Hi guys
Guyana Gyal was sweet enough to stop by and say I pass through her mind. All of you pass through mine also.
It has been a crazy time. Since June, the only thing we seem to have done is plan the wedding. Made harder by the fact that there is nobody around to help us, to pick up the slack, to delegate a task to. The whole process is like something I must endure in order to marry my love. Looking back on it through photos, the video, and with friends and family, will make it worthwhile.
In July-August, I spent two weeks with my mother, and Jeff joined me for the last few days of the trip. She is not doing well. Her speech and swallowing have deteriorated, yet she has refused the feeding tube, so while unable to take in enough nutrition, she is at greater risk of choking on nothing much, like yogurt or Ensure. I still encourage her to get the tube while surgery is still feasible though. Every little movement takes so much energy, and she certainly shouldn't be starving herself. Even her nurse wants her to fight. I know she doesn't want to prolong her misery....The end is inevitable, but she needs it to be as easy as possible.
A couple of weeks after returning from London, my position was terminated. Lately it felt as though I'd been commuting for two hours a day in order to wait for something to do...so I think I could feel that coming for some time. But I was then freed up at a crucial time to hire vendors and make all sorts of decisions regarding the wedding, which has been great.
We've even been taking dancing lessons and on our 6th and last we finally got our wedding dance down.
Well....
We are getting married on Saturday. It's nearly here! My father arrives tomorrow. It will be nice to spend some time with him.
And...
Sunday at the crack of dawn we begin our trip to Antigua.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, September 20, 2010
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Christmas to remember
Today is January 9th, 2010. I've been writing this since December 12, 2009! I just retrieved it from draft status....
So here's what I wrote in December:
This year, it was set in Renaissance Florence, and we, along with every one of Italy's noble families (Doge of Venice, Medici, d'Este, Borghese, et al. in all their sumptuous brocaded and bejewelled splendor) were guests of il maestro Leonardo da Vinci and his hilarious assistant Esmeralda.
We learned all sorts of Italian carols and winter songs, were treated to traditional Renaissance music and dances, as well as one segment to Saturnalia, the Roman winter solstice, and saw some of da Vinci's inventions at work. By the end of the first half, the whole audience was skipping around the auditorium to "Lord of the Dance" and by the end of the second half, we were singing in rounds.
********************
We were supposed to move to our new home this weekend, but that plan was completely ruined by the worst winter storm in nearly 70 years. It stopped short of a blizzard because although the winds did gust a little, they didn't pick up too much. It snowed so heavily for about 24 hours that visibility was reduced to about half a block, and we got at least a foot of snow. The whole world looked as though it had been smothered in whipped cream and meringue and icing sugar.
Stores were sold out of anything that could possibly be used to slide down a hill, and therefore every slope in the city was being used.
We went out in the SUV and wondered at the people who thought they could take their cars out in all that snow. Loads of them were spinning wheels and stuck in drifts. Even the SUVs were challenged, but we managed. It was fun exploring the winter wonderland.
People were discouraged from walking on the plowed streets, and were left to trudge through snow up to their knees. Some smart ones actually cross-country skiied.
Lots of people hitched rides, and when we got to Tenleytown we picked up a woman and dropped her off at the apartments across the road from the National Cathedral. Jeffy told her that someone had done him the same favor 10 years ago when he too was living there.
By 4pm, we found ourselves in Georgetown, which is picturesque at any time of year. We were determined to walk around, fall down, and make snow angels somewhere. We soon found ourselves at Book Hill Park near Dumbarton Oaks, the museum, library, and gardens we visited in the early summer. There were a few people there snowboarding and skiing down the hill beside the steps, and we stumbled and slipped our way up the snow mound to a circle of benches on a plateau. The snow was undisturbed and I was tempted to sit in the foot of snow on each bench. But we were there to make snow angels, my first ever --- or so I thought.......
As I fumbled about in my ski pants and down-filled coat, slightly deaf with my furry hood on, I wasn't properly absorbing whatever Jeffy was saying. This is what I gathered:
"Why is this park important?"
*Thinking....something to do with the Revolution?*
"I don't know Jeffy......because we're in it....?
*He laughs* "Sort of."
He keeps talking, something about how we keep saying we are so well matched, my Mum and God designed him, and his grandmother and God designed me.
I climb onto a bench to face him, just because the fresh snow made me hyper, and place my hands on his shoulders.
