Dear July, three // uncharacteristic

The other night, I had a dream in which I was about to perform a sort of free-style-rap* slash Dr-Seuss-type-ditty to a circle full of strangers. I don’t remember why, in the context of the dream, I felt the need to do this. Nor why I felt certain that I should give my performance in a country-twanged American accent. Very unlike me (when I actually find myself in a big crowd of strangers – unless I have a clear ‘role’ to play – I tend to spend a lot of time “looking for things in my bag”, wandering round the perimeter of the room trying to give off the impression that I'm headed somewhere, or hiding in the bathroom, wondering whether it’s rude to leave yet).

In the dream, I was convinced that what I was about to say/rap was pretty knee-slapping-ly hilarious and it was definitely going to get some loud laughs from the people gathered around. I was sleeping, but I was also conscious enough to think: ‘Goodness me. I’ll need to write some of these rhymes down when I wake up, because this stuff is golden.’ 

Thankfully, I woke up before the actual outburst. I doubt it would have gone to plan. As often happens with dreams, the moment I opened my eyes: the whole thing disappeared out my head like dishwater whirl-pooling down an unplugged sink. So I wasn't able to write any of those hilarious rhymes down on paper to share with you. What a shame. 

All I really remember is that the rap had something to do with sweetcorn*.

//

In other news: today, after writing some of the novel/PhD to give myself a head-start on the week, I baked 17 cookies on a whim (banana, oatmeal, chocolate-chip, coconut, pecan). They filled the flat with a delicious warm scent (fyi, I took that first picture by putting my camera on a timer, and then holding the phone between my chin and neck. Such elegance).

Also: thank you to everyone who has been reading these ‘letters to July’* so far. I’m never sure who is reading this blog, so I have been surprised and moved by some really beautiful comments the past few days: thank you. 

//

Notes.)

*On free-styling, you should watch the Flight of the Conchords' 'Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenoceros'. 

*On sweetcorn: Who knows... sleeping-me is a strange being that I don't pretend to understand.   

*The original idea for the series last year was sparked by Emily Diana Ruth's beautiful video blogs. You should watch them.

Dear July, two // eating together, eating alone.

Friday was a 'flat dinner' night. It was my turn to cook, so I made us a chicken, mushroom, chickpea, and coconut curry – also known as ‘Whatever I Have in the Cupboard Curry’ – with other things like tomatoes and mango chutney and peppers and ginger and yoghurt thrown in. I made it with rice mixed with coconut and olive oil, lime juice, and toasted almond flakes and – while I was keeping an eye on all the bubbling pots – I sent the girls to fetch some vegetable pakora from the Indian takeaway at the bottom of our street. 

Pretty tasty. When it was all ready, we put the twinkle lights on and helped ourselves to spoonfuls of it, chatting about graduations and upcoming weddings and the-disaster-that-is-Brexit, and then took turns washing up.

The shared meals in this tiny Glasgow flat – with their feeling of ‘togetherness’ – have been among my favourite things about staying here. Joined by our not-actually-a-flat-mate friend, we each take turns cooking and have eaten some amazing food over the year: shepherd’s pie with cheese on top that’s turned bubbling and golden around the edges; black bean and sweet potato chili; tartiflette (a creamy, cheesy, potato-y French dish with bacon); smoked salmon fish pie with parsley sauce; pesto pasta with smoked sausage and mushrooms; macaroni cheese. In December, we even made a pre-Christmas Christmas dinner. It took about 2 hours longer to prepare than we’d planned (turns out peeling, chopping and par-boiling takes a lot more time than you’d think), and two members of our ‘party’ had the flu so they slept on the sofa while Rachel and I cooked – but in the end, it worked out quite wonderfully and we both felt rather proud of ourselves.

Eating dinner by myself is something I’ve learned to get used to this year – being a single woman living independently, it’s kind of a regular and necessary part of life. And I don't think there's anything wrong with eating alone. It's fine. It can be quite peaceful: taking my time, savouring the flavours, winding down from the day without needing to chit chat between mouthfuls. But – there are days when mealtimes carry with them a very keen sense of absence. There are days where I can’t shift the feeling that there is something just ever so slightly depressing about ‘dinner for one’. I find myself hoping it won't be the reality of my life forever. 

Whatever life will bring, though, I want to be intentional about building in times in the week for eating-together. Because there is a different energy that comes with a meal shared. 'What’s becoming clearer and clearer to me,' Shauna Niequist (author of Bread and Wine: a Love Letter to Life Around the Table) writes, 'is that the most sacred moments, the ones in which I feel God’s presence most profoundly, when I feel the goodness of the world most arrestingly, take place at the table. The particular alchemy of celebration and food, of connecting people and serving what I’ve made with my own hands, comes together as more than the sum of their parts...'

Yes. That is it.

Hooray for those sacred moments. 

//

Dear July, one // a knack for getting found.

