I am tardy. I must be punished. Or flogged with daffodils or something.
It was St. David's Day (patron saint of Wales, for those of you who didn't pay attention last year) yesterday and I failed miserably to pay homage to the place that gave me refuge and a home for over a year. Dawn has made me ashamed. E did not mention it, so no one tell him, please. I didn't even wear a daffodil. I really did mean to blog last night, but fell asleep with book on chest, woke up about 11 and could barely drag self to locate toothpaste and force energy to turn faucet handle. So sad.
Today, (have just found this in feeble attempt to redeem self by distracting disapproving readers with other festive information) is Dr. Seuss's birthday! Hoorah!
Yesterday morning's first email was an inquiry from E. as to whether I had worn sunglasses to work and how my 'ionically conditioned, frizz free and shiny' hair was doing. Sadly, he had to be informed that no sunglasses had been worn (despite brilliantly beautimous and brisk day), as they are somewhere in a box and that my hair was (and has been ever since) up in a stick as it is every other day of my life. Curls all dissipated, despite extra attention of conditioner application (this makes my hair heavy and even a little sticky -- ick), and four strategically placed prickly curlers upon top section of hair, followed by roller brush attempt at lift-and-dry to bottom half of hair. So certain was I of perpetual subsequent glamour to have slept ext. carefully in final two prickly curlers left on top section of hair. V. displeased with outcome. As of yet, no one has taken my picture. (E. v. supportive by saying that no doubt paparazzi were confused by my taking different route to work or leaving at slightly different time.)
Glamour modifications shall continue tomorrow after expedition into centre and will culminate in henna fun with hair, involving a boiling green paste, a good deal of plastic wrap on my head and perhaps some long movies (to cover alarming amount of grey that seems to be taking attack approach similar to underground mushroom complex. another reason for the ever-present stick actually -- cover grey with a twirl!).
N.B.: Since I seem to be unable to type a mass email at all correctly (either omitting the date of an event or, say, mucking up two email addresses into one, which goes nowhere), perhaps it would just be easier to reply to the incorrectly composed email. Am terribly apologetic to my ArkLaTex victims...
Friday, 2 March 2007
Wednesday, 28 February 2007
Rain, mold and safety seminars
In this case, rain and mold are not related. In fact, intended to blog re: mold at work today as it was pretty amusing, but got sidetracked, as sometimes happens.
Yes, it is raining, but it really was a GORgeous day. Other than the 10 minutes to work and the 15 minutes home (during which I feel that we can now verify that Clare's umbrella Crimma gifty really is wind resistant and gave me no embarrassment by turning inside out -- such a Clever Clarence! Thank you! It also got a compliment from my friend, Sally, last evening who thought it was great fun to have caricatures of famous authoresses on a brolly.). The reason it took 15 minutes on the way home was due to the extreme distress experienced by myself upon discovery of no stocks of 2 litre sized milk in the campus shop. No matter how I huffed at the cooler, it remained packed with measly 1 litre and 1 pint sizes and the lower shelf remained empty; this wasted 5 minutes -- well, that and the line of culinarily stunted university students buying frozen pizzas and gummy candies.
Mold, however (in a completely dry environment), was discovered by Mark at work today in a pre-packaged and still-sealed packet of cheese or something. It had been placed (still sealed) into a plastic food carrier by his wife this morning, along with the rest of his lunch. He was highly offended and assumes this means that she is no longer happy preparing his lunch for him and that this was her way of saying he can bloody well do it himself (a reason for this hitherto unexpected behaviour could be the fact that she is about to burst with their first child).
In other exciting news, a new hairdryer is now in my possession, due to my having accompanied Basma to Boots in town at lunch today (does anyone else ever find that a shop can be on every corner when one does not need it, but when one actually searches and pays attention to one's surroundings, no Boots store is to be found? On a Sunday. Except a tiny corner one that happens to be closed on Sundays. Maybe it is just me.). It is the PowerDry Glamour 2000W and comes with:
* a comb
* a roller brush
* 4 puffy dryer curlers
* 4 curler clippies
* a diffuser
* a concentrator nozzle
It also claims 'ionic conditioning for frizz-free shine' and 'heat balancing ceramic technology'. Have every faith that tomorrow morning, my hair will look terribly dramatic and glamourous, lending me air of famous 1930s movie star. Perhaps I should wear sunglasses.
Finally, to round off the splendour of today, I spent an hour this afternoon at a Health and Safety Seminar on (seriously) 'How to set up your workstation'. We watched an intriguing video, hosted and narrated by a woman who talked to the audience like we were particularly dim-witted cabbages. Ideals set forth in this four-part instructional gem included:
* caring for psychological well-being in the workplace
(including making suggestions for improvement and telling others when you are unhappy -- am going on ssumption that this means 'mucking things up if you don't like them' and 'b^*(ing')
* positioning workspace so that everything is right in front of you
* sitting up straight in one's chair (I can't remember; has anyone every told me that before? Oh YES! It was my MAMA!!! Am admittedly still working on this one.)
* protecting one's eyes by:
Yay, for the last day in February! What wonders await in March?!
(oh, yes! LOTS of wonders since an adventure begins in 9 days!)