He says something something something, how much he loves me, something something, [I get suspicious].......and isn't this a good time to acknowledge how we feel [it registers in my brain]. He puts his hand in his pocket.
I jump off the bench, somehow sensing a little velvet black box is going to appear.
A little black velvet box appears.
He opens it and after the acknowledge part, something about "ask you to marry me".
I say "Oh my bee" followed by "Of course."
How did I know? With us, it was inevitable. But quite often we are thinking the same thing, and often steal each other's lines. So perhaps because I was holding his shoulders as I jumped off the bench, I was again reading his mind. :-)
His best friend wanted him to propose at his 40th birthday at the end of November, with all 20 of his closest friends and relatives at the table, but he told Jay he didn't have the ring yet.
Ah yes, about the ring. It took Jeffy two weeks to choose and design it. He "interviewed" many diamonds at 10-15x magnification and considered many bands, until he finally settled on a stone and a band that went together and said to him "Livvy".
It's delicate, dainty, simple, and sweet. I think "sweet" is one of the first words I used to describe it the moment I could catch my breath. I feel as though I don't deserve such a fiery stone.
I'd love to post pictures but it seems the process has changed - I can't link to pics on Flickr anymore, but feel free to look at them here:
Snow in NW DC:
Georgetown before climbing up to Book Hill Park:
Jeffy just before proposing:
The ring in two lights:
Now I must be off to get ready. When Jeffy comes back from his Baltimore house (which he's just rented out to a nice young couple) we will go out to get a rug and look at furniture.
We moved for 4 days between Christmas and New Year's. It was exhausting, and now we have stuff everywhere and no furniture to put it in though the closets are full. Jeffy has accumulated junk, and repeatedly moved with it in numbered boxes. I've opened his eyes (a bag of receipts from 1987? A video camera that hasn't worked for 6 years? An empty camera box inside an empty box?) so he's promised himself and me that he will de-clutter so we can find space for the things that matter.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Life Happens
Hi everyone,
Sorry it's been so long since I wrote here. Believe me, I wanted to, but many things are going on and .... well, I have just realized that I am probably undergoing a major life transition now.
First, I have learned a hard lesson: Current company excepted, I will from now on try to limit my dealings with New Yorkers.
My landlady finally went on the long-awaited rampage, a little earlier than I'd expected. I have never seen such wild eyes in my life.
Jeff turned out to be my knight in shining armor, surprise surprise - although he is sorry that his efforts to protect me from her by - calmly and quietly, as is his way - citing actual DC tenancy laws are what precipitated the drama and we would have been totally justified in calling the police on her.
He is representing me, and her daughter is representing her. He's drawing up a new agreement to end my lease.
He seems to "stand upon a reservoir of peace" (this is the image in my head), and uses words of wisdom, and a tone of reassurance. Within a couple of minutes he had turned her daughter's vicious approach over the phone into a reasonable legal discussion tinged with just the right amount of humanity.
I will move in with him around the end of July - he offered twice in two days, and I can stay for as long as I like, even forever. He wants to make a home, and is intensively looking to buy a place.
He has told me with utmost sincerity that he is here for me; it is a miracle that he found me; he only wanted to protect me and cannot see why anyone would be mean to me; he cares for me unconditionally and limitlessly; that Fate and Destiny have only good and bright things in store for me, and for him, and he can't wait.
And the way he looks at me...I haven't seen that since my father used to look at my mother...just the thought of it takes my breath away.
Sorry it's been so long since I wrote here. Believe me, I wanted to, but many things are going on and .... well, I have just realized that I am probably undergoing a major life transition now.
First, I have learned a hard lesson: Current company excepted, I will from now on try to limit my dealings with New Yorkers.
My landlady finally went on the long-awaited rampage, a little earlier than I'd expected. I have never seen such wild eyes in my life.
Jeff turned out to be my knight in shining armor, surprise surprise - although he is sorry that his efforts to protect me from her by - calmly and quietly, as is his way - citing actual DC tenancy laws are what precipitated the drama and we would have been totally justified in calling the police on her.
He is representing me, and her daughter is representing her. He's drawing up a new agreement to end my lease.
He seems to "stand upon a reservoir of peace" (this is the image in my head), and uses words of wisdom, and a tone of reassurance. Within a couple of minutes he had turned her daughter's vicious approach over the phone into a reasonable legal discussion tinged with just the right amount of humanity.
