "back in the habit man, like sister act 2", sara



and in case you care, I am going to marrry Gerard Butler and drive a mercedes 320 in new zealand with no kids. i had a salmon wedding dress. And Mandy wed Matt Dillon. They'll have 'the square root of pi' number of children and live in North Dakota.

Our hottest friend by far was Maria's boyfriend Dave (think Chris Martin but actually attractive), I spent 787.35 euro (which at the time was £527.52) and lost my virginity.

it was a good trip.

Seasonal

I know it's been awhile.

We've been without internet, and frankly life is simultaneously too fast to substantially record and so unremarkable and trudging I don't have much to say.

Without sounding cliche, the coming of fall and the impending winter find me rather cheerless lately. Things are just a little flatter, duller. And it takes more and more effort to bother with the day to day.

But enough. Today I am going to make a concerted effort. So, here I am. And as always, I will be probably descending into a vague and varied list form at any given moment.

Liam and I are still rather up and down. But we're on the same ride. Together. Which feels like progress. Actually, things have been quite good in all honesty. But last night he whispered "why do you like me?" and I dont yet have a satisfactory answer. I just do. We are trying to decide where to go on holiday. Probably to a remote cottage in the Lake District.

In other news, life is turning fall. There was the musk of fox this morning and red leaves litter the street. Jules and I are making lamb stew and pumpkin cornbread tomorrow to celebrate.

Oh, and I've started eating cheese. Nibbling a platter at my sister's began the long decent to normalcy and dairy loving madness. Monday night I couldn't be bothered to cook so had cambazola on charcoal crackers.

It's the first fall of my life where everything is staying exactly the same. And I don't like it. So yeah, I am okay, but ready for change.

the glory of the gradys

i am in LA.

i love my siblings.

i am drinking miller high life light with a screw top lid.

we are going to a pirate musical extravaganza not unlike medieval times.

i love it.

moorish moods and lowland libido

this morning, i got up and went to the beach.

something i regularly contemplate as a bumpkin who craves wild space, but never actually do because in reality i am a lazy son of a bitch.

but, as i had the last 3 days off to work up the energy, today i went.

and it rained. sticky hot incesant drizzle.

the vaguely gothic and dead romantic scottish summer of a desolate beach in the fog will always leave my speechless. (and it didnt hurt the humidity was so high i came home with amazing and freakishly natural farrah fawcett hair.)

brilliant really. too fucking bad i am now all wet, hot, and bothered and completely alone. sigh. seriously. i need a dial-a-fuck-buddy for these type of emergencies.

i feel like holly hunter but with all my fingers.

i've still got sand in my shoes

i have not written because i don't know what to say.

the last week and a half have been overwhelming. three vacations in a row will do that to you, even if they aren't as loaded as mine. they've been amazing. but hard.

first i had 3 days completely alone in the highlands. a freeing solitude which rekindled my love for scotland and even brushed with "finding myself in the wilderness" cliches. it was amazing and good for me. and i found a new favourite place at cawdor castle.

then i had a weeks road trip through gorgeous country with one of my favourite people. beautiful and fun. i was relaxed and at home being silly in the mountains and basking on waterfalls. i liked being together every minute of everyday and not needing the guards and shields the city and other people inspire in me. being alone together.

so much so coming back was a bit of a shock. and disappointment. i told us we could stay that simple and content here, but i know the pressures of town and life wont let us. i am trying not to miss him though we see each other everyday. (ps, no it was completely platonic despite our past transgressions. and it was really good for us to be normal again)

but it was a short lived doubt as the next morning i picked up dad for a whirlwind weekend of touring and adventure and entertainment. he is so easy and yet so taxing. so wonderfully there for me and knows me and wants me it was incredibly perfect, and yet the second he left now i miss him and everyone else i have that closeness with even more. its like he reminded me what i am missing and it hurts.

it was great. i did love it. i am so glad he came. but now i miss him.

and so for a week now almost i have been back. and feel tainted. outside. disallusioned and alone. it is still the same silly job and the same pretty flowers and the same cute shoes. and it doesnt feel like it is enough anymore.

i am not enough. i am not who i was free in the mountains. and i dont like it.

perhaps it will pass. the romance of a holiday will wear thin. real life will regain meaning.

but i think more than anything i am sick of the hollowness. i want to be inspired.

my heart's in the highlands

i am leaving for the highlands in a minute.

high on my list are visting culloden (of blood and gore mel gibson in skirt fame) and the castle from highlander.

scotland kicks ass. especially when i have a car.

i need a break from holidays

i hate planning vacations.

i love reading up and thinking of my endless options and imagining life without the daily mundane. but the whole choosing and handling is so bloody boring.

granted, i learned my lesson with the VWbug-in-a-corn-field-due-to-jet-ski-show-cost-me-$1000-in-damages-fucking-black-ice scenario in college, reservations are worth the pain. carpe diem isn't for everything. but still.

i'm trying to cram three seperate trips into under a week and the logistics are making all dreams of road trip journals and seascapes flee my sore head.


so, maybe i didn't tell you - my dad is coming...but on a golf tour with all his middle aged dentist friends (he is nothing if not stereotypical).

so, i am taking this weekend to meet up with them at their fancy hotel in the highlands for a weekend of wandering days followed by pampered nights where people with six digit salaries foot the bill.

but, since i was up there anyway, and dad said he'd rent a car for me, i figured i'd strike out into the wilderness for a few days on my own. which has now turned into me and liam on a yet to be determined holiday. i am glad we'll have some time and space but slightly anxious at what if any questions will be answered along the way. it should be fabulous. and another brilliant chapter in my memoirs of ridiculous impossible things i let happen to me.

but then, i really want to see dad. so after his friends leave the following weekend he and i are going to the isle of arran. which means i need to be back, ditch the car, get down south again, find him, and get us to an island with a population of 1100 (i hear there are more bottles of whisky than people there), then get us back here in under two days so he can fly home all tuckered out.

i know it will be good. i am dying to get away.

but i am just now realizing exactly how much i took on with this. (now being 3 hours into reservations, phone calls, and general madness with my nose in a lonely planet)

i know my tendency to plan, mother, and over analyze gets me into trouble. i can deal with that. but just once i'd like it to not interfere with my social life.
there should so be an off button for that kind of thing.

observations of no importance and little relevance:

- i knew i loved Jon Stewart, but when USA Today called him Mr. Snarky it sealed the deal
- the only genuine quirkiness is when the practicioner doesn't believe it's abnormal.
- pomegranate juice is ambrosia
- i am determined to summer in the highlands

aged like fine wine and just as imbecilic

i obviously cannot be trusted.

a long weekend away for work has yielded first edition penguins and narnia, needlepoint pillows, a polkadot chiffon dress to die for and a kitchy leather bookmark for my collection.

i am not sure if i am vintage sexy or quickly becoming geriatric.





ps:

a haiku of cambridge

bike baskets and hedge
pretentious yet dense hopes rage.
remember the good.