Singing in der Regen

Most people say they love the smell after the rain. But let's face it, people: it usually smells like worms. Lots and lots of worms. And maybe a bit like grass.

The aroma during the rain in Scotland is marvelous, and has lifted my mood entirely. It is the smell of fresh herbs sliced for cooking plus new blossoms whose perfumes instead of being lost to the wide sky, gently hover at lower altitudes for the pleasure of mere mortals. It's also the smell of wild, tangly shrubs and a hint of far distant meadows and, ever so faintly, smoke from ancient stone chimneys.

Maybe it isn't gray skies alone, but gray skies and no rain that bring heaviness of heart. But when it's raining, there's a sense of freedom in everything--a sort of peaceful abandon in the weather-though that sounds contradictory- that justifies the feeling in us, too: As goes weather, so goes the heart.

But enough about the weather.

This morning, I overslept breakfast and so left Arkaig House for the University on an empty stomach and uncaffeinated mind. The unusualness of this state of affairs might grant me absolution regarding my first social attempt of the day: buying coffee. I stopped in at the faculty lounge for today's cuppa, and much to my delight found they offered an espresso version of my favorite Scottish food: sticky toffee pudding. I was so excited (and, recall, as yet uncaffeinated) that I may or may not have tried to buy said coffee with Swiss Francs (oh my, how did *those* coins get in there?). The barista was not as amused as I was.

Of course, as soon as I've drained that most delicious of drinks, I feel the energy sink into my bones... and immediately commence freaking out about the amount of work I must do in the next two weeks. Yes! Only TWO WEEKS already until I fly to Budapest. SO much research yet to do-- we've hardly begun! --Additionally I've somehow got to put together two talks on research I'm still very much in the midst of. Then there's the other non-Guido work to do: two papers to be revised for publication, which is a ridiculous amount of work as it requires indefatigable patience. And I don't even come within a furlong of patience. Oh, right: then there's the ever-present dissertation, which I actually miss. Like it is its own entity. A Frankenstein's monster, so to speak. Which makes me Frankenstein. I should give the thing a name... has anyone else named their dissertation? Seems reasonable. But, alas, my focus has had to be elsewhere since about mid-April, and I'm starting to forget its face.


Mulling over all the work I have to do has brought me to feeling right again, strange as that sounds. I love what I do. I love thinking about it, talking about it, dreaming about it (well, okay, not that last thing...having dreams in German is über disturbing). This morning while I was drinking the coffee (which I eventually paid the appropriate amount of British Pounds Sterling for) and feigning work, I watched various other faculty members come in and out of the cafe, all in the midst of intense discussion about their various issues, all behaving in idiosyncratic professorish ways (but with Scottish flare! And by flare I mean accents) and I thought, this is it. Instead of serving Sticky Toffee Espressos at a university cafe (which, admittedly, sometimes seems far preferable to the academic grind), I get to think about stuff and then write down the stuff and then travel places to talk to the people in the place about the stuff...

And so there it is. As the Brits would say, things are "right as rain again". And as the Germans would say, "ALLESACHENSINDWIEDERWIEDERREGENRECHT, JA!!!"