I will move in with him around the end of July - he offered twice in two days, and I can stay for as long as I like, even forever. He wants to make a home, and is intensively looking to buy a place.
He has told me with utmost sincerity that he is here for me; it is a miracle that he found me; he only wanted to protect me and cannot see why anyone would be mean to me; he cares for me unconditionally and limitlessly; that Fate and Destiny have only good and bright things in store for me, and for him, and he can't wait.
And the way he looks at me...I haven't seen that since my father used to look at my mother...just the thought of it takes my breath away.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The memories
I had this whole blog planned about how my roomie had food poisoning yesterday but how at first we thought it was norovirus (stomach flu), so I wiped everything down with bleach or alcohol...
But then I rarely post without photos now, so I was browsing my collection looking for the one of the baldacchino at St Peter's Basilica to share. Came across one of my parents, Ruth and Oliver.
Staring at this image, their smiles, their eyes, remembering how they were together, I burst into tears that would not stop. Maybe will happen every so often, just when I think I'm over it. God knows what my mother feels in her lonely hours. Her eyes are always sad now, even when she's smiling.
This was their last photo "together", at the wedding of the son of an old family friend. Nobody yet knew they had been divorced for months. Neither of them had yet even broken the habit of holding hands. My dad is the best hand-holder in the world. She used to talk about the first time he held her hand, and the electric thrill that went up her arm and made her heart jump. It was real! I've felt it too.
My father could never be near my mother without reaching for her. It's like they needed each other. I will never, ever forget...the day he walked out it was so sudden and unexpected. As he turned to leave, my mother reached out for his sleeve, in a gesture of helplessness and desperation, a side of her I'd never seen...For the rest of that day, I was mute. My poor mother for some reason made me help her wash my car while a thunderstorm approached. I suppose that was better than sitting inside thinking about it. She spoke to me, and I would not make a sound.
That day she lost every bit of confidence and trust he had nurtured in her since her first marriage had ended. But then so did I. We've both had to start from scratch. I moved away to London so I made slightly more progress over that first year. I will never forget the day I began to see things in color again, as though my eyes had just opened to the world around me, but she was still stuck with the house and the memories so she went to the gym every day, working out the negativity and the pain. To this day neither of us are quite what we once were. Like a couple of broken vases that have been glued back together but don't stand quite as straight as they once did.
People tell me, I was an adult and it should not have affected me. That it happened and I should just forget about it. They can't understand what it's like to be an only child and an extra sensitive person (as my mother says, "still waters run deep"). My parents and I were everything to each other. The end of their marriage caused me to question my very existence. My foundation was shattered and the source from which I drew my strength had shriveled up. And there were no brothers or sisters to share the pain with me.
My parents suited each other so much - in looks, height, intellect, and personality. They even aged at the same (slow) rate. They had struck such a balance together and even though this was the second marriage for them (the first being disastrous mistakes) the D-word was anathema to our minds. They had found their One. All my friends wanted to grow up to find love like theirs.
My mum managed the money and my dad managed the rest. He always told her, "Don't worry about it, hon, I'll take care of it". And he did. Now she struggles to learn how to do things she never needed to do before. Although she was an ambitious and feisty career woman when they met, he would not abandon his pursuit. In the end, she put it all aside to have me and dedicate her whole being to marriage and family. She seemed born to be a wife and mother and he seemed born to be a provider.
Of course, it wasn't perfect. She's a middle child and he's a youngest. She is bossy, he is rebellious, and both of them are stubborn. But when they argued and he'd flounce out for a drive, he'd always come back and hold her and say he's sorry, and that she's right of course. Now that I am older of course I have identified little things to look out for, to avoid, or to aim for in my own marriage one day...But what they had was as close to perfection as I've seen a couple achieve.
My father was the most affectionate, warm-hearted, positive, generous, loving, intelligent, creative, and handy man I have ever known. I hate how I always use the past tense. He is still alive, but I haven't seen him in over two years, and I miss him. I miss his blue-green eyes with the hazel freckles that change in every light. His perfect laugh, how he throws his head back and how his eyes become more blue as his cheeks turn red. His soft warm hands enveloping my little ones. His strong heart beat, the sound of safety and security. I still like to hear his warm and vibrant voice on the phone, especially when I get voice-hugs. But he never really talks about himself anymore. It's like catching crumbs. He makes me do all the talking, but when I need it, I am amazed at how much positive encouragement and advice he gives. He could almost be a life coach.
