BACK IN SEATTLE ... SORT OF
Well, we made it back. Got in late Saturday night. And went to an amazingly perfect music show by flamingbanjo and the half brothers on Sunday. I was still jetlagged and emotional and tired, but really happy to see people and hear music with humor I get.
But then on Monday I got a horrible cold/flu something and haven't been able to bring myself to call anyone or even leave the house. It's no fun at all.
Now that I'm back in town and my readers are mostly all around me, I find myself reluctant to talk about anything here on my blog. I'll get over it. For now, it's enough to say that I'm really bummed out that I'm here finally but feel so bad I can't even have a conversation with people, let alone go see them. Sleeping most of the last two days doesn't seem to have fixed anything either. I'm hoping tomorrow things will get better and that it's just a cold and not dead fear of hanging out with people I haven't seen for a year and a half.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
AUDI, AUDI, I'M A COWBOY
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
Monday, December 11, 2006
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE FOUR POTATOES STILL IN THE CUPBOARD???
You can always count on me to make moving all about the food. I've been planning for weeks to run out of foodstuffs just in time to leave Cardiff. Our canister of sea salt has mere tablespoons left in it. Our soy sauce has only drops left. Today was the day to make a mad dash to clear out the oatmeal, dried currants and apples, the bulgur wheat, the lentils, the brown rice and whatever bits and bobs of vegetables and tomato sauces are still around. Porridge with fruit for breakfast, lentil stew(with carrots, onions and potatoes) and brown rice for early dinner, and pizza with a bit of onion, pepper and zucchini for late dinner. Oh, and tabouli for tomorrow's packing sustenance. That's alot of home cooking for a day when I should be packing, but I like to think I'm doing my part. And besides, I have a cold/flu something and so am not good for much else anyway. For some reason, when I'm sick, with flu or even with migraine, cooking makes me feel temporarily better. I credit it with the energy burst that got me through sorting the random rubbish on my desk. Tomorrow I'll be using up the butternut squash, the walnuts, the onions and the honey.
Phil, Jason's partner in crime for the past year, came over from Bristol to visit tonight, so the two of them burned the furniture in a garbage can in the back garden. Well, okay, not most of the furniture, but all the ones Jason made from pallets last autumn--the ironing board that was attached to the kitchen wall, the printer and TV stands, the goofy little gadget that was supposed to let me hang journal articles from it so I could look and type at the same time. A couple of days ago we ninja-smoove took the windows we stole from rubbish tips last year back to illegally leave them in some other rubbish tip a year and some months later. The rubbish tip (basically a dumpster that a truck picks up and carries away when you're done with your demolition project) was in exacly the same spot, so maybe it belongs to the same guy. At any rate, the windows don't take up much space, so it shouldn't mess with their fees or their ability to fit in all the perfectly good stuff they're throwing away there.
Last night the excellent Uli came to adopt our worms and their grimy wet bin. He's enthusiastic and will be an amazing worm-carer, I'm sure of it. He was even kind enough to e-mail me the update about their new bedding this morning. To set my mind at ease, I imagine. Jason and I get rather attached and concerned about our worms. He says they work hard for us and it makes him want to protect them. I legitimately find them kind of miraculous and even cute.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to pass off my plants to my friend Chloe, and hopefully an assortment of kitchenware to Yoko, my research colleague, who's just moving to Cardiff this month. I'm hoping to convince Uli to take my garden tools, one of which is a really cool ancient forged digging fork Jason got for me at a junk shop. Uli says he and Francesca are getting an allotment soon, so I'm sure these tools will be used if he takes them.
We originally had planned to just sell things (books, kitchen ware, gardening tools, lamps and things) when we left, but there's not so much of a used market for things here, so you can sell appliances and tools to the Cash Generator (yep, it's really called that) and we'll do that since we got most there anyway. But pots and pans and books and clothes are generally just given to charity shops. There's one bookstore that buys used books, but they nearly always have a sign that they're not buying at the moment. So I'd rather give things to people who will use them. It's slower, but things are going to good homes daily.
The countdown is on. Two more days to pack, one to clean, and then we're out of here on Friday.
You can always count on me to make moving all about the food. I've been planning for weeks to run out of foodstuffs just in time to leave Cardiff. Our canister of sea salt has mere tablespoons left in it. Our soy sauce has only drops left. Today was the day to make a mad dash to clear out the oatmeal, dried currants and apples, the bulgur wheat, the lentils, the brown rice and whatever bits and bobs of vegetables and tomato sauces are still around. Porridge with fruit for breakfast, lentil stew(with carrots, onions and potatoes) and brown rice for early dinner, and pizza with a bit of onion, pepper and zucchini for late dinner. Oh, and tabouli for tomorrow's packing sustenance. That's alot of home cooking for a day when I should be packing, but I like to think I'm doing my part. And besides, I have a cold/flu something and so am not good for much else anyway. For some reason, when I'm sick, with flu or even with migraine, cooking makes me feel temporarily better. I credit it with the energy burst that got me through sorting the random rubbish on my desk. Tomorrow I'll be using up the butternut squash, the walnuts, the onions and the honey.
Phil, Jason's partner in crime for the past year, came over from Bristol to visit tonight, so the two of them burned the furniture in a garbage can in the back garden. Well, okay, not most of the furniture, but all the ones Jason made from pallets last autumn--the ironing board that was attached to the kitchen wall, the printer and TV stands, the goofy little gadget that was supposed to let me hang journal articles from it so I could look and type at the same time. A couple of days ago we ninja-smoove took the windows we stole from rubbish tips last year back to illegally leave them in some other rubbish tip a year and some months later. The rubbish tip (basically a dumpster that a truck picks up and carries away when you're done with your demolition project) was in exacly the same spot, so maybe it belongs to the same guy. At any rate, the windows don't take up much space, so it shouldn't mess with their fees or their ability to fit in all the perfectly good stuff they're throwing away there.
Last night the excellent Uli came to adopt our worms and their grimy wet bin. He's enthusiastic and will be an amazing worm-carer, I'm sure of it. He was even kind enough to e-mail me the update about their new bedding this morning. To set my mind at ease, I imagine. Jason and I get rather attached and concerned about our worms. He says they work hard for us and it makes him want to protect them. I legitimately find them kind of miraculous and even cute.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to pass off my plants to my friend Chloe, and hopefully an assortment of kitchenware to Yoko, my research colleague, who's just moving to Cardiff this month. I'm hoping to convince Uli to take my garden tools, one of which is a really cool ancient forged digging fork Jason got for me at a junk shop. Uli says he and Francesca are getting an allotment soon, so I'm sure these tools will be used if he takes them.
We originally had planned to just sell things (books, kitchen ware, gardening tools, lamps and things) when we left, but there's not so much of a used market for things here, so you can sell appliances and tools to the Cash Generator (yep, it's really called that) and we'll do that since we got most there anyway. But pots and pans and books and clothes are generally just given to charity shops. There's one bookstore that buys used books, but they nearly always have a sign that they're not buying at the moment. So I'd rather give things to people who will use them. It's slower, but things are going to good homes daily.
The countdown is on. Two more days to pack, one to clean, and then we're out of here on Friday.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
PACKING DETAILS
We're packing up around here, slowly. It's hard to put things in boxes or sell them, or give them away, before the last minute. This is always true for me, but is particularly so this time round, since we've only bought the bare minimum for living here and that means anything we pack is something we can't use in our last week here. So far, we've only been willing to let go of summer clothes and books. We've had conversations about which kitchen things can come with us and which need to stay here. I'm off to London again for interviews on Thursday and Friday, and we're seeing friends this weekend, so we're really getting down to the wire.
I looked at the airline requirements for baggage and I'm pretty annoyed with American Airlines at the moment. When we came over, we invested in the biggest size suitcases allowed on planes, and we packed them to within ounces of the weight limit. We also carried our hiking backpacks full to the top. And I had my fiddle in its case. We were loaded down and it wasn't much fun to get from Heathrow to Cardiff, but hey, everything we carried was something we didn't have to ship or leave at home. And we saved lots of money and lived in relative comfort by having the things we brought. The weight limit was 70 pounds per bag, on both airlines from Seattle to Heathrow. That weight limit is still true within the EU and on the first leg of our trip home. And the weight limit is allowed on American Airlines, the second leg of our trip BUT they now charge $25 for any bag weighing over 50 lbs. So, we can pack the same amount as we did coming over, but it will cost us at least $50 to make good use of our huge suitcases, the whole point of which was to avoid shipping charges and extra cargo flight miles and stuff.
Now, this is really a matter of principle, mostly. We knew the trip home would be expensive, and we've planned for it. But really, charging extra for what is standard elsewhere in the world annoys me.
I'm sure you're going to tell me that extra weight means extra fuel use and extra carbon emissions and my jet-setting self should have to pay for that. Probably true. But american airlines should also have to pay fuel tax and they don't, so whatever. I'd feel so much better about this whole thing if we'd been able to take a cargo ship home.
UPDATE: Our internet friend, DG, whose wife is a baggage handler for a major airline, wrote the following response:
"Extra weight also means extra chance of injury for the people who have to throw literally thousands of bags a day. Unfortunately, most airlines have been trying to get the same number of agents to throw more bags in less time... making Ramp Agents more likely to get injured on the job than any other job in the country (including long-standing favorites fishermen and loggers).
Not that I think AA gives half a shit about their workers, if it weren't for the union they'd be making them throw 800 pound bags and paying them a nickel a day. But I can't complain about anything that gives my wife a greater chance of making it through the year without winding up in traction."]
