July and August are not the time to go to Spain and Morocco. I knew this. I knew this the way you think you know how student loan and credit card debt are going to feel until you are actually paying it off. I knew that 130 degrees would feel hot. But I didn’t know how that really felt until I was there, in it, squeezed into the back seat of a 1980s Mercedes with our guide and driver, Ben and Carrie on either side of me, on our tour of Fes. And no air conditioning. Never any air conditioning. Carrying a giant, hard-bargained lamp, a back pack, a carpet (even harder bargaining) and using my mantra “You will probably never see this again, appreciate it, appreciate it, appreciate it” and just dreaming, instead, that you are “home” at Riyad Bahai’a, eating some lentils, drinking some mint tea, and trying to get the shower tap to run as cold as possible. You will be humbled—three times you will cry—once because you have a fever and because you weren’t prepared to have so many people stare at you, and because this is a trip, and trips aren’t supposed to be so hard, and, dammit, you are a seasoned road warrior, why are you crying, and, dammit, people REALLY stare at you when you are crying and turning red the way you do when you cry, or laugh, or are hot, and, dammit, you are disappointing Ben and Carrie, who are tougher because they went to India and because you stayed home and the hardest part of that experience was trying to get your car out of a snowbank by yourself. Oh God, a snowbank. You would lay in it at this moment, you really would.
Even that, though, teaches you something wonderful about the world, because you find a pharmacy in Chaouen, and you try to tell the woman that you have a bladder infection, tossing in the French you remember from high school, because you know virtually no Arabic. Je voudrais fruit “cranberry” and then you finally borrow a piece of paper and draw a stick figure, peeing, saying “ow ow ow” and she gets it and gives you an over-the-counter antibiotic and it works. And you both laugh. Shukran. Shukran bissef.
The second time you cry is because you are so conflicted—so tired of being hustled, and hassled, and wishing for the fictional Morocco of your mind, where the people haven’t had to live their lives in a developing country, but also mad at yourself because you are “principled” about the equivalent of two or three U.S. dollars. They tell you that you “bargain like a Berber” and you don’t know if this is meant to be a compliment, an insult, or entirely racist, so you don’t know whether to be proud or ashamed. You don’t even know if it is honest, because when you use your five Arabic words they tell you that “Your Arabic is very good” and when you choose a carpet they tell you that “You have very good taste, Madam” and you think, if I picked out a carpet made of goat pubes, they would tell me that anyway, and you think, this man works so much harder than me, and is thirty years older than me, why should he call me Madam?
But the next day on the train you meet a lovely Moroccan (her) and French (him) couple who live in Stockholm and become fast friends when you husband jokes that the broken train announcement sounds like Star Wars and you say “these are not the droids you are looking for” and the French man laughs (and, like his wife, speaks fluent English.) And you sit with a beautiful Moroccan family with the lamp in your lap and rub the lamp, saying, la lampe magique and pretending a genie has come out to grant you three wishes, un, deux, trois and the children laugh.
The third time you cry is because Marrakech is shit and you’d finally wrung something wonderful out of this inferno and it is a cooking class and then you find out that it ends about an hour after your train is due to leave for Casablanca and you cry for an hour about how Marrakech is shit and your husband listens, again, patiently, until you decide to do it anyway and just skip the eating part.
And you realize you must really love cooking, because who skips the eating part? You take the class and buy all the food in the souks and see your Moroccan friend from the day before who stops his scooter to say “hello” and he may love you, just a little bit, and the Flemish girls who are your classmates are a little jealous because he is cute and because how does an American girl make friends with only two days in Marrakech? When you cook, there are four turtles walking around the kitchen and you have to watch that you don’t step on them as you walk back and forth from the sink and the stove.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Ham Trail
Starting Friday, I plan to gain back any weight that I've lost by eating as much jamon and manchego as I possibly can. We're in Spain for a week--Madrid, Toledo, Granada, Terifa and then in Morocco the next--Chefchouen, Meknes, Fez, Marrakech and Casablanca--before a last night in Edinburgh.
I'm committing to a computer-free lifestyle while I can and leaving this sucka behind.
Will tell you all about it upon our return.
Love,
Robyn
Monday, July 12, 2010
Mull and Iona
Now that's what I call a Caesar salad....
View from our table at Cafe Fish in Tobermory
Crabcakes
Tobermory
Post box at Iona
Beach at Iona
I can't really talk about this yet. At St. Columba Hotel on Iona.