He has done everything, so now I know where I get that from. At school he wanted to be a physicist, and his bookshelves attest to this, but he was also good with his hands - he made copper bowls and a wood stool with a woven seat, things that are so strong they will outlast even me. At home, he made me a rocking chair, a train on wheels, and when I went to university he made me a dainty shelf for my cosmetics and wrote on the back of it. Before making it in oil & gas, he danced, modelled, met actors and artists and people with noble titles; worked in electronics, even on the early Concorde and other mysterious projects.
He's the kind of man who wouldn't waste time in dryness. Let me explain: No matter how old I was (and I left home at 25) I couldn't pass him more than a certain number of times without a "come here" and a lovely huggle and a big kiss on my forehead. If I was standing around waiting for something in the microwave, the last 7 seconds would not be wasted - those were to be taken up in a hug if he was nearby. Even when I have my own family one day, I bet I will still want a Daddy hug. Then again, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to plant a butterfly kiss on his cheek. And when this song came out, we owned it.
When I was in my late teens, I had to tell him that when we went to the mall, he couldn't hold my hand any more. He was so disappointed. I'll always be his baby. He still really only calls me that. When I was little he once told me, "You can get married one day one one condition." "What's that, Daddy?" "You still let me call you baba." "OK, Daddy."
But gooey stuff aside, my father made me funny. I would go home on the weekends and he and I would bounce off each other like a comedy duo. My mum would laugh till her eyes watered. Charged up with all this wit and energy, I would go back to university and spend the week making my friends laugh too. I still have a sense of humor, but the sparkle is something I seem to have lost. I miss the laughter and the inside jokes. And I miss the love notes and drawings he would scribble on Post Its as he ate his breakfast before work, one for me on my placemat, and one for mum on hers.
Growing up, to hear my daddy say, "I love you." was the most thrilling thing beside that wonderful glowing look he would give, the look only a father can give his baby daughter - a look of molten pride. And a grin. His grin is contagious, it splits his face in two.
I also miss the look of pure adoration he would bestow on my mother. We used to call them eye-beams. When he eye-beamed at her, she would eye-beam back with her big eyes, and she'd look so chuffed, and her bottom lip might tremble with the joy, which would make him laugh. She used to tell me that when he came home from work and she heard the car door close, her heart would flutter. And when she baked his special breakfast buns for him every week, she would tell me, "I love your father so much, the love is just pouring out of my heart into these buns." He would always feel that when he ate them.
And all this he left...
But then I rarely post without photos now, so I was browsing my collection looking for the one of the baldacchino at St Peter's Basilica to share. Came across one of my parents, Ruth and Oliver.
Staring at this image, their smiles, their eyes, remembering how they were together, I burst into tears that would not stop. Maybe will happen every so often, just when I think I'm over it. God knows what my mother feels in her lonely hours. Her eyes are always sad now, even when she's smiling.
This was their last photo "together", at the wedding of the son of an old family friend. Nobody yet knew they had been divorced for months. Neither of them had yet even broken the habit of holding hands. My dad is the best hand-holder in the world. She used to talk about the first time he held her hand, and the electric thrill that went up her arm and made her heart jump. It was real! I've felt it too.
My father could never be near my mother without reaching for her. It's like they needed each other. I will never, ever forget...the day he walked out it was so sudden and unexpected. As he turned to leave, my mother reached out for his sleeve, in a gesture of helplessness and desperation, a side of her I'd never seen...For the rest of that day, I was mute. My poor mother for some reason made me help her wash my car while a thunderstorm approached. I suppose that was better than sitting inside thinking about it. She spoke to me, and I would not make a sound.
That day she lost every bit of confidence and trust he had nurtured in her since her first marriage had ended. But then so did I. We've both had to start from scratch. I moved away to London so I made slightly more progress over that first year. I will never forget the day I began to see things in color again, as though my eyes had just opened to the world around me, but she was still stuck with the house and the memories so she went to the gym every day, working out the negativity and the pain. To this day neither of us are quite what we once were. Like a couple of broken vases that have been glued back together but don't stand quite as straight as they once did.
People tell me, I was an adult and it should not have affected me. That it happened and I should just forget about it. They can't understand what it's like to be an only child and an extra sensitive person (as my mother says, "still waters run deep"). My parents and I were everything to each other. The end of their marriage caused me to question my very existence. My foundation was shattered and the source from which I drew my strength had shriveled up. And there were no brothers or sisters to share the pain with me.