We're packing up around here, slowly. It's hard to put things in boxes or sell them, or give them away, before the last minute. This is always true for me, but is particularly so this time round, since we've only bought the bare minimum for living here and that means anything we pack is something we can't use in our last week here. So far, we've only been willing to let go of summer clothes and books. We've had conversations about which kitchen things can come with us and which need to stay here. I'm off to London again for interviews on Thursday and Friday, and we're seeing friends this weekend, so we're really getting down to the wire.
I looked at the airline requirements for baggage and I'm pretty annoyed with American Airlines at the moment. When we came over, we invested in the biggest size suitcases allowed on planes, and we packed them to within ounces of the weight limit. We also carried our hiking backpacks full to the top. And I had my fiddle in its case. We were loaded down and it wasn't much fun to get from Heathrow to Cardiff, but hey, everything we carried was something we didn't have to ship or leave at home. And we saved lots of money and lived in relative comfort by having the things we brought. The weight limit was 70 pounds per bag, on both airlines from Seattle to Heathrow. That weight limit is still true within the EU and on the first leg of our trip home. And the weight limit is allowed on American Airlines, the second leg of our trip BUT they now charge $25 for any bag weighing over 50 lbs. So, we can pack the same amount as we did coming over, but it will cost us at least $50 to make good use of our huge suitcases, the whole point of which was to avoid shipping charges and extra cargo flight miles and stuff.
Now, this is really a matter of principle, mostly. We knew the trip home would be expensive, and we've planned for it. But really, charging extra for what is standard elsewhere in the world annoys me.
I'm sure you're going to tell me that extra weight means extra fuel use and extra carbon emissions and my jet-setting self should have to pay for that. Probably true. But american airlines should also have to pay fuel tax and they don't, so whatever. I'd feel so much better about this whole thing if we'd been able to take a cargo ship home.
UPDATE: Our internet friend, DG, whose wife is a baggage handler for a major airline, wrote the following response:
"Extra weight also means extra chance of injury for the people who have to throw literally thousands of bags a day. Unfortunately, most airlines have been trying to get the same number of agents to throw more bags in less time... making Ramp Agents more likely to get injured on the job than any other job in the country (including long-standing favorites fishermen and loggers).
Not that I think AA gives half a shit about their workers, if it weren't for the union they'd be making them throw 800 pound bags and paying them a nickel a day. But I can't complain about anything that gives my wife a greater chance of making it through the year without winding up in traction."]
Sunday, December 03, 2006
FUTURES TRADING
And you thought the Welsh snails were pretty. France's got the best snails in the world! My theory is that they're preserving species diversity to provide premium escargot for future generations, while the rest of us are killing them so they won't eat our swiss chard. It all comes down to food preferences, really.
So, anyway, I was gonna post this series of pictures of animals in the French Pyrenees, without comment, because I hadn't gotten around to writing anything for it. But of course, as soon as I started uploading them, I also started writing commentary and even some tangents. So, I'll keep working on that post, and leave you hanging for another day or two. (I gave you the snail above to keep you from feeling too teased.)
Instead, I give you .... the tangent:
In college, my friend Jenny and I had this elaborate plan wherein her brother would have a sheep farm in New Zealand, Jenny would be an environmental activist and live in the Pacific Northwest wildnerness and I would have an awesomely cool loft and direct theatre in New York City (yeah right, I know). The plan was we would just trade lives every now and then. You know, because we wanted all three lives but in our youthful wisdom figured we'd never have time to do all three. I think we were right, mostly.
I don't think her brother ever even knew he was a key part of our life plans, so I'm assuming he hasn't fulfilled his part of them. As far as I know, Jenny still lives in Charlottesville, sans sheep or environmental activism, though I think she did work for PIRG at some point. I've given up theatre for the time being, but I do live in the Pacific Northwest and I am working on getting a career related to farms and the environment, so I've done my part better than any of us would have guessed! I mean, I've been to New York and I did theatre for years, though mostly as a dramaturg and only rarely as a director. And, yeah, I lived in Wales, which is in many ways like living on a sheep farm. If you see Jenny tell her its her responsibility to fit New Zealand in somehow.
Snail, St. Bertrand de Comminges, France
And you thought the Welsh snails were pretty. France's got the best snails in the world! My theory is that they're preserving species diversity to provide premium escargot for future generations, while the rest of us are killing them so they won't eat our swiss chard. It all comes down to food preferences, really.
So, anyway, I was gonna post this series of pictures of animals in the French Pyrenees, without comment, because I hadn't gotten around to writing anything for it. But of course, as soon as I started uploading them, I also started writing commentary and even some tangents. So, I'll keep working on that post, and leave you hanging for another day or two. (I gave you the snail above to keep you from feeling too teased.)
Instead, I give you .... the tangent:
In college, my friend Jenny and I had this elaborate plan wherein her brother would have a sheep farm in New Zealand, Jenny would be an environmental activist and live in the Pacific Northwest wildnerness and I would have an awesomely cool loft and direct theatre in New York City (yeah right, I know). The plan was we would just trade lives every now and then. You know, because we wanted all three lives but in our youthful wisdom figured we'd never have time to do all three. I think we were right, mostly.
I don't think her brother ever even knew he was a key part of our life plans, so I'm assuming he hasn't fulfilled his part of them. As far as I know, Jenny still lives in Charlottesville, sans sheep or environmental activism, though I think she did work for PIRG at some point. I've given up theatre for the time being, but I do live in the Pacific Northwest and I am working on getting a career related to farms and the environment, so I've done my part better than any of us would have guessed! I mean, I've been to New York and I did theatre for years, though mostly as a dramaturg and only rarely as a director. And, yeah, I lived in Wales, which is in many ways like living on a sheep farm. If you see Jenny tell her its her responsibility to fit New Zealand in somehow.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
THUNDERBALL AND GREENWICH PARROTS
[NOW UPDATED WITH PHOTOS!!] I did what I consider the healthy thing and spent Thanksgiving weekend with friends and not on the computer or behind a camera (okay a little bit behind the camera). I'll spare you the normal list of things I'm thankful for (though I'll acknowledge that I'm extremely lucky in my life and grateful for the people in it), and give you some of the smaller things that come to mind just based on this past weekend.
*SEEING MY FIRST JAMES BOND FILM. I know, it's crazy that I've never seen one. Oci told everyone in the Greenwich video store and they all expressed the required amounts of shock and amazement and encouragement on my endeaver, even though most agreed I should start with Dr. No, which the store didn't have. At first, we looked for Bond films and didn't see any. We asked the dude (yep, he was definitely a "dude" and I said he was cute and Oci told me after we left that he used to have a crush on her, but was too young for her at the time) and he reached under the counter and pulled out about 10 VHS Bond movies and displayed them on the counter. This store had a really great collection of all the cool movies and required classics displayed normally on the shelves--why they keep the Bond stashed away like the good drugs you have to be in the know to ask for is beyond me. But, I'll still say that Thunderball was exactly as ludicrous and fun as I had hoped. And Sean Connery was once young.
*WALKING THROUGH GREENWICH PARK ON AN AUTUMN DAY. I've done this a few times recently. It's beautiful, and has an amazing view across the Thames. Last time I visited, Oci and I saw a flock(?) of green parrots.
*COOKING AND EATING WITH FRIENDS.
Figuring out how to make pie crust with Oci. Jason and Oci sitting at the kitchen table chopping mushrooms, leeks, and garlic for the stuffing. Late night discovery of Cats' second lasagna in the oven from the party earlier that day and digging in with forks before going off to bed. (yes, Cats is a person's name) Possibly the last dinner with Mari and Ben for a very very long time. (I've managed to plant the seed of an idea to visit Seattle within the next couple of years.)
*SHOPPING FOR THANKSGIVING IN LONDON'S BOROUGH MARKET.
Jason and I spent Friday afternoon in the market, tasting things, enjoying the sites (piles of wild mushrooms and fragrant herbs, mountains of cheese wheels, little walls made of bakery loaves), and buying vegetables for Thanksgiving, which was held on Sunday.
*SPENDING TIME WITH LAZY TABBY CATS. Jason is usually highly allergic to cats, and we've resigned ourselves to not having any, but we both stop to admire cats on walls when we go for walks, and are sad to have to avoid them. This weekend, miraculously, the cats at Oci's house didn't cause hardly any symptoms, and so we sat up late one night just petting a cat and getting our fill of that purring and kneading thing and the narrowed eyes of a comfy cat.
*TRAINS AND TUBES. Reliable and affordable public transportation rocks. One of my favourite things about living here this past year is how great it is to hop on trains to get most places. Granted, there are some higher-end foodie areas of Wales that seem specifically designed to keep the riff-raff without cars from entering, but other than that, the trains have served us well in the UK and abroad. It's such a logical and comfortable way to travel. London, in particular, is so easy to navigate.
*THE LONDON EYE.
Before we left London, in case we don't make it back together in the few short weeks we have left, Jason suggested we take the highly touristy step of riding the London Eye. After much hemming and hawing and visions of being still on the top of this extremely slow-moving thing while our train to Cardiff left without us, we decided to do it. It's the big ferris wheel thing you see in pictures and it really is humongous. We went at night, and the city lights go on to every horizon. And Westminster and Big Ben are incredibly beautiful.
*INTERNATIONAL INFORMATION SHARING. Cats had a party on Saturday, where I met several of her friends and had a great talk with Phillipo, who does AIDS nutrition work in Nairobi and used to teach fruit farmers in the Amazon how to preserve their produce into jams and jellies for sales to cities. He told me about a project in a Brazilian city (town?) that works to provide all the food for its people by supporting farming in its surrounding green belt. He's enthusiastic and entertaining and excellent.