View of the Bishop's House and back towards Fionnphort, on Iona
Iona Abbey and the Kings Burial Grounds
Outside our bed and breakfast window
Fionnphort, from a vista, subject calf-deep in cold water
Fionnphort beach
You know, just a little something from the bus window on MullMusings on Mull
About two months ago, I procrastinated an afternoon away, avoiding grading, by looking at travel options for Ben and I on one of our free weekends during the Scotland program. I am undoubtedly excited about our Spain and Morocco adventure (no durrrhh) but gave myself free reign to make this last weekend trip to one of my priority travel destinations, as Spain is Ben’s dream. I’d been thinking about Sweden and Denmark, about Basque country in Northern Spain, etc…but reminded myself that less is more when it comes to travel and “settled” on Mull. I’d been hoping to go to Iona, particularly, for several years, and I’m so glad we did.
I gave an exam on Thursday morning and we caught the noon-ish train to Oban. It was a promising start: our train got delayed for nearly an hour so that the British Transport Police could come on board and arrest someone. I was fine with this as I had a delicious salad and Vampire Weekend on my i-pod, which proved to be just the soundtrack I needed to get our adventure off on a good foot. I seat-danced my way to Oban. Why is that Horchata song so friggin’ awesome, by the way? “Here comes a feeling you thought you’d forgotten.” They so get me.
We had to run to catch our ferry, so we could catch the last bus to Fionnphort, the western-most community of any size on the Ross of Mull, where you catch the ferry to Iona. Ben and I are no suckers and sat outside on the ferry to Mull—we had a sunny afternoon, bright blue skies, and even a lighthouse to entertain us. Even I enjoyed watching the sea gulls coast along with the ferry, and we both enjoyed watching the kids race each other along the ferry’s deck.
Mull is exceptionally beautiful. The greens are greener, the blues bluer, the air clean, the sheep freshly-shorn. Much of the bus trip to Fionnphort was along a Loch, and the single-track road is lined with foxglove and heather. The bus trip itself took some stomach-steeling; lots of stopping for less-experienced single-track road drivers, and, occasionally, for a wayward sheep in the road.
Once there, Ben and I checked in to our B&B and headed for dinner at the only game in town. Without doing any research, my guess is that Fionnphort exists entirely for fishing and tourism to Iona. There only seemed to be about thirty people in the village that night, period, and I’d guess that twenty were tourists, like us. I had a lot of fun at dinner watching the 4-year-old fraternal twins seated next to us make a mess, cry when forced to wear socks, etc.. .and thought about how much Ben and I will appreciate these quiet trips and leisurely dinners when we are no longer just two but three and four. At one point, the little girl offered to share her ice cream with her mother, but warned her, hand to shoulder, to “Promise (me) Mummy, promise me, to be careful. This ice cream is cold.” It was fantastically dramatic and I loved it.
After dinner we hiked up to a vista where I managed to end up calf-deep in a puddle but had a great view of the sea and Iona. I felt that this necessitated some hot chocolate, for cold-prevention, upon our return to the B&B.
I don’t have the skill set to tell you how I felt about Iona. If I had been there on my own, I would have laid spread-eagle and face down on the ground and wept, but thought this might embarrass Ben a bit. We arrived early on Friday morning—the ferry crossing only takes about ten minutes—and wandered past some organic gardens and the “town” itself in some fairly heavy rain. Along the way people would apologize to us about the weather, but rain seemed very appropriate, somehow. I kept reminding Ben of how much more difficult it would have been for St. Columba when he arrived in 563 and had no hotel, etc… to stop into for warmth. I had this insight that I have become my mother, who, on our road trips to Georgia as a child, would respond to our complaints about the distance with “every time the wheel turns we are that much closer” and, “Kids, you can thank Dwight David Eisenhower for this excellent interstate system we are enjoying” only to be met with groans and dramatic sighs.
We were there before the Abbey opened for the day, which was very special. I had about thirty minutes to quietly reflect in the cloisters, watching raindrops in a puddle, and, for nearly as long, we had the abbey entirely to ourselves. There are groups of people who live in Iona and work on peace and justice issues, including on the rights of refugees and asylum seekers, and it felt like a place of great import to me.
Soaking, we spent the morning at the St. Columba hotel, where I got stuck into my excellent Bill Bryson book and warmed my feet tucked under Ben’s butt. He’s a good man. There was a family there, the matriarch and patriarch of a family who were from Inverness and were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. She was so good with her grandchildren, even the surly pre-teens, and would introduce them to everyone in the room as they walked through, “here’s our Callum,” etc…Callum in particular was a bit surly, but, I would have been too when I was eleven and stuck in a hotel on Iona in the rain. Oh, Callum, if only I could convey to you how special those times are and how much you will miss them when they are done.
The sun came out as we went to lunch and had a totally awesome meal. We posted a post-card to my folks and headed back to Fionnphort, then to Craignure, through Salen and on to Tobermory (Dad follows us on the map.) We were fortunate to have sun all afternoon and arrived in time to wonder around town, check into our B&B, and hike to dinner with a good view of the mainland to our east. Dinner was good—scallops—and sleep came early that night. All that fresh air makes me tired.