My parents suited each other so much - in looks, height, intellect, and personality. They even aged at the same (slow) rate. They had struck such a balance together and even though this was the second marriage for them (the first being disastrous mistakes) the D-word was anathema to our minds. They had found their One. All my friends wanted to grow up to find love like theirs.
My mum managed the money and my dad managed the rest. He always told her, "Don't worry about it, hon, I'll take care of it". And he did. Now she struggles to learn how to do things she never needed to do before. Although she was an ambitious and feisty career woman when they met, he would not abandon his pursuit. In the end, she put it all aside to have me and dedicate her whole being to marriage and family. She seemed born to be a wife and mother and he seemed born to be a provider.
Of course, it wasn't perfect. She's a middle child and he's a youngest. She is bossy, he is rebellious, and both of them are stubborn. But when they argued and he'd flounce out for a drive, he'd always come back and hold her and say he's sorry, and that she's right of course. Now that I am older of course I have identified little things to look out for, to avoid, or to aim for in my own marriage one day...But what they had was as close to perfection as I've seen a couple achieve.
My father was the most affectionate, warm-hearted, positive, generous, loving, intelligent, creative, and handy man I have ever known. I hate how I always use the past tense. He is still alive, but I haven't seen him in over two years, and I miss him. I miss his blue-green eyes with the hazel freckles that change in every light. His perfect laugh, how he throws his head back and how his eyes become more blue as his cheeks turn red. His soft warm hands enveloping my little ones. His strong heart beat, the sound of safety and security. I still like to hear his warm and vibrant voice on the phone, especially when I get voice-hugs. But he never really talks about himself anymore. It's like catching crumbs. He makes me do all the talking, but when I need it, I am amazed at how much positive encouragement and advice he gives. He could almost be a life coach.
He has done everything, so now I know where I get that from. At school he wanted to be a physicist, and his bookshelves attest to this, but he was also good with his hands - he made copper bowls and a wood stool with a woven seat, things that are so strong they will outlast even me. At home, he made me a rocking chair, a train on wheels, and when I went to university he made me a dainty shelf for my cosmetics and wrote on the back of it. Before making it in oil & gas, he danced, modelled, met actors and artists and people with noble titles; worked in electronics, even on the early Concorde and other mysterious projects.
He's the kind of man who wouldn't waste time in dryness. Let me explain: No matter how old I was (and I left home at 25) I couldn't pass him more than a certain number of times without a "come here" and a lovely huggle and a big kiss on my forehead. If I was standing around waiting for something in the microwave, the last 7 seconds would not be wasted - those were to be taken up in a hug if he was nearby. Even when I have my own family one day, I bet I will still want a Daddy hug. Then again, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to plant a butterfly kiss on his cheek. And when this song came out, we owned it.
When I was in my late teens, I had to tell him that when we went to the mall, he couldn't hold my hand any more. He was so disappointed. I'll always be his baby. He still really only calls me that. When I was little he once told me, "You can get married one day one one condition." "What's that, Daddy?" "You still let me call you baba." "OK, Daddy."
But gooey stuff aside, my father made me funny. I would go home on the weekends and he and I would bounce off each other like a comedy duo. My mum would laugh till her eyes watered. Charged up with all this wit and energy, I would go back to university and spend the week making my friends laugh too. I still have a sense of humor, but the sparkle is something I seem to have lost. I miss the laughter and the inside jokes. And I miss the love notes and drawings he would scribble on Post Its as he ate his breakfast before work, one for me on my placemat, and one for mum on hers.
Growing up, to hear my daddy say, "I love you." was the most thrilling thing beside that wonderful glowing look he would give, the look only a father can give his baby daughter - a look of molten pride. And a grin. His grin is contagious, it splits his face in two.
I also miss the look of pure adoration he would bestow on my mother. We used to call them eye-beams. When he eye-beamed at her, she would eye-beam back with her big eyes, and she'd look so chuffed, and her bottom lip might tremble with the joy, which would make him laugh. She used to tell me that when he came home from work and she heard the car door close, her heart would flutter. And when she baked his special breakfast buns for him every week, she would tell me, "I love your father so much, the love is just pouring out of my heart into these buns." He would always feel that when he ate them.
