So, last day of work today. Someone upstairs was smiling at me. The day before vacation is always the worst. I spent an inordinate amount of time in traffic. Oh goodie. I drove and picked up my bestie and proceeded to spend the afternoon and evening catching up with old friends. There is something about reliving middle and high school moments that just makes all adults regress in age and maturity.
It's awesome.
This trip down memory lane concluded with a brief stop at said local high school where Christine and I wandered the halls AND GOT YELLED AT BY A TEACHER. It's like we never left!! How, at 29, can we still be yelled at? By teachers? FROM HIGH SCHOOL? It's comical.
Tomorrow is "wrap presents day," ick. And make ma'moul day, yay! First recipe I am attempting to make from my trusty ME cookbook. There will be a load of watching the master (read: my father) make his version. I came home and saw the beginnings out on the kitchen counter. Moulds, fillings, oils, nuts. I can see hours of pressing and banging of wooden mallets in my future. And yes, I promise to share pictures.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
And we trieth again...
The facts:
1) I am discontented with my life.
2) I need a change.
3) I'm trying to come up with other points, but I don't have any, so I suppose, it really boils down to that.
The reinvention of a blog is always an entertaining event. I've been writing online since high school. I cringe to think about some of what I wrote all those years ago. I think I'd rather not remember. Regardless, I realized that what I like most about blogging is the ability to just punch together lots of random bits of interesting stuff and call it a day. Do you realize that most people now DO blog? I would argue that it happens mostly on facebook. Think about everything you share, it's almost a daily retrospective of your life!
Hence writing here. My uncle just yesterday described me in an email to my mother as "percipient," as in someone who is good at perceiving things. Hilarious given that I rarely think I do that well at all. However, I did find it a bit amusing because he made this jump as a direct result of the tag line in my email, which is where the title of the blog came from. Good 'ol Jane Austen, she never fails me.
I am a day away from Christmas break and work is just sucking my soul dry. Students are gone and I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time cruising Amazon, even though, as of yesterday, I am completely done with shopping (oh thank you dear lord).
In other news, break is going to be spent making things: namely THIS and THESE, have you ever seen anything more delicious in your life?! I don't even like nuts all that much but I want to eat about 10,000 of these.
Also in the works? Well here's the thing. My family is middle eastern, and I've been trying, for years, to figure out how to cook good Arabic food. Not to say I can't, I can, but there are certain things that are just so elusive I have decided to sit down with this particular book that I intend to pinch from my mother (except hers is about 30 years old and in delightfully dog-earned condition) and cook obscene amounts of food. My students will be my guinea pigs, though by the way they completely housed the food I made for our holiday party, I'm guessing they're not going to mind too much.
1) I am discontented with my life.
2) I need a change.
3) I'm trying to come up with other points, but I don't have any, so I suppose, it really boils down to that.
The reinvention of a blog is always an entertaining event. I've been writing online since high school. I cringe to think about some of what I wrote all those years ago. I think I'd rather not remember. Regardless, I realized that what I like most about blogging is the ability to just punch together lots of random bits of interesting stuff and call it a day. Do you realize that most people now DO blog? I would argue that it happens mostly on facebook. Think about everything you share, it's almost a daily retrospective of your life!
Hence writing here. My uncle just yesterday described me in an email to my mother as "percipient," as in someone who is good at perceiving things. Hilarious given that I rarely think I do that well at all. However, I did find it a bit amusing because he made this jump as a direct result of the tag line in my email, which is where the title of the blog came from. Good 'ol Jane Austen, she never fails me.
I am a day away from Christmas break and work is just sucking my soul dry. Students are gone and I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time cruising Amazon, even though, as of yesterday, I am completely done with shopping (oh thank you dear lord).
In other news, break is going to be spent making things: namely THIS and THESE, have you ever seen anything more delicious in your life?! I don't even like nuts all that much but I want to eat about 10,000 of these.
