stop

Living each day as my last.

…motion. Have I mentioned that I love, love, love it?

My new faves:

“Sorry I’m Late” – Tomas Mankovsky

“Everytime” – Oi Va Voi

“The Long Haul” – Daniel Shipp

lights

Living each day as my last.

Black, white and brilliant.

My choice for who I’d like to dance with…

Francis and the Lights “The Top”

and proof that great things come out of Brooklyn…

White Rabbits “Percussion Gun”

colourful

Living each day as my last.

You know that feeling you have when a song you love and haven’t thought about in ages pops up in your ipod’s shuffle rotation after months of it lurking outside of your playlists?

That’s what I had on Saturday when I went to the Louise Blouin Foundation – a gallery in Notting Hill. When I arrived I discovered that they were showing an exhibition on Louise Nevelson entitled Dawns and Dusks.  Nevelson didn’t ring a bell for me until I stepped into the gallery and was transported back to 17 years of age in art class, working on a project that I haven’t thought about for years.  I still remember Mr. S challenging us to scavenge from the pile of discarded wood scraps and, like Nevelson, transform the rubbish into monochrome masterpieces.  The sculpture I hammered together was a collection of arrows on a triangular base. It only strikes me now that I completely disregarded the monochrome, painting each arrow in a different colour to make a collection of six ranging from a fiery hot arrow to a weathervane. The resulting piece was passionate and colourful and looked nothing like Nevelson’s subdued creations.

Once I got past my weird deja-vu-ish feeling, took a run through before the gallery was to close.  The curator’s comments and Nevelson’s quotes are still bopping around in my mind. Nevelson said, “I always wanted to show the world that art is everywhere, except it has to pass through a creative mind.” And further down the white walls, the vinyl application said that she often chose black because black is the colour that accepts all colours… and that white only accepts one. I can’t help but just think of the spiritual parallels… does this apply to dark and light?  Can light also accept all colours?

My favourite comment, though, is this:

“Her reputation as an artist has been enhanced by her colourful character on the New York art scene. She was known for her trademark fanciful headgear, and for having a strong ego – “I wouldn’t marry God if he asked me,” she once commented, and on another occasion noted: “I always thought, bluntly, that I was a glamorous, goddam exciting woman.”

Whatever floats Louise’s boat… but I’d have to say that I’m a colourful character and most definitely a glamorous, goddam exciting woman… and I’m pretty certain God would fancy that!

glorious

Living each day as my last.

If I had to remember for the rest of my life a day with perfect weather, this would be it.

The temperature is a perfect 23 Celsius, 73 Fahrenheit. Zero humidity. Not a cloud in the sky for the ENTIRE day (this does not happen in a climate that changes by the hour!). Birds chirping. In my bikini in the back yard. Slept on the lawn. Tanned on my lawn chair.

Maybe I’m just super grateful after living in Brussels and now London.

Whatever it is, today is GLORIOUS. And I wish it would never end. (And that the yummy bbq smells would translate into a burger appearing on my side of the fence…I guess there has to be one thing to improve on!)

weather

Living each day as my last.

I’ve been holding back on the tomato / tomAHto talk for nearly a year…

Until now!

I’ve been here long enough now that I think I have a few more interesting points to make than highlighting the Brits’ proclivity for tea, toast, marmite, crumpets, Victoria sponge cake, toad in the hole, bangers and mash, cheeky pints, beer coats, fancy dress parties and having a curry!

I’m reading the following book, which is unlocking the subtleties of a people who pride themselves in this trait:

The first chapter is on weather.

Apparently, Brits aren’t just obsessed with discussing weather. Instead, they use weather as:

• a simple greeting
• an icebreaker
• a default / filler conversation

The general rule is that you must always agree with someone when they make a comment… so even if I’m not feelin it when someone comments on the lovely day, sounds like I’m going to have to act the part!

There is a weather hierarchy: sunny and warm / mild being the best and rainy and cool / cold being the worst. Sounds reasonable for good weather… and not pleasant, but not the end of the world for the bad… not that I ever rowed a boat away from my house in Katrina, lived through tornadoes or woken in bed with a quake, but I’ve had my share of television programs interrupted  by lower third captions of flash flood and blizzard warnings…

Which brings me to the next point.  I’ve just insulted the British by saying the last part…  The weather chapter has revealed the following:

“While we may spend much of our time moaning about our weather, foreigners are not allowed to criticize it.  In this respect, we treat the English weather like a member of our family: one can complain about the behaviour of one’s own children or parents, but any hit of censure from an outsider is unacceptable, and very bad manners.”