And all this he left...
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Freaky Friday
Bloody hell. Have you ever posted a personals ad online? And depending on the site, got absolutely nothing except on the first day or two when you turn up at the top of the new members list, or a flood of everything the opposite of what you asked for? Including some pretty naff-looking guys, despite their well-written responses. Or one-liners like Joey's "How you doin'?". Or a reply in text-speak from someone who calls himself educated, u no wot i mn. Or barely legible English.
I don't think they actually read my ad...Probably zero in on one phrase, one word, or just the pic.
So what happens to all the smartly turned out cuties I pass in the street?
**********
And have you noticed I'm not averse to discussing the obstacle course of dating now? Some people dedicate their entire blog to it. I'd never do that to you. It would not be cool.
**********
Have you also noticed how in old spy thrillers, the baddies conveniently have no peripheral vision so the goodies can get away with doing stuff in it?
**********
Saturday Update:
So, a day after the ad posting plus a second slightly different one, these are the results:
1) foreigners with barely a smattering of English probably playing a numbers game as they send out a few terrible lines with their phone number and a photo that looks like it was taken in 1983 - either that or some overly sentimental claptrap
2) a copy and paste of their own personals ad, rather than an email to ME
3) a photo with merely the line: if u like this mail me bak
4) old guys who look old
5) English guys with barely a smattering of English
6) more guys playing the numbers game who have sent the same cut and paste reply to both my ads, probably not even realising they replied to the first one
7) one who said it's a shame he was in another country but would think of me when playing with himself
8) hate mail for anything or everything I've said
**********
Oh, and I never hear back from the ones I am really interested in. This is not new, it has been happening for years, and it happens whether I am on my best behaviour or just being myself.
I cannot tell you how fed up I am of the world and everyone in it.
I don't think they actually read my ad...Probably zero in on one phrase, one word, or just the pic.
So what happens to all the smartly turned out cuties I pass in the street?
**********
And have you noticed I'm not averse to discussing the obstacle course of dating now? Some people dedicate their entire blog to it. I'd never do that to you. It would not be cool.
**********
Have you also noticed how in old spy thrillers, the baddies conveniently have no peripheral vision so the goodies can get away with doing stuff in it?
**********
Saturday Update:
So, a day after the ad posting plus a second slightly different one, these are the results:
1) foreigners with barely a smattering of English probably playing a numbers game as they send out a few terrible lines with their phone number and a photo that looks like it was taken in 1983 - either that or some overly sentimental claptrap
2) a copy and paste of their own personals ad, rather than an email to ME
3) a photo with merely the line: if u like this mail me bak
4) old guys who look old
5) English guys with barely a smattering of English
6) more guys playing the numbers game who have sent the same cut and paste reply to both my ads, probably not even realising they replied to the first one
7) one who said it's a shame he was in another country but would think of me when playing with himself
8) hate mail for anything or everything I've said
**********
Oh, and I never hear back from the ones I am really interested in. This is not new, it has been happening for years, and it happens whether I am on my best behaviour or just being myself.
I cannot tell you how fed up I am of the world and everyone in it.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Little Ones
OK, so where was I? Didn't blog much this week, did I?
I promised a baby blog. Selba tagged me last week for my baby photo, and then I got pics of my lovely goddaughter.
Look, the unruly hair hasn't changed much...check out the awful 1970s colours.
I can't believe my cousin is a mommy! Say hello to Jada Alyse, my cutie-pie goddaughter, born 1 March weighing 5 pounds. That baby carrier just swallows her up. Alyssa tells me she doesn't cry much. I love the top left pic because it looks like she and her mom are sharing a moment, and she looks like a doll.
I can't wait to meet her! I feel so loving in my heart when I look at her!
Have a great weekend, y'all. xxx
I promised a baby blog. Selba tagged me last week for my baby photo, and then I got pics of my lovely goddaughter.
Look, the unruly hair hasn't changed much...check out the awful 1970s colours.
I can't believe my cousin is a mommy! Say hello to Jada Alyse, my cutie-pie goddaughter, born 1 March weighing 5 pounds. That baby carrier just swallows her up. Alyssa tells me she doesn't cry much. I love the top left pic because it looks like she and her mom are sharing a moment, and she looks like a doll.
I can't wait to meet her! I feel so loving in my heart when I look at her!
