7:45am. I don't have to be up til 9ish. John is rummaging through our room in semi-darkness.
"Mmmffphwhat are you looking for? An umbrella?"
"No, I want a jumper"
"Hanging up." I roll over and back into the far side of semi consciousness.
John keeps rummaging.
"Dani...Dani! I can't find it! Where did you say you hung up my jumper?"
"In the wardrobe. Where we put clothes. It's on a hanger."
"Oh....."
John leaves me in peace.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
A few observations
1. When I am very, very tired and having difficulty understanding someone's accent, I tune them out so that it all sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher. "Den I was loike, sumfing wah wah waaaaah wah wah wah...."
2. I live in lilliput. I know i've been over this, but damn, it still shocks me!
3. Even if you are very, very, very careful to look in what you think is every potential direction before crossing a road, you'll probably miss a hazard. I have, for the record, been honked at by several (as in I stopped counting) cars, one tram, and two busses. Not bad for two and a half weeks.
4. Brits are all alcoholics. Binge drinking aside, when I pass a drink off at the 'bux, 90% of people pick it up, bob their heads, and say 'Cheers'. Then I noticed bus passengers doing it too...and at the supermarket (what I was missing?!), and on the street when I gave way to an old lady with a walker. Wtf?! Cheers is used interchangably with 'Thanks' here, but never in sarcasm and only when there has been a service of some kind rendered. I think.
5. The legend about Europeans being apologetic if they accuse you of being American and you are, in fact, Canadian? Totally, embarassingly, true. I'm working at the espresso bar, chatting and calling drinks, and I hear a mother and teenage daughter arrive at the register. "I TOLD you it was an American accent!" (other barista) "Oh, actually, she's from Canada." (woman now shouting across half the store) "I'm so SORRY dear, I guess it's just loud and difficult to hear properly, and I am VERY SORRY" (me, being uncomfortable) "Oh, it's ok, I can't tell as Welsh accent from an Irish one, so how can I expect you to tell mine from an American accent, eh?" (woman smirks).
6. Brits are adult enough to decide when and where to cross the road. Jaywalking doesn't exist here, because it is legal to cross the road at pretty much any time. However, pedestrians don't automatically have right-of-way. See #3.
7. There are more things that I want to put up here, but i can't remember them at the moment. Some day, some day.
2. I live in lilliput. I know i've been over this, but damn, it still shocks me!
3. Even if you are very, very, very careful to look in what you think is every potential direction before crossing a road, you'll probably miss a hazard. I have, for the record, been honked at by several (as in I stopped counting) cars, one tram, and two busses. Not bad for two and a half weeks.
4. Brits are all alcoholics. Binge drinking aside, when I pass a drink off at the 'bux, 90% of people pick it up, bob their heads, and say 'Cheers'. Then I noticed bus passengers doing it too...and at the supermarket (what I was missing?!), and on the street when I gave way to an old lady with a walker. Wtf?! Cheers is used interchangably with 'Thanks' here, but never in sarcasm and only when there has been a service of some kind rendered. I think.
5. The legend about Europeans being apologetic if they accuse you of being American and you are, in fact, Canadian? Totally, embarassingly, true. I'm working at the espresso bar, chatting and calling drinks, and I hear a mother and teenage daughter arrive at the register. "I TOLD you it was an American accent!" (other barista) "Oh, actually, she's from Canada." (woman now shouting across half the store) "I'm so SORRY dear, I guess it's just loud and difficult to hear properly, and I am VERY SORRY" (me, being uncomfortable) "Oh, it's ok, I can't tell as Welsh accent from an Irish one, so how can I expect you to tell mine from an American accent, eh?" (woman smirks).
6. Brits are adult enough to decide when and where to cross the road. Jaywalking doesn't exist here, because it is legal to cross the road at pretty much any time. However, pedestrians don't automatically have right-of-way. See #3.
7. There are more things that I want to put up here, but i can't remember them at the moment. Some day, some day.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Hometown Goodbyes, Part Deux
What better way to remember all of my nearest and dearest than a slightly awkward party involving family, friends from waaaay back, friends from Uni, and everyone's significant others? The party was (in my humble opinion, and I was after the guest of honour, so that's the ONLY opinion!) a success. Beer and cocktails and pop were drank, the barbecue got a workout and a half, people brought delicious foodstuffs (including tomatoes form Josh's garden - holy wow they were good), the silly present-stealing game was played, we beat the crap out of each other with foam pirate swords, and I got my ass kicked at bocce by my 85 year old grandmother. Who is blind in one eye.