“Although we are aware of the relatively undramatic nature of the English weather – the lack of extreme temperatures, monsoons, tempests, tornadoes and blozzards – we become extremely touchy and defensive at any suggestion that our weather is therefore inferior or uninteresting.  The worst possible weather0speak offence is mainly committed by foreigners, particularly Americans, and that is to belittle the English weather.  When the summer temperature reaches the high twenties (low eighties), and we moan, “Phew, isn’t it hot?”, we do not take kindly to visiting Americans or Australians laughing and scoffing and saying, “Call this hot?  This is nothing.  You should come to Texas (Brisbane) if you wanna see hot!”

“Not only is this kind of comment a serious breach of the agreement rule, and the weather-as-family rule, but it also represents a grossly quantitative appraoch to the weather, which we find coarse and distateful.  Size, we sniffingly point out, isn’t everything, and English weather requires an appreciation of subtle changes and understated nuances, rather than a vulgar obsession with mere volume and magnitude.”

“Indeed, the weather may be one of the few things about with the English are still unselfconsciously and unashamedly patriotic.  During my participant-observation research on Englishness, which naturally involved many conversations about the weather, I came across this prickly defensiveness about our weather again and again, among people of all classes and social backgrounds.  Contempt for American size-fixation was widespread – one outspoken information (a publican) expressed the feelings of many when he told me: “Oh, with Americans it’s always “mine’s bigger than yours”, with the weather or anything else.  They’re so crass.  Bigger steaks, bigger buildings, bigger snowstorms, more heat, more hurricanes, whatever.  No f-ing subtlety, that’s their problem.” Jeremy Paxman, rather more elegantly, but equally patriotically, dismisses all Bill Bryson’s monsoons, raging blizzards, tornadoes and hailstorms as “histrionics”.  A very English put-down.”

I was a bit incredulous to read that Brits would be that touchy about this.

I tried it out on a few colleagues and whilst a few were unphased, one of my closest work friends was genuinely ruffled by me merely wondering over this… and compared it to how offended I get when people bluntly tell me that going to the US doesn’t have any appeal to them (talk about the family – may not like everyone, but you still can’t diss them – rule!!).  Somehow this seems like a stretch, but I guess that’s cultural relativism for you… and guess I need to be here longer to completely understand.  (if ever!)

goodbye

Living each day as my last.

You’d think I’d be good at this by now. Especially with all of my trips back to the old places I called mine… Brooklyn… Brussels… Aix…

But I’m still not good at it. Not the short, shuffle, shuffle, which cheek do I kiss? and how do I make this end as quickly as possible one. And especially not the start in the garden, continue in the house, and then linger at the doorstep long British farewell that I’ve been learning about.

This was no exception… One for the latter category… The final sentence of a reluctant four year departure from some very lovely winding gardens to the final exit… After fight filled with dignity and humour, my grandma was to be taken off her ventilator.

I whispered the words I wished she could hear. I thought good thoughts. I asked for prayer. And then I got a good kick in the bum. “Go home, call her and say what you need to say. She may not be conscious, but she can hear you,” a woman urged in my church.

I raced home. Sitting on the top of the doubledecker, the words began to drop into place. The thank you’s and I love you’s came easily. But was I to tiptoe around where the door was leading?

I wrote with urgency. I felt that I must call immediately, but must remember everything I thought I could ever want to say.

This living each day as the last day has been mostly silly and frilly. But that day it took all of my strength.

Grandma, the spunky fighter that she is, fought for a bit longer, and passed away last Friday.

No words can express how relieved and appreciative I am to have said this goodbye. And knew that she heard and understood me.

Love you, Grandma!

twits

Living each day as my last.

Home at last, recovering.

And being totally entertained by a friend who’s giving me my own twitter feed of constant updates on his day in Brussels.

9.30am: big F at desk since 9.00. Computer still booting… Big F gets prepared to yell at IT-guy who promised that ‘everything should be fine now’… tbc…

10.00am: 1 hour at work … Still booting… Am cleaning my desk … Starting to make plans for lunch… tbc …

10.25: IT-guy says he doesn’t know where the problem is… Am still much too nice to him … C’mon F, start yelling!!!