Dear July,

Yesterday began with losing my favourite necklace and ended with me walking home in the pouring rain, in the dark, without an umbrella*. I crawled into bed, after blow-drying my hair, feeling shivery and quite worn out. Uncertainty. So much to do. Doubt, doubt, doubt in my ability to do any of it. And – that necklace. It was the smallest of things: a silver elephant pendant on a thin silver chain. But I liked it, and was sad to lose it.

What had happened was this:

Getting ready that morning had been a bit of a hurried affair. Due to staying up too late the night before, I'd kept snoozing my alarm which meant I only left myself twelve minutes to get ready before my bus. So I spent those twelve minutes knocking into things in my tiny room while my heart raced: smearing make-up into my face, rummaging under the bed for my shoes, dragging the straighteners through my tangled hair a few times, stuffing my laptop bag with books and papers and lunch, pulling my coat on and then: go! Out the door and up the street.

What I remember doing was putting the necklace into my coat pocket before I left with the plan of fastening it when I got on the bus.

But then I got on the bus, and it had disappeared. I spent about ten minutes of the journey taking everything out of my pockets – crumpled napkins, my house keys, kirby grips which kept scattering to the floor, odd bits of brown string, euros and nickels and dimes and pennies – and laying each item out on my lap, hoping the necklace would be among them. It wasn’t. I kept repeating the process. Taking everything out, laying it out on my lap, scanning over each object: the necklace was not there. It must have fallen out during the mad dash to the bus stop. My heart sank. I should have been more careful with it.

//

This isn’t the first time I’ve lost that necklace. In fact, it seems to have a particular knack for getting lost. It'll fall to the floor, or under my bed, or hide under books, and – because it’s so slight – it often won’t reappear for months. The last time I lost it was actually just a few weeks ago, when my brother and I were visiting our friends in Atlanta, Georgia. 

‘I know it’s in this room, somewhere,’ I said to Evan about two days into the holiday. I ran my hand over every surface in the room, but couldn’t see it. (It was so warm over there at the time that we were both wearing shorts and no-cardigans. The ceiling fan above us whooshed). ‘Seriously, it must be in this room somewhere. I was just wearing it yesterday.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Then said, ‘It’s strange, isn’t it? Knowing there actually is an elephant in the room...’

Almost two weeks passed – driving through the mountains, eating mustard on sandwiches, chatting till late at night, getting a little sunburnt on our shoulders, seeing a bear – till I found it again. It was the last day of our trip and I was stripping the bed. There it was, hiding under the sheets, the silver chain glinting in the light.

//

When I woke up this morning, the weariness hadn’t shifted. Rain was still hissing outside my bedroom window. I turned over to look at the clock then lay in the dull light for a while, breathing, trying to quiet the minor note of anxiety that has been creeping in, trying to shake myself awake: Time to get up. There is much to do. You can do it. Time to get on.

I went through to the kitchen to get some breakfast: clicking the kettle on, reaching up to the cupboard for Earl Grey teabags, moving around in bare feet. I was scooping half a mug of granola into my bowl when I stopped what I was doing and gasped*. 

There it was. A glint of silver. The elephant necklace was lying in a curl on the table by my bowl. I stood with my mouth open, not quite believing it. 

Just the smallest of things. And I don’t really know what happened – maybe I didn’t put it in my pocket yesterday morning like I’d thought. Maybe I’d left it there on the table while I was getting lunch out the fridge. But finding it there this morning felt like a small miracle. Like a cup of golden honey to my heart. Like a gift: everything that had seemed impossible just a few moments ago suddenly felt less so. Change is possible, writing is possible, feeling light and heat again is possible. I can do it. Time to get on.

//

Notes.)

*Some nicer things did happen in the middle of these unfortunate bookends. Like dinner with some of my closest friends, and talking on the phone to my parents, and writing some decent paragraphs...

*True story: I actually gasped. 

nice to see you.

Hello blog! And hello Spring! It is ‘officially’ Spring now and – although, yes, I am still walking around in my winter coat most days – it does seem safe to say that Winter might be finished with (though I know uttering those words is a recipe for snow-in-April-type disaster. Please no).

I've transitioned from boots to shoes. My gloves and hat have been tucked back away into storage for next year (lol jk, I lost both of them mid-February) and there have been a few days recently where I’ve been outside and, tilting my head upwards, thought: oh! I feel heat on my face. Is that - [squinting up at the sky] - is that you, sun? I’ve been so happy to see: the light hanging around till later in the day (it’s stretching its fingers into seven – even eight o’clock sometimes), flowers pushing up through the ground and blossoms appearing on the trees, people eating lunch outside again (with jackets on, mind you. But at least they’re not shivering indoors), my own shadow stretching long ahead of me on golden-lit evenings. As I write, there are birds singing outside.

Yes, Spring. Hello. You are most welcome.

With April comes all things wedding related. My sister is getting married at the end of the month so we all need to collectively pray for lots of sunshine on the 22^nd of April, okay? (Though please, God: no bees. I might be wearing flowers in my hair). 

Anyway – this is just a post to say ‘hello, little blog. I’m still here.’ (Sorry for the lull.) 

(The pictures are just from here and there over the past few weeks. I've not been taking too many pictures recently. I need to get on that.)