Month: March 2011

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Sweet anticipation (Cinque Terre)

I was never a I want to be in the peace corps, or I'm signing up to be a stewardess type, so I could travel. Travel seemed exotic, something my grandparents did on their cruises. Someday. Someday came sooner than I'd thought. I found out my first year of college on a trip to London where I nibbled on digestives (what?!) and laughed over an outlet exploding a hairdryer and sat in John Keats' garden: this world is way bigger than I ever thought. The people, though, the people are all more…

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100!

Happy day, it's the 100th time I've clicked publish and sent a letter out to you. Thank you for your encouragements, for letting my thoughts and photos fill a corner of your day; blogging has been a bucketful of delight. The weather is lemon-drops and lollipops delectable outside, and I've been gallivanting about in various sweaters and boots in so much sun it's almost overwhelming! This post isn't organized around anything except those little treks, specks of lovely weather and life…

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we felt like pinballs

last week, and so this week, we're all the more grateful for time to take life in slowly, time to notice the purple undersides of clouds, share unhurried hugs, time to crouch down and smile into our daffodils to tell them they can do it, they can pick up their heavy heads. But last week? Baby were we ever shooting around the town like pinballs, past each other, past normal activities, all in a mad rush of a week of radio election coverage and a poetry festival. It just may have been the…

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somedays you dream {of Italy} for colour

(Oh, goodness, I've walking hither and yon ferrying poets around this week for the StAnza Poetry Festival, wrote this several days ago, and am just posting it now. Apologies for the late post. And, happy weekend!). Lately, I've woken up to our little awning being spattered with rain, and proceeded to watch drops flicking our patio all. day. long. Concentric circles form and fade in puddles everywhere, and the question flopping around in my mind is: can I trade my wellies for flippers? Then I…

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What's the craic, St Paddy?

Once upon a time, I met a couple from Northern Ireland who invited me over. So I went. Four times in one year, I went; people there defined hospitality. No joke, my pajamas got ironed in Ireland. In Ireland, I found things I will always smile remembering. A land gentle and lush from rain. Deep laughter. Irish soda bread (light and puffed golden triangles toasted with butter---laaa!). Families that talk to each other, a lot. Did I mention laughter? The Ulster fry (breakfast where everything is…

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it's pi day and there are multiples of . . .

holidays floating around (you'll see). And today there were multiples of instants adding up to one totally prosaic day, which started as all good novels do: a dark a stormy night. (Promise, there's an upswing coming.) Walker blew into our flat this afternoon proclaiming that it was definitely the worst day, weather-wise, this year. Grizzly, cold, windy. The birds were swarming ominously and loading the air with their squawks. The wind came in yesterday, and when we turned the corner walking…

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the post where I remember dating

. . . because I have no photos to share of today, and the sky is leaking rain and remains the color of an industrial staircase. Who doesn't love a good love story on a rainy day? True story: We first saw each other across a room (we were both studying in Scotland); everyone in the room was going around saying what year they were at university (first year, second year, etc . . . ). He looked European and sleek and was studying philosophy and economics and I thought bummer when he was three years…

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Savouring

The sea must have half a dozen beds, because it wakes up on a different side every day. Or maybe it has a dodecagon shaped bed (ok, I'm a nerd). Either way, today it was quirky, but addictingly jubilant. My lovely friend and I pulled on our scarves and coats and wellies and wellie socks and layers of jumpers and turtlenecks to go say hi. How could we not, when it decides to look TROPICAL. Seriously, Scotland?! Teal? We’re talking still, barely licking the sand. Although large waves aren't…

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Calm

Lately, my mind has been stacking up lists of things I will miss and not miss about Scotland. I will not miss the pink and black mold that creeps up often, the separate taps for hot and cold water, or drying my towels for (literally) 9 hours. Nor will I miss nearly running into people around the stone wall corners. I'm undecided about whether or not I will miss having to vault my whole body against the (sticky) front door to open it, because having to explain something about your home makes it…