I got lost in my head a bit on Friday afternoon. Robyn: See Neurotic. I might have hit another travel U, or just felt tired, but I was somewhere else for awhile that afternoon and evening. A good night sleep helped me to come around.
Saturday was a perfect day. We slept in until nine, chatted to our B&B proprietor for a bit, and walked into town taking pictures along the way. I sat at the harbor for about an hour while Ben took pictures, just watching the people and the birds, and, surprisingly, enjoyed both. (They kept their distance.) Mull boasts over 200 species of bird which I’d obviously neglected to realize prior to planning this trip, but I was more terrified of the stories of rat attacks that I was reading in my Bryson book to worry too much about the seagulls. We wondered and shopped all morning, I searched, unsuccessfully, for maps of Mull (this is good news for our framing budgets) and spent the afternoon at a coffee shop where Ben, to his credit, had tea while I enjoyed a strawberry cream and rose cream chocolate. We had sun all day.
Saturday night we had the best meal of our time in Mull, which is saying something after Iona. Café Fish is a small place above the ferry terminal in Tobermory and we split crab cakes (they smelled so good that we dove in before I snapped a photo) and I had a langoustine and lobster caesar salad. Matt Long, brother, it was divine. I had a pavlova for dessert and Ben had sticky ginger toffee pudding that he hasn’t stopped talking about since. We’ve come to expect this behavior from me, but it must be something special for Ben to perseverate. It had started to rain while at dinner, so we waited for a taxi along the water and tucked into bed, warm and content.
On Saturday, we played a game called “Cultural D&*@%!bags” to see whose culture would most embarrass themselves by being the “Ugly Americans.” Sadly, we Americans typically fare very well in this competition, but I’m happy to report that we did not win this round. There were six contenders in Mull this weekend: An English Stevie Nicks impersonator who was rude to a waitress in Fionnphort, a narcissistic Aussie who loudly told her companion at a pub that she had traveled, Elizabeth Gilbert-style, to get over a heartbreak and that “EVERYONE was begging me to publish my blog into a book but I thought, no, that’s not my direction, anyone can publish a book,” a beautiful but loud English woman who had conversations across the bus and yelled at her elderly mother to “hurry up,” another Aussie who’d had too much Botox, an American woman who had “the newest I-phone available” and our victor, an Englishman, who could not have been ruder to a waitress at Café Fish and found generally everything—the restaurant, the company, the food, etc…to be dissatisfying. The English win this round, although, statistically, they stood a good chance. Mull seems to be a popular holiday destinations for Scotland’s southern neighbor.
On Sunday, it was back to buses, ferries, trains, etc… to go home, but we decided it had been enough. Enough special. On the ferry home we encountered several of the same people we’d seen or met along the way, including the family from the restaurant in Fionnphort, today having an adventure with light-up pens that their parents had bought them in the ferry gift shop. Ben noted that I was turning into a bit of a creeper when it came to watching children and he might be right.
After a wander around Oban, I had the chance to grade and do lesson plans on the train and listen to music that is easily ten years out of date on my i-pod. There was beautiful sun on the way home and an entertaining group of boy scouts who were speaking, depending on who you ask, Gaelic, Dutch or Italian. I think we all know who foolishly suggested Italian.
Ben is always encouraging me to meditate and this weekend I realized I do, just in my own way. Do I reflect on issues of great, spiritual importance? No. Instead, I think about packing organic school lunches for my hypothetical children and ask Ben questions like, “Do kids like Pimento cheese? Bruschetta?” I think about the tours I could offer if I were a bed and breakfast proprietor, and things I want to cook when I am home, and classes I want to teach, and places I want to go. But this weekend gave me the time to do the kind of meditating that I do best, on the things I hope for and dream about, and that was a real privilege.
Three more days in Scotland; the students leave Thursday a.m., and we are with Esme on Thursday night. Saw the virtues of traveling with backpack only this weekend, but don’t know that I can do it for two weeks. If we bring a computer, will keep you posted on Spain and Morocco adventures. Thanks for reading.
Love,Robyn
I gave an exam on Thursday morning and we caught the noon-ish train to Oban. It was a promising start: our train got delayed for nearly an hour so that the British Transport Police could come on board and arrest someone. I was fine with this as I had a delicious salad and Vampire Weekend on my i-pod, which proved to be just the soundtrack I needed to get our adventure off on a good foot. I seat-danced my way to Oban. Why is that Horchata song so friggin’ awesome, by the way? “Here comes a feeling you thought you’d forgotten.” They so get me.
We had to run to catch our ferry, so we could catch the last bus to Fionnphort, the western-most community of any size on the Ross of Mull, where you catch the ferry to Iona. Ben and I are no suckers and sat outside on the ferry to Mull—we had a sunny afternoon, bright blue skies, and even a lighthouse to entertain us. Even I enjoyed watching the sea gulls coast along with the ferry, and we both enjoyed watching the kids race each other along the ferry’s deck.