A pretty varied and random list, I grant you, but varied and random is part of what has been great about moving to a new place and taking what comes. I wouldn't trade it.
[NOW UPDATED WITH PHOTOS!!] I did what I consider the healthy thing and spent Thanksgiving weekend with friends and not on the computer or behind a camera (okay a little bit behind the camera). I'll spare you the normal list of things I'm thankful for (though I'll acknowledge that I'm extremely lucky in my life and grateful for the people in it), and give you some of the smaller things that come to mind just based on this past weekend.
*SEEING MY FIRST JAMES BOND FILM. I know, it's crazy that I've never seen one. Oci told everyone in the Greenwich video store and they all expressed the required amounts of shock and amazement and encouragement on my endeaver, even though most agreed I should start with Dr. No, which the store didn't have. At first, we looked for Bond films and didn't see any. We asked the dude (yep, he was definitely a "dude" and I said he was cute and Oci told me after we left that he used to have a crush on her, but was too young for her at the time) and he reached under the counter and pulled out about 10 VHS Bond movies and displayed them on the counter. This store had a really great collection of all the cool movies and required classics displayed normally on the shelves--why they keep the Bond stashed away like the good drugs you have to be in the know to ask for is beyond me. But, I'll still say that Thunderball was exactly as ludicrous and fun as I had hoped. And Sean Connery was once young.
*WALKING THROUGH GREENWICH PARK ON AN AUTUMN DAY. I've done this a few times recently. It's beautiful, and has an amazing view across the Thames. Last time I visited, Oci and I saw a flock(?) of green parrots.
*COOKING AND EATING WITH FRIENDS.
 |  |
Figuring out how to make pie crust with Oci. Jason and Oci sitting at the kitchen table chopping mushrooms, leeks, and garlic for the stuffing. Late night discovery of Cats' second lasagna in the oven from the party earlier that day and digging in with forks before going off to bed. (yes, Cats is a person's name) Possibly the last dinner with Mari and Ben for a very very long time. (I've managed to plant the seed of an idea to visit Seattle within the next couple of years.)
*SHOPPING FOR THANKSGIVING IN LONDON'S BOROUGH MARKET.
 |  |  |  |
Jason and I spent Friday afternoon in the market, tasting things, enjoying the sites (piles of wild mushrooms and fragrant herbs, mountains of cheese wheels, little walls made of bakery loaves), and buying vegetables for Thanksgiving, which was held on Sunday.
*SPENDING TIME WITH LAZY TABBY CATS. Jason is usually highly allergic to cats, and we've resigned ourselves to not having any, but we both stop to admire cats on walls when we go for walks, and are sad to have to avoid them. This weekend, miraculously, the cats at Oci's house didn't cause hardly any symptoms, and so we sat up late one night just petting a cat and getting our fill of that purring and kneading thing and the narrowed eyes of a comfy cat.
*TRAINS AND TUBES. Reliable and affordable public transportation rocks. One of my favourite things about living here this past year is how great it is to hop on trains to get most places. Granted, there are some higher-end foodie areas of Wales that seem specifically designed to keep the riff-raff without cars from entering, but other than that, the trains have served us well in the UK and abroad. It's such a logical and comfortable way to travel. London, in particular, is so easy to navigate.
*THE LONDON EYE.
Before we left London, in case we don't make it back together in the few short weeks we have left, Jason suggested we take the highly touristy step of riding the London Eye. After much hemming and hawing and visions of being still on the top of this extremely slow-moving thing while our train to Cardiff left without us, we decided to do it. It's the big ferris wheel thing you see in pictures and it really is humongous. We went at night, and the city lights go on to every horizon. And Westminster and Big Ben are incredibly beautiful.
*INTERNATIONAL INFORMATION SHARING. Cats had a party on Saturday, where I met several of her friends and had a great talk with Phillipo, who does AIDS nutrition work in Nairobi and used to teach fruit farmers in the Amazon how to preserve their produce into jams and jellies for sales to cities. He told me about a project in a Brazilian city (town?) that works to provide all the food for its people by supporting farming in its surrounding green belt. He's enthusiastic and entertaining and excellent.
A pretty varied and random list, I grant you, but varied and random is part of what has been great about moving to a new place and taking what comes. I wouldn't trade it.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
TAKIN' A BATH DAY
When I was living in Seattle and working only half time, I had Fridays off. Normal people had to work, and I felt like every Friday was a sneaky sick day, and I treated it like one. I called them "Ballard Days." I would go to Ballard and just hang out all day, sitting in the cushy leather chairs in the wine shop with a book, window shopping at the hipster art shops and boutiques, or playing on my computer in coffee shops. Sometimes I'd meet someone for ice cream, or go for a walk by the waterfront, or take photos. Those days are what I think of when cheesy magazines remind me to "take some personal time" or "give yourself a treat now and then." Which of course I'm already doing if I'm reading a cheesy magazine--that's another thing I did on Ballard days. I'd buy some green-living, permaculture or home design magazine and curl up with it all morning, or take it to the coffeeshop with the sunroom in Fremont. So anyway, pretty perfect days and at the time, guilt-free, because I was able to live on the half-time job and and no real reason to need more than that. And I was still doing lots of theater at night, so I felt like I was keeping busy and productive overall.
This school year has been a little like that. I had to go to classes, work in the bistro, and do all my coursework, which involved piles and piles of reading. But most of my time was mine to organize as I pleased. So if I needed to take a walk to clear my head, I could. If I decided to sacrifice a full day to wander in the yuppie waterfront suburb, I could. I just had to get my work done in the allotted time.
Now, my school life is over, and my flexible self-driven research project will soon be done, too. Soon I'll be back in the real world, hopefully with a full-time job. And most likely my time will be scheduled for me. No more flex-time. So I'm trying to enjoy it.
Today, I went to Bath with a colleague of mine to conduct an interview with someone doing sustainable food supply chains work with an NGO. It was great--we got some names and anecdotes to lead us to the next stages of our study and learned some of his ideas for solutions to complicated problems. Also, we had lunch at the all organic, local, seasonal restaurant we had tried to go to when Corey was here and couldn't get a table. (yep, it's been on my mind since April--I walked straight to it without a map.)
Then my colleague left, and I spent the rest of the afternoon having a "Ballard Day." It was rainy and cold, but when isn't it here? Bath has beautiful buildings, all made of the yellowish smooth "Bath stone." I wandered through charming but fairly standard boutique shopping areas and trolled the used book stores for something to read on the train ride back to Cardiff. I lingered in the tiny one-room "Book Exchange" and talked to the eighty-something year old man about Thomas Hardy and Raymond Chandler. I wandered by the riverside and the cathedral and touched the sweaters in the fancy fashion shop. I had some coffee and checked my e-mail in an internet shop by the train station, and then I dozed on the train ride home.
Oh yeah, and I almost got run over by a bus. Early in the day, before the interview. It's hard to explain how it happened if you haven't seen their assinine system for street crossing here. Suffice it to say that from my side of the road, I was looking at a walk sign and walking toward it when a man on the corner yelled at me. I stopped and turned to him, thinking he was joking or mocking me or just being random (I couldn't hear what he said). I think I heard a horn and I turned back and there was a bus two feet in front of me. It had taken a left turn and probably was going very slowly anyway, but still, it seemed to me, and apparently to others around, to have been a close call. I wish I could describe the man who then came bounding over to introduce himself as my "black knight in shining armour." All I can say is that he was black and friendly and dressed kind of brightly. The fact is I can't remember well enough to make it a compelling story element. I'm sort of assuming he had a Caribbean accent, but I can't remember. Anyway, he came over, shook my hand vigorously, and gave me a hug. And I have to say I needed one, and was grateful for it.
Bridge in Bath, April 2006
When I was living in Seattle and working only half time, I had Fridays off. Normal people had to work, and I felt like every Friday was a sneaky sick day, and I treated it like one. I called them "Ballard Days." I would go to Ballard and just hang out all day, sitting in the cushy leather chairs in the wine shop with a book, window shopping at the hipster art shops and boutiques, or playing on my computer in coffee shops. Sometimes I'd meet someone for ice cream, or go for a walk by the waterfront, or take photos. Those days are what I think of when cheesy magazines remind me to "take some personal time" or "give yourself a treat now and then." Which of course I'm already doing if I'm reading a cheesy magazine--that's another thing I did on Ballard days. I'd buy some green-living, permaculture or home design magazine and curl up with it all morning, or take it to the coffeeshop with the sunroom in Fremont. So anyway, pretty perfect days and at the time, guilt-free, because I was able to live on the half-time job and and no real reason to need more than that. And I was still doing lots of theater at night, so I felt like I was keeping busy and productive overall.
This school year has been a little like that. I had to go to classes, work in the bistro, and do all my coursework, which involved piles and piles of reading. But most of my time was mine to organize as I pleased. So if I needed to take a walk to clear my head, I could. If I decided to sacrifice a full day to wander in the yuppie waterfront suburb, I could. I just had to get my work done in the allotted time.
Now, my school life is over, and my flexible self-driven research project will soon be done, too. Soon I'll be back in the real world, hopefully with a full-time job. And most likely my time will be scheduled for me. No more flex-time. So I'm trying to enjoy it.
Today, I went to Bath with a colleague of mine to conduct an interview with someone doing sustainable food supply chains work with an NGO. It was great--we got some names and anecdotes to lead us to the next stages of our study and learned some of his ideas for solutions to complicated problems. Also, we had lunch at the all organic, local, seasonal restaurant we had tried to go to when Corey was here and couldn't get a table. (yep, it's been on my mind since April--I walked straight to it without a map.)
