Monday, 17 December 2007
Saturday, 15 December 2007
A Handmade Life
Sometimes, life just shines. For me, it always seems to happen when I feel at my lowest point. It's like the universe finds a really dramatic way of reminding me just how silly I am for ever thinking the world is a bad place.
I decided to enter a scholarship contest for a journalism conference I've been wanting to attend for years. Maybe this year will be different. After all, I got a scholarship to London so perhaps the scholarship gods are still up there, waiting to gift me with something else. The only problem is, I've been way too busy to get my materials together. So, of course, I did it at the absolute last minute. That resulted, as it always does, in tons of stress and way too much effort.
The path actually started in Germany, where my friends Sonja and Dominic helped me by rushing to the store to buy me a new color ink cartridge and waiting with me for two hours while the printer slooooooooowly coughed out each sheet. Dominic was in charge of the computer and Sonja was the organizer of each particular story. I needed five copies of each and there were two stories per entry and four entries in total. I didn't have enough of what they printed, so when I went to my friend Uschi's, she and her husband printed me out another 7 copies. Then I called T in London and asked if he could print me another 30 pages at work.
Still, it wasn't enough. So I got up early this morning and rushed to a color copy shop then on to a computer/print shop, where I found a few stories online and put them into a word document, then my friend at the print shop printed them out for me. He was apparently reading my stories and commenting on them as they came out. "I like how you described that restaurant owner," he laughed. "If you get the scholarship, you should take me to dinner as a thanks for helping you make your deadline."
He was really quite funny. He was also correcting the prices of the meals in my stories by showing me where I indicated prices in dollars rather than pounds. Perhaps I should hire him as my editor!
I was running down the street to get to the Post Office, knowing already I was late for my lunch date with my friend Erica. Still, I had to wait in the enormously long queue because the Office was closing soon. While there, I ended up talking to a darling woman about the size of a baby kangaroo (or joey, for those of you who learned the proper name in elementary school), who was from the West Indies. She'd come to London 30 years ago to work on the railway. She told me how she only made 5 pounds a week and had to use a public bath that was only available to women on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays and men on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. That meant she only bathed three times a week.
She told me how she worked so hard, from 5 a.m. to 2 a.m. each day and now, people come here from all over the world and get free health care and free lodging. She didn't seem bitter, though. She traveled the world and has been to every country in the UK except Ireland. Suddenly, I didn't want the line to be shorter.
Even the guy at the Post Office who helped me mail off my package was grinning from ear to ear. He was a far cry from all the grumpy folks I normally encounter behind the glass.
My phone ran out of credit so I couldn't let Erica know I was running late. Thankfully, when I got to Notting Hill, she was munching on a croissant and smiling. We found a darling little Italian deli with an orange VW bug in the window, displaying some freshly made pizza in its window. We shared some delicious mushroom pizza and another with ham, then we walked down Portobello Road and perused all the market stalls.
When she left, I stopped in a few of the boutiques and found an incredible designer whose clothing was very Betsey Johnson-ish. I was captivated by her designs and felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball. I tried on the most beautiful things. There was a skirt made of fabric so light and delicate it was as if I was wearing skin. It was compltely see-through, but I didn't really feel all that self-conscious, standing in the open doorway as half of London walked by, looking in. I felt so lovely in it, I wanted to glue it to my body. She said she'd put in a black underskirt for me and gave me a discount. Then, I tried on a dress made entirely of scarves. It was a patchwork of color and has an open back and a halter top. She took in the chest (no big surprise) for me and will hand tailor it for me by Wednesday. She gave me a 30 pound discount on that one. I felt very exclusive.
The guitar music is still floating through the air and my dinner guests and I have been laughing, talking and remembering just how lovely the world can be, thanks to all the wonderful examples from my day. Kind of makes you excited to wake up each morning. You honestly never know what's going to happen!
I decided to enter a scholarship contest for a journalism conference I've been wanting to attend for years. Maybe this year will be different. After all, I got a scholarship to London so perhaps the scholarship gods are still up there, waiting to gift me with something else. The only problem is, I've been way too busy to get my materials together. So, of course, I did it at the absolute last minute. That resulted, as it always does, in tons of stress and way too much effort.
The path actually started in Germany, where my friends Sonja and Dominic helped me by rushing to the store to buy me a new color ink cartridge and waiting with me for two hours while the printer slooooooooowly coughed out each sheet. Dominic was in charge of the computer and Sonja was the organizer of each particular story. I needed five copies of each and there were two stories per entry and four entries in total. I didn't have enough of what they printed, so when I went to my friend Uschi's, she and her husband printed me out another 7 copies. Then I called T in London and asked if he could print me another 30 pages at work.
Still, it wasn't enough. So I got up early this morning and rushed to a color copy shop then on to a computer/print shop, where I found a few stories online and put them into a word document, then my friend at the print shop printed them out for me. He was apparently reading my stories and commenting on them as they came out. "I like how you described that restaurant owner," he laughed. "If you get the scholarship, you should take me to dinner as a thanks for helping you make your deadline."
He was really quite funny. He was also correcting the prices of the meals in my stories by showing me where I indicated prices in dollars rather than pounds. Perhaps I should hire him as my editor!