Yes, it is raining, but it really was a GORgeous day. Other than the 10 minutes to work and the 15 minutes home (during which I feel that we can now verify that Clare's umbrella Crimma gifty really is wind resistant and gave me no embarrassment by turning inside out -- such a Clever Clarence! Thank you! It also got a compliment from my friend, Sally, last evening who thought it was great fun to have caricatures of famous authoresses on a brolly.). The reason it took 15 minutes on the way home was due to the extreme distress experienced by myself upon discovery of no stocks of 2 litre sized milk in the campus shop. No matter how I huffed at the cooler, it remained packed with measly 1 litre and 1 pint sizes and the lower shelf remained empty; this wasted 5 minutes -- well, that and the line of culinarily stunted university students buying frozen pizzas and gummy candies.
Mold, however (in a completely dry environment), was discovered by Mark at work today in a pre-packaged and still-sealed packet of cheese or something. It had been placed (still sealed) into a plastic food carrier by his wife this morning, along with the rest of his lunch. He was highly offended and assumes this means that she is no longer happy preparing his lunch for him and that this was her way of saying he can bloody well do it himself (a reason for this hitherto unexpected behaviour could be the fact that she is about to burst with their first child).
In other exciting news, a new hairdryer is now in my possession, due to my having accompanied Basma to Boots in town at lunch today (does anyone else ever find that a shop can be on every corner when one does not need it, but when one actually searches and pays attention to one's surroundings, no Boots store is to be found? On a Sunday. Except a tiny corner one that happens to be closed on Sundays. Maybe it is just me.). It is the PowerDry Glamour 2000W and comes with:
* a comb
* a roller brush
* 4 puffy dryer curlers
* 4 curler clippies
* a diffuser
* a concentrator nozzle
It also claims 'ionic conditioning for frizz-free shine' and 'heat balancing ceramic technology'. Have every faith that tomorrow morning, my hair will look terribly dramatic and glamourous, lending me air of famous 1930s movie star. Perhaps I should wear sunglasses.
Finally, to round off the splendour of today, I spent an hour this afternoon at a Health and Safety Seminar on (seriously) 'How to set up your workstation'. We watched an intriguing video, hosted and narrated by a woman who talked to the audience like we were particularly dim-witted cabbages. Ideals set forth in this four-part instructional gem included:
* caring for psychological well-being in the workplace
(including making suggestions for improvement and telling others when you are unhappy -- am going on ssumption that this means 'mucking things up if you don't like them' and 'b^*(ing')
* positioning workspace so that everything is right in front of you
* sitting up straight in one's chair (I can't remember; has anyone every told me that before? Oh YES! It was my MAMA!!! Am admittedly still working on this one.)
* protecting one's eyes by:
- tilting computer screen to combat glare
- closing blinds if above is not possible
- cleaning dust from screen regularly
- adjusting brightness of screen
- taking regular focus breaks for eyes to rest
Yay, for the last day in February! What wonders await in March?!
(oh, yes! LOTS of wonders since an adventure begins in 9 days!)
Tuesday, 27 February 2007
Peat and other omitted items
I forgot to blog yesterday. Well, actually, I had to make a lovely turkey soup and then watch Finding Neverland and then my eyes were puffy and I couldn't type. (Oh whatever. It was worth a try no matter how lame.)
Some items forgot to mention in previous entry on Irish festivity (E has thoughtfully added the appropriate mention of towns in comment section -- well, maybe it didn't begin with a 'K'... but it was close! Thank you, E. One note: reference to, and I quote, repeated mention of 'the mysterious E' seems to be increasing excitement levels in the Ark-La-Tex of meeting said celebrity in a month -- you had best grow out the green mohawk and hide your glitter butterfly tattoo...):
* the top layer of the wedding cake is indeed saved and frozen.
* BUT it is not for the first anniversary... it is for the Christening Cake! Hoorah!
* (insert here some other stuff I remembered yesterday but forgot today. make it coloured so the people won't notice.)
*AND PEAT! I cannot believe forgot about PEAT! (this will get it's own entire section, not just a bullet point as much explaining must be done.)
At home (on the 11 days per year it is actually a tad nippy -- you know, below 60*F/15*C), we burn wood in our fire places (unless we are posh and have nifty things that look like real fires, but are not). And perhaps most people knew/know this already and forgot to tell me, but in Ireland, they burn peat. Peat is sort of like dirt, but complex dirt. Peat comes from a bog. My mental lexis grouping had bog as an equivalent of swamp, in the Florisiana sense of the word. So the image of what comes from a swamp bottom being burned as a fuel made absolutely no sense to me. Until someone said, 'Put some more peat on the fire' and I said, 'Who's Pete and why does he have to go in the fire' (just kidding) and so I did (and we know how I love to play in the fire). Peat also smells just ever so slightly different than firewood and there is even peat incense for sale in the duty-free shop in Knock Airport (which I shall attack on a rant against bureaucracy, but not now as it will sour mood).
When you fly over Ireland or you drive along the road, there are these fields that are tilled up dark, dark brown dirt-looking stuff with trenches between. To me, these always looked like some of the richest soil imaginable which must be used for growing magnificent beet roots or something. But no. These are peat bogs. There are special machines that people hire to come once a year and cut up the bog on their land and leave the peat to dry until it is needed as fuel and then they go out and get stock. I found this whole concept fascinating.
Tonight, then on the way back from the movies with Sally, I asked what exactly are The Broads of Norfolk. And it turns out they are man-made waterways that are partially the result of peat being dug out. Now, the waterways are purely used for pleasure boating (Sally is not terribly impressed with the experience as it is not overly exciting, but I think I might like it).
*******
Movie reviews (in v. brief):
Finding Neverland -- now no one is allowed to mock me for not seeing it until now; we all know how long it takes me to see movies that everyone and their dog has seen 14 times. Johnny Depp is not to my eye the gorgeous being on the planet that everyone has decided he is, but I think he is quite the most fantastically versatile and talented actor. Now, am going to have to locate biography of J.M. Barrie...