Then my colleague left, and I spent the rest of the afternoon having a "Ballard Day." It was rainy and cold, but when isn't it here? Bath has beautiful buildings, all made of the yellowish smooth "Bath stone." I wandered through charming but fairly standard boutique shopping areas and trolled the used book stores for something to read on the train ride back to Cardiff. I lingered in the tiny one-room "Book Exchange" and talked to the eighty-something year old man about Thomas Hardy and Raymond Chandler. I wandered by the riverside and the cathedral and touched the sweaters in the fancy fashion shop. I had some coffee and checked my e-mail in an internet shop by the train station, and then I dozed on the train ride home.
Oh yeah, and I almost got run over by a bus. Early in the day, before the interview. It's hard to explain how it happened if you haven't seen their assinine system for street crossing here. Suffice it to say that from my side of the road, I was looking at a walk sign and walking toward it when a man on the corner yelled at me. I stopped and turned to him, thinking he was joking or mocking me or just being random (I couldn't hear what he said). I think I heard a horn and I turned back and there was a bus two feet in front of me. It had taken a left turn and probably was going very slowly anyway, but still, it seemed to me, and apparently to others around, to have been a close call. I wish I could describe the man who then came bounding over to introduce himself as my "black knight in shining armour." All I can say is that he was black and friendly and dressed kind of brightly. The fact is I can't remember well enough to make it a compelling story element. I'm sort of assuming he had a Caribbean accent, but I can't remember. Anyway, he came over, shook my hand vigorously, and gave me a hug. And I have to say I needed one, and was grateful for it.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
WHAT I'M THINKING ABOUT MOST DAYS LATELY
I'm still in the university town and nearly all of my classmates have left for the real world, so there's not much going on to talk about. I'm doing interviews and research work these days. And not much else. Which is really cool, but writing about it now becomes blogging about work, and that's not so professional and may come back at me some day. I think actually that the content of my interviews is part of a funded research project and not even officially publishable until the project publishes larger reports. But even if it's not so, it's still specialized information that should be published for real at some point, and not on my blog.
But some of it's general procedural and policy, and within that, some of it may be worth reading about even if you're not obsessed with the details of public procurement and school, prison and hospital catering.
So, today's lesson: Creatively procuring food in the face of restrictive regulations.
I find the convoluted regulations around catering and vendor contracts pretty interesting, since mostly it involves creatively working around trade restrictions in order to be able to buy fresh, seasonally grown food that didn't fly in from Greece. There's a built-in contradition in UK policy (and that of most EU countries) in that there is an EU and UK mandate to include sustainability and environmental considerations in all government policy and legislation, but also a mandate to open all public contract tenders without trade restrictions to local or home-national contractors. This means that you cannot specify local food from local suppliers, but must allow vendors from any EU country or anywhere in your own country a fair and equal chance. So you cannot directly choose to reduce food miles and carbon emissions, or to protect agricultural jobs in your region.
So the way to reach those goals, if you wish to, is to specify things like frequent deliveries and how soon after bread is baked must it be fed to your pupils. You can also design menus to be based on foods grown seasonally in your area. So you specify in your tender criteria that food is fresh, not frozen, deliveries are flexible and/or within certain time of baking or whatever, seasonal varieties are to be used, quick response capability for extra deliveries, etc. Things that will tend to favor local suppliers, because they'll have closer access and more flexiblity and cheaper access to food that is seasonal in the area. Once a supplier has won the contract, then catering managers and buyers can work more directly, asking for what apples are cheap, in season, overstocked, etc. There's no law against it at that point.
As you might guess, this process is not one that can be built into law, though policy guidance can encourage it. Generally, it requires an activist catering or procurement official willing to put in the time, learn about the local supply chains and vendors, and reach out to potential suppliers so they know how to bid on the contracts. It's not straightforward, and it's time-consuming. It would always be easier to contract with a large catering company who'll get you the required basic nutrition at the cheapest price. (And you'd save money on labour, too--fresh food takes more time and skill than tossing chicken nuggets in the oven) And therein lies the challenge to making sustainability a part of general practice in public catering. Somehow it's got to become either so popular (and pushed for by parents) that catering officers want to do it, or built into training and job requirements such that they have no choice. Our research is based on the idea that best practice needs to be identified and disseminated to interested officers so they don't have to reinvent the wheel.
Please visit again for tomorrow's procurement dilemma: Mums pushing burgers through school railings so their kids won't be forced to eat healthy food!
I'm still in the university town and nearly all of my classmates have left for the real world, so there's not much going on to talk about. I'm doing interviews and research work these days. And not much else. Which is really cool, but writing about it now becomes blogging about work, and that's not so professional and may come back at me some day. I think actually that the content of my interviews is part of a funded research project and not even officially publishable until the project publishes larger reports. But even if it's not so, it's still specialized information that should be published for real at some point, and not on my blog.
But some of it's general procedural and policy, and within that, some of it may be worth reading about even if you're not obsessed with the details of public procurement and school, prison and hospital catering.
So, today's lesson: Creatively procuring food in the face of restrictive regulations.
I find the convoluted regulations around catering and vendor contracts pretty interesting, since mostly it involves creatively working around trade restrictions in order to be able to buy fresh, seasonally grown food that didn't fly in from Greece. There's a built-in contradition in UK policy (and that of most EU countries) in that there is an EU and UK mandate to include sustainability and environmental considerations in all government policy and legislation, but also a mandate to open all public contract tenders without trade restrictions to local or home-national contractors. This means that you cannot specify local food from local suppliers, but must allow vendors from any EU country or anywhere in your own country a fair and equal chance. So you cannot directly choose to reduce food miles and carbon emissions, or to protect agricultural jobs in your region.
So the way to reach those goals, if you wish to, is to specify things like frequent deliveries and how soon after bread is baked must it be fed to your pupils. You can also design menus to be based on foods grown seasonally in your area. So you specify in your tender criteria that food is fresh, not frozen, deliveries are flexible and/or within certain time of baking or whatever, seasonal varieties are to be used, quick response capability for extra deliveries, etc. Things that will tend to favor local suppliers, because they'll have closer access and more flexiblity and cheaper access to food that is seasonal in the area. Once a supplier has won the contract, then catering managers and buyers can work more directly, asking for what apples are cheap, in season, overstocked, etc. There's no law against it at that point.
As you might guess, this process is not one that can be built into law, though policy guidance can encourage it. Generally, it requires an activist catering or procurement official willing to put in the time, learn about the local supply chains and vendors, and reach out to potential suppliers so they know how to bid on the contracts. It's not straightforward, and it's time-consuming. It would always be easier to contract with a large catering company who'll get you the required basic nutrition at the cheapest price. (And you'd save money on labour, too--fresh food takes more time and skill than tossing chicken nuggets in the oven) And therein lies the challenge to making sustainability a part of general practice in public catering. Somehow it's got to become either so popular (and pushed for by parents) that catering officers want to do it, or built into training and job requirements such that they have no choice. Our research is based on the idea that best practice needs to be identified and disseminated to interested officers so they don't have to reinvent the wheel.
Please visit again for tomorrow's procurement dilemma: Mums pushing burgers through school railings so their kids won't be forced to eat healthy food!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
BAYONNE
And now for something nearly the same, but not.... A Walk in Bayonne!
During our trip to France recently, I took piles of photos. I'm slowly going through them bit by bit. These aren't even my favorites, so keep watching this space for when I get around to those. Today you get Bayonne.
Bayonne is known for chocolate, so we headed first to the chocolaterie. We bought some chocolate, but also one of these gateaux basque, a basque specialty we saw throughout the region. They come with either cream filling or cherry filling. I prefer cream, and I have a recipe (in French) that I'll have to try over Christmas.
Soon after eating a piece, I got a headache. Not sure if there was corn something in the cake (the shopkeepers had assured us there wasn't) or if it was the perfume on the bus ride there. Anyway, the town was still pretty and we kept on walking.
Shopping seems to be a major point of going to Bayonne. We refrained, except for the chocolates, and contented ourselves with staring at buildings.
For me, the beauty of Bayonne was all in the details, like these windows with colored curtains and the little cozy balcony below:
Many of the buildings have this cool colorful style:
Along the river front was especially beautiful:
I saw this scooter. It wanted me to bring it home with me, but I told it I had another little scooter waiting for me in Seattle, which missed me very much, and would be sad if I brought another one home.
We also went to the excellent Basque history museum, but I have no photos of that to show you. Sorry 'bout that. It was too dark to get any good ones. Besides, the best thing was the film from the 1920s or so, showing the Basque shepherds and their cool espadrilles and berets and their sad young men heading off to America to make their fortunes. There were also some pretty great farm tools which I intend to copy when I'm old and grey and living on a farm with lots of time on my hands.
After this trip, I definitely want to be Basque when I grow up.
And now for something nearly the same, but not.... A Walk in Bayonne!
During our trip to France recently, I took piles of photos. I'm slowly going through them bit by bit. These aren't even my favorites, so keep watching this space for when I get around to those. Today you get Bayonne.
Bayonne is known for chocolate, so we headed first to the chocolaterie. We bought some chocolate, but also one of these gateaux basque, a basque specialty we saw throughout the region. They come with either cream filling or cherry filling. I prefer cream, and I have a recipe (in French) that I'll have to try over Christmas.
Soon after eating a piece, I got a headache. Not sure if there was corn something in the cake (the shopkeepers had assured us there wasn't) or if it was the perfume on the bus ride there. Anyway, the town was still pretty and we kept on walking.
Shopping seems to be a major point of going to Bayonne. We refrained, except for the chocolates, and contented ourselves with staring at buildings.