Mull is exceptionally beautiful. The greens are greener, the blues bluer, the air clean, the sheep freshly-shorn. Much of the bus trip to Fionnphort was along a Loch, and the single-track road is lined with foxglove and heather. The bus trip itself took some stomach-steeling; lots of stopping for less-experienced single-track road drivers, and, occasionally, for a wayward sheep in the road.
Once there, Ben and I checked in to our B&B and headed for dinner at the only game in town. Without doing any research, my guess is that Fionnphort exists entirely for fishing and tourism to Iona. There only seemed to be about thirty people in the village that night, period, and I’d guess that twenty were tourists, like us. I had a lot of fun at dinner watching the 4-year-old fraternal twins seated next to us make a mess, cry when forced to wear socks, etc.. .and thought about how much Ben and I will appreciate these quiet trips and leisurely dinners when we are no longer just two but three and four. At one point, the little girl offered to share her ice cream with her mother, but warned her, hand to shoulder, to “Promise (me) Mummy, promise me, to be careful. This ice cream is cold.” It was fantastically dramatic and I loved it.
After dinner we hiked up to a vista where I managed to end up calf-deep in a puddle but had a great view of the sea and Iona. I felt that this necessitated some hot chocolate, for cold-prevention, upon our return to the B&B.
I don’t have the skill set to tell you how I felt about Iona. If I had been there on my own, I would have laid spread-eagle and face down on the ground and wept, but thought this might embarrass Ben a bit. We arrived early on Friday morning—the ferry crossing only takes about ten minutes—and wandered past some organic gardens and the “town” itself in some fairly heavy rain. Along the way people would apologize to us about the weather, but rain seemed very appropriate, somehow. I kept reminding Ben of how much more difficult it would have been for St. Columba when he arrived in 563 and had no hotel, etc… to stop into for warmth. I had this insight that I have become my mother, who, on our road trips to Georgia as a child, would respond to our complaints about the distance with “every time the wheel turns we are that much closer” and, “Kids, you can thank Dwight David Eisenhower for this excellent interstate system we are enjoying” only to be met with groans and dramatic sighs.
We were there before the Abbey opened for the day, which was very special. I had about thirty minutes to quietly reflect in the cloisters, watching raindrops in a puddle, and, for nearly as long, we had the abbey entirely to ourselves. There are groups of people who live in Iona and work on peace and justice issues, including on the rights of refugees and asylum seekers, and it felt like a place of great import to me.
Soaking, we spent the morning at the St. Columba hotel, where I got stuck into my excellent Bill Bryson book and warmed my feet tucked under Ben’s butt. He’s a good man. There was a family there, the matriarch and patriarch of a family who were from Inverness and were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. She was so good with her grandchildren, even the surly pre-teens, and would introduce them to everyone in the room as they walked through, “here’s our Callum,” etc…Callum in particular was a bit surly, but, I would have been too when I was eleven and stuck in a hotel on Iona in the rain. Oh, Callum, if only I could convey to you how special those times are and how much you will miss them when they are done.
The sun came out as we went to lunch and had a totally awesome meal. We posted a post-card to my folks and headed back to Fionnphort, then to Craignure, through Salen and on to Tobermory (Dad follows us on the map.) We were fortunate to have sun all afternoon and arrived in time to wonder around town, check into our B&B, and hike to dinner with a good view of the mainland to our east. Dinner was good—scallops—and sleep came early that night. All that fresh air makes me tired.
I got lost in my head a bit on Friday afternoon. Robyn: See Neurotic. I might have hit another travel U, or just felt tired, but I was somewhere else for awhile that afternoon and evening. A good night sleep helped me to come around.
Saturday was a perfect day. We slept in until nine, chatted to our B&B proprietor for a bit, and walked into town taking pictures along the way. I sat at the harbor for about an hour while Ben took pictures, just watching the people and the birds, and, surprisingly, enjoyed both. (They kept their distance.) Mull boasts over 200 species of bird which I’d obviously neglected to realize prior to planning this trip, but I was more terrified of the stories of rat attacks that I was reading in my Bryson book to worry too much about the seagulls. We wondered and shopped all morning, I searched, unsuccessfully, for maps of Mull (this is good news for our framing budgets) and spent the afternoon at a coffee shop where Ben, to his credit, had tea while I enjoyed a strawberry cream and rose cream chocolate. We had sun all day.
Saturday night we had the best meal of our time in Mull, which is saying something after Iona. Café Fish is a small place above the ferry terminal in Tobermory and we split crab cakes (they smelled so good that we dove in before I snapped a photo) and I had a langoustine and lobster caesar salad. Matt Long, brother, it was divine. I had a pavlova for dessert and Ben had sticky ginger toffee pudding that he hasn’t stopped talking about since. We’ve come to expect this behavior from me, but it must be something special for Ben to perseverate. It had started to rain while at dinner, so we waited for a taxi along the water and tucked into bed, warm and content.