Also in the works? Well here's the thing. My family is middle eastern, and I've been trying, for years, to figure out how to cook good Arabic food. Not to say I can't, I can, but there are certain things that are just so elusive I have decided to sit down with this particular book that I intend to pinch from my mother (except hers is about 30 years old and in delightfully dog-earned condition) and cook obscene amounts of food. My students will be my guinea pigs, though by the way they completely housed the food I made for our holiday party, I'm guessing they're not going to mind too much.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Pretty little elephants
So I thought this just too wonderful NOT to share. My mother recently returned from England and brought with her pictures of the Elephant Parade that is going on in London. Apparently in a bid to raise money and awareness for African elephants there are multiple elephant statues across the city, each designed by various artists which are to be auctioned off this week. One in particular is of special note, her name is Just Joey.
She's so pretty! Why is she of particular note you ask? Well, primarily because the rose after which she is named was created by my relative and bears the name (though is not named for) of my grandmother. Nifty huh? I wish I could bid for this beautiful specimen but unfortunately (or rather fortunately for those spectacular elephants) her current bid is £6,000! Oh well, I am content in the knowledge that her new owners obviously love her enough to spend a great deal of money on her.
Exploring the locations of many of these pretty elephants: http://www.elephantparadelondon.org/ just reaffirms my desire to travel this fall. I am continuing to seriously consider going overseas to study at some point next year. In my quest to figure out what I am doing with my life, as well as give myself some legitimate direction, which I currently feel I am sorely lacking, I have this nagging feeling that I need to make a change, and a big one at that. Since college I have, unconsciously I'm sure, found a way to stay relatively within my comfort zone in terms of where I went to school, where I took my first job, etc. I wouldn't say it was completely intentional. There were many factors that went into my eventual choices of where I ended up, and believe me when I tell you I tried hard to get out of Maryland, I always managed to end up right back where I started. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I spent such an inordinate amount of my childhood traveling overseas. I recall vividly wanting to spend a summer at the beach, or Disney World like all of my friends, but instead, found myself being trooped around the greater boroughs of London, the outskirts of the Jurassic Coast of England, all the way to tiny towns in Italy and the cacophony of colors and sounds that was my father's home country of Jordan. Don't get me wrong, I did love parts of these experiences, but some part of me thinks that this constant moving around set within me a huge desire to just be somewhere relatively permanent when I finally had the choice to do so on my own.
Regardless, due to the lack of movement I've had in the past ten years or so I feel myself almost itching to get out of my current rut of a city. I love Baltimore dearly but I do find myself wistfully thinking about living somewhere else; somewhere with a bit more culture, different people, smells, and sights. Whether this will come to fruition in the next year I'm not sure. I used to think a year was a really long time and I'm learning in my old age that is actually not the case at all. A year moves quick, so much so that there are days I wake up and I wonder where the month has gone and what the heck I've done during the past 30 days.
Despite my tendency to look much further ahead than I should I have narrowed the next task on my plate down to the completion of my first letter. I have decided that it is going to an old student of mine. She is currently traveling the world and perhaps that is part of the reason I chose her. I am happy to say that we have begun a travel journal of sorts that is being passed back and forth between us. The more amusing part is that this journal has been in my possession since high school (a frighteningly long time ago) when it was given to me by one of my best friends. I think at one point there were plans for us to use it, though of course that didn't really pan out the way we planned. The more amusing part is that this journal is constructed such that anyone over the age of about 12 would find it virtually useless after about three trades back and forth since it only has about 30 pages worth of paper in it. However, we are making a go of it with the intention of graduating to a much more adult version (moleskin anyone?) in the near (read: about a week) future!
Despite the lack of space on which to write, we have managed to accumulate quite the collection of scribbled bits of this and that and this round will be my first official letter in my quest to reach 365 before the year is out. And yikes, I am realizing more and more just how much writing that is going to be.
Best get to work I suppose.
She's so pretty! Why is she of particular note you ask? Well, primarily because the rose after which she is named was created by my relative and bears the name (though is not named for) of my grandmother. Nifty huh? I wish I could bid for this beautiful specimen but unfortunately (or rather fortunately for those spectacular elephants) her current bid is £6,000! Oh well, I am content in the knowledge that her new owners obviously love her enough to spend a great deal of money on her.