10.32am: big F is ONLINE!!!!!

12.01pm: Big F still skimming through e-mails. No further incidents. Still mad at IT-guy. Still too nice to him. Have to gain more respect….

13.00: big F on his way to the hairdressers… Always wanted to dye it blonde…

2:17pm: Back at the desk. Big F is regretting that he can’t throw anything at stupid IT-nerd because “it” is sitting in the German office… next time I see him I’ve got to kick some ass!!!!!

2.29pm: FYI: still not blond …. *maybe for wedding???*

3.04pm: … now contemplating a surprise tatoo or piercing for the wedding day …

6.39pm: Big F is suspicious of his least favourite colleague … he is just waaaay too nice today … what does he want from me ????? So many questions and so few answers ….

7.15pm: Heavy rain outside … F is cursing Brussels and planning to stay in the office tonight … no umbrella, no raincoat, just Big F on his bike against the rain … what a bad bad day …

I think he wins the prize for entertainment…. because these were my updates:
11:23 am
Have slept in until 10, eaten chocolate porridge with strawberries, caught up on emails and am now readying myself for a big outing!! A one mile walk to the grocery store for a brita filter, mint, spring onions, sparkling water, and rubbing alcohol. It’s going to be a big day…

16:15
Have now gone to the grocery store for the first time! Think I’m going to Artisan for tonight. The big question is: curly or
straight!?!?

17:11
Vote granted for straight. Suggestions of red nail polish and red high heals and skirt being considered. Comfy may win though.

peaceful

Living each day as my last.

The thought for the day:

“God’s hands are more skilled than a great surgeon;
they are more tender than a caring nurse;
they are more precise than a fine diamond cutter;
they are more creative than the finest artist or designer.”

Blue skies, a few clouds.

It’s going to be a great day.

tastify

Living each day as my last.

Hello friends lingering 5+ hours behind…

Thought you might like some of these silly British adverts:

tornado

Living each day as my last.

T-1 today.

I was feeling pretty calm about it all (all being the fact that my belly button is about to be cut open tomorrow), until the crazy American within me surfaced as I was strolling down the aisles of Sainsburys.

It was almost like a reflex. The one that comes over Americans and makes them fight over tins of Spaghetti-o’s and load their SUV’s with water-cooler-sized jugs of water as news reporters stand in front of them and report on the impending natural disaster. And makes Americans make educational videos like this:

I wasn’t trying to be dramatic to start with… I just was thinking, “What will keep in my fridge not only for the four days I’m gone, but also until I’m finally strong enough to walk a mile to the grocery store and am able to carry it all back?”

So I started strategizing and chucking non-perishables into my trolley… and came up with the following things that the American Disaster Planners would be proud of:
-Pasta and sauce to make some great penne a la vodka
-Carrot, bean and quinoa soup
-Tons of Weightwatchers frozen meals
-Eggs to scramble
-Yogurt
-Frozen green beans
-Cereal & long life soy milk
-Apples
-Chocolate porridge
-Peanut butter and jelly!! (freezing the bread!)

Otherwise, preparations are going well. I’m about to take the polish off my toes, as I’ve learned that they need to be able to see my circulation during surgery. I’m a bit annoyed about this, frankly, as they are currently a nice shade of black cherry and I’m quite determined to be the hottest woman on the table for the day…

tango

Living each day as my last.

St. Mary’s Girlzone event “The One About Sex and Relationships” (looking at dating, singleness, dealing with abuse, sex for marrieds, body image, resolving conflict and lots more) could not have come at a better time. I was really psyched to meet more women my age and then fly by the seat of my jeans and go out for Tango lessons with a friend who also attended!

It was super refreshing to have women stand before me who were feminine, strong, smart, sensitive and interesting (my last week’s conference had a woman actually say, “I can’t believe men let us do the budgets”… not funny, even if it’s part of the comedy routine!). Plus we had amazing cupcakes and a curry! (for only £10 as opposed to £105… oh crap! the stupid blonde routine from the first conference REALLY is a hoax!!)

Some of the thoughts that aren’t necessarily new but great to hear again:
-Self loathing is limiting the impact we have upon the world

-Every time we repeat the same mistakes we’re just coming back to lessons we have not yet mastered

-One guy in a survey said he was looking for a smile that “makes [him] feel both dangerous and safe at the same time”

-A woman who was challenged to give a guy a chance, to take interest in his interests and act as if she loved him… 40 years later she recalls loving dangerously… and poses the question, what might your love bring out in someone? And how would you know unless you give him a chance?