On Saturday, we played a game called “Cultural D&*@%!bags” to see whose culture would most embarrass themselves by being the “Ugly Americans.” Sadly, we Americans typically fare very well in this competition, but I’m happy to report that we did not win this round. There were six contenders in Mull this weekend: An English Stevie Nicks impersonator who was rude to a waitress in Fionnphort, a narcissistic Aussie who loudly told her companion at a pub that she had traveled, Elizabeth Gilbert-style, to get over a heartbreak and that “EVERYONE was begging me to publish my blog into a book but I thought, no, that’s not my direction, anyone can publish a book,” a beautiful but loud English woman who had conversations across the bus and yelled at her elderly mother to “hurry up,” another Aussie who’d had too much Botox, an American woman who had “the newest I-phone available” and our victor, an Englishman, who could not have been ruder to a waitress at Café Fish and found generally everything—the restaurant, the company, the food, etc…to be dissatisfying. The English win this round, although, statistically, they stood a good chance. Mull seems to be a popular holiday destinations for Scotland’s southern neighbor.
On Sunday, it was back to buses, ferries, trains, etc… to go home, but we decided it had been enough. Enough special. On the ferry home we encountered several of the same people we’d seen or met along the way, including the family from the restaurant in Fionnphort, today having an adventure with light-up pens that their parents had bought them in the ferry gift shop. Ben noted that I was turning into a bit of a creeper when it came to watching children and he might be right.
After a wander around Oban, I had the chance to grade and do lesson plans on the train and listen to music that is easily ten years out of date on my i-pod. There was beautiful sun on the way home and an entertaining group of boy scouts who were speaking, depending on who you ask, Gaelic, Dutch or Italian. I think we all know who foolishly suggested Italian.
Ben is always encouraging me to meditate and this weekend I realized I do, just in my own way. Do I reflect on issues of great, spiritual importance? No. Instead, I think about packing organic school lunches for my hypothetical children and ask Ben questions like, “Do kids like Pimento cheese? Bruschetta?” I think about the tours I could offer if I were a bed and breakfast proprietor, and things I want to cook when I am home, and classes I want to teach, and places I want to go. But this weekend gave me the time to do the kind of meditating that I do best, on the things I hope for and dream about, and that was a real privilege.
Three more days in Scotland; the students leave Thursday a.m., and we are with Esme on Thursday night. Saw the virtues of traveling with backpack only this weekend, but don’t know that I can do it for two weeks. If we bring a computer, will keep you posted on Spain and Morocco adventures. Thanks for reading.
Love,Robyn
2009-2010
I'm working on a finely-crafted blog post about our wonderful weekend in Mull. In the meantime, some pics that I promised to post from the last year:
As he typically does, Ben took about 400 excellent photos of his weeks in India. I choose to share the one where his beard makes him look like a lumberjack-cum-militia organizer.
Great President, Good cheese at Zabar's in NYC.
Zombie walk, November. Andrea and David had a real theme worked out, a genuine concept. Obviously my concept was a bit looser.
Andrea and David's couples shower.
Andrea's shower in Wichita. Witches love pyrex.
One of the proudest moments of my life, my sandwich loaf, only to be humbled, cruelly, moments later, when I have to use a jackhammer to cut each slice after forgetting to cut off the bottom crust.
I made that!
We went with a Scotland theme for Pete's Wichita shower.
One of the co-hosts for Hadley Carlson's shower had a great idea that everyone bring a pair of shoes, to help her "walk through life." We used them as table decorations. I got all the flowers at the Lawrence Farmer's Market. Woo hoo!
Nigara-on-the-Lake, August 2009.
I have no photos of Nadine and Matt's beautiful wedding, but do have this excellent photo of her disappointment upon opening a tortilla warmer at her tea/shower that Matt had registered for. Fortunately she was elated, moments later, upon opening this lovely muffin pan.
Missing are photos from New Year, canning extravaganza, etc.. that I did not take. Photos of Mull soon!
As he typically does, Ben took about 400 excellent photos of his weeks in India. I choose to share the one where his beard makes him look like a lumberjack-cum-militia organizer.
Great President, Good cheese at Zabar's in NYC.
Zombie walk, November. Andrea and David had a real theme worked out, a genuine concept. Obviously my concept was a bit looser.
Andrea and David's couples shower.
Andrea's shower in Wichita. Witches love pyrex.
One of the proudest moments of my life, my sandwich loaf, only to be humbled, cruelly, moments later, when I have to use a jackhammer to cut each slice after forgetting to cut off the bottom crust.
I made that!
We went with a Scotland theme for Pete's Wichita shower.