For me, the beauty of Bayonne was all in the details, like these windows with colored curtains and the little cozy balcony below:
Many of the buildings have this cool colorful style:
Along the river front was especially beautiful:
I saw this scooter. It wanted me to bring it home with me, but I told it I had another little scooter waiting for me in Seattle, which missed me very much, and would be sad if I brought another one home.
We also went to the excellent Basque history museum, but I have no photos of that to show you. Sorry 'bout that. It was too dark to get any good ones. Besides, the best thing was the film from the 1920s or so, showing the Basque shepherds and their cool espadrilles and berets and their sad young men heading off to America to make their fortunes. There were also some pretty great farm tools which I intend to copy when I'm old and grey and living on a farm with lots of time on my hands.
After this trip, I definitely want to be Basque when I grow up.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
AND ON A SUNDAY...
We went for another walk. I know you were imagining our exciting British lives as something more adventurous, but most days we walk around--not so different from our free days in Seattle. Only here, we pass this castle on our way through the park:
And on to the farmers market across from the stadium, to get a chicken, eggs, goat cheese and some apples, and some glorious blackberry wine. Oh yeah, and to chow down at our favorite (and only) indian curry cart:
A not so photogenic day, this, or maybe I just wasn't in the mood to take photos. We went back by the tower side of the castle, and through the high street (what they call the main shopping street here in the UK) where we saw the ever-present drummer dude with dreadlocks and no rhythm.
Just one more stop--at the middle eastern deli/shop to get a lemon to roast with the chicken. And there we saw rows and rows and rows of pickled things. I never knew so many things could be pickled!
Finally, our bags full of goodies, we walked home via City Road, where all the shops are shut tight because it's a Sunday. Not as pretty as Saturday's walk, but certainly more productive.
We went for another walk. I know you were imagining our exciting British lives as something more adventurous, but most days we walk around--not so different from our free days in Seattle. Only here, we pass this castle on our way through the park:
And on to the farmers market across from the stadium, to get a chicken, eggs, goat cheese and some apples, and some glorious blackberry wine. Oh yeah, and to chow down at our favorite (and only) indian curry cart:
A not so photogenic day, this, or maybe I just wasn't in the mood to take photos. We went back by the tower side of the castle, and through the high street (what they call the main shopping street here in the UK) where we saw the ever-present drummer dude with dreadlocks and no rhythm.
 |  |
Just one more stop--at the middle eastern deli/shop to get a lemon to roast with the chicken. And there we saw rows and rows and rows of pickled things. I never knew so many things could be pickled!
 |  |
Finally, our bags full of goodies, we walked home via City Road, where all the shops are shut tight because it's a Sunday. Not as pretty as Saturday's walk, but certainly more productive.
Monday, November 06, 2006
A WALK IN CARDIFF
I bet you were sitting around wondering what it was that Appalachia and Jason were doing last Saturday. Well, we were going to go to Tintern Abbey, but it was freezing and we were both trying to recover from colds, so we walked around Cardiff instead. You can come with us through the magic of photography!
First we walked down the alley, noticing the moss on the walls
To the Bakery in the alley
Then we walked through an underpass
and on to the park, where we saw strange and beautiful purple berries and a lemon tree, growing fruit outside in the Welsh climate.
We'd never bothered to go into the park's conservatory, but always meant to, so we decided to go in there.
It had a big central pond with carp and turtles, and a teenage duckling of some unusual variety in a nest on the ledge above.
From there, we walked home. These are some of the random things we saw:
I bet you were sitting around wondering what it was that Appalachia and Jason were doing last Saturday. Well, we were going to go to Tintern Abbey, but it was freezing and we were both trying to recover from colds, so we walked around Cardiff instead. You can come with us through the magic of photography!
First we walked down the alley, noticing the moss on the walls
To the Bakery in the alley
Then we walked through an underpass
and on to the park, where we saw strange and beautiful purple berries and a lemon tree, growing fruit outside in the Welsh climate.
 |  |
We'd never bothered to go into the park's conservatory, but always meant to, so we decided to go in there.
It had a big central pond with carp and turtles, and a teenage duckling of some unusual variety in a nest on the ledge above.
From there, we walked home. These are some of the random things we saw:
 |  |  |
Thursday, November 02, 2006
TEA CEREMONY
In general, living in Britain for a year has not converted me from coffee to tea. But there is one thing about tea drinking that I hope to continue to have in my life. It took me nearly a year to realize how it works and what’s great about it, because I have made few friends here who I see in their homes. The main exception to that are my friends Phil and Oci. Phil is really the one I credit with teaching me about tea. Whenever he would come over casually to hang out, drop something off or whatever, we would do the greeting thing and then he would pause for a bit and then give in and ask me if he could have a cup of tea. (Not always, but I definitely remember it happening.) I still didn’t quite get that it’s what needs to happen whenever someone enters my home. Though I did note a trip where I went to pick up something from their house and Oci was out of town, so it was me going over and Phil inviting me in for a cup of tea. I accepted and we sat down for a tea-length chat. It was the first time I’d ever talked to Phil alone, as it usually works out that he’s over to hang out with Jason or that we’re all doing something as a foursome. It was quite cozy and felt like friendship.
More recently, I went to visit Oci and her friends and family for a campout weekend at her family’s field. Most drank tea, though some were happy to see that I’d brought my little camp coffee maker. There was no ritual. But on our way out, when we went to her step-grandmother’s house to drop off some things we had borrowed, she invited us in to tea. We accepted, and had a very pleasant tea-length talk. Tea-length talks are satisfying (unlike tea-length Gunne Sax dresses from the 80s). It’s enough time to pass along some interesting facts and opinions, to compare newspaper preferences and slightly revealing bits of family history. Later, when we got to Oci’s shared house, her roommate was there cooking dinner and immediately offered us tea, warming and welcoming and nice. The next day, Oci and I got up and had tea in our pajamas before breakfast.. And then later, when we were wandering around Greenwich looking at the Prime Meridian and the Cutty Sark we stopped by her mom’s house to say hi, were offered a cup of tea, accepted, and had a nice perfect-length conversation about the house, childhood, how the times they are a-changin’ etc. Then we helped move a dresser downstairs and were on our way.
It was that weekend that finally, after more than a year in the UK, really settled in my mind what tea is good for. The time it takes to make and drink a cup of tea is the perfect length of time for small, but meaningful conversations with new acquaintances, lingering musings with close friends, and cozy breaks in otherwise hectic days. It’s a small commitment with a definite end, and means that neither party need feel that they’re being kept from whatever important things they might be doing that day. Even stopping by unannounced is not a problem if a cup of tea is an easy timekeeper. Obviously, one or the other could then suggest a walk, or another cup of tea, or whatever other extension device is appropriate, and if it sounds nice, which it often does, things can continue from there. But having given, or accepted, tea is always an acceptable total interaction, so either party can then extricate themselves gracefully with social comfort and warmth still intact. It seems perfect to me. I think I’ll bring the ritual home with me to the States. But I think it works for coffee too, so don’t be afraid I’m going to try to get you to drink milky white Earl Grey when you ring my doorbell. But I do recommend you give it a try.
Recycled Cardiff Market shot from August 2005
In general, living in Britain for a year has not converted me from coffee to tea. But there is one thing about tea drinking that I hope to continue to have in my life. It took me nearly a year to realize how it works and what’s great about it, because I have made few friends here who I see in their homes. The main exception to that are my friends Phil and Oci. Phil is really the one I credit with teaching me about tea. Whenever he would come over casually to hang out, drop something off or whatever, we would do the greeting thing and then he would pause for a bit and then give in and ask me if he could have a cup of tea. (Not always, but I definitely remember it happening.) I still didn’t quite get that it’s what needs to happen whenever someone enters my home. Though I did note a trip where I went to pick up something from their house and Oci was out of town, so it was me going over and Phil inviting me in for a cup of tea. I accepted and we sat down for a tea-length chat. It was the first time I’d ever talked to Phil alone, as it usually works out that he’s over to hang out with Jason or that we’re all doing something as a foursome. It was quite cozy and felt like friendship.
More recently, I went to visit Oci and her friends and family for a campout weekend at her family’s field. Most drank tea, though some were happy to see that I’d brought my little camp coffee maker. There was no ritual. But on our way out, when we went to her step-grandmother’s house to drop off some things we had borrowed, she invited us in to tea. We accepted, and had a very pleasant tea-length talk. Tea-length talks are satisfying (unlike tea-length Gunne Sax dresses from the 80s). It’s enough time to pass along some interesting facts and opinions, to compare newspaper preferences and slightly revealing bits of family history. Later, when we got to Oci’s shared house, her roommate was there cooking dinner and immediately offered us tea, warming and welcoming and nice. The next day, Oci and I got up and had tea in our pajamas before breakfast.. And then later, when we were wandering around Greenwich looking at the Prime Meridian and the Cutty Sark we stopped by her mom’s house to say hi, were offered a cup of tea, accepted, and had a nice perfect-length conversation about the house, childhood, how the times they are a-changin’ etc. Then we helped move a dresser downstairs and were on our way.
