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, ten & eleven: again.

Dear July,

Last night was a lovely long much overdue soak-it-up kind of catch up with some good friends. We went out for dinner and ate too much Greek food, and the night ended with us standing chatting under a tree in Kelvingrove Park for about an hour because all the places that might sell tea on Friday night in Glasgow were shut (and tea was what we felt like), but we weren’t quite finished talking yet.

Today, I don’t have too many words. The rain is back again after a week or two of sunshine and, although this shouldn’t be surprising (this is Scotland, after all, and I’ve lived here all my life), it’s sometimes hard not to take it personally (‘What did we do, sun? Did we love you too much?’). Outside the café where I’m sitting doing a bit of work, people bundle past, linking arms under umbrellas. Rain sticks like little glass beads to the empty silver chairs and tables on the street. I do talk about the weather too much. And my mood too often matches the colour of the clouds. This year, I would like to learn to let it bounce off me. But, nevertheless. There it is: today it is raining, and I wish it wasn’t.

♥

Noticed thing from last night: Kelvingrove Park – pretty though it may be – is kind of bossy. It’s full of signs telling you not to do things. ‘No hot ashes in this bin!’ ‘Alcohol is strictly prohibited!’ ‘Give up on your dreams!’ ‘Don’t skate on the ice!’ ‘No dog fouling!’ ‘Children should be seen and not heard!’ ‘Don’t get ideas above your station!’ ‘Don't litter!’

Some more positive signage might be a nice idea to balance things out.

‘Thanks for walking your dog here!’ ‘Keep being you!’ ‘Well, somebody’s looking awesome today.’ ‘Isn’t this a great view!’ ‘You should totally propose to her on this bridge, man.’ ‘Have you guys seen how pretty these flowers are?’

I’ll write to the council. TBC.

♥

Notes. 

Yesterday’s poem: Ovid in Tears by Jack Gilbert. Today’s poem: The Faces of Deer by Mary Oliver (‘Unless you/ believe that heaven is very near, how will you/ find it?’)

Pictures by: Saul Steinberg (they just made me smile).

spring in the city.

I went for a walk around the west end of Glasgow yesterday and had to keep stopping to take pictures (on my phone, would you believe. The iPhone does have a terrific camera). I wandered. I went to Charlie Rocks for breakfast. I read my book*. I wrote a little bit. I looked round the Oxfam bookshop, and bought some old postcards. Lovely.

(*I aspire to be the sort of person that can casually, comfortably read novels in coffee shops. At the moment, it takes me at least a quarter of an hour to stop being self-conscious. There are all sorts of questions that need to be answered... like how to hold the book. Do I rest it on the table? Put it on my lap? Hold it in front of me with one hand, and hold the tea cup in the other? Prop it up against the sugar bowl? I don't know. Small questions. Real worries. I'm eternally awkward.)

♥

I'm away to America on Monday with my sister (I'm so very excited! I have lots of notebooks to jot down interesting things. I'm especially excited about people-watching in the airport, watching a film on the plane, and chatting to the nice family we're going to visit). I'll post some other-side-of-the-ocean noticings once I get back.

falling light

I’ve recently fallen in love with this painting (‘The Accolade’ by Edmund Blair Leighton). The light, the solemnity, his down-looking eyes, her hair: beautiful.

 

I noticed it in my friend's house a few weeks ago. She had a copy of it hanging right as I walked in the front door.

I was pretty pleased with myself I have to admit because, without knowing anything about it, I was able to guess that it was a picture of Guinevere and Lancelot and that it looked vaguely pre-Raphaelite. Useful to know that – as well as being able to work out the metre of old poems, the difference between finite and non-finite verbs, and other such useful life skills – my English degree has equipped me with painting-recognition talents. Huzzah! Someone employ me, quick!

♥

the sun shining down over me and you

Something I've noticed the past two weeks has been..... the sun! (Cue the music!) When you live in a country renouned for its rain, sun is something that is worth noting. Especially when it allows you to leave the house without a coat: a treat indeed.

(This is a picture from a picnic last week with two nice friends in the Botanic Gardens: playing 'Pooh sticks' over a bridge, eating strawberries, being pestered by hungry dogs, playing UNO, wearing a dress, looking at old postcards, witnessing fellow picnic-ers create a daisy chain of many metres, not needing to worry about exams, catching the sun on our faces, eating ice-cream to cool down. A jolly lovely day.)

♥

(While writing this post, I've been listening to Andrew Bird's new album ...and I've now bought it because I like it that much. Just to let you know!)

sunlight cleanses the soul.

♥

Eating apple and cinnamon porridge in the garden. No wasps and only the occasional distant bee. Serving fish and chips to customers wearing flowery dresses. Reading Keats' poetry in the shower. Distracting my brother from studying, and vice versa, with interesting conversations.

Listening to new music (The Honey Trees). Reading Amusing Ourselves to Death (Neil Postman, 1985, very very interesting) for an essay on entertainment and journalism. Getting very encouraging feedback on a short story. Going out for lunch with three lovely friends. Borrowing too many books from the library for my exam next week. Getting distracted by the warm(ish) weather. Chatting to the funny people that live in this white house. Waking up with a tapestry of sun falling on my bed.

Quite a nice couple of days. Nice can be a rather insipid word, and I am trying to cut down in my use of it. But sometimes it is the right word. Not super. Not brilliant. Not absolutely marvelous. Just... nice. 

The next couple of weeks are going to be a bit frenzied I think with the three exams looming, which is a bit daunting. My life is a constant wrestle with worrying, but I'm going to try my hardest not to get too stressed and to enjoy the process of looking over the themes and topics from this year.

We'll see how that goes...

(Pictures of sunlight: sifting through the train-station windows, falling onto my journal, touching the top of the Clyde.)

♥

just to say...

More writing, and less random phone photographs will come soon. From where I (metaphorically) stand just now, I can see the next two months; they are full of essays, studying and exams. So I suspect updates on here will become more sporadic. Maybe not though. We’ll wait and see. I like to surprise myself.

For now though, here are five recent noticings:

 

♥ Running in public is kind of a faux pas. Being a blend of commuter and last-minute-er, I tend to do a lot of it. Coat buttons popping open, eyes spilling, hair unravelling, legs aching. (I missed my bus today, even though I ran. So I then had to run for the train, which I caught. Phew.)

♥ Laughing --- so --- hard --- you can’t --- quite --- breathe --- is better than ice-cream: soul-cleansing, less milky. (I ended up laghing like this today with my friend, for the first time in ages.)

♥ I think it is funny how all the statues in George Square that were built to honour ‘great men’ (and woman) end up acting as rest-stops for seagulls. They leave the Great Men with heads stained white with --- well, you know. (Not very dignified. Maybe that’s why all of them look so stern.)

♥ When waiting for public transport, women – even the skinny ones – tend to cover up their stomachs (with bags, with books, with coats, with their hands). Men on the other hand - even the fatter ones - let their stomachs hang out (they leave their coats unzipped, they rest their arms on their knees, they rub their stomachs absentmindedly). Interesting!

♥ (So far,) John Keats’ letters are very beautiful. I found them today in the library, when I should have been writing about Alexander Pope.

(Anyway! After seeing the time, I absolutely must go to bed now. I’ve got a busy writing day tomorrow. Did not want to stay up this late!)

Pictures: Claire Owen.