Since the last time I wrote, Scotland has presented times where I thought the snow would never stop and my feet would never dry and also times where I thought the sun could not be brighter and warmer. It might just be foolish hopes, but in general it feels like Spring might be trying to peak her little face into the calendar. The days are getting substantially longer in what seems like leaps each day. (To all the folks that thought the darkness would bring me down, break my spirit, or affect my happy disposition, to you I say simply, Haters gon' hate. It did no such thing!)
I'm in full swing into the second and final semester of taught courses here at the Robert Gordon University, and feelin' fine about it. This semester is a bit more stressful in the sense that it is cramped because of the month-long placement in April that we must be finished with lessons before. And speaking of that placement, as of now there are two options before me. Either working in the Aberdeen City Archives, or working on a Special Collection project at the University of Aberdeen. We shall see what the Lord provides and where He calls me!
Otherwise, Life, as usual, is a crazy whirlwind of thoughts, ideas, plans, dreams, and songs.
I went to karaoke both Friday and Saturday of last weekend, both times being impromptu escapades, but well worth it. I wish I could get paid to be the party picker-upper, aka whenever there is a lull in enthusiasm or people shying from the microphone, they'd just throw me into the spotlight and I'd rally the people from their whiskey-fringed timidity.
5 days ago was my 5-month anniversary of being in Aberdeen, which basically means that Time has slipped the blind over my eyes and gone rampaging forward without my consent. That rascal. Now that I've been here for a substantial amount of time, my friendships have also become substantial, and, even as I write this, a wormy feeling is growing in my stomach about leaving them. It's an awesome blessing to be able to develop these international friendships, but it also means that little pieces of my heart will be scattered across the globe, living between different date lines, and waking to different pieces of sky each day, never reunited as a whole again. Except maybe at my wedding or something, but even then, you can't expect everyone from California to India to be able to attend.
On the topic of broken hearts, y'all....Gone With the Wind. What. wut. whuuuuuuu.
Finished that near 1,000 page saga yesterday, loving everyone moment of it, if by love I mean being torn into more and more pieces at so many moments. I suggest everyone read it, and don't think about the page number, because really I wasn't bored once, and would have read it much faster if it didn't have grad school and sleep as competition. I won't spoil anything really. I will just say RHETT--WHY. ASHLEY--UGH. MELLY--WHYY. SCARLETT-WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
Song of the day: To Make Her Love Me- Rascal Flatts. (On shuffle on iTunes right now, and just let me say, I love when iTunes understands me so well, as it has been doing for the past half hour.)
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Day 145: Who Would've Guessed
Who would have guessed I would be doing now what I'm doing now?
Aka, I've always "liked to cook," but in the past that meant, every month or so when I got an inkling or wanted to be a good daughter and help the mother. Now, with the root of the situation lying in necessity, I have developed a serious love for kitchen creation.
Baking is just really fun because of the often long processes and delicious end results, but I've also found a lot of enjoyment in all forms of cooking--experimenting and learning which flavor combinations work well together or figuring out new ways to cook the same ingredients to avoid death by boredom.
With this new passion, another has arisen hand-in-hand, and that is the joy of hosting. I love having ma friends over to eat and serving them fresh, homemade meals (today I had several friends over for brunch after mass, the beginning of a new tradition to stop contributing to the labor of those who have to work on Sundays, and I cooked up homemade buttermilk biscuits and sausage gravy and fried apples. Spot on) But also, I cherish the opportunities where I can come bearing tastebud-pleasing gifts for others who have graciously invited me to join their soirees and get-togethers.
I'm thankful I have had the opportunity to push myself in this seemingly insignificant way by the mere fact of living alone and having no meal provider in house or somewhere close, like the campus dining back at UMW. It has allowed me to be creative in a place where I am without paints and canvas, it has given me more confidence in my capability for independence, and it has begun to hone my skills for a Someday when I might possibly have a husband and kids to whom I must tend.
It doesn't hurt to have people fawning over me for a new reason either;)
Ha.
Tomorrow I think I'll make some cornbread and use up the buttermilk I have left from the biscuits, or else I'll never use it and it will continue to take up space and eventually go sour in my fridge. Keepin' this Southern thang goin'.
Speaking of the South: Gone With the Wind is blowing my mind no pun intended, and although 900+ pages will take longer to read than I would like with class time, coursework, and MY NEW JOB, I am thoroughly relishing every moment of Scarlett's insolence and, more importantly, RHETT'S prim perfection. (What a man; every time Margaret describes his broad muscles visibly contracting under his linen suits I can't help but imagine myself as the Southern Belle he's buying stylish, Parisian hats for--it's probably unhealthy to be so in love with a fictional character, but he's just SO (bad it's) GOOD.)
Also, if you didn't catch it, I have a new job working at the HMT restaurant, which is a 2-minute (or less) walk from my flat, annnnd it should be sweet. So thanks for your prayers! I start tomorrow:)
Aka, I've always "liked to cook," but in the past that meant, every month or so when I got an inkling or wanted to be a good daughter and help the mother. Now, with the root of the situation lying in necessity, I have developed a serious love for kitchen creation.
Baking is just really fun because of the often long processes and delicious end results, but I've also found a lot of enjoyment in all forms of cooking--experimenting and learning which flavor combinations work well together or figuring out new ways to cook the same ingredients to avoid death by boredom.
With this new passion, another has arisen hand-in-hand, and that is the joy of hosting. I love having ma friends over to eat and serving them fresh, homemade meals (today I had several friends over for brunch after mass, the beginning of a new tradition to stop contributing to the labor of those who have to work on Sundays, and I cooked up homemade buttermilk biscuits and sausage gravy and fried apples. Spot on) But also, I cherish the opportunities where I can come bearing tastebud-pleasing gifts for others who have graciously invited me to join their soirees and get-togethers.
I'm thankful I have had the opportunity to push myself in this seemingly insignificant way by the mere fact of living alone and having no meal provider in house or somewhere close, like the campus dining back at UMW. It has allowed me to be creative in a place where I am without paints and canvas, it has given me more confidence in my capability for independence, and it has begun to hone my skills for a Someday when I might possibly have a husband and kids to whom I must tend.
It doesn't hurt to have people fawning over me for a new reason either;)
Ha.
Tomorrow I think I'll make some cornbread and use up the buttermilk I have left from the biscuits, or else I'll never use it and it will continue to take up space and eventually go sour in my fridge. Keepin' this Southern thang goin'.
Speaking of the South: Gone With the Wind is blowing my mind no pun intended, and although 900+ pages will take longer to read than I would like with class time, coursework, and MY NEW JOB, I am thoroughly relishing every moment of Scarlett's insolence and, more importantly, RHETT'S prim perfection. (What a man; every time Margaret describes his broad muscles visibly contracting under his linen suits I can't help but imagine myself as the Southern Belle he's buying stylish, Parisian hats for--it's probably unhealthy to be so in love with a fictional character, but he's just SO (bad it's) GOOD.)
Also, if you didn't catch it, I have a new job working at the HMT restaurant, which is a 2-minute (or less) walk from my flat, annnnd it should be sweet. So thanks for your prayers! I start tomorrow:)
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