It was that weekend that finally, after more than a year in the UK, really settled in my mind what tea is good for. The time it takes to make and drink a cup of tea is the perfect length of time for small, but meaningful conversations with new acquaintances, lingering musings with close friends, and cozy breaks in otherwise hectic days. It’s a small commitment with a definite end, and means that neither party need feel that they’re being kept from whatever important things they might be doing that day. Even stopping by unannounced is not a problem if a cup of tea is an easy timekeeper. Obviously, one or the other could then suggest a walk, or another cup of tea, or whatever other extension device is appropriate, and if it sounds nice, which it often does, things can continue from there. But having given, or accepted, tea is always an acceptable total interaction, so either party can then extricate themselves gracefully with social comfort and warmth still intact. It seems perfect to me. I think I’ll bring the ritual home with me to the States. But I think it works for coffee too, so don’t be afraid I’m going to try to get you to drink milky white Earl Grey when you ring my doorbell. But I do recommend you give it a try.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
CARGO HOLD
For those of you not in Seattle, but instead somewhere on the East Coast, know that we had a plan that would involve a winding trip down the coast before coming to Seattle. In an attempt to reduce our carbon emissions footprint, we had decided to take a freighter home. As in a big barge. Across the Atlantic Ocean. We had researched it and it costs more than a plane, but feeds you for the ten day journey, and is about as much as business class plane fare. We would go from Liverpool to Philadelphia and then take trains to visit folks and then take a train across the US to Seattle. (This bit was still unresearched and may have turned out to be financially infeasible anyway) Then we could have written articles about it for green hippie journals looking for clever ways to beat the guilt and paid for it all out of our new career as eco-travel writers.
Unfortunately, in the kind of luck we've had in delay after delay and general uncertainty this autumn, we found out that I would not be staying here for a long-term job on THE DAY AFTER we could have booked passage on the last freighter heading east before winter.
So, not only will we not be lounging around reading books and playing fiddle in the middle of the ocean, but we will also not be able to visit East Coasters on the way home. I must admit that I hadn't really thought about how cold and miserable it might be in the middle of the ocean in November/December, and it may all be for the best that we couldn't do it now. We're also likely to be a bit unsettled and anxious during that in-between homes time, so you'd probably rather see us later anyway.
Biarritz Beach, September 2006
For those of you not in Seattle, but instead somewhere on the East Coast, know that we had a plan that would involve a winding trip down the coast before coming to Seattle. In an attempt to reduce our carbon emissions footprint, we had decided to take a freighter home. As in a big barge. Across the Atlantic Ocean. We had researched it and it costs more than a plane, but feeds you for the ten day journey, and is about as much as business class plane fare. We would go from Liverpool to Philadelphia and then take trains to visit folks and then take a train across the US to Seattle. (This bit was still unresearched and may have turned out to be financially infeasible anyway) Then we could have written articles about it for green hippie journals looking for clever ways to beat the guilt and paid for it all out of our new career as eco-travel writers.
Unfortunately, in the kind of luck we've had in delay after delay and general uncertainty this autumn, we found out that I would not be staying here for a long-term job on THE DAY AFTER we could have booked passage on the last freighter heading east before winter.
So, not only will we not be lounging around reading books and playing fiddle in the middle of the ocean, but we will also not be able to visit East Coasters on the way home. I must admit that I hadn't really thought about how cold and miserable it might be in the middle of the ocean in November/December, and it may all be for the best that we couldn't do it now. We're also likely to be a bit unsettled and anxious during that in-between homes time, so you'd probably rather see us later anyway.
Monday, October 30, 2006
GULPING FOR AIR
As you know, I’m no longer a student and I’ve been trying to figure out how the next part of my life goes. Well, next steps are now mapped. There was a whole thing with a possible research job here in the UK that would have been really cool and included a three week trip to New York and stuff. But it was a year-long position and I was unwilling to stay that long and they, even though they wanted me to work with them, were unwilling to have me for half a year when they needed someone for a year. Reasonable. So instead, I’m working with that Professor I’m always on about on his part of the research just for the next six weeks or so and then we’re coming on home. I’ll be doing some interviews and research on school m.eals service in London schools (including the borough where j.am1e Ol.iv.er did his School Din.ners tv series that brought the nation to attention about the horrible things schools were serving their kids and led to such things as Morrocan slow-stewed beef and couscous on primary school menus. He notoriously made a batch of chicken nuggets with the kids to show them what disgusting things went into it. Anyway, we’ll be updating research to see what’s happened since then—what are the long-term results of the “J.am1e effect.” Six short weeks of that, which will be awesomely fun and interesting and put something relevant at the top of my resume, and then back to Seattle.
So we’ll be there mid-December. Most of you, dear readers, are in Seattle. I can’t wait to see you. And to eat at my favorite breakfast joints and cafes. And to see some quirky theatre. And to look out at the mountains. And to walk the hills and parks.
More soon. Now that I’ve stopped holding my breath about what’s next, I hope to write and post pictures and things over the next little while.
As you know, I’m no longer a student and I’ve been trying to figure out how the next part of my life goes. Well, next steps are now mapped. There was a whole thing with a possible research job here in the UK that would have been really cool and included a three week trip to New York and stuff. But it was a year-long position and I was unwilling to stay that long and they, even though they wanted me to work with them, were unwilling to have me for half a year when they needed someone for a year. Reasonable. So instead, I’m working with that Professor I’m always on about on his part of the research just for the next six weeks or so and then we’re coming on home. I’ll be doing some interviews and research on school m.eals service in London schools (including the borough where j.am1e Ol.iv.er did his School Din.ners tv series that brought the nation to attention about the horrible things schools were serving their kids and led to such things as Morrocan slow-stewed beef and couscous on primary school menus. He notoriously made a batch of chicken nuggets with the kids to show them what disgusting things went into it. Anyway, we’ll be updating research to see what’s happened since then—what are the long-term results of the “J.am1e effect.” Six short weeks of that, which will be awesomely fun and interesting and put something relevant at the top of my resume, and then back to Seattle.
So we’ll be there mid-December. Most of you, dear readers, are in Seattle. I can’t wait to see you. And to eat at my favorite breakfast joints and cafes. And to see some quirky theatre. And to look out at the mountains. And to walk the hills and parks.
More soon. Now that I’ve stopped holding my breath about what’s next, I hope to write and post pictures and things over the next little while.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Bon Jour,
I am in a cafe in St. Jean de Luz; in the Basque country in France. The keyboard is confusing; so will keep it short. But Susan has requested an update and I hate to keep you all waiting! My thesis is turned in, and though I would like to have had a fez extra days onn parts of it, I am basicqlly pleased. Will post details and possibly even a link later. We head off into the Pyrenees tomorrow, so no more posts for a week or two. Jobs still up in the air, but there are possibilities. I am a little of a superstitious soul regarding jinxes, so have not written about them. If you know my mother, you can ask her. Otherzwise; I will reveal all in mid October.
I am pleased to hear you're still reading and will catch up soon.
By the way, Basque food is amazing!
I am in a cafe in St. Jean de Luz; in the Basque country in France. The keyboard is confusing; so will keep it short. But Susan has requested an update and I hate to keep you all waiting! My thesis is turned in, and though I would like to have had a fez extra days onn parts of it, I am basicqlly pleased. Will post details and possibly even a link later. We head off into the Pyrenees tomorrow, so no more posts for a week or two. Jobs still up in the air, but there are possibilities. I am a little of a superstitious soul regarding jinxes, so have not written about them. If you know my mother, you can ask her. Otherzwise; I will reveal all in mid October.
I am pleased to hear you're still reading and will catch up soon.
By the way, Basque food is amazing!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
YEE HAW!
Okay. It's kicked in. I'm officially running on adrenaline now. I've been unable to sleep decently all week. (Our bed here is cheap and pitiful and every time one of moves the other wakes up, unless deeply ensleeped. My beloved Jason even offered to sleep on the couch a couple of nights ago, so that I could get a good night's sleep and start my frantic last few days well rested. It worked, thank goodness.)
But now, no matter what time of day, with or without blackout mask and/or earplugs, with or without a partner present, I can't sleep. My anxiety about this thesis means that as soon as I lie down, my brain starts cycling through all the things there are to worry about, which equals a considerable number of things at this uncertain juncture of school, jobs, travel plans , etc., not to mention the number of things to wonder about, which are infinite. The worst one, and it keeps happening, is I'll start thinking of people from my past to google while I'm taking precious time from writing to try and grab a quick nap. That is so lame when one has important agricultural livelihoods to figure out, not to mention a future-affecting degree to complete.
At the moment it all seems kind of fun. I've given in to it. I play loud music while writing, I drink coffee after 9pm, and (please, please, please don't tell the anti-globalisation food gods) I'm drinking Coke. (For those of you following the long version of my story, no, it doesn't have high fructose corn syrup here--they use actual sugar in the EU for some reason. And also, no, I don't buy Coke products in the normal run of things and yes, I know they buy public water sources from all over the globe, leaving women to walk miles and/or pay for water to meet basic needs.)
Anyway, it's all going fine. It will be turned in on Friday one way or another. And somehow, I will make sure that it is not more than a few hundred words over the 20,000 word limit.
Okay. It's kicked in. I'm officially running on adrenaline now. I've been unable to sleep decently all week. (Our bed here is cheap and pitiful and every time one of moves the other wakes up, unless deeply ensleeped. My beloved Jason even offered to sleep on the couch a couple of nights ago, so that I could get a good night's sleep and start my frantic last few days well rested. It worked, thank goodness.)
But now, no matter what time of day, with or without blackout mask and/or earplugs, with or without a partner present, I can't sleep. My anxiety about this thesis means that as soon as I lie down, my brain starts cycling through all the things there are to worry about, which equals a considerable number of things at this uncertain juncture of school, jobs, travel plans , etc., not to mention the number of things to wonder about, which are infinite. The worst one, and it keeps happening, is I'll start thinking of people from my past to google while I'm taking precious time from writing to try and grab a quick nap. That is so lame when one has important agricultural livelihoods to figure out, not to mention a future-affecting degree to complete.