Exploring the locations of many of these pretty elephants: http://www.elephantparadelondon.org/ just reaffirms my desire to travel this fall. I am continuing to seriously consider going overseas to study at some point next year. In my quest to figure out what I am doing with my life, as well as give myself some legitimate direction, which I currently feel I am sorely lacking, I have this nagging feeling that I need to make a change, and a big one at that. Since college I have, unconsciously I'm sure, found a way to stay relatively within my comfort zone in terms of where I went to school, where I took my first job, etc. I wouldn't say it was completely intentional. There were many factors that went into my eventual choices of where I ended up, and believe me when I tell you I tried hard to get out of Maryland, I always managed to end up right back where I started. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I spent such an inordinate amount of my childhood traveling overseas. I recall vividly wanting to spend a summer at the beach, or Disney World like all of my friends, but instead, found myself being trooped around the greater boroughs of London, the outskirts of the Jurassic Coast of England, all the way to tiny towns in Italy and the cacophony of colors and sounds that was my father's home country of Jordan. Don't get me wrong, I did love parts of these experiences, but some part of me thinks that this constant moving around set within me a huge desire to just be somewhere relatively permanent when I finally had the choice to do so on my own.
Regardless, due to the lack of movement I've had in the past ten years or so I feel myself almost itching to get out of my current rut of a city. I love Baltimore dearly but I do find myself wistfully thinking about living somewhere else; somewhere with a bit more culture, different people, smells, and sights. Whether this will come to fruition in the next year I'm not sure. I used to think a year was a really long time and I'm learning in my old age that is actually not the case at all. A year moves quick, so much so that there are days I wake up and I wonder where the month has gone and what the heck I've done during the past 30 days.
Despite my tendency to look much further ahead than I should I have narrowed the next task on my plate down to the completion of my first letter. I have decided that it is going to an old student of mine. She is currently traveling the world and perhaps that is part of the reason I chose her. I am happy to say that we have begun a travel journal of sorts that is being passed back and forth between us. The more amusing part is that this journal has been in my possession since high school (a frighteningly long time ago) when it was given to me by one of my best friends. I think at one point there were plans for us to use it, though of course that didn't really pan out the way we planned. The more amusing part is that this journal is constructed such that anyone over the age of about 12 would find it virtually useless after about three trades back and forth since it only has about 30 pages worth of paper in it. However, we are making a go of it with the intention of graduating to a much more adult version (moleskin anyone?) in the near (read: about a week) future!
Despite the lack of space on which to write, we have managed to accumulate quite the collection of scribbled bits of this and that and this round will be my first official letter in my quest to reach 365 before the year is out. And yikes, I am realizing more and more just how much writing that is going to be.
Best get to work I suppose.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
a five year road block
So, I should probably mention that one really big thing has been standing in my way of writing anything even remotely approaching pleasant and prose-like. That thing is called a thesis. A big, long, icky, boring and LONG thesis. When I entered grad school I thought writing a thesis was the coolest thing ever. I mean how awesome would it be to put on your resume that you researched something of your choosing and then wrote up a fabulous article about everything you discovered? Super right? Amazing? Awe-inspiring! So not. Anyone who tells you that individual research is the best way to spend your twenties is LYING. It is true that most embark on this "adventure" with much excitement, thinking that they will learn a great deal and come out on the other end a smarter, more well-rounded person. Well I can tell you for sure that you do, eventually, come out the other end. And you are smarter, but you're smarter in way you wish you weren't. Knowing, unequivocally, that there were about a million OTHER things you would have rather been doing with your time. Like sleeping, and drinking, and basically doing anything else besides writing and correcting and being miserable.
That my good readers was how I spent the greater part of my twenties, in fact, I only just finished. Let me tell you it was a rude slap in the face when I breezed through three years of grueling (but interesting) classes and then stagnated for the next THREE years trying to finish my project. I complained to anyone who would listen, and yes I recognize that was probably not the best use of my time, but come on! more than five years and countless sleepless nights adds up to a lot to complain about and even more to be miserable over. From this I learned two important lessons:
1) enough booze with good friends can fix almost anything, including having your manuscript rejected for possibly the 100th time and,
2) I don't ever want to write a thesis again. Ever.