The party continued after the grownups and youngun's left and it was only the twenty-somethings, and for a better description of that, you need to see the Peach, for a hilarious and only slightly embellished version. That part of the night looked something like this:
The party continued after the grownups and youngun's left and it was only the twenty-somethings, and for a better description of that, you need to see the Peach, for a hilarious and only slightly embellished version. That part of the night looked something like this:
Monday, August 13, 2007
The hometown goodbyes part I
Goodbye to the home stomping grounds started with a fantastic (sweaty) night in TO marked by excellent food (sushi and sashimi and tiny individual cakes oh my!) and a power outage which made Brie's fabulous (third floor) digs seem like a turkish bath. It's a good thing red wine is meant to be served unrefrigerated! The night looked like this:
(faces smeared to protect dignity)
On the Friday of the long weekend, my dad and I celebrated the third long weekend of the summer by digging out my massive pile of crap and donating an entire carload to Goodwill, pitching three bags, and storing the rest in the attic. That sure was a lovely way to spend another 'heat wave' day, but at least I got my things stored and out of my parents' way.
(faces smeared to protect dignity)
On the Friday of the long weekend, my dad and I celebrated the third long weekend of the summer by digging out my massive pile of crap and donating an entire carload to Goodwill, pitching three bags, and storing the rest in the attic. That sure was a lovely way to spend another 'heat wave' day, but at least I got my things stored and out of my parents' way.
And England so far...
I find myself walking around Sheffield feeling like I've landed in Lilliput. Nothing here comes in extra large anything - cars that would be considered mid-sized sedans in Canada are gas hogging monsters, while SUVs are regularly graffitied (and their owners made broke by the cost of fuel!). Streets are narrower, packaging is smaller (imagine having to look really, really hard to find a 500mL bottle of shampoo...that's considered an 'extra value' size instead of the standard!), housing and storage are smaller...even the refrigerators are smaller. Like, seriously way smaller. Like, we go to the grocery store every two to three days because right now we share a fridge with four other people and we only have that much space because two of them seem to eat only take-away and canned things. I'm starting to find some attitudes shifting already - like, it's nice not to be stuck with shitty shampoo for an entire half liter, and tiny economical cars mean that it's going to be much more feasible for us to drive one eventually. But I will certainly miss being able to buy 48 rolls of toilet paper in one package at the supermarket. There's nothing like having enough ass-wipe in stock to build a dam, or t-p an entire street at once.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Bon VoyBirthday!
Bon VoyBirthday
...was a smashing success. Everyone that Shavaun and I hoped for showed up (plus some!), wine and beer and tequila (and pomegranate liqueur) flowed, two delicious cakes were eaten (Lemon sponge with lemon glaze, and Dark Chocolate Black Forest Gateau), Shavaun didn't make it out the bar (something about her legs not cooperating with her brain?), and I went into the kitchen the next morning to find muddyPublish Post footprints all over the linoleum (water fight), an empty tequila bottle, and a large knife sticking straight out of the one piece of cake that was left.
I met with up friends from undergrad (oh how nice it is to think about undergrad in the past tense!) the next day, and we got tipsy on the most delicious cider before 5 pm, then went to a Tattoo at Fort Henry, then went to the Grizzly Grill for some overpriced drinks and dancing. To finish the weekend off right, I worked for 9hrs on Sunday. That wasn't the most fun thing I have ever done, but it was nothing compared to the anticlimactic week of packing and trying to tie up loose ends that I had after that. Moving out of my sublet was surprisingly easy, all things considered - probably because I've been so successful at parting with a lot of my junk. It was the parting with friends that sucked the big one.
...was a smashing success. Everyone that Shavaun and I hoped for showed up (plus some!), wine and beer and tequila (and pomegranate liqueur) flowed, two delicious cakes were eaten (Lemon sponge with lemon glaze, and Dark Chocolate Black Forest Gateau), Shavaun didn't make it out the bar (something about her legs not cooperating with her brain?), and I went into the kitchen the next morning to find muddyPublish Post footprints all over the linoleum (water fight), an empty tequila bottle, and a large knife sticking straight out of the one piece of cake that was left.
I met with up friends from undergrad (oh how nice it is to think about undergrad in the past tense!) the next day, and we got tipsy on the most delicious cider before 5 pm, then went to a Tattoo at Fort Henry, then went to the Grizzly Grill for some overpriced drinks and dancing. To finish the weekend off right, I worked for 9hrs on Sunday. That wasn't the most fun thing I have ever done, but it was nothing compared to the anticlimactic week of packing and trying to tie up loose ends that I had after that. Moving out of my sublet was surprisingly easy, all things considered - probably because I've been so successful at parting with a lot of my junk. It was the parting with friends that sucked the big one.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Homeless no more!