At the moment it all seems kind of fun. I've given in to it. I play loud music while writing, I drink coffee after 9pm, and (please, please, please don't tell the anti-globalisation food gods) I'm drinking Coke. (For those of you following the long version of my story, no, it doesn't have high fructose corn syrup here--they use actual sugar in the EU for some reason. And also, no, I don't buy Coke products in the normal run of things and yes, I know they buy public water sources from all over the globe, leaving women to walk miles and/or pay for water to meet basic needs.)
Anyway, it's all going fine. It will be turned in on Friday one way or another. And somehow, I will make sure that it is not more than a few hundred words over the 20,000 word limit.
Friday, September 08, 2006
ME-GRAIN, AS THEY SAY AROUND HERE
My thesis is due next Friday, on the 15th. I've felt okay about my timing, but well aware that I still have a long way to go in a short time. Unfortunately, I have had a nasty week for headaches. Last Thursday and Friday were bad days, but since my supervisor was reviewing a draft i didn't take it too hard, and decided to focus on getting better. (Not that I have a choice when I'm in the midst of one.) Then I met with my supervisor and got good feedback and had a day of detail tinkering before diving in for real on Tuesday. On which morning I woke with a terrible headache again. Another couple of days passed. I'm now recovered, even from the post-headache fog, and back to work.
So, I'm a few days behind and will have to push faster and harder than I like over the next week. I'm scared, and tired, but not in despair. I can't afford despair--I have to hurry.
So send me smart thoughts and focus and calm over the next week and a bit. Oh yeah, and good job vibes--I'm applying for jobs now, too.
 |  |  |
My thesis is due next Friday, on the 15th. I've felt okay about my timing, but well aware that I still have a long way to go in a short time. Unfortunately, I have had a nasty week for headaches. Last Thursday and Friday were bad days, but since my supervisor was reviewing a draft i didn't take it too hard, and decided to focus on getting better. (Not that I have a choice when I'm in the midst of one.) Then I met with my supervisor and got good feedback and had a day of detail tinkering before diving in for real on Tuesday. On which morning I woke with a terrible headache again. Another couple of days passed. I'm now recovered, even from the post-headache fog, and back to work.
So, I'm a few days behind and will have to push faster and harder than I like over the next week. I'm scared, and tired, but not in despair. I can't afford despair--I have to hurry.
So send me smart thoughts and focus and calm over the next week and a bit. Oh yeah, and good job vibes--I'm applying for jobs now, too.
Monday, September 04, 2006
CRIKEY.
The Croc Hunter died today. And not by doing something particularly stupid. He was done in by a stingray. People never die from stingrays. But the Aussie national mascot for derring do was killed by a very precise one. It got him smack in the chest with its poisonous barb and put a hole in his heart.
Say what you will about his invincibility complex or his foolish risks, and even I agree that there’s no good reason to hold your baby in one hand while feeding crocodiles with the other, but we have a pretty big crush on the guy around here.
Much earlier in my days with Jason, my parents came out to visit us in Seattle, and we did the usual tourist things like going on the Underground tour and taking each other’s pictures beside really huge trees in the rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula. We even ran wildly down the trail to catch the last bits of sunset on the farthest west point in the lower forty-eight of our United States. But what was the best part of that trip? What made my parents fall for my future husband? Well, I’ll tell you.
On the way back from the edge of the peninsula, after dark, Jason asked me to pull over by the side of the good ole’ Strait of Juan de Fuca. Then he started pulling out flashlights and headlamps (he’d planned this, apparently). Mom and dad (and probably me) looked a bit wary and not quite sure what was going on. “We’re gonna go tide pool hunting!” shouted a rather more jovial than usual Jason. And off he dashed to the beach. We followed with our gingerly stepping selves and eventually got sucked into the enthusiasm, running around like little kids looking for starfish and shrimp and scurrying over to see what latest thing J. had found to make him shout out, “Hey, come look at this_______!” and proceed to tell us about its feeding habits and its nesting tendencies and whatever.
It was the best. Exhilarating and slightly eerie and really lots of giggly fun. My mom told her office mates and mentioned it during my phone calls for weeks after they went home.
At some point later, Jason confessed to me that he’d basically tried to channel Croc Hunter to get the energy and enthusiasm right and make us all willing to follow along and learn about sea worms. And when he told me, it made perfect sense. He had done a perfect Steve Irwin impression—without the Australian accent, of course. (Though I will say that his knowledge of tidepool life was all his own, remembered from the high school marine biology class of Mr. MacGowan, by all reports another zoologist of boisterous temperament and high eagerness.)
So, you see, I’ve got a soft spot for the Croc Hunter for helping out there. And I’m sad to see him go.
The Croc Hunter died today. And not by doing something particularly stupid. He was done in by a stingray. People never die from stingrays. But the Aussie national mascot for derring do was killed by a very precise one. It got him smack in the chest with its poisonous barb and put a hole in his heart.
Say what you will about his invincibility complex or his foolish risks, and even I agree that there’s no good reason to hold your baby in one hand while feeding crocodiles with the other, but we have a pretty big crush on the guy around here.
Much earlier in my days with Jason, my parents came out to visit us in Seattle, and we did the usual tourist things like going on the Underground tour and taking each other’s pictures beside really huge trees in the rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula. We even ran wildly down the trail to catch the last bits of sunset on the farthest west point in the lower forty-eight of our United States. But what was the best part of that trip? What made my parents fall for my future husband? Well, I’ll tell you.
On the way back from the edge of the peninsula, after dark, Jason asked me to pull over by the side of the good ole’ Strait of Juan de Fuca. Then he started pulling out flashlights and headlamps (he’d planned this, apparently). Mom and dad (and probably me) looked a bit wary and not quite sure what was going on. “We’re gonna go tide pool hunting!” shouted a rather more jovial than usual Jason. And off he dashed to the beach. We followed with our gingerly stepping selves and eventually got sucked into the enthusiasm, running around like little kids looking for starfish and shrimp and scurrying over to see what latest thing J. had found to make him shout out, “Hey, come look at this_______!” and proceed to tell us about its feeding habits and its nesting tendencies and whatever.
It was the best. Exhilarating and slightly eerie and really lots of giggly fun. My mom told her office mates and mentioned it during my phone calls for weeks after they went home.
At some point later, Jason confessed to me that he’d basically tried to channel Croc Hunter to get the energy and enthusiasm right and make us all willing to follow along and learn about sea worms. And when he told me, it made perfect sense. He had done a perfect Steve Irwin impression—without the Australian accent, of course. (Though I will say that his knowledge of tidepool life was all his own, remembered from the high school marine biology class of Mr. MacGowan, by all reports another zoologist of boisterous temperament and high eagerness.)
So, you see, I’ve got a soft spot for the Croc Hunter for helping out there. And I’m sad to see him go.
THE FUTURE'S TOO WILD AND FREE
Summer's leaving quick around these parts. It's felt like fall for weeks, really. But yesterday I noticed that the big tree out back is yellowing. The huge butterfly weed in my garden has fallen over. And our bathroom door sticks again, which means the moisture level is increasing. At least it's actually September now so I can stop being indignant about autumn starting in August.
I started getting a bit nostalgic for my Cardiff school year today. So I took some pictures of regular stuff on my way home. Here's our local empty lot:
Also not far from our flat:
Summer's leaving quick around these parts. It's felt like fall for weeks, really. But yesterday I noticed that the big tree out back is yellowing. The huge butterfly weed in my garden has fallen over. And our bathroom door sticks again, which means the moisture level is increasing. At least it's actually September now so I can stop being indignant about autumn starting in August.
I started getting a bit nostalgic for my Cardiff school year today. So I took some pictures of regular stuff on my way home. Here's our local empty lot:
Also not far from our flat:
 |  |  |
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
PRETTY BITS OF FOIL DISTRACT ME
My blog is an exercise in surrealist temporality. I've got photos and stories from Italy in December I've still yet to pull out. Not to mention the promised saga of last summer's backpacking and the Czech hospital story conclusion. Chances are they'll pop up at some random time. For now, I'll just tell you about some pleasant distractions I've had over the past two or three weeks.
Last week I was heading to school to hunt down library books and walking down a fairly standard street of charity shops, video stores and takeaways when I heard a clip-clop sound behind me. I turned to see a glass carriage drawn by four white horses with white plumes on their heads and a silver and white coffin inside and "Mum" spelled out in white flowers on the top. It was preceded by a cream-colored '40s style hearse full of flowers, some spelling "Mum" and "Old Ma". Following the carriage were four more '40s style cream limos with what seemed to be an inordinate number of children in them, all dressed in their finest. Everyone on this tired little street stopped to stare, and I heard some older lady breathlessly say, "That woman was loved." (Not that I think fancy funerals necessarily equal love, but it was beautiful and she probably was.) I quick called my friend Oci and told her to look out her window, as it was heading down her street. Alas, she was at the computer room and would miss it. But it made my day. I really, really wish I had some photos to show you, but I'd had this weird idea to pick up my camera on the way out the door that day, and said to myself, "Nah, what would I possibly see to take pictures of?" Silly me.
And a couple weeks before that, Jason and I wandered the parks and neighborhood picking blackberries in alleys and then came home and made a huge gooey delicious cobbler. When I looked up in my world cookbook* to remind myself of how to make it, I realized they call it "Appalachian Mountain Pudding"--I never realized or thought of it as a specifically Appalachian thing, but it is practically the first thing I ever learned to make by myself in good ole' Sugar Grove, so maybe it is. Anyway, my English friends had never heard of one, and I think they enjoyed it.
Now. Enough distractions. Back to work.
*World Cookbook = "Extending the Table ...A World Community Cookbook" put out by the Mennonites, who travel the world doing humanitarian projects and learning to cook ethnic food right. I love this cookbook.