-Always respect a person in a relationship so they walk away with a positive experience and aren’t harmed for the next person.

-Are we living as if we’re loved?

Not to get too philosophical, but as I was led backwards in circles around a room, I couldn’t help but think how relevant it all was… even more than just the leading and following perspective… for me, more, the relaxing and going with the flow!

compere

Living each day as my last.

A new word for the Americans (or maybe just for me): compere.

This is what my new friend from Artisan is: an emcee.

I arrived to The Funny Side on Friday night, and was escorted to the green room to hang out with him before he went on stage! Check me out! (this is the first time I’ve been a guest… usually I’m the working staff!)

Much in need of a laugh (see cheeky entry below), I saw my first comedy show in London. This was my fave act of the night: (the other two were a bit more cringe-worthy… not that other people weren’t laughing… I would make some illusions, but I’ll spare you the disgusting mental pictures)

cheeky

Living each day as my last.

I did something cheeky this week.

You’ll never guess it, so I’ll tell you.

Left work to get a bikini wax.

Not just any bikini wax, but one from a former makeup artist who has smuggled some numbing spray in from the US… (how come I never had that offered to me in NY? …oh right, because I went to the super-crappy “Elite Spa” who mis-spelled their name so they appeared as Elie Spa each month on my checking statement).

When I scheduled in this very important appointment, I did so on the condition that it wouldn’t conflict with the company-wide meeting on Friday morning. Normally I wouldn’t be that bothered about this type of meeting when I considered the prospect of not making it to the salon before baring all in front of a room full of surgeons. But this one was supposed to be a refreshing update from the doomy-gloomy ones we have had in the past few months.

When I filed in, tea-cup in hand, I settled into the couch and was ready for my managing director to keep milking his “boat in a storm” metaphor. But instead, the director of my department stood and announced that there were a few promotions. One junior member. And then my peer. The only other one at my level. Who is 25. And has been at our level for a year less than I.

My heart dropped. And then broke. I felt the tears coming. “Oh God, I’m going to make a scene,” I thought.

And then came the rush of anger. I thought of all of ridiculously exhausting weeks in January and February. How I kept my head down and produced something larger than I ever had. And earned the right to be charged out as a senior producer, two levels above my project manager status. And then moved on, not making a big fuss.

I just sat there and did what I could do…

“God!” I cried.

“I know,” He said back.

Just two words. But so powerful. It didn’t change it all. But it was me and Him and I knew He was there.

So when I was asked if I wanted to sneak out for a cheeky pint in the afternoon (half pint in my case), I headed for the beer garden. The newly promoted colleague was also coming (fantastic, this day just gets better and better!)… but it seemed a good reminder of all of those Fridays that I kept my head down whilst he downed a pint… or two!!

So I’ve decided that from now on the way forward is cheeky pints on Fridays… And waxing appointments during company meetings as it seems that ripping the most sensitive hair from my body is less painful than these meetings, but perhaps the numbing spray could help next time!?

easter

Living each day as my last.

Only a few days before the long Easter weekend did I realise that I’d all by myself for the rest of the day after my church’s Easter Sunday service…  feeling less liberated, and more “Bridget Jones-singing-this-song-in-my-pj’s” at this thought, so was very exceited when one of my fave work friends texted me to say: “Hi Ker!  Just want you to know we’re going to have lunch tomorrow from one o’clock and you’re more than welcome to come.  We’re having beff and mum and some family friends are coming.  Let me know so we can peel some potatoes for you!!!! xxxx”

So I rolled some pinwheel asparagus appetisers and headed north towards C’s new flat by Kings Cross!

Seriously amazing meal…. my appy’s, then super yummy beef, potatoes, green beans, carrots, Worcestershire sauce, and 2 puddings!!!  (Americans: pudding = dessert, not just the runny chocolate stuff in Jello boxes)…. lemon mousse to dip shortbread in… and the other specialty, bread and butter pudding made from hot cross buns (also found that it’s tradition to eat these on Good Friday morning!)

insanity

Living each day as my last.

…is running into a friend I met nine years ago at Rice University in Texas here in London!  When I turned my head to see who else was in church!!  

What an amazing blessing and huge encouragement to see S.