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!!!"

When Mondays feel like Mondays

Today I woke up and knew it was just going to be one of those days. You know. The days where no matter how much you try to think about all the good in your life you still feel unbelievably poo-ish. Maybe it was the gray skies. Or maybe it was feeling too keenly that everyone you love--heck, everyone you can sit on the porch, drink a beer and feel blue with for a while-- is at least 3200 miles away. I know-- trust me, I know how lucky I am. But at some point, no matter how many adventures one has, they only amount to so much if one is, well, just one. Maybe I'll borrow a puppy or a baby or something.

I tried to be positive about the gloomy day by leaving the office at about 3:00 and going for a walk through the Botanical Gardens and around Seaton Park. This, I decided, was a far better choice than crying into my pillow (how emo is that?) whilst eating lemon-flavored cookies (I ate 3 anyway) and watching re-runs of Britain's Got Talent (I start to wonder if it does...)

I took some pictures of the walk. And yeah, it really is this green.

Saturday Morning, 3 a.m.

The view from my window, all natural light.

The Hipster Abides

It's the third whole day in Scotland and I'm in full research mode. I have an office, a regular lunch spot in the courtyard, a Uni Aberdeen library card, a regular coffee stop and a regular lunch place. The latter is the most hipstery things I've yet come across in Aberdeen. Don't judge, people-- I go there not because I worship the hipsters, as some of you suspect, nor am I myself a hipster by a long shot-- but rather because it's the only place on campus you can find vegetarian food. Organic vegetarian food, of course. Haha.

As for "my office" in the Old Brewery, I actually share it with a smart-alecky "applied theologian" in his mid-30s called Mark, whose first words upon entering the office this morning were (in thoroughly Scottish brogue):

"Ay! It smells absoloot'ly frooity in here!"

I said (in thoroughly indeterminate US accent) "Yeah, it's my new organic shampoo from Sainsbury's. Sorry to make the place smell so 'girlie'. I'll smoke a cigar in here later."

"Aye, you will? Good, good."

Mark likes to dish on other denominations (who doesn't? Certainly not Church of Scotland Prezbies, which Mark is through-and-through), especially Catholics. But especially Episcopalians. I'm delighted to join in over the Catholics, but regarding the Episcopalians...ach. Too soon.

Mark also happens to be married to an American woman, hence his easy tolerance for my 'Merican ways, e.g.:
(i) not smoking in my office
(ii) not smoking at all
(iii) bugging him for the location of coffee shops in which I can work
(iv) bugging him by saying "you GOTTA see THIS!" every quarter-hour, and subsequently playing stupid YouTube videos, and
(v) arriving at work before 10 in the morning. Yes, that's right, folks: I'm an early-riser here, by comparison. AND a hard worker. It's all so delicious. When I was in Beijing I felt like such a hobo compared to the industrious Chinese ph.D students there. They operate on a whole 'nother level.

Turns out Mark's 'Merican wife grew up only a few miles from where I lived for 9 years, near Mitchell, South Dakota. MITCHELL. SOUTH DAKOTA. It's all very twilight-zonish, or Coen-brothersish, or something. Mark has already told me how much he loves visiting Mitchell- especially the Doll Museum. I remember well the old Doll Museum. I'm pretty sure he's joking, but Scotsmen can be danged subtle when they want to be. I know that's not the stereotype, but there it is.

I'm alone in the office for the rest of today (hence the blogging). Mark's left to attend a conference at which he said he will give a "less-than-serious" talk "because no future employers of mine will be there." The paper is about Erasmus (who was dogmatically Catholic throughout the Reformation, but whose place of eternal rest in the Netherlands has since been converted into a Reformed Church, irony of ironies). Specifically, Mark said he was giving a most irreverent talk about various rules of conduct set down by Erasmus for the education of young boys, e.g. when you can fart, or when you can play with your hair or your ears during class, etc. Mark's main locus of research is on the topic of shame, so I told him it was good practice to experience his area first-hand every so often, as he was sure to do today. He laughed and left our fruity office.

I'd better get back to work. But first I've gotta finish my hipster coffee and my hipster vegetarian sandwich, and read this article on my new favorite hipster band from the UK.

Sainsbury's

Sainsbury's is the Meijer of Scotland, and I love it. Probably because I'm ignorant of all its foibles and other nefarious dealings as a foreign mega-corporation. Nevertheless, I just got back from a bit of shopping, and of all the delightful organic produce and food products (including--drum roll--a new favorite food: a cereal (gasp!) that's basically shredded wheat (gasp! without chocolate and/or peanut butter!) filled with heavenly (organic) apricot goo...mmmm) and organic soaps and organic, locally-grown q-tips (You're surprised? What sheep-related product ISN'T local in the wee sheep-ie country of Scotland? Although I could definitely see picking up some cotton swabs at the Scottish Wal-mart only to see "Made in Macao" printed on the back. They...they don't even HAVE sheep in Macao.*)

Well, I think the jet-lag is finally catching up to me. Or rather, the fact that I went to bed at 3 and got up at 7 is catching up to me. I had to slap myself in the face on several occasions today whilst doing some translation work (thankfully, Guido was not present during the face-slapping). So yes, I need to get with the time-zone, as they say. Which I can't even do in my usual time-zone. Ah, well... "You can take Elise out of the country, but you can't take the Elise out of Elise."**


*I stand self-corrected.
**Unless, like, I named one of my teeth "Elise". Then you could take it out of Elise. Or maybe a liver. Those are those things you have two of, right Bub? Mine is below my stomach and to the left of my body [inside joke. Teehee.] No, of course I know where my liver is-- it's where all the Talisker goes! Giddyup.