Going away parties were terrific, leaving Kingston sucked, home has been stressful, my job transfer is still up in the air (but progressing, finally!), but John just found us a place to live (only drawbacks: white carpet and 'no' pets), and now I can finally be excited and stop wanting to throw up. England isn't going to know what hit it!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
On things I will not miss about Kingston
I am now in self-defensive denial mode about moving, and I think that a nice bulleted list of reasons why I will NOT be sad to see Kingston recede like so much hair on a grad student will help me feel better right now.
- There are two hospitals in the downtown core. I live across from a fire station at the moment. It is impossible to get far enough from the hospitals/fire station to be out of audio range without being in range of catcalls from the crack addicts, so I've always lived practically on an ambulance route. Clearly, living FAR away from hospitals AND crack addicts is the way to go.
- I also live across from an elementary school at the moment (if this weren't student ghetto central, it'd probably be a great family neighbourhood). In the school year, buses idle under my window from 8am - 8:45am, then again from 2 - 2:45pm. In the summer, a karate class uses the gym. They scream. A lot. It is very discordant. It hurts my well-trained ears.
- I live less than a block from the most expensive convenience store on the planet, aka A&P (or the Anus and Phallus, for what it does to my food budget). They are open 24 hours a day, which means that I can often be found drunkenly wandering the aisles and comparison shopping meat sticks on a Friday night. I like to think that there will only be clean, high quality grocery stores with sensible opening hours in my neighbourhood in Sheffield.
- I also presently live at a corner with stoplights at it. Why are the only people with their car windows open and the music cranked playing such awful shit? Clearly, it will rain so much in England that my windows will be shut most of the time, and I won't have to hear people's lousy music. Furthermore, roundabouts are much more common than stoplights, which means cars will pass by very quickly.
- With any luck, American tourists will not expect me to take their cash at some ridiculous exchange rate in the UK, they'll have exchanged their damn money. The number of people who come to Kingston without any Canadian funds is astonishing -you'd think that US dollars were the standing currency everywhere in North America from the way I've been treated at the counter at work.
- In the UK, I will be an exotic 'foreigner' with an accent, not one of those - the elite immigrant class in Kingston, the Queen's Student, who will piss on your lawn, set fire to your car, and then leave your city without creating a ripple in the economy! (I think town-gown relations at this school are a joke.)
- Speaking of pissing on the lawn, it is my fond wish to live in a neighbourhood that is far enough from the local nightclub to avoid that problem. With any luck, the only people pissing on the lawn will be the seven or eight cats I intend to adopt. Of course, this might put a damper on parties like we hosted here Friday night...more about that another time, when I'm not hating on the human race.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Boxes are eating my feet!
So I like to think that if I really 'put my mind to it' I could pack myself for any sort of move in under 48 hours. Also, I believe that I if I think happy enough thoughts, I will be able to fly and leap tall buildings in a single bound. But I have actually started the final packing process now. As much stuff as I got rid of when moving out of my old place into this sublet (300lbs at the waste transfer station, 6 bags of clothing and linens to a church...), I still have a lot of stuff left...and now is the final winnowing through. I'm having a 'garage' sale on Friday, before (during...people are weak when they're drinking!) the Bon VoyBirthday Party which Shavaun and I are jointly hosting, so I've been separating into 'sell' and 'keep' bins...and packing a third bin as I come across things which I can definitely pack with confidence. The only things actually in the 'definitely can be shipped on the boat and don't need to come with me immediately' bin (in an orderly fashion) at the moment, though, are about 80 of my books...I feel like I still need to do more 'sorting'! Total volume of 'keep' has already decreased by about 25%, which will be great for my shipping bill!