Have a great weekend, y'all. xxx
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Fresh Eyes
A few points before I get to the meat of today's post:
I. When someone about to interview you says you have an impressive CV, are they just saying that, or do they mean it?
My "impressive" CV hasn't served me well since I got it!
**********
II. Yesterday was a long hard day at a venture capital firm in the City, not far from where I worked last year at M-C.
The kitchen was fancy - red cabinetry and stainless steel fittings, all automatic soft-close. However, it wasn't stocked with as much tea or biscuits and fruits as at M-C, which definitely had a snacking culture as well as lunch delivered in. But...this place had a mini cafeteria with free food! So between midday and 1.30 pm you can go eat. Chili con carne and wild rice, tacos (the first I have seen on offer in London), baked potato, three types of salad, fruit plates, cheese and cracker plates...
**********
**********
Every spring, there comes one day when I fall in love with London all over again. Today was the day.
I went to the interview at the Arts Council this morning in bright warm sunshine. It was a straight shot down the Jubilee line to Westminster and barely took half an hour door to door. Whilst dodging tourists, I got to walk past the Houses of Parliament, ask a cute police officer if I was going in the right direction, and gawk at lots of exquisite architecture.
The building I went into was also lovely on the outside. Red brick with stonework, big vaulted wooden doors, and in the lobby there was a stone fireplace and oak "linenfold" panelling.
It was a casual interview with two people, so I was in for only 20 minutes. They liked some of the things I said. I was put on the spot a few times when I had to answer impressively about the role of art in modern life and why looking back at history is important. It's funny how in interviews you can come up with stuff you didn't know you knew. They made all the right sounds of approval. At the end I even asked some questions about which organisations were involved in the project and what they hope it will have become by the end of the year. They said that was a good question.
I got chatting with the receptionist. She is from Los Angeles, also with a master's degree in art history. She did a bit of finance here and nearly died inside, so she is happier earning less in a gentler environment.
I know I will miss earning that kind of money. It will be nearly half what I was getting at M-C, when all I did there was audio, and here I will be an actual project administrator. Oh bah humbug. The compromises we have to make...
**********
When I left the building, I wandered around soaking in the warm sunshine, and taking in the beauty of Westminster Palace and its environs. In fact, I wished I had my camera with me. It's a good thing my phone camera is good for blogging. Unfortunately, I ran out of space faster than usual since I had uploaded some MP3s onto my media stick, not leaving much room for photos.
And while I was out, I fell in love with London again, as I do one day every spring. Life begins again. There were miles of daffodils in St James's and Green Parks, blushing blossoms on the trees, courting pigeons underfoot. The air was light, the sky was blue, the sun was warm, and the breeze was soft. I felt happy.
I walked through St James's Park, crossed Pall Mall and passed Buckingham Palace (Her Majesty was at home), then through Green Park to Piccadilly and along there to Fortnum & Mason. I haven't been there in many months.
I saw my old friend, a lady who has worked at the deli since I was studying at Christie's. I used to go there for more affordable sandwiches and wraps than those offered at nearby Italian cafes, and she and I would chat. She missed seeing me and said I ought to go round more often. They no longer make sandwiches like they used to, but she offered to make me one anyway, and any time I ever want one. She said she would have liked it if I got a job at the Royal Academy across the road.
I always treat myself after interviews, I don't know why. I bought my usual medium box of assorted chocolates, and she even managed to fit in a couple of marrons glaces (glaced chestnuts), a box of Rose Pouchong tea, a jar of rose and geranium jelly, a jar of quince jelly (I had to stop there or else I would have brought home the violet jelly, lavender jelly, earl grey tea jelly, pomegranate jelly, and rose petal jelly too!), some Bahlsen choc and coconut biscuits, a box each of Duchy Originals sweet oat cakes (the best) and cracked black pepper oat cakes, a lemon for my smoked salmon (forgot yesterday, and have discovered that undressed salmon is a bit ick), a bottle of F&M chili tomato ketchup, some old fashioned sausages, and a box of freshly handmade asparagus and padano ravioli.
Oh, me spoilt, I know :P
Totally...
**********
Westminster Palace:
Parliament Square
Thought the Americans would like this one. A bus, the bell tower of Westminster Palace (only the bell is called Big Ben!), and the London Eye across the river.
Westminster Palace peeping out from behind Westminster Abbey
Crossing Pall Mall between St James's Park and Green Park, Buckingham Palace is on the left. Her Majesty was at home...