Notes on a Scandal -- Wow. Amrie saw a movie in a theatre... and it wasn't vexing and Spanish, either. Although fully expected this to be Dame Judy Dench being pursed, disapproving and dour, with slightly amusing moments until the climax of revenge (which I anticipated as someone's house being burned or a tea cup thrown to the floor in a fit of pique), after which everyone parts and a nice sunset closes to never let the new enemies encounter each other again (maybe someone could move to the Dordogne). Now, it does close at dusk (equivalent to sunset in amrie lexis, although as we have seen above, this can be riddled with error), but this is as far as my prognosticative abilities went. Much more psychological, and were it not for the overlay of internal monologue of Dame Dench's character, it would be much darker. Although, this is where -- on a tangent here, if i may -- the difference lies between people who find nothing humourous in life and those who find great enjoyment and humour in life. Some people have an internal narration going, and some people don't. There is also a soundtrack to life, which some people are more adept at hearing than others, and this psychologically works similar to my theory on narration. This is a v. black comedy, and am not entirely sure it is an easy movie, as the two people with me were not sure that they liked it at all and labelled it 'a bit strange'. Cate Blanchett character much more likeable than in Babel. DD must have had an absolute ball of a time performing this character. And I think all my quirky friends should see this film.
Babel is just bizarre. It is terrifically long and, while there are interesting moments in the film and it is intriguing in its realism at points, there are also quite a few points where you want to slap characters for their utter stupidity. (Do I have a problem with anger projection onto inanimate and unreal objects? Hmmm.)
Some items forgot to mention in previous entry on Irish festivity (E has thoughtfully added the appropriate mention of towns in comment section -- well, maybe it didn't begin with a 'K'... but it was close! Thank you, E. One note: reference to, and I quote, repeated mention of 'the mysterious E' seems to be increasing excitement levels in the Ark-La-Tex of meeting said celebrity in a month -- you had best grow out the green mohawk and hide your glitter butterfly tattoo...):
* the top layer of the wedding cake is indeed saved and frozen.
* BUT it is not for the first anniversary... it is for the Christening Cake! Hoorah!
* (insert here some other stuff I remembered yesterday but forgot today. make it coloured so the people won't notice.)
*AND PEAT! I cannot believe forgot about PEAT! (this will get it's own entire section, not just a bullet point as much explaining must be done.)
At home (on the 11 days per year it is actually a tad nippy -- you know, below 60*F/15*C), we burn wood in our fire places (unless we are posh and have nifty things that look like real fires, but are not). And perhaps most people knew/know this already and forgot to tell me, but in Ireland, they burn peat. Peat is sort of like dirt, but complex dirt. Peat comes from a bog. My mental lexis grouping had bog as an equivalent of swamp, in the Florisiana sense of the word. So the image of what comes from a swamp bottom being burned as a fuel made absolutely no sense to me. Until someone said, 'Put some more peat on the fire' and I said, 'Who's Pete and why does he have to go in the fire' (just kidding) and so I did (and we know how I love to play in the fire). Peat also smells just ever so slightly different than firewood and there is even peat incense for sale in the duty-free shop in Knock Airport (which I shall attack on a rant against bureaucracy, but not now as it will sour mood).
When you fly over Ireland or you drive along the road, there are these fields that are tilled up dark, dark brown dirt-looking stuff with trenches between. To me, these always looked like some of the richest soil imaginable which must be used for growing magnificent beet roots or something. But no. These are peat bogs. There are special machines that people hire to come once a year and cut up the bog on their land and leave the peat to dry until it is needed as fuel and then they go out and get stock. I found this whole concept fascinating.
Tonight, then on the way back from the movies with Sally, I asked what exactly are The Broads of Norfolk. And it turns out they are man-made waterways that are partially the result of peat being dug out. Now, the waterways are purely used for pleasure boating (Sally is not terribly impressed with the experience as it is not overly exciting, but I think I might like it).
*******
Movie reviews (in v. brief):
Finding Neverland -- now no one is allowed to mock me for not seeing it until now; we all know how long it takes me to see movies that everyone and their dog has seen 14 times. Johnny Depp is not to my eye the gorgeous being on the planet that everyone has decided he is, but I think he is quite the most fantastically versatile and talented actor. Now, am going to have to locate biography of J.M. Barrie...
Notes on a Scandal -- Wow. Amrie saw a movie in a theatre... and it wasn't vexing and Spanish, either. Although fully expected this to be Dame Judy Dench being pursed, disapproving and dour, with slightly amusing moments until the climax of revenge (which I anticipated as someone's house being burned or a tea cup thrown to the floor in a fit of pique), after which everyone parts and a nice sunset closes to never let the new enemies encounter each other again (maybe someone could move to the Dordogne). Now, it does close at dusk (equivalent to sunset in amrie lexis, although as we have seen above, this can be riddled with error), but this is as far as my prognosticative abilities went. Much more psychological, and were it not for the overlay of internal monologue of Dame Dench's character, it would be much darker. Although, this is where -- on a tangent here, if i may -- the difference lies between people who find nothing humourous in life and those who find great enjoyment and humour in life. Some people have an internal narration going, and some people don't. There is also a soundtrack to life, which some people are more adept at hearing than others, and this psychologically works similar to my theory on narration. This is a v. black comedy, and am not entirely sure it is an easy movie, as the two people with me were not sure that they liked it at all and labelled it 'a bit strange'. Cate Blanchett character much more likeable than in Babel. DD must have had an absolute ball of a time performing this character. And I think all my quirky friends should see this film.