Other than the battle of the stuff (please, please don't tell me to just buy new things there...I've heard that advice enough times to frustrate even the most patient of people! Not only is everything except liquor and milk heinously expensive in the UK - not my mention my loss on the dollar for the first few weeks, til I'm earning in £ - I've never been a minimalist, and I don't especially feel like attempting a total shift in attitude while also shifting geography and culture! This move is permanent, as in I will be there for at least 5-7 years if all goes well, and it's my dam money that I'm spending on shipping!). Well...that sort of slipped out. I've been irked by well-intentioned advice since day one of this move, and it continues to bother me a lot. The best advice I've heard so far? "Don't get joint credit cards. Trust me." That, friends, is what I call sound advice. Packing your life into boxes is a very, very personal event, and requires something different from every person who attempts it. I have met people who can put everything they need and want into a 90 liter backpack and happily traipse the world, and other people who are much more like myself, and people in between, who are content to have a dozen boxes to call their own. The process of going through everything that I own and shedding a lot of junk has been freeing, and really is helping me realize what possessions are most important to me, but I never expected it to turn me into a perfectly zen minimalist with only a journal and a water bottle to keep me company. I know that psychologists have a great time dissecting people's attitudes toward "Stuff", and I am certain that an expert could have a field day with my covetousness, my desire to collect 'things' (especially writing things...oh how I love stationary and writing utensils!). I am getting to a point, now, in the battle of the 'stuff' where it no longer rules me, and I am content with the material possessions in my life. I'm sure, though, that I'll always have magpie-like tendencies, (and I kind of like it that way).
Ok, I am all done with being defensive. Be patient with me (and don't offer any 'zen' advice, for the love of all that is holy!), I'm sure I'll stop being so sensitive once John and I have settled into a home of our own (oh, didn't I mention that? still no flat or terrace or cardboard box to call our own! John has appointments all this week(end) and next, so please send some good vibes our way...we've had some great-looking places snatched out from under our noses, and we could really use a bit of good housing karma so that my flight won't have to be postponed!)
Other than the battle of the stuff (please, please don't tell me to just buy new things there...I've heard that advice enough times to frustrate even the most patient of people! Not only is everything except liquor and milk heinously expensive in the UK - not my mention my loss on the dollar for the first few weeks, til I'm earning in £ - I've never been a minimalist, and I don't especially feel like attempting a total shift in attitude while also shifting geography and culture! This move is permanent, as in I will be there for at least 5-7 years if all goes well, and it's my dam money that I'm spending on shipping!). Well...that sort of slipped out. I've been irked by well-intentioned advice since day one of this move, and it continues to bother me a lot. The best advice I've heard so far? "Don't get joint credit cards. Trust me." That, friends, is what I call sound advice. Packing your life into boxes is a very, very personal event, and requires something different from every person who attempts it. I have met people who can put everything they need and want into a 90 liter backpack and happily traipse the world, and other people who are much more like myself, and people in between, who are content to have a dozen boxes to call their own. The process of going through everything that I own and shedding a lot of junk has been freeing, and really is helping me realize what possessions are most important to me, but I never expected it to turn me into a perfectly zen minimalist with only a journal and a water bottle to keep me company. I know that psychologists have a great time dissecting people's attitudes toward "Stuff", and I am certain that an expert could have a field day with my covetousness, my desire to collect 'things' (especially writing things...oh how I love stationary and writing utensils!). I am getting to a point, now, in the battle of the 'stuff' where it no longer rules me, and I am content with the material possessions in my life. I'm sure, though, that I'll always have magpie-like tendencies, (and I kind of like it that way).
Ok, I am all done with being defensive. Be patient with me (and don't offer any 'zen' advice, for the love of all that is holy!), I'm sure I'll stop being so sensitive once John and I have settled into a home of our own (oh, didn't I mention that? still no flat or terrace or cardboard box to call our own! John has appointments all this week(end) and next, so please send some good vibes our way...we've had some great-looking places snatched out from under our noses, and we could really use a bit of good housing karma so that my flight won't have to be postponed!)
Monday, July 23, 2007
In which my little brother is not quite so little any more
Should I have stopped calling my younger brothers "little" when they could pick me up, when I had to start craning my neck to make eye contact, or can I still get away with "I'm your older sister, so obviously I know better!"? This post is to wish my 'little' bro Conrad a very happy 21st Birthday! He's had some big decisions going on in his life lately, and now what with being legal everywhere on the continent, I think he's going to be a busy, busy man in the coming year.
(sorry ladies...he is very, very taken, and I happen to like Sarah quite a lot)
(sorry ladies...he is very, very taken, and I happen to like Sarah quite a lot)
Saturday, July 14, 2007
The times, they are a changin'...
Changing faster than I can keep up right now, and I'm the one instigating most of the changes! I am not moving out of my sublet (the monetary gain is not greater than potential emotional loss - packing myself up three times in as many weeks is stressing me out far more than a couple hundred dollars at this point), and, uh...actually, that's the only thing that's changed since yesterday.