One of the co-hosts for Hadley Carlson's shower had a great idea that everyone bring a pair of shoes, to help her "walk through life." We used them as table decorations. I got all the flowers at the Lawrence Farmer's Market. Woo hoo!
Nigara-on-the-Lake, August 2009.
I have no photos of Nadine and Matt's beautiful wedding, but do have this excellent photo of her disappointment upon opening a tortilla warmer at her tea/shower that Matt had registered for. Fortunately she was elated, moments later, upon opening this lovely muffin pan.
Missing are photos from New Year, canning extravaganza, etc.. that I did not take. Photos of Mull soon!Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Catching Up
I took a year off from blogging to work on my six-pack abs. Mixed results.
I’ll catch you up. For the three of you expecting something funny, here’s your cue to bow out gracefully. 2009-2010 was a challenging year. Watching me maneuver thorough some of those challenges offered some darkly comic moments, no doubt, but on the whole I’ve been pretty difficult to live with.
I’ll start with the good stuff. The day we returned home last summer, my folks, Matt, Andrea and David helped us move into our new place. The neighborhood isn’t as posh, but the rent is better, and my Dad has co-opted the ground floor of the house as his suite during visits. I’m glad to have a place where my folks are more comfortable, the gas bill is lower, and my feet don’t get hypothermia instantly when I walk across the kitchen floor in the winter. I do miss our daffodils, though, and our elderly neighbor who took such loving care of her yard.
The day after we moved, we took a five-day trip to Toronto upon our return for the American Psychological Association’s annual meeting. Most of this time was a jet-lagged, post-Europe blur save for a day we rented a car and drove to Niagara-on-the-Lake. We stayed above a pie shop, see photos to be posted soon, where there were homemade cookies. The cookies stand out. I found out about this place from my Bon Appetit magazine, which made me feel incredibly cool, naturally.
Just after school started back, Wilcox and I successfully canned Barbara Kingsolver’s spaghetti sauce (30 pounds of tomatoes for $10, thank you Lawrence Farmers Market) and Pioneer Woman’s strawberry jam. On the same day, I made bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers for a karaoke party, and figured out that I am half Julia Child, half ninja.
Matt and Nadine got married. Really, you should ask them what they thought of their nuptials, but this is my blog and I loved them, especially the rehearsal dinner (cheese balls & laughter), and all the time with our family. After the ceremony, the wedding party got to take a two-hour trolley ride around Old Town in Wichita, and that was pretty entertaining (you’d have to ask Ben how much jaegermeister and champagne he drank) as well. I also remember spending much of the reception drawing mustaches on my index finger with my cousins and cracking up. We are all in our thirties and take ourselves very seriously. Nadine is totally amazing, by the way.
Andrea and David got married, too. We took a ghost tour for their joint bachelor/bachelorette party, where CatDaddy got his nickname. We did not see any ghosts, but did learn that much of the city of Atchison, Kansas smells like fart, and, speaking of farts, Andrea and David’s wedding was beautiful. I cried like a baby throughout the ceremony, rediscovered green goddess salad dressing at their rehearsal dinner, and had lots of fun with my folks, Dyngus, and Doug Lee Fresh, Autumn’s Dad. On our way home we checked out the I-House in Springfield, Missouri and explored Bass Pro Shop. It was dangerous in there, but fortunately I found some 3-D camouflage. Autumn, CatDaddy and Ben let me listen to Celine Dion twice on the road trip, too.
In November, Kate, John, Nico and Paul moved to Kansas, which is amazing. One Saturday I got to have lunch with Pete, Airz and Kate, and the circle was complete.
We spent Christmas in Wichita, and New Year in Georgia, seeing the holiday lights with my whole family at Callaway Gardens, and ringing in the New Year with a decadent meal, my cousins, Matt, Nadine, Peggy, Justin, The Tallahassee Ladies, and a drink that Justin invented called a “Foggy Butthole.” After a crazy fall semester, time with this lot was just what I needed, and, on New Year’s Day, Ben left for India for two weeks, Peggy and I bought three dozen Krispy Kream donuts for six people, and I spent the day napping on a deflated air mattress while Justin played “Call of Duty.” Awesome. I had three days with my Grandmother, just us, too, which was wonderful.
We had lots of good nights courtesy of our friend Carrie, a thriving book club, a five-day trip to New York in March, for a special topics course I taught on social justice, and Zach Galifianakis and Betty White hosted Saturday Night Live. Mom retired, my parents celebrated 40 years of marriage, A.J. visited for a long weekend, and we had lots of good nights with Hadley and The Carlson Crew. We visited Georgia for a week in late May to see family, friends and Rebecca get married in true Southern style, I hosted five showers for people I love, and life has been very full.
So having reflected on that, I’m feeling a bit better. Let’s just wallow in the misery, anyway, what say we?