Babel is just bizarre. It is terrifically long and, while there are interesting moments in the film and it is intriguing in its realism at points, there are also quite a few points where you want to slap characters for their utter stupidity. (Do I have a problem with anger projection onto inanimate and unreal objects? Hmmm.)
Sunday, 25 February 2007
Irish Wedding
After my foray into Irish culture over the weekend (purely with the most sociological of intentions), it is my studied opinion that the Irish do weddings the very best.
Ever.
Evah, evah, evvvah.
Thursday, coach ride to airport was interesting since we went through all sorts of little towns on the way to Stansted. This was enlivened further than just the circus music and thoughts spinning round my brain, when a lovely lady got on at Thetford (on her way home to Sussex, after spending a week with her mother who is 87 years old) and told me lots of interesting things. Here are some things observed and/or learned on this segment of my journey (in no particular order):
* When carrying a banana in one's luggage, one should ensure that it is not on the side of the bag which will be continually bashed against one's person whilst walking.
* There is are not one, but two, wool shoppes in Attleborough!
* Thetford is the ancient capital of East Anglia.
* There are weekend markets sometimes at both Snetterton and Newmarket race courses.
* Newmarket is a lovely town, with amazing stables and horse tracks and fields along the sides of the road. I ought to have taken a picture of the three gorgeous creatures which crossed in front of our coach.
* I saw a dog herding sheep in a field with his owner directing!!!! (I mean, yes, I have seen it on Babe, but not in real life.)
*******
Then I flew to Ireland. To Knock, specifically. One observation is that the English landscape is like manicured smooth green velvet squares. The Irish landscape, on the other hand, has the most varieties of greens you can imagine and is rather like gorgeous crushed velvet (I think from the rockiness of the land and it's more untamed style). Knock International Airport is similar to Bristol Airport in E's opinion. Bristol is a metal hut in the middle of a field; Knock Airport is a metal hut on top of a mountain. A small grouping of cows watched our plane land, make a 180 in the middle of the runway and head back to the terminal building :)
We stayed the Thursday night at the farm where his mam grew up (outside the village of Creggs). E's Uncle Johnny lives in the family home and his Aunt Rose Marie lives across the road; attempted to make friends with a wild black kitten, but failed. It did talk to me, so there was hope... Uncle Johnny took Ciara, Mark, E and me on an outing to Creggs. Although there are closing times, pubs do not kick people out... they just close the doors and draw the blinds until everyone decides to leave! However, we did not push ourselves too much, as certain nutters had been up for approx. 40 hours by that point.
Friday was wedding day, which I found entirely interesting since have never been to a weekday wedding before. The tone of the event was completely unchoreographed and just generally jolly (and there was doodly-doodly music, too, Clare!). Now comes the fun part!
From the church, there is a procession to the reception. Streamers are tied to all the cars, and
there is much honking of horns and blinking of lights. THEN (this is apparently a western Ireland thing), along the route, people have built bonfires in their drives and they stand along the road and wave as the wedding party goes by! Had it been a nicer day, I have been assured there would have been more fires; as it was, there were at least 75 fires!
We drove about an hour from the town that begins with a K (feel like complete cartographic failure at repeated inability to remember name; it is very long) to Gort for reception at The Lady Gregory Hotel. Gort is a lovely town and it would be fun to go back and explore. Most everyone had arrived and checked in by 4 or 5, retired to the bar until the next segment, and dinner began at 6-ish. More people came to the dinner than were at the wedding. After the speeches, there was an intermission so the tables could be moved, carpets rolled up, band set up and then...
Everybody danced! All night long. There was regular music and there was jitterbug music and there was waltzing and there was country music (the Irish like country music) and naturally there was doodly-doodly music (again, you should have been there, Clare!). There is a dance called The Siege of Venice, which is a set dance and is generally impressively organised chaos. For the safety of others I refrained from joining in. There are two lines of four in each group; the lines go forward and backward and forward and backward and then by twos go sideways and then back and then over or under depending on which direction you are heading. Various guests got up and sang or played in the band at intervals (E did show remarkable level of self-control and did not give his (in)famous and popular rendition of Born to Be Wild). One question from the night is where is Tipperary and why is it such a long, long way? But it is fun to try to dance there even if your legs feel like they have been beaten the next day.
The wedding cake is Fruit Cake! And the mother of the groom made these probably two months ago (so they could soak, you know). Marzipan icing was really lovely and simple white with a ribbon to match the bridesmaids' dresses and cakes were square and arranged on a sort of candelabra sort of clever thing with arms instead of all stacked up. (Yes, mama. I KNOW I ought to have taken a picture of it...)
After dancing goes for a few hours, plates of sandwiches are brought out (for reviving qualities of crisps and bread and sausages) and wedding cake served to each table before MORE DANCING!
The bouquet is thrown. And the garter is thrown. But there are a couple of differences:
* The girl who catches the bouquet comes to the front and sits next to the bride.
* The groom removes the garter with his teeth! hee hee hee
* The man who catches the garter has to put it on the girl who caught the bouquet... with his teeth!!!!! Have informed E and his cousin that this would never fly in certain regions of the world with which I am familar :)
At the very end of the night (which was well into the next day), remaining guests made a pyramid path of arms and the bride and groom ran through it to The Chapel of Love by The Dixie Cups. And then I was tired (although perhaps it won't take me as long to bounce back as Matthew, who claims to have gone to an Irish wedding six years ago and still be recovering. Light-weight.).