John purchased my plane ticket today, so happy 25th birthday to him! I suppose he does get as much out of it as I do :D
I've been struggling with conflicting attitudes about this move - I alternate between being overjoyed that I am taking steps to do something major and life-changing (goodness knows it's been a while since I really shook things up), and wanting to throw up. Mostly I get overwhelmed at the thought of packing up my possessions, like, what if I give away this set of books and then decide in six months that I really wanted those trade paperbacks that I bought second-hand and read once? And this paper, it's so cool, I don't want to leave that behind! And this chili-pepper tin that I keep my pens in, I've had that since high school! I am shamelessly attached to my 'stuff', and that is what has been creating a lot of emotional turmoil for me thus far. I'm also very attached to my family and the group of friends I've made at Queen's, but thus far I am in denial about being several time zones away from them. At this point, I'm more concerned about whether I should take my watercolour pencils with me, or sell them ;)
John purchased my plane ticket today, so happy 25th birthday to him! I suppose he does get as much out of it as I do :D
I've been struggling with conflicting attitudes about this move - I alternate between being overjoyed that I am taking steps to do something major and life-changing (goodness knows it's been a while since I really shook things up), and wanting to throw up. Mostly I get overwhelmed at the thought of packing up my possessions, like, what if I give away this set of books and then decide in six months that I really wanted those trade paperbacks that I bought second-hand and read once? And this paper, it's so cool, I don't want to leave that behind! And this chili-pepper tin that I keep my pens in, I've had that since high school! I am shamelessly attached to my 'stuff', and that is what has been creating a lot of emotional turmoil for me thus far. I'm also very attached to my family and the group of friends I've made at Queen's, but thus far I am in denial about being several time zones away from them. At this point, I'm more concerned about whether I should take my watercolour pencils with me, or sell them ;)
Friday, July 13, 2007
27 days and counting
Testing...testing...is this thing on?
Welcome to my first post on what will hopefully turn into a chronicle of my experiences as I pack up my life in Kingston and head for the green hills of Sheffield, England. I've got a current passport, my travel visa, a plane ticket (as of tomorrow), waaaaaay too much stuff, no place to live once I get there, and negative money, but I'm going!
At the moment I'm trying to save some money by moving out of my summer sublet and onto someone's couch for the next two weeks, to be followed by living in a tent at my parents' house for a week, and then hopefully arriving to a home of some sort in Sheffield. The housing market there seems to have dried up (that's because terrible other people have taken all of the good places to live out from under John's nose!), so John is doing his best to find us a home.
Ahhhh, John. If you're catching up with my life via this blog, here's the short story (the long one to be posted in the future, maybe?). We've known each other online since late 2000; we met in person for the first time in Feb 2006, and started 'dating' then. Now that I'm finally finished my B.Mus at Queen's (though there is something to be said for taking the 'scenic route' through undergrad), I am going to move to the UK and work while John goes back to school, first to upgrade his A-levels, then to Uni for engineering of some sort in 2008. I'm going on a UK Ancestry visa (my Nanny is from N.Ireland) so I'll have unrestricted entry/exit (can we say, Europe is just a long swim away?), unrestricted work, access to health care, and voting rights. No, I won't be living in London, not even close in fact. Sheffield is great though, and I've really enjoyed my visits, so hopefully it's as nice to live in as John makes out!
Welcome to my first post on what will hopefully turn into a chronicle of my experiences as I pack up my life in Kingston and head for the green hills of Sheffield, England. I've got a current passport, my travel visa, a plane ticket (as of tomorrow), waaaaaay too much stuff, no place to live once I get there, and negative money, but I'm going!
At the moment I'm trying to save some money by moving out of my summer sublet and onto someone's couch for the next two weeks, to be followed by living in a tent at my parents' house for a week, and then hopefully arriving to a home of some sort in Sheffield. The housing market there seems to have dried up (that's because terrible other people have taken all of the good places to live out from under John's nose!), so John is doing his best to find us a home.
Ahhhh, John. If you're catching up with my life via this blog, here's the short story (the long one to be posted in the future, maybe?). We've known each other online since late 2000; we met in person for the first time in Feb 2006, and started 'dating' then. Now that I'm finally finished my B.Mus at Queen's (though there is something to be said for taking the 'scenic route' through undergrad), I am going to move to the UK and work while John goes back to school, first to upgrade his A-levels, then to Uni for engineering of some sort in 2008. I'm going on a UK Ancestry visa (my Nanny is from N.Ireland) so I'll have unrestricted entry/exit (can we say, Europe is just a long swim away?), unrestricted work, access to health care, and voting rights. No, I won't be living in London, not even close in fact. Sheffield is great though, and I've really enjoyed my visits, so hopefully it's as nice to live in as John makes out!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