Strangely I have not given up on the idea of possibly pursuing a Ph.D, which, I know, includes writing a dissertation. However, I see two big differences between my quest for this degree and my previous one.
1) I know what I am getting myself into and,
2) a dissertation is generally of the length and breadth of the thesis I have already written, which, my advisers said, was too long and too detailed. So sue me.
Imagine my disgust when I went to the holding case for all the theses written by people in my department and found ones that were approximately THIRTY pages. THIRTY. DIE UNDERACHIEVERS DIE.
So, to me anyway, it is relatively easy to see why writing has not been on the forefront of my mind. Regardless, I did find, towards the end of my tenure at Casa de Crazy Thesis Writers, that writing to people I actually liked, about subject matter that I actually enjoyed, was pleasurable, and was something I should have done more of. Imagine that.
I suppose that my desire to rediscover writing for pleasure was born out of my disgust with writing for distinction, or merely because I had to. I do wonder sometimes if that is how paid writers feel, shut up in their towers trying desperately to come up with the next paragraph in their 40 chapter book. Just thinking about that makes me shudder. A lot. Poor J.K. Rowling...actually no, she's shut up in her Scottish tower, a billionaire, having created Harry Potter. Harry freakin' Potter, sympathy isn't coming her way just yet.
So yes, my writing will now commence. I am busily deciding who will be graced with my first letter. I am torn between having it be someone important, in the sense that it's someone I want to reconnect with, or someone to which I have something profound to say, or having it just be to someone random to which I would normally shoot.
Decisions...
That my good readers was how I spent the greater part of my twenties, in fact, I only just finished. Let me tell you it was a rude slap in the face when I breezed through three years of grueling (but interesting) classes and then stagnated for the next THREE years trying to finish my project. I complained to anyone who would listen, and yes I recognize that was probably not the best use of my time, but come on! more than five years and countless sleepless nights adds up to a lot to complain about and even more to be miserable over. From this I learned two important lessons:
1) enough booze with good friends can fix almost anything, including having your manuscript rejected for possibly the 100th time and,
2) I don't ever want to write a thesis again. Ever.
Strangely I have not given up on the idea of possibly pursuing a Ph.D, which, I know, includes writing a dissertation. However, I see two big differences between my quest for this degree and my previous one.
1) I know what I am getting myself into and,
2) a dissertation is generally of the length and breadth of the thesis I have already written, which, my advisers said, was too long and too detailed. So sue me.
Imagine my disgust when I went to the holding case for all the theses written by people in my department and found ones that were approximately THIRTY pages. THIRTY. DIE UNDERACHIEVERS DIE.
So, to me anyway, it is relatively easy to see why writing has not been on the forefront of my mind. Regardless, I did find, towards the end of my tenure at Casa de Crazy Thesis Writers, that writing to people I actually liked, about subject matter that I actually enjoyed, was pleasurable, and was something I should have done more of. Imagine that.
I suppose that my desire to rediscover writing for pleasure was born out of my disgust with writing for distinction, or merely because I had to. I do wonder sometimes if that is how paid writers feel, shut up in their towers trying desperately to come up with the next paragraph in their 40 chapter book. Just thinking about that makes me shudder. A lot. Poor J.K. Rowling...actually no, she's shut up in her Scottish tower, a billionaire, having created Harry Potter. Harry freakin' Potter, sympathy isn't coming her way just yet.
So yes, my writing will now commence. I am busily deciding who will be graced with my first letter. I am torn between having it be someone important, in the sense that it's someone I want to reconnect with, or someone to which I have something profound to say, or having it just be to someone random to which I would normally shoot.
Decisions...
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
and so it begins...
When I look back, I chuckle a bit knowing that this project of mine is based on something I used to hate doing. Once upon a time I was a young girl that wanted nothing more than to receive birthday and Christmas gifts that were something other than stationary. I used to think it was some sort of sick joke - giving me paper and pens and thank you cards - sort of like a not-so-subtle nudge that I was supposed to turn around and use those gifts to write and give my effusive thanks and boundless gratitude for a present I really didn't want or understand why I was given.