It is really lovely to see such intergenerational family closeness (so much family was there!) and jollity for what should be a thoroughly joyful and non-stressful human event. It was just real. And this is a beautiful thing that we need more of. I have the greatest respect for people who balance abundant joy at being alive with purpose in life and faith.
Am quite sure that there were some other intriguing revelations that I meant to type in, but my shopping venture into the city centre today has drained me. For now my brain and my legs need a little rest... and some milk and chocolate. Shall have to inquire of E as to some more of my questions/observations when he gets back to Cardiff and is reachable by phone/Skype -- the trio is travelling back on the ferry, leaving Ireland tonight at 10.00pm or something that makes my energy store deplete in a swooning manner just thinking about.
Ever.
Evah, evah, evvvah.
Thursday, coach ride to airport was interesting since we went through all sorts of little towns on the way to Stansted. This was enlivened further than just the circus music and thoughts spinning round my brain, when a lovely lady got on at Thetford (on her way home to Sussex, after spending a week with her mother who is 87 years old) and told me lots of interesting things. Here are some things observed and/or learned on this segment of my journey (in no particular order):
* When carrying a banana in one's luggage, one should ensure that it is not on the side of the bag which will be continually bashed against one's person whilst walking.
* There is are not one, but two, wool shoppes in Attleborough!
* Thetford is the ancient capital of East Anglia.
* There are weekend markets sometimes at both Snetterton and Newmarket race courses.
* Newmarket is a lovely town, with amazing stables and horse tracks and fields along the sides of the road. I ought to have taken a picture of the three gorgeous creatures which crossed in front of our coach.
* I saw a dog herding sheep in a field with his owner directing!!!! (I mean, yes, I have seen it on Babe, but not in real life.)
*******
Then I flew to Ireland. To Knock, specifically. One observation is that the English landscape is like manicured smooth green velvet squares. The Irish landscape, on the other hand, has the most varieties of greens you can imagine and is rather like gorgeous crushed velvet (I think from the rockiness of the land and it's more untamed style). Knock International Airport is similar to Bristol Airport in E's opinion. Bristol is a metal hut in the middle of a field; Knock Airport is a metal hut on top of a mountain. A small grouping of cows watched our plane land, make a 180 in the middle of the runway and head back to the terminal building :)
We stayed the Thursday night at the farm where his mam grew up (outside the village of Creggs). E's Uncle Johnny lives in the family home and his Aunt Rose Marie lives across the road; attempted to make friends with a wild black kitten, but failed. It did talk to me, so there was hope... Uncle Johnny took Ciara, Mark, E and me on an outing to Creggs. Although there are closing times, pubs do not kick people out... they just close the doors and draw the blinds until everyone decides to leave! However, we did not push ourselves too much, as certain nutters had been up for approx. 40 hours by that point.
Friday was wedding day, which I found entirely interesting since have never been to a weekday wedding before. The tone of the event was completely unchoreographed and just generally jolly (and there was doodly-doodly music, too, Clare!). Now comes the fun part!
From the church, there is a procession to the reception. Streamers are tied to all the cars, and
there is much honking of horns and blinking of lights. THEN (this is apparently a western Ireland thing), along the route, people have built bonfires in their drives and they stand along the road and wave as the wedding party goes by! Had it been a nicer day, I have been assured there would have been more fires; as it was, there were at least 75 fires!We drove about an hour from the town that begins with a K (feel like complete cartographic failure at repeated inability to remember name; it is very long) to Gort for reception at The Lady Gregory Hotel. Gort is a lovely town and it would be fun to go back and explore. Most everyone had arrived and checked in by 4 or 5, retired to the bar until the next segment, and dinner began at 6-ish. More people came to the dinner than were at the wedding. After the speeches, there was an intermission so the tables could be moved, carpets rolled up, band set up and then...
Everybody danced! All night long. There was regular music and there was jitterbug music and there was waltzing and there was country music (the Irish like country music) and naturally there was doodly-doodly music (again, you should have been there, Clare!). There is a dance called The Siege of Venice, which is a set dance and is generally impressively organised chaos. For the safety of others I refrained from joining in. There are two lines of four in each group; the lines go forward and backward and forward and backward and then by twos go sideways and then back and then over or under depending on which direction you are heading. Various guests got up and sang or played in the band at intervals (E did show remarkable level of self-control and did not give his (in)famous and popular rendition of Born to Be Wild). One question from the night is where is Tipperary and why is it such a long, long way? But it is fun to try to dance there even if your legs feel like they have been beaten the next day.
The wedding cake is Fruit Cake! And the mother of the groom made these probably two months ago (so they could soak, you know). Marzipan icing was really lovely and simple white with a ribbon to match the bridesmaids' dresses and cakes were square and arranged on a sort of candelabra sort of clever thing with arms instead of all stacked up. (Yes, mama. I KNOW I ought to have taken a picture of it...)
After dancing goes for a few hours, plates of sandwiches are brought out (for reviving qualities of crisps and bread and sausages) and wedding cake served to each table before MORE DANCING!
The bouquet is thrown. And the garter is thrown. But there are a couple of differences:
* The girl who catches the bouquet comes to the front and sits next to the bride.
* The groom removes the garter with his teeth! hee hee hee
* The man who catches the garter has to put it on the girl who caught the bouquet... with his teeth!!!!! Have informed E and his cousin that this would never fly in certain regions of the world with which I am familar :)
At the very end of the night (which was well into the next day), remaining guests made a pyramid path of arms and the bride and groom ran through it to The Chapel of Love by The Dixie Cups. And then I was tired (although perhaps it won't take me as long to bounce back as Matthew, who claims to have gone to an Irish wedding six years ago and still be recovering. Light-weight.).