KU basketball really sucked it up in March and Greenberg is one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. Of equal importance, I really overextended myself this year; I taught too many courses, and only figured out in March that it wasn’t what everyone else was doing (for you teaching types, I taught 6 and 6 this year, TOO MANY.) I never felt like I had the time for my students, my husband, our friends, not to mention myself, that I needed. I ate McDonald’s fast food at least a dozen times, and drank too much caffeine. I left the practice I was working with and established my own, which has largely been a good thing, but it was difficult at the time. I broke my rule of no more than 14 clients a week, in my panic about being “on my own” in the practice, and disappointed myself in the process. I let too many students into my courses, and then resented the time it took to grade so many exams. I didn’t call the people I love enough, I wondered around the Emporia grocery store late at night for dinner, I passed, but panicked, about my licensure exam, and I have generally been resentful and sullen much more than I care to be. I found that I preferred to be alone a bit too much. A couple of times, I sat in my car trying to shore up the energy to do the next thing, even if the next thing was supposed to be fun. In hindsight, I think I was a bit depressed.
I have spent, however, three weeks now in Scotland, and as many months in reflection, and am chalking this year up as a learning experience. I’m still reflecting on what I’ve learned, though, and will keep you posted as I figure it out.
So far I’ve learned: 1. I should not eat meals in my car, 2. I should not be on my cell phone when I get home at the end of the week and stay on the phone while I greet Ben, 3. Ben is seemingly endlessly patient and loving, but I don’t want to push it, 4. Scotland is good for my skin, 5. My parents, grandmother, Aunt, etc…are very wise and I should listen to them, 6. Sleep is really, really important, 7. My friends and family are very patient and 8. I have limits, big time.
Outside of the ab work keeping me from blogging, I think I needed these three weeks to sleep, stare at my husband, walk, and be alone in a chosen, meaningful way, not just out of sheer exhaustion. I had an afternoon walk along the Water of Leith on my own, time with Esme and Shan, a super-fun G.T.A. for this program, and my old friend, Edinburgh, to help me out.
I feel better.
Spain and Morocco are on the horizon, as are Jodi’s wedding, San Diego, canning with friends, Annual Retreat and Erica’s wedding, so lots to look forward to.
In the meantime, I’m going to try to focus on the present. Wish me luck, and thanks for listening. Photos soon.
I’ll catch you up. For the three of you expecting something funny, here’s your cue to bow out gracefully. 2009-2010 was a challenging year. Watching me maneuver thorough some of those challenges offered some darkly comic moments, no doubt, but on the whole I’ve been pretty difficult to live with.
I’ll start with the good stuff. The day we returned home last summer, my folks, Matt, Andrea and David helped us move into our new place. The neighborhood isn’t as posh, but the rent is better, and my Dad has co-opted the ground floor of the house as his suite during visits. I’m glad to have a place where my folks are more comfortable, the gas bill is lower, and my feet don’t get hypothermia instantly when I walk across the kitchen floor in the winter. I do miss our daffodils, though, and our elderly neighbor who took such loving care of her yard.
The day after we moved, we took a five-day trip to Toronto upon our return for the American Psychological Association’s annual meeting. Most of this time was a jet-lagged, post-Europe blur save for a day we rented a car and drove to Niagara-on-the-Lake. We stayed above a pie shop, see photos to be posted soon, where there were homemade cookies. The cookies stand out. I found out about this place from my Bon Appetit magazine, which made me feel incredibly cool, naturally.
Just after school started back, Wilcox and I successfully canned Barbara Kingsolver’s spaghetti sauce (30 pounds of tomatoes for $10, thank you Lawrence Farmers Market) and Pioneer Woman’s strawberry jam. On the same day, I made bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers for a karaoke party, and figured out that I am half Julia Child, half ninja.
Matt and Nadine got married. Really, you should ask them what they thought of their nuptials, but this is my blog and I loved them, especially the rehearsal dinner (cheese balls & laughter), and all the time with our family. After the ceremony, the wedding party got to take a two-hour trolley ride around Old Town in Wichita, and that was pretty entertaining (you’d have to ask Ben how much jaegermeister and champagne he drank) as well. I also remember spending much of the reception drawing mustaches on my index finger with my cousins and cracking up. We are all in our thirties and take ourselves very seriously. Nadine is totally amazing, by the way.
Andrea and David got married, too. We took a ghost tour for their joint bachelor/bachelorette party, where CatDaddy got his nickname. We did not see any ghosts, but did learn that much of the city of Atchison, Kansas smells like fart, and, speaking of farts, Andrea and David’s wedding was beautiful. I cried like a baby throughout the ceremony, rediscovered green goddess salad dressing at their rehearsal dinner, and had lots of fun with my folks, Dyngus, and Doug Lee Fresh, Autumn’s Dad. On our way home we checked out the I-House in Springfield, Missouri and explored Bass Pro Shop. It was dangerous in there, but fortunately I found some 3-D camouflage. Autumn, CatDaddy and Ben let me listen to Celine Dion twice on the road trip, too.