I was running down the street to get to the Post Office, knowing already I was late for my lunch date with my friend Erica. Still, I had to wait in the enormously long queue because the Office was closing soon. While there, I ended up talking to a darling woman about the size of a baby kangaroo (or joey, for those of you who learned the proper name in elementary school), who was from the West Indies. She'd come to London 30 years ago to work on the railway. She told me how she only made 5 pounds a week and had to use a public bath that was only available to women on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays and men on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. That meant she only bathed three times a week.
She told me how she worked so hard, from 5 a.m. to 2 a.m. each day and now, people come here from all over the world and get free health care and free lodging. She didn't seem bitter, though. She traveled the world and has been to every country in the UK except Ireland. Suddenly, I didn't want the line to be shorter.
Even the guy at the Post Office who helped me mail off my package was grinning from ear to ear. He was a far cry from all the grumpy folks I normally encounter behind the glass.
My phone ran out of credit so I couldn't let Erica know I was running late. Thankfully, when I got to Notting Hill, she was munching on a croissant and smiling. We found a darling little Italian deli with an orange VW bug in the window, displaying some freshly made pizza in its window. We shared some delicious mushroom pizza and another with ham, then we walked down Portobello Road and perused all the market stalls.
When she left, I stopped in a few of the boutiques and found an incredible designer whose clothing was very Betsey Johnson-ish. I was captivated by her designs and felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball. I tried on the most beautiful things. There was a skirt made of fabric so light and delicate it was as if I was wearing skin. It was compltely see-through, but I didn't really feel all that self-conscious, standing in the open doorway as half of London walked by, looking in. I felt so lovely in it, I wanted to glue it to my body. She said she'd put in a black underskirt for me and gave me a discount. Then, I tried on a dress made entirely of scarves. It was a patchwork of color and has an open back and a halter top. She took in the chest (no big surprise) for me and will hand tailor it for me by Wednesday. She gave me a 30 pound discount on that one. I felt very exclusive.
The guitar music is still floating through the air and my dinner guests and I have been laughing, talking and remembering just how lovely the world can be, thanks to all the wonderful examples from my day. Kind of makes you excited to wake up each morning. You honestly never know what's going to happen!
A Private Concert
A man is playing guitar in my living room right now. It's like I've got my own private concert. He's actually very good. And he sings a bit. I just made a fabulous dinner of kamut pasta with sauteed zucchini and red peppers, roasted cherry tomatoes and chicken. I put a fantastic Italian artichoke and garlic cream over it and it was simply marvelous. I ate it with K's girlfriend W and her friend J. J is a delightful gentleman who unfortunately lost his sense of smell 30 years ago. Still, he enjoys the texture of food, as it's all he has to go on. Amazing what some people have to live with.
I made rice pudding with basmati rice, coconut milk and loads of frozen berries. We had tea and J played a million soothing songs on his guitar. Heaven!
I made rice pudding with basmati rice, coconut milk and loads of frozen berries. We had tea and J played a million soothing songs on his guitar. Heaven!
Thursday, 13 December 2007
Beware of the Belly!
I was just pummeled by a belly. Seriously. I was standing on the airplane, waiting for my turn to get to my seat, when a man with a shiny bald head and rather enormous stomach decided to put something in the overhead compartment behind me. He was a bit hasty in doing so, however, and knocked me into the woman behind me with his stomach as he attempted to get by. This was not a tiny nudge. This was a surprising, rather forceful, jolt. I believe I said “Ay!” and then “Oh!” or something like that. I made a really loud sound. It just came out. And the woman behind me grabbed onto me, but fell back also. It was a bit scary.
I have nothing against bellies, of course. I just don’t like it when they’re used as weapons.
I have nothing against bellies, of course. I just don’t like it when they’re used as weapons.
Taking a Deep Breath
As the plane was taking off, I got the strangest feeling inside. It was a voice. Not mine and not an actual human voice. It was like a whisper of thought. It said: “The fear is gone. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
Just like that, I was pierced by the awareness that it’s all going to be okay. No matter what. In whatever time it takes, life itself will work out. I will work out. If I lose my fear, I gain anything that was getting in the way before. That just might be everything.
Just like that, I was pierced by the awareness that it’s all going to be okay. No matter what. In whatever time it takes, life itself will work out. I will work out. If I lose my fear, I gain anything that was getting in the way before. That just might be everything.
What Are You Carrying With You?
I saw a man silently hand his wife a very heavy backpack on the bus. She already had a bag on her lap, but he just sort of shoved it at her, forcing her to move her bag and readjust to the new weight he’d placed upon her body. It made me wonder, what sorts of things do we carry with us? How much baggage do we take with us everywhere we go? Even more, how much do we accept from someone else that we didn’t have before?
Wilkommen in Deutschland
My most treasured saying in life is this: the journey is the reward. I wholeheartedly agree. But I agree, even more, that just because you are on a journey does not mean it will be an easy one. There are times in all of our lives, when we are called to experience something painful. In many ways, my trip to Europe has fulfilled this description. I’ve been forced to confront myself here. There are absolutely no walls anymore. I have so much time to think and I find that this alone makes me vulnerable. It is like the very thin veil of skin that has covered my soul has been torn away. And it’s never going to grow back.
This trip has been a rite of passage for me. I have been forced to think about things I wouldn’t have thought about back home when I was mired in deadlines, oil changes and traffic jams. Here there is nothing but me.
This trip has been a rite of passage for me. I have been forced to think about things I wouldn’t have thought about back home when I was mired in deadlines, oil changes and traffic jams. Here there is nothing but me.
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