It is really lovely to see such intergenerational family closeness (so much family was there!) and jollity for what should be a thoroughly joyful and non-stressful human event. It was just real. And this is a beautiful thing that we need more of. I have the greatest respect for people who balance abundant joy at being alive with purpose in life and faith.
Am quite sure that there were some other intriguing revelations that I meant to type in, but my shopping venture into the city centre today has drained me. For now my brain and my legs need a little rest... and some milk and chocolate. Shall have to inquire of E as to some more of my questions/observations when he gets back to Cardiff and is reachable by phone/Skype -- the trio is travelling back on the ferry, leaving Ireland tonight at 10.00pm or something that makes my energy store deplete in a swooning manner just thinking about.
Wednesday, 21 February 2007
Smurry
And our Word of the Day is smurry.
Suzy at work informed me of this linguistic item this morning, which she has just learnt, as it was a rawther smurry morning. Have since verified the meaning online at a most charming blog: Pomegranates and Paper. To relieve your suspense, smurry is when it is persisting it down in a misty sort of way. My guess is that this is because the mist kind of makes the world look a bit smeary and that 'smurry' is a corruption of this (sort of like 'Murree Crimma' -- heh heh heh. Although I am being quite serious.).
*******
Have watched (sort of) Top Gear, which is really the funniest auto show I have ever seen. (Actually the only one, but I really do enjoy it!). Tonight, they made a space shuttle out of a suburban or something and it was quite a feat. Not necessarily successful in traditional notions, perhaps, but as one of them reviewed, 'I think we did quite well, considering. Nobody was killed...'. One of E's favourite sections of the site is called Carbage, and it is hysterical! They have obviously been to Louisiana.
Talked to the Mama tonight and being Superior OCD Mother and Daughter Team (SOCDMDT) that we are, we are busily planning an agenda for the next trip to the 'Port 'o' the Shreve! Hoorah for obsessive planning!
Must now go and prepare self and baggage (only one bag so as to not check luggage. And if they try to take my 120ml bottles off me, I shall be QUITE displeased. We shall just not mention it, but put them in the little clear bag on the belt. Here is a question: umm, wouldn't the shady people just pack the liquids in the bag anyway and not declare them? Would they be caught?) for tomorrow's excursion to Ireland! E's cousin on the paternal side (she thinks. E is sometimes a little fuzzy on too many details, clearing up why we get along so well -- smirk.) is getting married in County Galway (she thinks). Reception is at The Lady Gregory Hotel in Gort, and I have been warned to prepare for a v. late night! Take coach tomorrow morning from right outside my office directly to Stansted and then fly to Knock, where shall meet E, Ciara and Mark, which mad people are taking the 3.30am ferry tonight from Wales to Ireland and then driving all day. (Was supposed to join this excursion, but 6-hr train ride, min., from Norwich would not have gotten me there before they are leaving Cardiff at 10.00pm to drive to the West coast.) I hope it isn't smurry the whole weekend...
Toodles for now!
p.s. ooh! have found another fabulous author -- E.M. Delafield (and Wiki). Am reading The Diary of a Provincial Lady at the moment; it is delectably funny and also a delightful cultural commentary of the post-War period. It is kind of like a 1930s version of Bridget Jones (in a much tamer sort of way, but writing style v. similar.)
On November 14th, the Provicial Lady writes about a friend who is coming to visit on her way to her own home in Norwich:
p.p.s. Additionally, there is a Chicken Pox epidemic sweeping Norwich right now. Lorraine in our office who developed pox last week, has been diagnosed with Chicken Pox in her lungs... Helena's housemate broke out today and offices all over campus have people out with the pox! Deary me -- it sounds like there weren't enough Pox Parties about 20-30 years ago!
Suzy at work informed me of this linguistic item this morning, which she has just learnt, as it was a rawther smurry morning. Have since verified the meaning online at a most charming blog: Pomegranates and Paper. To relieve your suspense, smurry is when it is persisting it down in a misty sort of way. My guess is that this is because the mist kind of makes the world look a bit smeary and that 'smurry' is a corruption of this (sort of like 'Murree Crimma' -- heh heh heh. Although I am being quite serious.).
*******
Have watched (sort of) Top Gear, which is really the funniest auto show I have ever seen. (Actually the only one, but I really do enjoy it!). Tonight, they made a space shuttle out of a suburban or something and it was quite a feat. Not necessarily successful in traditional notions, perhaps, but as one of them reviewed, 'I think we did quite well, considering. Nobody was killed...'. One of E's favourite sections of the site is called Carbage, and it is hysterical! They have obviously been to Louisiana.
Talked to the Mama tonight and being Superior OCD Mother and Daughter Team (SOCDMDT) that we are, we are busily planning an agenda for the next trip to the 'Port 'o' the Shreve! Hoorah for obsessive planning!