I. When someone about to interview you says you have an impressive CV, are they just saying that, or do they mean it?
My "impressive" CV hasn't served me well since I got it!
**********
II. Yesterday was a long hard day at a venture capital firm in the City, not far from where I worked last year at M-C.
The kitchen was fancy - red cabinetry and stainless steel fittings, all automatic soft-close. However, it wasn't stocked with as much tea or biscuits and fruits as at M-C, which definitely had a snacking culture as well as lunch delivered in. But...this place had a mini cafeteria with free food! So between midday and 1.30 pm you can go eat. Chili con carne and wild rice, tacos (the first I have seen on offer in London), baked potato, three types of salad, fruit plates, cheese and cracker plates...
**********
**********
Every spring, there comes one day when I fall in love with London all over again. Today was the day.
I went to the interview at the Arts Council this morning in bright warm sunshine. It was a straight shot down the Jubilee line to Westminster and barely took half an hour door to door. Whilst dodging tourists, I got to walk past the Houses of Parliament, ask a cute police officer if I was going in the right direction, and gawk at lots of exquisite architecture.
The building I went into was also lovely on the outside. Red brick with stonework, big vaulted wooden doors, and in the lobby there was a stone fireplace and oak "linenfold" panelling.
It was a casual interview with two people, so I was in for only 20 minutes. They liked some of the things I said. I was put on the spot a few times when I had to answer impressively about the role of art in modern life and why looking back at history is important. It's funny how in interviews you can come up with stuff you didn't know you knew. They made all the right sounds of approval. At the end I even asked some questions about which organisations were involved in the project and what they hope it will have become by the end of the year. They said that was a good question.
I got chatting with the receptionist. She is from Los Angeles, also with a master's degree in art history. She did a bit of finance here and nearly died inside, so she is happier earning less in a gentler environment.
I know I will miss earning that kind of money. It will be nearly half what I was getting at M-C, when all I did there was audio, and here I will be an actual project administrator. Oh bah humbug. The compromises we have to make...
**********
When I left the building, I wandered around soaking in the warm sunshine, and taking in the beauty of Westminster Palace and its environs. In fact, I wished I had my camera with me. It's a good thing my phone camera is good for blogging. Unfortunately, I ran out of space faster than usual since I had uploaded some MP3s onto my media stick, not leaving much room for photos.
And while I was out, I fell in love with London again, as I do one day every spring. Life begins again. There were miles of daffodils in St James's and Green Parks, blushing blossoms on the trees, courting pigeons underfoot. The air was light, the sky was blue, the sun was warm, and the breeze was soft. I felt happy.
I walked through St James's Park, crossed Pall Mall and passed Buckingham Palace (Her Majesty was at home), then through Green Park to Piccadilly and along there to Fortnum & Mason. I haven't been there in many months.
I saw my old friend, a lady who has worked at the deli since I was studying at Christie's. I used to go there for more affordable sandwiches and wraps than those offered at nearby Italian cafes, and she and I would chat. She missed seeing me and said I ought to go round more often. They no longer make sandwiches like they used to, but she offered to make me one anyway, and any time I ever want one. She said she would have liked it if I got a job at the Royal Academy across the road.
I always treat myself after interviews, I don't know why. I bought my usual medium box of assorted chocolates, and she even managed to fit in a couple of marrons glaces (glaced chestnuts), a box of Rose Pouchong tea, a jar of rose and geranium jelly, a jar of quince jelly (I had to stop there or else I would have brought home the violet jelly, lavender jelly, earl grey tea jelly, pomegranate jelly, and rose petal jelly too!), some Bahlsen choc and coconut biscuits, a box each of Duchy Originals sweet oat cakes (the best) and cracked black pepper oat cakes, a lemon for my smoked salmon (forgot yesterday, and have discovered that undressed salmon is a bit ick), a bottle of F&M chili tomato ketchup, some old fashioned sausages, and a box of freshly handmade asparagus and padano ravioli.
Oh, me spoilt, I know :P
Totally...
**********
Westminster Palace:
Parliament Square
Thought the Americans would like this one. A bus, the bell tower of Westminster Palace (only the bell is called Big Ben!), and the London Eye across the river.
Westminster Palace peeping out from behind Westminster Abbey
Crossing Pall Mall between St James's Park and Green Park, Buckingham Palace is on the left. Her Majesty was at home...
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