In November, Kate, John, Nico and Paul moved to Kansas, which is amazing. One Saturday I got to have lunch with Pete, Airz and Kate, and the circle was complete.
We spent Christmas in Wichita, and New Year in Georgia, seeing the holiday lights with my whole family at Callaway Gardens, and ringing in the New Year with a decadent meal, my cousins, Matt, Nadine, Peggy, Justin, The Tallahassee Ladies, and a drink that Justin invented called a “Foggy Butthole.” After a crazy fall semester, time with this lot was just what I needed, and, on New Year’s Day, Ben left for India for two weeks, Peggy and I bought three dozen Krispy Kream donuts for six people, and I spent the day napping on a deflated air mattress while Justin played “Call of Duty.” Awesome. I had three days with my Grandmother, just us, too, which was wonderful.
We had lots of good nights courtesy of our friend Carrie, a thriving book club, a five-day trip to New York in March, for a special topics course I taught on social justice, and Zach Galifianakis and Betty White hosted Saturday Night Live. Mom retired, my parents celebrated 40 years of marriage, A.J. visited for a long weekend, and we had lots of good nights with Hadley and The Carlson Crew. We visited Georgia for a week in late May to see family, friends and Rebecca get married in true Southern style, I hosted five showers for people I love, and life has been very full.
So having reflected on that, I’m feeling a bit better. Let’s just wallow in the misery, anyway, what say we?
KU basketball really sucked it up in March and Greenberg is one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. Of equal importance, I really overextended myself this year; I taught too many courses, and only figured out in March that it wasn’t what everyone else was doing (for you teaching types, I taught 6 and 6 this year, TOO MANY.) I never felt like I had the time for my students, my husband, our friends, not to mention myself, that I needed. I ate McDonald’s fast food at least a dozen times, and drank too much caffeine. I left the practice I was working with and established my own, which has largely been a good thing, but it was difficult at the time. I broke my rule of no more than 14 clients a week, in my panic about being “on my own” in the practice, and disappointed myself in the process. I let too many students into my courses, and then resented the time it took to grade so many exams. I didn’t call the people I love enough, I wondered around the Emporia grocery store late at night for dinner, I passed, but panicked, about my licensure exam, and I have generally been resentful and sullen much more than I care to be. I found that I preferred to be alone a bit too much. A couple of times, I sat in my car trying to shore up the energy to do the next thing, even if the next thing was supposed to be fun. In hindsight, I think I was a bit depressed.
I have spent, however, three weeks now in Scotland, and as many months in reflection, and am chalking this year up as a learning experience. I’m still reflecting on what I’ve learned, though, and will keep you posted as I figure it out.
So far I’ve learned: 1. I should not eat meals in my car, 2. I should not be on my cell phone when I get home at the end of the week and stay on the phone while I greet Ben, 3. Ben is seemingly endlessly patient and loving, but I don’t want to push it, 4. Scotland is good for my skin, 5. My parents, grandmother, Aunt, etc…are very wise and I should listen to them, 6. Sleep is really, really important, 7. My friends and family are very patient and 8. I have limits, big time.
Outside of the ab work keeping me from blogging, I think I needed these three weeks to sleep, stare at my husband, walk, and be alone in a chosen, meaningful way, not just out of sheer exhaustion. I had an afternoon walk along the Water of Leith on my own, time with Esme and Shan, a super-fun G.T.A. for this program, and my old friend, Edinburgh, to help me out.
I feel better.
Spain and Morocco are on the horizon, as are Jodi’s wedding, San Diego, canning with friends, Annual Retreat and Erica’s wedding, so lots to look forward to.
In the meantime, I’m going to try to focus on the present. Wish me luck, and thanks for listening. Photos soon.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Epic Blog Fail
Hi Folks. Have been far too consumed with teaching, sleeping, thinking about cheese, etc...to blog thus far but have good intentions to start soon, particularly as we venture to Spain and Morocco in a couple of weeks. This weekend we're off to Mull and Iona, new experiences for Ben and I both, so I will write about that. Thanks for being so supportive of my efforts, however lacking, on this blog. Rest assured that we are having a good time with a great group of students who seem to be cutting a wide swath across Scotland:) One just stopped by to tell me that "like, a group of 40 year old dudes made us sing American Pie karaoke last night. It was awesome."
In the meantime, have a look at the student blog: www.esuinscotland.blogspot.com
They make fun of me some and I find this enjoyable.
Love,
Robyn
In the meantime, have a look at the student blog: www.esuinscotland.blogspot.com
They make fun of me some and I find this enjoyable.
Love,
Robyn
Monday, June 21, 2010
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