Must now go and prepare self and baggage (only one bag so as to not check luggage. And if they try to take my 120ml bottles off me, I shall be QUITE displeased. We shall just not mention it, but put them in the little clear bag on the belt. Here is a question: umm, wouldn't the shady people just pack the liquids in the bag anyway and not declare them? Would they be caught?) for tomorrow's excursion to Ireland! E's cousin on the paternal side (she thinks. E is sometimes a little fuzzy on too many details, clearing up why we get along so well -- smirk.) is getting married in County Galway (she thinks). Reception is at The Lady Gregory Hotel in Gort, and I have been warned to prepare for a v. late night! Take coach tomorrow morning from right outside my office directly to Stansted and then fly to Knock, where shall meet E, Ciara and Mark, which mad people are taking the 3.30am ferry tonight from Wales to Ireland and then driving all day. (Was supposed to join this excursion, but 6-hr train ride, min., from Norwich would not have gotten me there before they are leaving Cardiff at 10.00pm to drive to the West coast.) I hope it isn't smurry the whole weekend...
Toodles for now!
p.s. ooh! have found another fabulous author -- E.M. Delafield (and Wiki). Am reading The Diary of a Provincial Lady at the moment; it is delectably funny and also a delightful cultural commentary of the post-War period. It is kind of like a 1930s version of Bridget Jones (in a much tamer sort of way, but writing style v. similar.)
On November 14th, the Provicial Lady writes about a friend who is coming to visit on her way to her own home in Norwich:
(Query: Why Norwich? Am surprised to realise that anybody ever goes to, lives at, or comes from, Norwich, but quite see that this is unreasonable of me. Remind myself how very little one knows of the England one lives in, which vaguely suggests a quotation. This, however, does not materialise.)
p.p.s. Additionally, there is a Chicken Pox epidemic sweeping Norwich right now. Lorraine in our office who developed pox last week, has been diagnosed with Chicken Pox in her lungs... Helena's housemate broke out today and offices all over campus have people out with the pox! Deary me -- it sounds like there weren't enough Pox Parties about 20-30 years ago!
Tuesday, 20 February 2007
Pancake Day!
It is Pancake Day, aka Shrove Tuesday, aka Mardi Gras!
*******
In other news today, a 22-week birth is causing quite a lot of debate. What is life and when exactly does it begin? As is the fact that one of the 21 July 2005 bombing suspects apparently enjoys disguising himself in unusual ways.
Here is an interesting item: There is actually a law that prevents the unlawful pricing of charges at banks! It is legal for them to cover their costs on things such as overdrafts, late fees, etc. For example, it costs approx. £4.50 to deal with an overdraft and so customers can legitimately complain and claim back for charges such as £35 for each overdraft. Hmmmm!
Finally, the luckiest frog in the world crossed a very busy Bluebell Road this evening. I saw this thing creeping stretchily on the pavement in the glare of the headlights and was horrified to realise it was a little (well, actually a pretty fat one) froggy with an apparent desperate need to get to the Bunny Field. He just kept going Steady-on and made it across the road not intersecting with any tire tracks at all!
Pancake Day is the name for the day before Lent in Anglican areas of the world, and I somehow missed this last year; actually, this is rather more my speed than ArkLaTex, or even Louisiana in general, Mardi Gras celebrations. Trying to explain Mardi Gras to the people in the office was rather entertaining for all, especially since it is known as a gay holiday event in Britain (and this is usually in the summer for some reason). General response was along these lines, 'Beads??? Why? And they show body parts for BEADS?!?! Riiiiiight.' So, one of the cafes on campus offered pancakes today and it was really a cultural necessity for me to not stay in my office and obsess over my spreadsheets. After all, I do work in an international office (Sally and Craig, above).
Pancakes here are more like crepes in my existential definition and they were freshly made in a skillet when you ordered (a skillet is called something else here according to a particularly opinionated Wirish person with whom I am acquainted). Fat pancakes (like American-style) are called 'Scotch Pancakes' here. There was a choice between sweet (you put your own topping on -- Sumiko's sweet to R has chocolate and caramel
sauces and chocolate sprinkles)
or savoury (there was a choice between spinach and ricotta, to R, or mushrooms and bacon). This was mine and it was yummy!
*******
In other news today, a 22-week birth is causing quite a lot of debate. What is life and when exactly does it begin? As is the fact that one of the 21 July 2005 bombing suspects apparently enjoys disguising himself in unusual ways.
Here is an interesting item: There is actually a law that prevents the unlawful pricing of charges at banks! It is legal for them to cover their costs on things such as overdrafts, late fees, etc. For example, it costs approx. £4.50 to deal with an overdraft and so customers can legitimately complain and claim back for charges such as £35 for each overdraft. Hmmmm!
Finally, the luckiest frog in the world crossed a very busy Bluebell Road this evening. I saw this thing creeping stretchily on the pavement in the glare of the headlights and was horrified to realise it was a little (well, actually a pretty fat one) froggy with an apparent desperate need to get to the Bunny Field. He just kept going Steady-on and made it across the road not intersecting with any tire tracks at all!
Monday, 19 February 2007
Roight.
So, some people may think it is cause for concern, but it really just kind of happened. It was just taking forever, and I was also too lazy to keep going with those teensy tiny needles, and so I bound it off, and now the bear has a new shawl. Made out of lovely multi-coloured pink and purple Danish wool. Pictures would be on here except for that pesky storage thingy that is going on with the 'puter.
*******
In addition to spontaneous craftiness this weekend, I have also two new friends! One is a silky black kitty who jingle-bells outside my window in a most luridly flirtatious sort of way, until I open the window and pet her as she walks her front paws up the wall, stretchy-like, before flitting away to begin the pantomime again :)
The second, I met on my walk into town to meet Mat Parry yesterday for an afternoon repast at Henry's and a shopping outing to purchase washers for an ingenious engineering idea, but more about that later. So, my map obsession forces me to imprint a map of my surroundings as quickly as possible and so it is necessary to wander in different routes each time. Yesterday's wander led me down one dead end before taking me through a little development in my neighborhood that might be a retirement village or something. It is a community of little terraced bungalows and free-standing houses with a nice central park-ish area in the middle with a pond and tall grasses.