From an extremely early age my mother instilled in me the importance of writing. Not just writing thank you cards, that was always a given, but writing actual letters to others. I've seen her do this frequently, in fact this habit is one of the earliest memories I have of her, and she continues it today, most recently writing to every single person that came to her father's funeral only two months ago.
Until recently my desire for sitting down and actually writing to people had nearly evaporated. I remember vividly in high school having various notebooks that were passed around among my best girl friends with various bits of gossip scribbled in between the pages. At one point I recall some really horrible poetry, as well as an homage to our hated band teacher set to the tune of "Speed Racer," ahhh, the memories. Despite my foray into the world of creative writing, and I use that word extremely loosely, the advent of things like Instant Messenger and email (EMAIL! INSTANT! FREE!) virtually extinguished my need for letter writing. I find it bizarre that I can remember my first IM screenname (Rosie222) and email address (the same at good 'ol hotmail.com) as well as the first computer I did both of these things on (Dell P60, oh baby), but I can't remember the last actual letter I wrote, which horrifyingly, wasn't that long ago, but I have a suspicion was so short and pointless it probably wasn't worth writing to begin with.
Which is what leads me to my current adventure. Having acquired a new obsession with stationary (and yes, people really do come full circle) I want to find a way to start using some of the stuff I have acquired, AND to use up some of what I've had for years. Literally...decades. The purpose of my project is pretty simple, write 365 letters in the space of a year. I don't have to do one a day, though I suppose that would make sense, but then again, life happens and there are days I forget to do things that I've been doing everyday for years (hello brush my teeth) so I figure, as long as I am getting them written and I'm relatively close to my goal I will be a happy camper.
I'm not sure where all of these letters will go, I suppose I'll start with the obvious and branch out. I do know one thing though, each will be hand written and each will be chronicled. Which for me, will result in an interesting library of people I've written to and things I've written about, as well as a memorial (I mean they eventually WILL be thrown away) of some of the coolest stationary EVER, some of which I love so much I don't want to write on. But I will, after all it is for a good cause.
From an extremely early age my mother instilled in me the importance of writing. Not just writing thank you cards, that was always a given, but writing actual letters to others. I've seen her do this frequently, in fact this habit is one of the earliest memories I have of her, and she continues it today, most recently writing to every single person that came to her father's funeral only two months ago.
Until recently my desire for sitting down and actually writing to people had nearly evaporated. I remember vividly in high school having various notebooks that were passed around among my best girl friends with various bits of gossip scribbled in between the pages. At one point I recall some really horrible poetry, as well as an homage to our hated band teacher set to the tune of "Speed Racer," ahhh, the memories. Despite my foray into the world of creative writing, and I use that word extremely loosely, the advent of things like Instant Messenger and email (EMAIL! INSTANT! FREE!) virtually extinguished my need for letter writing. I find it bizarre that I can remember my first IM screenname (Rosie222) and email address (the same at good 'ol hotmail.com) as well as the first computer I did both of these things on (Dell P60, oh baby), but I can't remember the last actual letter I wrote, which horrifyingly, wasn't that long ago, but I have a suspicion was so short and pointless it probably wasn't worth writing to begin with.
Which is what leads me to my current adventure. Having acquired a new obsession with stationary (and yes, people really do come full circle) I want to find a way to start using some of the stuff I have acquired, AND to use up some of what I've had for years. Literally...decades. The purpose of my project is pretty simple, write 365 letters in the space of a year. I don't have to do one a day, though I suppose that would make sense, but then again, life happens and there are days I forget to do things that I've been doing everyday for years (hello brush my teeth) so I figure, as long as I am getting them written and I'm relatively close to my goal I will be a happy camper.
I'm not sure where all of these letters will go, I suppose I'll start with the obvious and branch out. I do know one thing though, each will be hand written and each will be chronicled. Which for me, will result in an interesting library of people I've written to and things I've written about, as well as a memorial (I mean they eventually WILL be thrown away) of some of the coolest stationary EVER, some of which I love so much I don't want to write on. But I will, after all it is for a good cause.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)