My blog is an exercise in surrealist temporality. I've got photos and stories from Italy in December I've still yet to pull out. Not to mention the promised saga of last summer's backpacking and the Czech hospital story conclusion. Chances are they'll pop up at some random time. For now, I'll just tell you about some pleasant distractions I've had over the past two or three weeks.
Last week I was heading to school to hunt down library books and walking down a fairly standard street of charity shops, video stores and takeaways when I heard a clip-clop sound behind me. I turned to see a glass carriage drawn by four white horses with white plumes on their heads and a silver and white coffin inside and "Mum" spelled out in white flowers on the top. It was preceded by a cream-colored '40s style hearse full of flowers, some spelling "Mum" and "Old Ma". Following the carriage were four more '40s style cream limos with what seemed to be an inordinate number of children in them, all dressed in their finest. Everyone on this tired little street stopped to stare, and I heard some older lady breathlessly say, "That woman was loved." (Not that I think fancy funerals necessarily equal love, but it was beautiful and she probably was.) I quick called my friend Oci and told her to look out her window, as it was heading down her street. Alas, she was at the computer room and would miss it. But it made my day. I really, really wish I had some photos to show you, but I'd had this weird idea to pick up my camera on the way out the door that day, and said to myself, "Nah, what would I possibly see to take pictures of?" Silly me.
And a couple weeks before that, Jason and I wandered the parks and neighborhood picking blackberries in alleys and then came home and made a huge gooey delicious cobbler. When I looked up in my world cookbook* to remind myself of how to make it, I realized they call it "Appalachian Mountain Pudding"--I never realized or thought of it as a specifically Appalachian thing, but it is practically the first thing I ever learned to make by myself in good ole' Sugar Grove, so maybe it is. Anyway, my English friends had never heard of one, and I think they enjoyed it.
Now. Enough distractions. Back to work.
*World Cookbook = "Extending the Table ...A World Community Cookbook" put out by the Mennonites, who travel the world doing humanitarian projects and learning to cook ethnic food right. I love this cookbook.
Monday, August 28, 2006
HELLOOOOOOO
Writing a dissertation is an isolating experience. I spent hours contacting and then interviewing farmers and food suppliers, one on one. I’ve quietly read and re-read articles, facts and figures, studies and reports on my study area, including census and geohistorical information about Cornwall, academic debates about relocalisation of food, food miles as a measure of sustainability, rural economic development, farm strategies, quality food networks, and theories of learning and methodology. And then there are all the government strategies, statements, studies and pronouncements. Very few of these have I discussed with anyone at any length. And now, I have pages and pages of text, some of it chunked together from my previous essays, quotes from my interviews, and my own thoughts. Now I’m working on how all this fits together. What is the story I’m telling? Which elements are necessary, and in what order, to take a reader through the discovery process? How much background is required for clarity and to bring out the significance of various findings? What are the relevant and useful findings to policy? What constitutes valuable analysis as opposed to mere description of the case study details?
If you know me at all, you probably haven’t forgotten that I like to talk. When I’m working on a play or dealing with a breakup or trying to make decisions about my future, I talk. And talk and talk and talk. I used to say that I was incapable of thinking without actually saying things to someone out loud. I’ve since given myself credit for having evolved to silent thought, but I still find epiphanies by talking about things. And this is in addition to the obvious learning by discussing that most people do, where the actual input from another party is enlightening. Sometimes, just having to explain things makes them suddenly clear to me.
And I can’t really do that with my dissertation. At this point, I am the only person I know who is familiar with the region, sector, issues and details of my study. So, day after day, I wallow around in the facts, figures and ideas in my head and try to make them stand up straight and get into formation. Herding cats, let me tell you. And what’s most frustrating of all is that it seems simple in my head. I know the stuff. I know what was interesting and useful in what I’ve learned. I know the background, am familiar with the trends and the representativeness of my interview subjects, know the limitations of my research and why it is useful to policymaking. But if I sit down it’s just a big pile of facts and bits of thought and won’t get its act together.
(Snowdonia, August 2005)
Writing a dissertation is an isolating experience. I spent hours contacting and then interviewing farmers and food suppliers, one on one. I’ve quietly read and re-read articles, facts and figures, studies and reports on my study area, including census and geohistorical information about Cornwall, academic debates about relocalisation of food, food miles as a measure of sustainability, rural economic development, farm strategies, quality food networks, and theories of learning and methodology. And then there are all the government strategies, statements, studies and pronouncements. Very few of these have I discussed with anyone at any length. And now, I have pages and pages of text, some of it chunked together from my previous essays, quotes from my interviews, and my own thoughts. Now I’m working on how all this fits together. What is the story I’m telling? Which elements are necessary, and in what order, to take a reader through the discovery process? How much background is required for clarity and to bring out the significance of various findings? What are the relevant and useful findings to policy? What constitutes valuable analysis as opposed to mere description of the case study details?
If you know me at all, you probably haven’t forgotten that I like to talk. When I’m working on a play or dealing with a breakup or trying to make decisions about my future, I talk. And talk and talk and talk. I used to say that I was incapable of thinking without actually saying things to someone out loud. I’ve since given myself credit for having evolved to silent thought, but I still find epiphanies by talking about things. And this is in addition to the obvious learning by discussing that most people do, where the actual input from another party is enlightening. Sometimes, just having to explain things makes them suddenly clear to me.
And I can’t really do that with my dissertation. At this point, I am the only person I know who is familiar with the region, sector, issues and details of my study. So, day after day, I wallow around in the facts, figures and ideas in my head and try to make them stand up straight and get into formation. Herding cats, let me tell you. And what’s most frustrating of all is that it seems simple in my head. I know the stuff. I know what was interesting and useful in what I’ve learned. I know the background, am familiar with the trends and the representativeness of my interview subjects, know the limitations of my research and why it is useful to policymaking. But if I sit down it’s just a big pile of facts and bits of thought and won’t get its act together.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
WWOOFin'
So, yeah, sorry it's been so long. But I'm tryin' to write a bloody dissertation, for sheep's sake. It's hard and it takes lots of thinking and writing. And blogging takes a certain kind of outward looking energy that i find it hard to muster sometimes.
Where've I been? Well, only the friendliest, prettiest part of the England, that's all. (No arguments here, please, it's subjective and I'm standing by it, admittedly having seen really very little of England.) I've been to Cornwall!
For my dissertation, I conducted interviews with farmers in Cornwall about their business, their markets and their perceptions or experiences in the NHS local buying programme. Basically, I'm looking at where public food procurement fits into the current situation of working small farms.
Now, Cornwall is a monster tourist destination--it's population doubles during the school holidays--which means its an expensive place to find lodging for an extended research project. So I WWOOFed it. There's this programme, used to be called Willing Workers on Organic Farms, now called Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms. (nice marketing decision, that name change, huh?). Anyway, you join and they send you a list of organic farms who will provide room and board in exchange for work. So, I found a woodland project that sounded nice (home brewing, permaculture, music and woodworking were listed in their blurb) and made myself a deal. Really, they told me they didn't have much going on and said I could just stay there, which was perfect since I had county-wide interviews to do. I ended up helping out by re-doing some compost systems, hanging out with the kids, and raking a community path (and some other bits and pieces of weaving willow and putting up hay), and I got to stay in this caravan for just over two weeks:
It was really great. Really. There was no running water or electricity, but there was a composting toilet and lots of friendly meals on the verandah down at their house. This was my view nearly every evening, and my "host family":
Yeah, now you're starting to get the picture. It was the perfect summer getaway. They also have these charming children, who have loads of energy and are endlessly talkative and love having stories read to them, especially Peter Rabbit stories.
It was great. And I walked and bused and trained all over the Cornish countryside, talking to great farmers and seeing the landscape. I couldn't have asked for better research conditions!
So, yeah, sorry it's been so long. But I'm tryin' to write a bloody dissertation, for sheep's sake. It's hard and it takes lots of thinking and writing. And blogging takes a certain kind of outward looking energy that i find it hard to muster sometimes.
Where've I been? Well, only the friendliest, prettiest part of the England, that's all. (No arguments here, please, it's subjective and I'm standing by it, admittedly having seen really very little of England.) I've been to Cornwall!
For my dissertation, I conducted interviews with farmers in Cornwall about their business, their markets and their perceptions or experiences in the NHS local buying programme. Basically, I'm looking at where public food procurement fits into the current situation of working small farms.
Now, Cornwall is a monster tourist destination--it's population doubles during the school holidays--which means its an expensive place to find lodging for an extended research project. So I WWOOFed it. There's this programme, used to be called Willing Workers on Organic Farms, now called Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms. (nice marketing decision, that name change, huh?). Anyway, you join and they send you a list of organic farms who will provide room and board in exchange for work. So, I found a woodland project that sounded nice (home brewing, permaculture, music and woodworking were listed in their blurb) and made myself a deal. Really, they told me they didn't have much going on and said I could just stay there, which was perfect since I had county-wide interviews to do. I ended up helping out by re-doing some compost systems, hanging out with the kids, and raking a community path (and some other bits and pieces of weaving willow and putting up hay), and I got to stay in this caravan for just over two weeks:
It was really great. Really. There was no running water or electricity, but there was a composting toilet and lots of friendly meals on the verandah down at their house. This was my view nearly every evening, and my "host family":
 |  |
Yeah, now you're starting to get the picture. It was the perfect summer getaway. They also have these charming children, who have loads of energy and are endlessly talkative and love having stories read to them, especially Peter Rabbit stories.
 |  |  |  |
It was great. And I walked and bused and trained all over the Cornish countryside, talking to great farmers and seeing the landscape. I couldn't have asked for better research conditions!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)