As I wandered through (because the map made it look like there must be an alley through to Unthank Road), a man with binoculars around his neck said, 'Hello' and I said, 'Hello' back. He was looking for a pair of dunnets (cannot find anything online and am prob. wrecking the spelling) that he had just seen, and it turns out he has a sister who lives in Kenner, Louisiana! He walked along with me and showed me the way to the alley; he was born in India, where his father was a regimental officer in a place I did not recognise. He is 66 years old, one of 11 children (!), moved to Britain in 1945 after the war was over and has lived in the development there for 15 years and he and his wife will get to automatically move to one of the bungalows when they cannot manage their house anymore. I do not know his name, but he said I should come through the shortcut anytime :) And so I shall.
So after my hot chocolate in the city centre (well, actually my first one), found washers appropriate size to rig my lamp shade and lamp (which do not go together officially, but they just work better than the shade that came with the base), so now my lamp does not look drunk (the rubber band was just not working any more). Hoorah!
*******
Today, have decided that I want a Springer Spaniel. It would be pleasant and fun to walk along
The Broad amongst the bunnies when the mists are coming over the water and woods as the sun sets.
Here is some interesting history from www.petplanet.co.uk:
All spaniels can trace their origins back to the spaniels of Spain. Up until the 1600's all spaniels were considered as being of the same group of dogs, with various sized dogs in the same litter. The larger of these were the forefathers of today's English Springer Spaniel. In 1892 the Kennel Club of Great Britain recognised Cocker and Springer spaniels as separate breeds even though they sometimes appeared in the same litter. This was soon stopped by the two breed clubs and a standard conformation was made of each breed. The Kennel Club of Great Britain granted breed recognition in 1902; the American Kennel Club granted recognition in 1927. This breed is of the oldest sporting gundogs. Their original purpose was for finding and springing game for the net, falcon or greyhound. Nowadays they are used to find, flush and retrieve game for the gun.
*******
In religious news, several primates in the Anglican Communion in Africa (I think I am getting the organisational details correct) have released a statement regarding their decision not to attend a Eucharist during General Synod, delineating further the division that The Episcopal Church (USA) is setting between itself (well, there is also dissent in the US as well) and much of the rest of the Communion.
*******
Additionally, I have begun a real-person sized shawl in pink and purple Danish yarn...
*******
In addition to spontaneous craftiness this weekend, I have also two new friends! One is a silky black kitty who jingle-bells outside my window in a most luridly flirtatious sort of way, until I open the window and pet her as she walks her front paws up the wall, stretchy-like, before flitting away to begin the pantomime again :)
The second, I met on my walk into town to meet Mat Parry yesterday for an afternoon repast at Henry's and a shopping outing to purchase washers for an ingenious engineering idea, but more about that later. So, my map obsession forces me to imprint a map of my surroundings as quickly as possible and so it is necessary to wander in different routes each time. Yesterday's wander led me down one dead end before taking me through a little development in my neighborhood that might be a retirement village or something. It is a community of little terraced bungalows and free-standing houses with a nice central park-ish area in the middle with a pond and tall grasses.
As I wandered through (because the map made it look like there must be an alley through to Unthank Road), a man with binoculars around his neck said, 'Hello' and I said, 'Hello' back. He was looking for a pair of dunnets (cannot find anything online and am prob. wrecking the spelling) that he had just seen, and it turns out he has a sister who lives in Kenner, Louisiana! He walked along with me and showed me the way to the alley; he was born in India, where his father was a regimental officer in a place I did not recognise. He is 66 years old, one of 11 children (!), moved to Britain in 1945 after the war was over and has lived in the development there for 15 years and he and his wife will get to automatically move to one of the bungalows when they cannot manage their house anymore. I do not know his name, but he said I should come through the shortcut anytime :) And so I shall.
So after my hot chocolate in the city centre (well, actually my first one), found washers appropriate size to rig my lamp shade and lamp (which do not go together officially, but they just work better than the shade that came with the base), so now my lamp does not look drunk (the rubber band was just not working any more). Hoorah!
*******
Today, have decided that I want a Springer Spaniel. It would be pleasant and fun to walk along
The Broad amongst the bunnies when the mists are coming over the water and woods as the sun sets.Here is some interesting history from www.petplanet.co.uk:
All spaniels can trace their origins back to the spaniels of Spain. Up until the 1600's all spaniels were considered as being of the same group of dogs, with various sized dogs in the same litter. The larger of these were the forefathers of today's English Springer Spaniel. In 1892 the Kennel Club of Great Britain recognised Cocker and Springer spaniels as separate breeds even though they sometimes appeared in the same litter. This was soon stopped by the two breed clubs and a standard conformation was made of each breed. The Kennel Club of Great Britain granted breed recognition in 1902; the American Kennel Club granted recognition in 1927. This breed is of the oldest sporting gundogs. Their original purpose was for finding and springing game for the net, falcon or greyhound. Nowadays they are used to find, flush and retrieve game for the gun.
In religious news, several primates in the Anglican Communion in Africa (I think I am getting the organisational details correct) have released a statement regarding their decision not to attend a Eucharist during General Synod, delineating further the division that The Episcopal Church (USA) is setting between itself (well, there is also dissent in the US as well) and much of the rest of the Communion.
*******
Additionally, I have begun a real-person sized shawl in pink and purple Danish yarn...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
